“To the left, to the left, everything you own in a box to the left.” I couldn’t hold back any longer. I started laughing, doing my best not to interrupt the scene unfurling before me. There we were, in the depths of a prison, men and women, free and incarcerated, black, white, Hispanic, and everything in between, singing Beyoncé together. What a surreal scene. Ashley sang, “You must not know ‘bout me, you must not know ‘bout me.” Will, an incarcerated man in his 40s,

Clods of earth arced through the sky. I ducked. Soil rained down on my pants and shoes. I looked up and saw a mischievous smile. “Sorry Mr. Spence!” she cried out. “Don’t be sorry,” I chuckled. “These pants are made to get dirty.” She wiped a hand to her forehead, brushing aside the sweat-laden hair plastered to her forehead. She let out a deep breath and turned, sinking her shovel back in the dirt. Shortly after, another clod flew over my shoulder. I decided to

He eagerly reached for the guitar. “You’re going to teach me?” he asked. “Of course,” I said. “By the end of today, you’ll have learned three songs.” “Aw man,” he said. “My dad plays guitar. He’s going to be so proud of me.” My ears perked up. This would be an easy student to teach. If his dad played guitar, surely he’d taught his son a thing or two. My how I was wrong. Very, very, wrong. He struggled mightily. His hands could barely reach across the fretboard. He k

His face was battered. He squinted to see through the slits in his swollen eyes. Shades of black and blue surrounded his orbital bones. He’d taken a beating. I wanted to turn away in horror. I wanted to ask him to stop staring at us. A guard called out to him. “Keep it moving.” He let his eyes close as he tilted his face upwards. A ray of sunshine beamed down on him. “I’m just enjoying the garden,” he said softly. “I’ll get moving.” He drew a deep breath, smiled, then

Dak wore a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that can’t be faked. The only word I have for it is glee. Dak was full of glee. His race radiated joy. I smiled back. And to think, just a few weeks ago I’d completely written him off. One Tuesday morning Dak wandered into our horticulture classroom. Because of construction, our classroom had been moved to the prison’s library. The library is located next to the medical offices. That means that anyone in lin

My eyes and lungs burned. I wanted to cough, vomit, anything to get rid of the burning sensation deep inside my lungs. We shuffled down the hallway, each of us coughing, wheezing, desperate for breath, trying not to puke. Fred called out to me, “Mr. Spence, you okay?” I was trying to act like the pepper spray deployed moments before hadn’t bothered me, but the jig was up. I coughed a warbled reply, “Yeah.” Our first class was not off to a good start. A loud voice echoed

“There’s no calvary coming. No white knight riding in on a horse. No politician, no movement, nothing. Nada. Zilch. It’s up to you.” The men nodded along solemnly. I prayed my words would find a place in their hearts. I prayed that this time would be different, that someone would heed my cry, that someone would step up. The old adage is true. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. I’d led the horses to water. Now it was up to them to drink. I’ve sha

I cried. I am not ashamed to admit it. I cried. And not a little either. One man, Cody, had graduated from HeartBound’s Malachi Dads program at Walker State Prison. His fellow graduates had elected him to be the testimonial speaker for the program. He stood resolutely behind the podium, nerves steeled, brimming with confidence. He spoke with pride and clarity. A model speaker if I’ve ever seen one. He’d been taught well. Here are his words. “I always wanted to be

I went down the list, carefully reading each line out loud. Each time the men answered yes, they were to discreetly make a mark. #1. Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often swear at you, insult you, put you down, or humiliate you? Did they act in a way that made you afraid that you might be physically hurt? #2. Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often push, grab, slap, or throw something at you? Did they ever hit you so har

I had an idea. A grand vision. It came to me on the treadmill. Over the last five or six months, I’ve started running without any headphones, phone, TV, watch, or other form of entertainment. I just run. I let my mind wander. It’s wonderful. This idea was my best yet. I was certain of it. We’d gotten approval from one prison’s warden to begin a new beekeeping program. My mom made room in the budget for us to purchase supplies and start in the spring. The men were extr

