A Father's Love

Michael. Cooper. Ronnie. Mikel.

These are, in a way, some of my “children.”

My boys at Burruss that I teach every Tuesday from 11:30-1:30.

I bring them snacks, books, and seeds, and they eat, read, and plant.

I’m 28, 29 in August. I don’t foresee biological children in my immediate future (sorry Mom!).

But I have these kids, and I love them SO much.

They all arrived in our horticulture class in sorry states. Michael couldn’t read. Cooper was a social outcast because he wasn’t gang affiliated. Ronnie was called a nerd because he was smarter than the rest. Mikel was socially, developmentally, and physically underdeveloped, borderline disabled.

For a landscape design project Mikel drew a dojo (a room where martial arts are practiced) and Cooper drew Alabama’s football stadium. Both landscape designs lacked plants. I didn’t really care though because they had tried and drawn things they loved.

When the New York Times prints a special kids section every month, I bring it to Michael to help him as he learns to read. When I find a book on baseball at Goodwill, I buy it and bring it for Ronnie.

I’m only 11 years older than each of these boys. I’ve watched them grow up before my eyes, become young men, become scholars and mentors, all in the space of less than a year. I’m so proud of the progress they’ve made. Michael recently pulled me aside to show a printout of his reading progress – he’s read 161 books in the past year. Cooper practically built our aquaponic growing system himself. Mikel is practicing writing short sermons. Ronnie aces every assignment with ease.

But every Tuesday, I walk out of Burruss and say bye to these kids and my heart breaks. I return home to my comfortable life – my plush bed, my air-conditioned apartment, my creature comforts, and think of what I’ve left behind. They sit in cells, alone and bored. They eat disgusting food. They barely get time in the gym to play and be 17-year-old boys. Their lives hardly resemble mine.

Following our Returning Hearts Celebration, Burruss staff members let all the boys out of their housing unit to visit the yard, where they could throw a football, eat hot dogs cooked by Joe and Donna Bazelman, and go down the inflatable slide or jump in the bounce house.

There are currently 40 incarcerated 17-year-olds at Burruss right now. As you might imagine, not all 40 of these boys get along. As they shuffled onto the yard, I saw quite a few black eyes. The mood was tense. I don’t think all 40 had been let out at the same time before. Nervous glances were exchanged. They sat along the wall and refused to touch the football or go down the slide.

I’d gotten it into my head that as soon as the boys were let onto the yard, they would have so much fun. My dream was crumbling before my very eyes.

I went up to Mikel. I asked, “Why won’t you go down the slide?”

His reply was terse, “That’s for kids. I ain’t a kid.”

I could tell he was trying to look tough around the others.

So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I appealed to his manhood, his pride. “I bet that slide’s too tall for you. You’re scared.”

It worked. He stripped off his state-issued shirt and commenced the long climb to the top of the slide. He threw himself down face first, soaking himself thoroughly. Once he hit the pool of water at the bottom, he jumped up and practically hopped right off the slide. The water was cold.

And just like that, the ice was broken. The boys abandoned all inhibition and bolted for the slide. They raced to the bottom time and time again, throwing their bodies down the slide with abandon.

As I stood at the bottom of the slide gleefully watching the scene unfold, Michael raced past me, soaked to the bone. He was laughing. Not a belly laugh, not a loud laugh, just a laugh to himself. A smile radiated from his brown face. Not a word exchanged. We didn’t even make eye contact.

In that moment, in that space and time, I genuinely felt for the first time that thing they call the “love of a father.”

And friends, it was Divine.

“How deep the Father’s love for us. How vast beyond all measure.”

Thank you for demonstrating that love to these kids.