From Scowl to Smile: Tristan’s Journey Toward Hope

Today, I want to tell you about Tristan.

Tristan and I did not get off on the right foot.

I write to tell you about how far he’s come and what he’s accomplished. His story is one of the countless stories we encounter time and time again at HeartBound Ministries, thanks to your support, prayers, and a lot of help from God.

The first time I met Tristan, he was not happy to see me. He wore a scowl on his face.

I instinctually knew that it was his first day in “big boy prison.”

You see, Georgia has a law where children can be charged and sentenced as adults. However, in accordance with Federal law, children cannot be housed in adult prisons. This creates a conundrum for the Georgia justice system. Children are tried, convicted, and sentenced as adults, but they cannot legally serve their sentence in an adult prison. Just a few years ago, boys and girls as young as 13 were being sent to adult prisons, but fortunately, the legal system has changed this policy.

To an extent.

Today, children who have been charged as adults remain in Youth Detention Centers (YDCs) until they turn 17. On their 17th birthday, they are moved to an adult prison near Macon, GA, where they are housed in a segregated dorm. At one point during the pandemic, there were as few as 10 kids housed in this wing, but today, their ranks have nearly tripled. Adult prisoners are not allowed to walk close to or speak with these boys. They cannot be in the cafeteria at the same time, nor can they share the gym. Since the rest of the prison houses over 800 adult men, the juveniles are rarely able to visit the yard or play basketball. They cannot even visit the cafeteria. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner arrive in rolling carts and is served in the common area of their dorm. They are fully segregated at all times, which means that by and large, they don’t leave their dorm.

This segregation is essential to maintaining their safety. Research shows that when children are held in adult prisons, they are more likely to be raped, murdered, or commit suicide.

On their 18th birthday, these kids legally become adults. That day, they are moved to the adult population of the prison and are subsequently barred from any contact with their former peers on the juvenile wing. Many of the 18-year-old “rollovers” are immediately transferred to another of the 30-plus prisons in Georgia, further disrupting their lives.

I don’t want to speak for you, but I know that I didn’t magically become an adult on my 18th birthday. So, you might understand why Tristan wasn’t too happy on his first day in adult prison.

His scowl remained for my entire hour-long horticulture lesson. Every few moments Tristan would nervously glance from side to side. I knew that he was scoping out who he’d be sharing a dorm with for the next year. He was trying to determine friend from foe, and by the expression he wore on his face, he was worried there were a lot of foes.

The students began their work – pulling weeds, tilling soil, pruning plants, planting new seeds. Old veterans worked in the soil with glee; they knew all about the bacteria in the soil that would trigger the release of dopamine, making them happier. Our class has progressed enough that I just hang back and let the students decide amongst themselves what to do – the old hands showed the newbies what to do. As a teacher, watching the students become teachers brings great joy.

I floated around the garden, trying to make time for one conversation with each student. These one on one conversations are where the “magic” happens. The students open up, pour their hearts out, tell of their accomplishments or struggles. I simply do my best to be quiet and listen. Sometimes just expressing their thoughts and feelings aloud loud is all someone needs.

After a few minutes, I noticed Tristan standing resolutely beside the greenhouse. Unsurprisingly, he was all alone. As you probably guessed, the scowl remained. Hoping to encourage him through a little hands-on learning, I began pulling weeds in front of him, asking him to join and help. I’ve done this work long enough to know these two things:

1. If I don’t remember a student’s name after the first meeting, they choose not to remember me either.

2. If I don’t show that I’m willing to do the work myself, they won’t do it either.

Tristan remained parked where he stood. I started to get frustrated. I tried a few more tactics to engage him. Nothing would work.

I threw up a Hail Mary. I decided to appeal to his manhood.

“What’s the matter, you afraid of a little dirt?”

It worked. Now he was mad at me. He attacked the weeds with a vengeance. I worked feverishly beside him, trying to outpace him. I could see palpable rage flowing out of him as he uprooted weed after weed. It’s hard to describe, but I could see all the crap this kid had been through, all the neglect and bad decisions and disappointments and anger, work its way out of him as he dug through the soil. It’s almost as if 17-years of pent-up frustration was pouring out. Afterwards, he seemed visibly lighter. The scowl had disappeared.

A few months later, it was time for graduation. The students were on the edge of their seats for what really mattered to them – the valedictorian and salutatorian awards. You see, these awards come with prize packs furnished by HeartBound – a pound of ground coffee, bottles of Chick-Fil-A sauce, ramen noodles, salt and pepper. Big ticket items in prison. The boys manufactured a fake drumroll as I announced the salutatorian.

You can probably guess who it was: Tristan.

The following week, we were back in the garden. A new student had arrived. He refused to get his hands dirty in the dirt. Tristan gently coaxed him into the garden by showing him the fibrous root system of the weed he had just pulled. The new boy was amazed. “I never seen a whole plant before.”

Tristan smiled at me and nodded.

“Just think Mr. Spence, I used to not do this sh*t.”

I smiled and laughed. “Stuff, Tristan. Stuff.”

Poet Galway Kinnell writes, “Sometimes it’s necessary to reteach a thing its loveliness.”

Tristan had found his loveliness.