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. 

It's been a while.... or, We are in the doldrums

It's been a while. The prison has been functioning, but honestly, the days just seemed to have melted together. I attribute it to the roller coaster of prison life. There is the initial stage of the newness. Then the doldrums. Then there is some sort of watershed moment, followed by doldrums. The cycle continues. We are in the doldrums. The daily grind. The same thing each day, but only slightly different. 

Doldrums: the maritime use. We are in it. Need some fresh wind for our sails. 

So what is different enough that I have put thumbs to touchscreen?  Not much really. A simple conversation over adult drinks with some friends with a comment of, "you should write a book."  That was followed by, um yeah, I had this blog.....  Which was then followed by someone sending me a link to a piece written by a mom, describing the worst end of school year mom. (http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/3378480). Pretty funny stuff and we can totally relate, although I am too proud to admit our prison is in quiet that bad of shape. 

I read some of the first reports to reminisce. I can't really say that was my good stuff, but I wish I could come close to that again. 

So, here I am, thumbs tapping. The initial excitement to revive my blog from the hiatus has already worn off. The prison is quiet. The inmates and the warden are sound asleep. The only sounds in the prison are the humidifiers and fans that are throughout the building to act more as a distraction than as anything else. The humidifiers offer noise in the cells. The fan is to dull my snoring so the warden can sleep. I should be sleeping as well. The prisoners will be up soon. But I can't sleep. I enjoy the peace right now. And once I fall asleep, I will awake to chaos. Chaos is further away if I don't sleep. 

I can already predict the first chaotic moment that awaits. #1 lost a tooth. The tooth fairy did not arrive as scheduled and this morning I had to address her tardiness. #1 was actually happy (MUCH to my relief). She could take the tooth to school to show it off. The problem now though? I can't find the dang tooth. I am not sure if it was placed under the pillow, or if #1 hid it. She has already asked me multiple times if I am the tooth fairy so I can't just stuck the money under the pillow. It could be a trap. She is cagey like that. 

as much as I wish I could spin a yarn akin to my original daily reports, I can't. They say nothing good happens after midnight. It is also true that nothing creative happens after midnight. 

In my attempts to think of something to write, I looked back at some of my draft entries that just never panned out (yeah, this drivel made the cut, but there are many others that did not). Here is something that had potential:

There are things that have come out of my mouth that as soon as I have said it, I have immediately thought, "wow, THAT sentence has probably never been muttered outside a prison."  Here is a list. 

No. A toilet is not a good way to style your hair. 

Please do not put that lollipop in #3's ear. 

Just because a minion can do it, does not mean you can. 

Do not lick #3. 

The elf is not going to come out of the TV and take you away. 

There is not a monster in your tummy making you sick. 

Pull your pants up and do NOT stick your butt in (insert any prisoner's name)'s face.

Do not smell your finger, and no, I don't want to smell your finger either after you stuck it there. 

So, on THAT low note, I will sign off. The prison is still standing. The prisoners are still alive. There are still only 3 of them. 

Not the typical story

It has been a while. Found a job and I travel once a month. The Warden is holding down the prison while I am away, and doing a fine job of it. 

I have thought a lot about writing, but my new job requires a lot of writing, so there was nothing that stood out much until now. 

***Warning*** this story is graphic in nature and it is about bodily functions. Read at your own risk. You have been warned. 

It starts innocently on a Friday.  Pretty typical Friday.  I have to take my youngest to daycare.  We were out of dishwasher detergent, so I stopped to get some at a store near her school.  In the shopping center is a Taco Bell, so I grabbed two breakfast burritos and headed back home into my office to work.  The rest of the day was uneventful and I skipped lunch to get work done.  That is until I pick her up at the end of the day.  I had her older brother and sister in tow, and, since I would be traveling the next week, I decided to take them to dinner.  They voted on Moe’s.  Mexican twice in one day?  Not a big deal for me.  Or so I thought.

We did not even leave Moe’s before my stomach started to do somersaults.  Five minutes after we left, we were home.  I was going downhill fast.  Cold sweats.  Shivering so badly that as I sat there shaking, I could see my fitbit activity monitor registering the shaking as if I was walking.  I get the kids to bed, and I climb in myself.  Every 30-45 minutes I made a quick waddle to the bathroom to explode.

