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

The weather outside was indeed frightful.   A cold wind howled outside the weathered windows at the Atlanta Transitional Center.   A chilly frost nipped through cracks in the window frames. I kept my jacket on and collar pulled tight.   Outside, a cold, bleak landscape. But inside this prison, there was joy.   The men sang Christmas carols. The volunteers handed out plates of food and Christmas cookies. Everyone seemed to be filled with Christmas cheer.   I stepped to the pod

I recently read an article about Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) being used by nonprofits in Chicago to prevent violence. Murder rates are falling nationwide and sociologists are trying to figure out why. Some believe CBT programming might be one of the reasons. I filed the article away in my mind, thinking that CBT might be worth trying in prisons one day. We are always looking for “what works”.   Later that week, I was at Burruss Correctional Training Center for a gradua

I asked the room, “Show of hands, how many of you have disappointed before?”   Before I could glance up from the lectern I continued, “Okay, I see that it’s everyone. Good.”   “You see, I’ve come to realize something. Everything in life will let you down. Your family and your friends will let you down. The parole board will let you down. Your teacher (pointing to myself), will let you down. Your girlfriend or wife will let you down. Sports will let you down, you’ll either get

“Spence, how old are you?”  I didn’t even know his name. It was his first day in our horticulture class at Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison. He’d introduced himself earlier but was so quiet I couldn’t understand what he was saying.   “Twenty-eight,” I replied. We’d spent the last hour or so working side by side in the garden. New to the class, he volunteered for the easiest task, clearing rocks out of the garden beds. As I watched him pick up rock after rock, I sa

Daryl was hungry for more. I could see it in his eyes.   Daryl is one of those kids who came from nothing and if I had to guess, never had anything to call his own. His life, according to societal standards, is full of failure. He is in prison, sentenced as an adult even though he was a minor when he committed his crime. Georgia is one of the few remaining states that still tries children as adults based on their crime. They receive the same sentences as adults and upon turni

“Spence, you gotta hear this.”   I was on my way out the door of Burruss Correctional Training Center. I desperately wanted to get back to my car where water and lunch awaited me. I didn’t want to spend another moment in that prison. It had been a long day already, with an even longer week ahead.   I stopped and turned around. Buford, my teaching assistant, stood next to a young man who was brand new to our horticulture class.   Buford nudged Shamar. “Go on, tell him what I h

“I never seen a tomato before.”   He held the tomato gently in his hand, cradling it like an egg.   “I swear, I never seen a whole tomato before.”   I had to turn away to keep from laughing.   As you might imagine, the food served in prison is quite terrible. Our students come to class hungry, making it difficult to pay attention. This simple fact was one of the reasons why we started horticulture programming, so students could grow their own food to supplement what’s offered

“Like Elizabeth Taylor said to her fifth husband, ‘I’m not going to keep you long.’”   I laughed and settled into my chair. This was going to be a treat.   It was a Sunday afternoon in Atlanta. I sat in a prison’s visitation room, listening to the words of a wise man. One of the inmates had asked us to contact John Eldridge, a pastor who had once been the chaplain at Walker State Prison. The inmate hadn’t seen Chaplain Eldridge in some time and was wondering if he’d be kind e

Something was wrong with Hagan.   His grades were quickly falling. Easy assignments that he’d previously complete in almost no time were returned to me blank. One of the prison’s staff approached me and pleaded with me, asking me to talk to him before it was too late.   As our horticulture class ended that day, I told Hagan to stay after class. I excused my teaching assistant and we sat alone, soft sunlight filtering into the classroom through the razor wire outside.   I pull

A quick funny anecdote for you – if you want to become a certified volunteer with the Georgia Department of Corrections you have to go through volunteer training. One section that they cover is what to do if you’re taken hostage in prison.   Here’s what you are told to do - you should eat grass so you either soil yourself or throw up. No one wants to hold a hostage that’s sullied themselves.   Two days after this training, I was in prison and told my students about the traini

Henry Adams writes, “A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.”   I’ll let you in on a secret, I didn’t read this quote myself, a student of mine in prison slipped it to me.   A revelation of sorts came to me recently. My students in prison, though they live together, eat together, shower together, spend 24 hours and 365 days a year together, don’t actually know each other at all.   I believe there are two major reasons for this disconnect:   Pe

I might not be able to tell you what Heaven looks like, but I’m sure I can tell you what it sounds like.   Tuesday evening, 7:40 PM. We were gathered in the basement classroom of a dilapidated prison. Ceiling tiles sagged low, stained dirty with water, others missing entirely. Mismatched chairs, wobbly tables, moths buzzing at the windows. As bleak a setting as one can imagine, not a place for joy and praise.   Evan tuned his guitar and began to sing.   I pulled into Nazareth

I met a friend for dinner recently who asked me about my work. We discussed the different programs HeartBound sponsors, why we do what we do, the usual stuff. Finally, she asked the million dollar question, “So what are your students in prison for?” I was honest in my reply, “Not good things. There are men convicted of murder, others of armed robbery. They’ve done some horrible things, but I don’t think those things should define them.”  She flippantly replied, “Yeah, I don’t

“We are not statistics. We are humans that have made mistakes, that deserve the same shot at life given to everyone else.” I am consistently amazed and humbled while teaching inside prison. I am a college-educated, mid-20-something who’s never known want or hunger. I graduated in the top ten percent of my high school and colleges, received accolades in school, and worked as a teaching assistant in grad school. I’ve read hundreds of books, subscribe to the print edition of the

In January, I asked each of the horticulture students at Burruss Correctional Training Center to write down their hopes and dreams. One of the students finally turned in his list last week. His paper contained the usual items: release, early parole, re-sentencing to adjust for time served. As I approached the bottom of his list, I nearly came to tears. “I dream that I will get to go swimming this year.” ​​ The student that wrote this is 18, but if you looked at him you’d prob

Teaching can be scary. You stand in front of a room, everyone looking at you, waiting for you to speak. They expect you to be knowledgeable, to not say “umm” too many times, and to make their time worthwhile. Further adding to the difficulty, teachers often spend more time actually preparing for the lesson than they do teaching the lesson, thus consuming a massive amount of personal time. You spend hours and hours prepping for a lesson, hoping and praying that your students w