The weekends were made for.... Accidents?

It is only Sunday morning and I can't beleive I am writing this, but this weekend needs to end. 

The guard is not a MAJOR klutz (yes, a minor one), but the events of this weekend may suggest otherwise. Perhaps I should be wrapped in bubble wrap and stored away for safe keeping. 

Friday:  The Warden arranged for alternative care for the prisoners so that the Warden and Guard could attend a movie. We even attended a theater where they have renovated it to have massive recliners. In typical fashion, we were late. After securing a massive soft drink that could quench the thirst of thousands, and a truck load of popcorn, we entered the theatre where we had friends and assigned seats waiting. In my mind, I saw the seats. They were in the opposite side of the room. I thought, we should walk around to the other side and down the isle to approach from the other side rather than cut in front of an entire row of fellow movie goers. So I lead the way. 

This movie theatre has been retrofitted to fit these seats, and unbeknownst to me, there was no other isle on the other side of the room. How did I eventually find this out?  When I walked into the darkness of the theatre and strait into the black wall. At a brisk speed. Holding 55 gallons of soda.  Fluid which acted like a liquid filled air bag that has been deployed in a split second. All while wearing a white shirt. Yep. I drenched myself. Yay me. And I sat through the entire movie while wearing the Warden's drink. She only complained of thirst 27 times after eating the popcorn, but I was not moving again until the theatre was empty. 

Saturday:  I awoke knowing that later that day I would be taking #2 to his first Major League Baseball game. But it was a night game and there were things to do before we left. One of those things was to repair a neighbors lawnmower. I proceeded to do that, but for some reason I had decided that there was no reason for me to put shoes on. It was a hot day, and I was comfortable. That is until I walked in front of the mower and misjudged how close I was. I am pretty confident (now, a day later) that my misjudgment and subsequent collision with the mower has resulted in at least one broken toe. 

At the time, there was the initial pain, but not much more significant than stepping on a Lego in the middle of the night. Some Advil and I would be fine. I sucked it up and went to the game. And we walked around the stadium. A lot. It was uncomfortable at times but not that bad. Until we returned home. Upon exiting the car, my first step proved that perhaps there was some damage beyond a Lego step. I hobbled into the house and removed my shoe and discovered a discoloration that is unnatural-- purple, dark red and yellow. And some nice swelling. My foot modeling career will be put on hold. I am making calls now to cancel appearances for the next week. The photographers are devastated that they cannot marvel in the beauty of my feet. 

Sunday:  it is early and I fear what damage awaits my body today. I think I may just decide to bubble wrap myself and stay inside. If there is another blog post today, know that yes, I did something stupid again. 

The movie incident was dumb and 36 hours later I can laugh. The foot? It just hurts, almost as much as my pride did Friday night. But such is life. And if you wonder why I would even write about it, well, those that know the Warden will know that the stories would be told anyway, and she would embellish everything to sound worse than it really is, so here is my spot to keep the record strait. 

Pretty colors, huh?

Life lessons. Never know when you need to teach one

There are many things in life that are dreadful in life. Nails down a chalkboard. Drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. Rubbing alcohol on a paper cut. Paper cuts. Taking prisoners to a craft store. 

Don't get me wrong, the things inside these stores can entertain prisoners for hours. The issue is being in the store that smells like potpourri with 3 prisoners, all whom have their own and vastly different agendas. Tonight was one of those trips. Initially scheduled to get #1 a t-shirt for a tie dye project, it quickly devolved as #3 found knock off American Girl Doll clothes. #2, in typical male fashion, wanted nothing to do with the store because there were no video games. 

Luckily there were few people in this particular store tonight, and no older ladies to glare at the guard as the prisoners ran in different directions in search of something to insist they could not live another moment without. 

After what seemed like 14 hours, the three prisoners converged on one single isle. At the end was a cardboard display of markers of which each color had a different smell which resembled little like the advertising and brought back memories of elementary art class where you always tried to shove your buddy's head into the market as he sniffed it. 

This display is remarkable due to the fact that other out of control prisoners previously found it and 'tested' the markers, making it look like a subway train leaving the Bronx. My prisoners decided to tag the display as well. #2 wrote his name in his favorite color. #3 drew flowers and also wrote her name. #1 wrote a name as well. But it was a name that we all share-- our family name. Perfect teaching moment for a life lesson-- NEVER write your last name when doing graffiti. It is bad enough to use your first name, but at least there is a chance that someone else shares your first name. Last names, at least ours, are not common. 