Saturday passes without me leaving the bedroom for more than 5 minutes.  24 hours after my last meal, I ate two oranges.  Yay.  I begin to worry.  I am to fly out Sunday afternoon for a week in Illinois.  I start to consider buying some adult diapers if the frequent trips to the bathroom continues.  I made trips to the pot every 30 minutes for over 36 hours straight.  I took water in, it came back out.

Sunday.  A new day awakens.  I try some food.  It stays in.  I eat some more.  It stays in.  I feel as though I am a bit bloated with the sinking feeling of gas build up. I am feeling 80% human.  I don’t need the diapers after all.  I get packed.  Head to the airport and was thankful that the past two days are behind me.  Or so I thought.

First flight is from Harrisburg to Detroit.  As I get on the flight, and the stomach begins to grow ever so slightly.  I get to Detroit.  90 minute layover. I stroll around.  Eat a sandwich and don’t really think about how I feel.  I board the plane.  Put my headphones on with a play list of songs that complement reading a good book.  It was a 100 minute or so flight.  I have a window seat.  At the last minute, the seat next to me is filled.  And he stunk.  Not BO stink.  But food stink.  Could not put my finger on it.  Wasn’t Chinese or Indian, but it was that thick smell that had a twinge of garlic and some other strong and disgusting, pungent odor.  Maybe on a different day, I would not have minded it, but as I was thinking about the smell, and his complete lack of consideration for sharing a public space, my stomach began to grow.

And grow.  And grow.  Gas was building up.  I began to sweat.  I could not move.  I was about to get up to go to the bathroom and hopefully burst the gas bubble that was in my body.  I had to wait for the beverage service to finish so I could get to the bathroom.  But, just before it ended, we hit turbulence.  Rough enough that the seatbelt sign came on and we were not allowed to leave our seats.  30 minutes to go.  I had to survive.  I could not get comfortable.  I was having contractions.  It started as one cramp every few minutes, but it quickly evolved into every few seconds. Every muscle in my body would clench and I was focused on keeping myself from being the end of someone else’s story about some horrendous flight where a guy messes his pants.  The minutes ticked by like years.

All the while I was focused on my clenching, the world around me continued to go on like nothing was out of the ordinary.  My neighbor could not get comfortable in his seat either, and every time he moved, his elbow would hit me.  Sometimes he hit my arm.  Most times, my stomach.  And his stench continued to get worse.

I began to focus on my breathing and the clenching of my body to keep everything where it belongs.  The music was still playing in my headphones.  Typically I will listen to many different play lists or albums I have on my phone.  But in this moment, I could not move to do anything that was not part of the main focus.  So the songs kept replaying.  I could tell that we were getting close to landing.  We were in the final descent.  I close my eyes and focus on the music.  The music then starts to become a soundtrack to my situation as the words for each song somehow can be directly related to my situation. And at this point we are now probably on the 5^th time through this playlist.

First up, Imagine Dragons, and the song describes my stomach; Radioactive.

I'm waking up to ash and dust,
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust,
I'm breathing in, the chemicals. 
I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus.
This is it, the apocalypse, whoa.
I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones.
Enough to make my systems blow.

No kidding, my systems are going to blow.

Killers come next with All the Things That I’ve Done

When there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son
One more son
If you can hold on
If you can hold on, hold on 
I want to stand up, I want to let go
You know, you know - no you don't, you don't
Yeah, you know you got to help me out
And when there's nowhere else to run
Is there room for one more son

I am holding on.  Trust me, I am holding as tight as I can.  Then Maroon5.

You drain me dry and make me wonder why I'm even here
The double vision I was seeing is finally clear
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone
Not fit to fuckin' tread the ground I'm walking on
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe

Really hard to breathe.  I can’t hold it much longer.  Ben Folds comes on and gives me the fortitude to fight back and curse my body for what I am afraid it may do to me.

 

I'm big and important
One angry dwarf and 200 solemn faces are you
If you really want to see me check the papers and the TV
Look who's telling who what to do
Yeah, kiss my ass goodbye 
You'll be sorry one day, yeah, you will, yes, you will
You shouldn't push me around 'cause I will, yes, I will
You will be sorry when I'm big, yes, you will, yes, you will
You will be sorry

Or am I going to be the sorry one?