They came bounding down the walkway. “HORTICULTUREEEEEE, HORTICULTUREEEEEE,” they called out. I hadn’t seen the boys in two weeks. They were eager to be back in class. The previous two classes had been cancelled due to a medical emergency and a statewide lockdown. We were all happy to be back in the classroom. As the boys come running to class, I stand by the door and “dap” them up. It’s the highlight of my Tuesday, these small check-ins with them. That Tuesday, one stu

Pain poured off the pages. Hopes and fears and dreams written in black ink and graphite, scrawled on pieces of torn composition paper. The more I read, the more I regretted giving the assignment. Their hurt was becoming my hurt, their fears my own. But I had to push through. They’d done the work; it was my duty to grade it. Reading their responses, I knew I couldn’t just stamp a letter grade on the cover page and move along. I had to do more. I opened up my laptop and ope

I’d waited for this moment all week. Over the past two years or so I’ve been leading a guitar class for incarcerated youth at the Metro Regional Youth Detention Center. Every Thursday from 3-4:30, I meet with three to six incarcerated boys ranging in age from 12 to 20, teaching them guitar. When I first began this class, I didn’t know how to play guitar. I’ve learned right along with my students. I’m not half-bad (my roommate who hears me practice would argue otherwise –

It was one of the strangest compliments I’d ever received. Pastor Sapp pointed at me. “Spencer’s an example of an average person living out their faith in prison.” I never thought that being called average would be such a compliment, but in that moment, I understood. I was genuinely honored. I think it’s the perfect way to describe what it is we aim to do at HeartBound. You see, HeartBound has developed a model for the spiritual and moral rehabilitation of the incarcera

“He did it. He finally did it.” We were laughing so hard my stomach started to hurt. I looked around. We stood in the prison garden, the garden we’d begun nearly a year ago. The garden that was once nothing and had since become a place of so much joy, laughter, and conversation. Our motley crew. A mix of Black, white, Latino, and Asian men. Some in their twenties, some in their fifties, all somewhere in-between. It was our last class outside before we let the garden g

I’d been putting the lesson off for weeks and weeks, finding ways to stall. Since August, a group of 35 men and 17-year-old boys at Burruss Correctional Training Center had been learning financial literacy with HeartBound. The end of December was rapidly approaching and there was one subject we had yet to cover. Taxes. Finally, we could wait no longer. The time had come to teach the most dreaded lesson of all. Knowing that so many of our students hated math, I expected

Peter’s guitar rang out with the opening notes. William brushed past me. He had recognized the beat almost instantly. “Ooh this is a good song,” he called out. I don’t think he was talking to anybody in particular. He was, as we say, just “feeling the Spirit.” Ashley’s voice filled the room. “Give me one reason to stay here, and I’ll turn right back around.” William’s voice joined in for the next line. He stood a few feet away, just out of the spotlight. Ashley didn’t

The guard screamed at the boys. She swore up and down, calling them every name in the book. She didn’t care that I was standing a few feet away, that a volunteer could hear her use such profane language. I thought to myself, “Imagine what she’s saying when people like me aren’t here.” The boys responded in-kind by matching her energy. They yelled back. They became even more rambunctious. They pounded on heavy metal doors; the sound of cold steel echoed off the walls. I c

Eric called out to me, “Spencer, any parting words for the students and our guests?” My mind whirled. What could I possibly say to sum up what I’d just seen? How could I properly describe the experience? What words would be sufficient? “Let’s just say I haven’t ever seen anything like that before, and I’m quite certain that I’ll never see anything like that again.” A hearty laughter echoed across the room. Each of us wore a smile on our face. It was a good day. Eric a

I glanced at my phone. “Missed call from Zach.” I gulped. Unscheduled calls from former students elicit some trepidation. Over the years I’ve come to learn that sometimes, no news is the best news. Surprise phone calls are often accompanied with a problem – issues with a probation officer, troubles finding stable housing. I called back. Zach’s voice was gleeful. “Yo! Spence! Whaddup?” Still, I was nervous. I apologized for missing his call, explaining that I was in