So, there is a craft store, with a cardboard display that is now tagged with enough incriminating evidence that a simple google search would likely lead a craft store manager to our front door. But, at least it is not spray paint on a highway overpass. Thankfully I got that lesson over before it became more of a problem. 

Some days, you just gotta brag....

Anyone who has met our prisoners in person will tell you they are really good. The warden and I sometimes comment that we have 6 prisoners-- three who go out in public as saints, and 3 who are terrors behind prison doors. I am happy that it works out that way as the inverse would just be too much. 

Also, as anyone who has met the prisoners can attest, #1 has difficulty with speech-- something she works hard at in therapy and is acutely aware of. Her teachers and therapist have stated numerous times how children like her are usually introverted and are scared to speak up. But not our #1. Perhaps it is because she has always been in class with #2.  While they do not have their own 'twin language' that is often times reported about twins, #2 could always understand her when others could not. He is her biggest supporter and I can only imagine that it helps her confidence. Perhaps it is just because she is a strong and confident young person. 

Confidence is something parents always hope their children will have, and we have it in excess with all three of our prisoners. Case in point, and my reason to brag, is that today at their organized playground, karaoke was set up. Now karaoke is a favorite pastime in the prison. Almost daily the machine is cranked up to ear shattering levels with Frozen songs, and more recently top 40 hits from Taylor Swift, Megan Trainor, Maroon 5 and even Jimmies Chicken Shack (a favorite of the Guard!). 

Upon pick up at playground today, they informed me about the karaoke. To my delight, #1 informed me that she performed 4 songs. In front of everyone. Her peers, older kids (up to 12 and 13), and staff (high school kids). Personally, I have had to work hard in my life to be able to speak in front of groups of people, and here is our oldest, performing in front of people. Speech be damned-- she has no fear. Predictably, #2 did not perform-- he is a boy, with some older friends, and already is starting to determine what is 'cool' for the cool boys to do. But, one of the things he does think is cool is to support his sibling as he stated how well she did, and how everyone applauded her. 

So yeah. I am bragging. Deal with it. 

Have I become "that" Guard/Dad?

The summer at the prison has been fun for the prisoners. They go to an organized playground every morning of the week for a few hours. They play with other prisoners in the community. They come back for lunch and either go to the community pool for the afternoon or play with other prisoners in the neighborhood. #3 is away at camp (aka she is spending a week being pampered at her great Aunt and Uncles house in Virginia-- thank you!!). Sprinkle in some swim lessons and other activities and you have a summer that make parents, guards and wardens very jealous. 

Today though, I did something that made me think-- wow, I am "that" guard (dad) now. Picking up #1 and 2 from playground, they were waiting on the street with a buddy when I arrived. As my prisoners were strapping into their transport, their buddy stood and waited for his warden to pick him up. An older gentleman walking a dog stopped and was speaking to him. I never saw this guy before, so I put the transport in park, and stared at the rear view mirror. Who was this guy?  Why was buddy talking to a stranger?  I am not moving until this buddy's warden shows up. Complete paranoia ensues. 

Maybe it was the rash of attempted luring at bus stops this spring where bad people were trying to get kids in their van. Maybe it was the attempted luring of  3 girls two months ago, just two blocks from our prison in a quaint suburban community. Maybe it was a lot of things, but I immediately felt I needed to stay. While I stared intensely at the mirror, debating if I wanted to start taking pictures or ask buddy if he wants to wait in our car, I began a lecture to my prisoners about speaking to strangers. It is a lecture they know well, even if they don't understand it completely. 

With the lecture complete, buddy's warden arrives. And she begins talking to the 'stranger'. They know each other.  Stranger is not a stranger. Realization kicks in that I have become "that" dad. I have justified it to myself that I did the right thing. At least I did not make a scene, and what really is the harm of sitting in our transport vehicle a few minutes?  

I am comforted by the notion that 'it takes a village', but am I installing fear into my prisoners and subjecting them to the fears of a potentially helicopter parent?  I guess this is the world we live in unfortunately-- or so I tell myself. Gone are the days when I, at the same age as my prisoners, would 'disappear' during summer days with my buddies.  Never worrying about anything other than making sure I was back at my prison by dinner. Hours spent in a local creek or river, at a baseball field, stealing vegetables from the gardens of neighbors for our lunch, bouncing from buddy's home to buddy's home and traveling wherever our bikes took us, within the vast boundaries set by our guards and wardens of course. I feel my childhood was like that of the kids in 'Stand by Me'-- without ever finding a dead kid, of course.  

Am I depriving my prisoner's that experience?

Only time will tell but for now my prisoners, and their buddy, are safe and sound and will live to play another day.