The.
Plane.
Lands.

Still cannot move.  I am the last one off the plane. I walk slowly.  Torn between the need to get to the bathroom fast, but not wanting to make any movements that will cause my tight grip to be lost.

Headphones are still on. Music still playing.  Stewardess says something to me as I get off the plane.  Her expression seems to indicate that it was something in the line of, ‘Are you ok?” but I just say thank you and keep moving.

The clouds part.  The sun shines.  The angels sing.  The bathroom is directly across from the gate.

Too good to be true.  Alas, it was the devil dressed as a saint though.  The bathroom was full with a lot of people waiting.  Dejected, I walk out.  I must go to the next bathroom.

Stevie Wonder starts to play and I can actually hear music again (I swear I heard no music for about 10 minutes I was concentrating on my situation so intently).

For once in my life I have someone who needs me
Someone I’ve needed so long
For once unafraid I can go where life leads me and somehow I know I’ll be strong
For once I can touch what my heart used to dream of
Long before I knew
Someone warm like you
Who have my dreams come true
For once in my life I won't let sorrow hurt me
Not like it's hurt me before
For once I have someone I know won't desert me
I’m not alone anymore

My wedding song that always makes me feel good.  Almost to the bathroom. 

Bathroom.  Nirvana.  Smells Like Teen Spirit.  No, just kidding, THAT would just be way too crazy.

While in the bathroom I heard one guy come in, hear the sounds that are coming out of me and he actually said out loud, ‘Wow.’

Yeah.  Wow. Now get the out of here buddy.  And don't light a match. 

How Did I Get Here?

First, let me apologize for the lack of daily reports. The last few months have been crazier than normal. This time of year already is difficult with the holidays and obligations but add to that, the Guard was let go from his day job so there has been a focus on finding the next day job while keeping the prison from falling apart. That is not meant as a request for sympathy but rather an explanation of where any free time has been spent the last few months. But the prison still runs and the prisoners still need a guard so the show goes on. 

I have a group of friends, call it a support group. We knew each other mostly from a previous life when none of us were Guards. We commiserate and exchange stories, many with the unspoken question of 'How did we get here?'  None of the stories are anything that we ever read in any of the countless parenting books we received when we announced our new side jobs as Guards. Grand guards just smiled the smile of knowledge of the road ahead-- of the challenges that will be faced, with the silent chuckle of what they know. Kind of like why guys will always laugh at sophomoric humor like groin shots or flatulance. Grand Wardens smile and think about the good that is young prisoners. It's the quintessential difference at the core of our beings based on simply the difference between having the Y chromosome or not. 

Today at Garfield Prison we are in our post Christmas hangover. Toys are everywhere. The dining room table is full of art projects and partially assembled Legos. And, with this being the northern hemisphere, it is winter. And since we are in the NE US, one day will seem like August with wa weather, and 12 minutes later we will be freezing. And when that happens, cue the trips to the Dr office for a myriad of potential ailments. 

#3 started with a runny nose on Christmas Eve. Felt a little warm. Then she started with frequent trips to the bathroom all day on Christmas. Like every 10 minutes type frequency. So off to the Dr we go. The Warden and Guard are experienced so we know it may be a possible urinary tract infection and we make sure she has ample supply to test when we arrive at the Dr--  she complained the whole way there she had to pee. Of course she can't go once the nurse confirms the need for a test and while I am holding a bottle under her bum. But, tue trip was not a waste to the bathroom as she did poop while I am holding the cup... Without warning. Get cleaned up, see Dr, make plans for testing back at the prison and then she says she has to go. She manages to pee all over my hand as I try to catch enough to test.  So now we wait to see what the results yield. 

So, how did we get here?  How come no one told me there was a possibility that I would end up, at 44 years of age, catching poop and being peed on by a prisoner who has not worn a diaper in well over 2 years?  That information would have been VERY useful. 

The only consolation I have is that because of my age, one of these prisoners may be changing my diapers when they are my age. Hopefully they can find the ironic humor in it and don't just decide to suffocate me in my sleep before I can exact my revenge. And they can ask themselves how THEY got here.