I AM BLESSED

  I placed the music cds on the counter and handed the clean-cut, young man a library card.

“Sir,” he said, examining the card, “is this your wife’s? Because if it is, I need to see some identification.”

“No, it’s not.” I stood my ground.

“Your wife’s not Micha … Micha …”

I pronounced the name for him. I gave him my driver’s license.

“She’s not you wife?”

“No,” I repeated. Instead of the interrogation, why couldn’t he just scan the items? A moment of silence fell between us. “It’s my mother’s library card,” I said. “I’m staying at her house this week. I’m going through a divorce.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

Unbelievable … no matter what he said I felt defeated. Maybe it was his Jim Carey look-a-like-appearance minus the facial expressions—all serious and shit.

“You’re not prying,” I said. “I volunteered that information.”

“Well I appreciate your honesty.”

“I’m sure you do,” I volleyed back.

More silence.

“Next time bring a note ...”

“… from my mother,” I finished for him.

He had to be joking, right? I wanted to tell him that I’m forty-seven years old, that I’ve been working for longer than since he was born, that currently I am homeless because someone thinks I deserve to be put out on the street, that when this whole experience is done two lawyers will have made a substantial amount of money and I’ll pretty much be starting over from scratch, including my retirement plans.

Instead, I thanked him and walked away.

Also, I'd like to thank The Walking Man's wife for the pink disposable razors and other miscellaneous items.

*Note: Lucinda William’s “Blessed” is awesome; I certainly can relate to her lyrics. Definitely worth listening to.

We were blessed by the teacher
Who didn’t have a degree
We were blessed by the prisoner
Who knew how to be free


We were blessed by the mystic
Who turned water into wine
We were blessed by the watchmaker
Who gave up his time


We were blessed by the wounded man
Who felt no pain
By the warfaring stranger
Who knew our names


Yeah, we were blessed.

Life For Some Mothers Is Never Easy

My classroom consists of prisoners at various reading levels – beginner, intermediate, and functional; Half-testing day isn’t any different. Prisoners are funneled into my area per teacher recommendation based on the assumption that there’s a slight chance they’ll qualify for the actual GED Exams, or if truth be told, because their teacher can’t stomach another minute of their bullshit. A majority of the higher security level convicts fall into this category. I welcome them anyway.

During the testing session I account for all the materials: pencils, answer sheets, scrap paper, and test booklets. There’s no honor among thieves, so it’s best to be prepared. One rather surly prisoner at the back of the classroom, sporting dark shades, crumples up his scrap paper and slides it into his pocket. He has a relatively easy essay question:

What is one important goal you would like to achieve in the next few years? Identify that goal. Explain how you plan to achieve it. Use your personal observations, experience, and knowledge to support your essay.

His pencil remains horizontal; the clock ticks away, time runs out.

I collect everything; well, almost everything. “I need that green scrap of paper,” I say. Without direct eye contact, I’m unsure whether he’ll cooperate. “It’s in your pocket,” I add. He throws it on the desk, and then exits.

His essay sheet remains blank, not one word. I uncrumple the scrap paper and discover the following:

It’s a perfectly normal goal to have. Unfortunately he’s light years away from achieving it, and he definitely doesn’t have a plan. I pull his file:

Armed robbery, 3-20 years. Date of offense: 12/31/07. Early release date: 12/30/10. Maximum discharge date: 12/30/27.

Below that: Larceny over $100. Date of sentence: 4/7/98. DISCHARGED WITHOUT IMPROVEMENT.

Some guys never learn. Based on his record, there’s no way he’ll be released early. And why should he? He's dangerous. It doesn’t matter whether he wants to be with his kids. What about the 10-year old son of fallen Detroit Police Officer Brian Huff? Because of an ex-felon’s violent history, his decision to pull the trigger, this boy will never see his father again, and his mother will wake-up on Mother’s Day knowing she’ll need to move forward, knowing she’ll have to set some goals as to how to raise her child without a husband.