OLD LESSONS

Back in the mid-80’s I quit engineering school and my grandmother tried comforting me by saying, "Hey, not everyone’s college material. It’s okay to work instead, as long as you’re happy." I was taken aback by her comments, what a thing to say to your grandson. Here I am having an identity crisis and her statement validates my actions—after all, I did quit college—thus validating her words. Arguing the point seemed … seemed … well, pointless. Nothing could take away the sting of her words back then, except time.

In hindsight, I truly believe my skillful interaction with inmates can be contributed to my experiences as a failure, to the missteps I’ve made along the way to becoming a man. I remember my dad suggesting I fill out an application for employment at Ford's new engine plant in Romeo, Michigan. I think he had already spoken to someone, stuck his neck out, called in a favor, and I told him I wasn’t interested. Puzzled, he questioned me as to what I wanted to do with my life. I didn’t have an answer. "What’s wrong with you?" he asked. "All these years Ford Motor has put food on our table, and now suddenly it’s not good enough for you."

I understood the message I conveyed, but the truth of the matter was that I had to figure this out on my own and I didn’t want people saying, "That’s Bob’s boy, he got him in." Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of my dad’s accomplishments, I’ll never duplicate his achievements, it’s just that I’m the one that has to get up each morning and face myself in the mirror. So now, when an inmate claims that I think I’m better than he is, I tell him, "I’m one mistake away from being in prison myself." They understand my message. Fortunately, I’ve figured out my calling: teaching. Somehow, stumbling along my chosen career path, I found my niche. Stumbling along, it seems, has served me well. If I had chosen employment in the struggling auto industry, there’s no telling where I’d be. I do know this: There’s no turning back.

One final word. I remember an old-timer-inmate with twenty-five years under his belt asking me if I knew a certain person. He was referring to my deceased grandfather. I dismissed his question, not wanting to reveal anything about family. My grandfather never wanted to give up farming back in the 70’s, but my grandmother convinced him to lease his farmland to the big corporate farmers and pursue his GED. Once he earned his GED, he found employment at a prison in Jackson, Michigan, where he continued to do what he loved, farming—only this time he had to supervise inmates. I can imagine my grandmother’s words of wisdom when confronting my grandfather about their farm; I bet it stung.