Reality in Prison

Put yourself in their shoes for a minute.

You’ve committed a crime. A judge or jury of your peers has deemed you unfit to walk about freely. A prosecutor has decried you as a “menace to society” or worse, a “superpredator.” The gavel falls, your wrists and ankles are shackled, then your loaded onto a white re-purposed school bus and driven down to Forsyth, GA. There, you’re unloaded, given a set of starched white prison shirts and pants, and told, “Welcome to Burruss Correctional Training Center.” You’re just a kid, 17 years old. You’re utterly alone, likely separated far from your family, and in a dangerous place.

You’re told there’s a charter school program where you can earn your high school diploma, but only after you turn 18 and are moved to the adult population. There’s a GED program taught by one teacher who is overworked, underpaid, but an amazing woman. You eat, sleep, and study in your dormitory, which consists of a two-tiered single-man cell-block with heavy metal doors, poor air conditioning, and one group shower.

Your future is bleak. There’s no vocational program for you to enroll in, no sort of therapy or counseling, and few opportunities for recreation. Your surrounded by adult men who are bigger than you, tougher than you, and know you’re scared out of your wits.

This is the reality for 40+ 17-year-olds at Burruss Correctional Training Center. Their days are the same and their weekends are even worse - from 5 PM on Fridays to 8 AM on Mondays, they are confined to their dorm, no gym time, no visits to the library, no classes to distract them. This is life at Burruss.

Then one day you hear about a horticulture class that meets every Tuesday. You probably have never heard the word “horticulture”. You hear that the professor sometimes brings snacks, things like Hummus and Pico de Gallo. You’re so bored and so alone that you decide to venture out of your cell one day and give it a try. You quite literally have nothing to lose.

Most students at Burruss wander into our classroom this way. They arrive forlornly, heads hung low, scowls on their scarred and tattooed faces. When I greet them with a smile and tell them, “Welcome to college,” they perk up a little, maybe even smile. Then I hand them a notebook, and maybe they take notes, maybe they don’t. Sometimes they just sit and doodle like a normal high schooler. But without fail, by the end of the class, they’re smiling. They have hope once more. They see a brighter future. “Wait, you’re being for real, I’m a college student?” is usually the first thing they ask me in private. I gleefully reply, “Yes, so please take this seriously. You have a college transcript now.”

We had a new student in class today. I’d never seen this young man before and he sat as far away from me as possible. We’re learning the principles of landscape design – the idea is to teach the boys how to draw landscape plans and the basics of business so when they get out, they can use these newfound skills to start a business of their own. Formerly incarcerated individuals are seven times more likely than the general public to start a business – usually because their deemed unemployable. Why not use this “down time” to help them prepare for their future reality the right way? We teach them how to write business plans, apply for loans, open checking and savings accounts, real world skills that can be applied to nearly any realm. Along the way, we also teach them to draw, to learn about the plants and world around them, to not place trees that drop limbs and smelly fruits near walkways and driveways. We end every class with a simple quote from something I’ve read lately. Today’s was from Ralph Waldo Emerson: “Though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Trust thyself; every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine Providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so.” I explained what a metaphor was and how Emerson used the imagery of corn to explain his point. I explained what “divine Providence” meant. I told each of them that they had every opportunity to become a great man.

The new student walked up to me after class. He didn’t say anything, just smiled, a mile-wide-tooth-bearing smile, one that said everything that he needed to say. I introduced myself and asked why I hadn’t seen him before. He replied, “I just got here.” He paused, then added, “Thank you.” He shook my hand, turned around, and floated out of the classroom.

In Governor Nathan Deal’s new children’s book, Veto, The Governor’s Cat, he writes, “Bill [Veto the cat’s brother] and I learned, if you are nice to someone, they will probably be nice to you in return. We also learned that sometimes, those who are quiet and shy and don’t seem to have any friends can become your best friend with a little love and kindness.”

I couldn’t have said it any better.

Have a blessed day.