Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

“If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

Posted: October 25, 2012 in Uncategorized
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“If you touch me again, I’ll kill you,” were her thoughts as she pressed herself against the wall. She hadn’t moved from that spot since being thrown against it the last time and slid down. He was sitting on the bed, facing her but looking down at the floor. Catching his breath for the next go round. She couldn’t get to the door without going past him. She didn’t know if she could stand-up. As hard as she tried to melt into the wall, it was of no use.

She didn’t know how she had gotten herself into so much trouble. It had started so innocently enough.

She was working a summer job at a department store. She had graduated a month before and her parents insisted she work, which she loved to do. She liked having her own money and felt she was learning responsibility and almost felt like an adult. She had decided not to go to summer school. Right after graduation, everyone had disappeared for the summer. She didn’t know if she would ever see any of them again, so was thrilled when she saw Peggy walk into her department.

She and Peggy had met in PE three years earlier. They had a few classes together and over time had developed a close, tight-knit circle with others. Somehow they helped each other survive High School.

“Is that you Peggy?” she asked as she walked up to her.

Peggy turned around and smiled. “Yes! Is that you Sheila?” she asked as they embraced.

After talking for a few minutes, Peggy invited her over to her new apartment that night. Sheila jumped at the chance and could hardly wait for her shift to be over. Seeing Peggy again reminded her how much she had missed all her friends. The summer was almost half over. It had been boring but was now looking like she might actually have some fun.

Peggy lived in a bad neighborhood but Sheila didn’t care. Peggy was on her own, had her own apartment and seemed to be doing what she wanted. Sheila had often imagined what it would be like to live on her own when she moved out of her parents house.

Peggy answered the door and the smell of marijuana hit Sheila immediately. She had never done drugs but knew Peggy did. She often wondered if she had been raised as Peggy had if she would use them. Sheila came from a stable and loving home. Peggy did not. She had been in and out of Juvenile Hall and never knew where her parents were.

There were several people already there. Sheila didn’t realize it would be a party and immediately worried that she wasn’t dressed properly. She smoothed down her hair and stepped inside. There were several men standing around. She and Peggy were the only women.

That was the exact moment Sheila knew something was wrong.

She smiled and talked with the men she met. She did not like the way they looked at her or the things that they said. She saw Peggy sitting on the couch with two of them, kissing both of them.

Sheila wanted to leave but didn’t want to be rude.

As the evening wore on and the drinking increased, Peggy went into one of the bedrooms with a man. Sheila picked-up her purse and started to leave. As she opened the door, someone behind her slammed it closed. She heard him whisper in her ear “You’re not leaving. The party has just begun.” He spun her around and pushed her against the door. He started kissing her. She pushed him away. He pushed her back and then slapped her across the face. She started crying and he slapped her again. Suddenly he was dragging her into a bedroom. He threw her down on the bed.

Now pressing herself against the wall. she didn’t know all that had happened but she knew she was still a virgin. He had not taken that away from her. He was stoned and drunk which gave her the advantage when she fought back. He was much bigger than her but clumsy. Whenever she pushed him off of her, he would fall over but every time she got up and tried to run, he grabbed her and threw her down again.

He kicked her a few times in the small of her back.

She was tossed around, thrown against the wall so many times that she couldn’t count the times anymore. Every time she was thrown, her head slammed against it and she would crumble. When he was done, he would sit on the bed and mutter. She learned that if she kept very still, he would forget she was there. When she moved, he would do it again.

Finally he slumped down on the bed. She waited. When she heard him snoring, she quietly got her purse and started to crawl to the door. Her voice was gone from her screaming. No one came to help her. She could hear them in the living room and she knew they could hear her, but no one came.

The apartment had finally gotten quiet. She got to the door and opened it. She could taste the blood in her mouth. Her ribs were hurting and she had a horrible headache, but she was alive and she was moving. Her back felt bruised and sore.

Suddenly he was behind her and kicked the door closed. She rolled over onto her back and looked up. He was still muttering.

She had a perfect shot and took it. She was still wearing her steel toed hiking boots. She raised her right leg and kicked him as hard as she could between his legs. He screamed, grabbed his crotch and fell. As she scrambled out of the room she could still hear his screams of agony. She ran to the front door, opened and ran down the stairs. She never looked to see if anyone was in the living room.

She got into her car and sped away. She couldn’t think. She didn’t know where she was going. After ten minutes of driving though the neighborhood, she pulled over. She opened the driver’s door, leaned over and thew up. She looked at the clock.

She had been in that room for over four hours.

It was late when she got home. Her Dad was still up and waiting for her. Even though she was 18, she was still his child. He saw her and jumped up. She collapsed on the couch and started crying. He said nothing and just held her.

She went to the doctor’s the next day and her parents made her tell her what had happened. Soon her older brother’s heard the story. An eerie silence fell over the household for the day but she saw quiet glances between her Dad and brothers. She would be fine and only had a slight concussion and 2 cracked ribs. Her Mom made her rest on the couch and bought every kind of ice cream she could find. Sheila was grateful to be alive. It was the first time anyone had ever laid a hand on her.

Two days letter, Peggy called, hysterical. She didn’t remember the evening and hadn’t known anything had happened to Sheila but her friend was missing.

The man who had hurt Sheila had gone missing.

Sheila hung-up the phone and knew to never ask her Dad or brothers about it.

She didn’t want to know. She remembered one of her older brothers telling her she didn’t need to file a police report. This surprised her but she didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t want to talk to anyone about what had happened.

She knew there was at least one bad man in the world and that she was surrounded by many good men.

No one could ever beat that out of her.

“Please don’t kill yourself.”

Posted: October 12, 2012 in jail, Uncategorized
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Looking down at Julie I wasn’t sure I heard what she had just said. She was sitting quietly with her head down. It was a subtle and quiet statement. I asked her to look up at me. She refused. I put my hand under her chin and lifted her head up to me.

“Look at me and repeat what you just said,” I said and gently pushed her chin up further.

She looked up at me and then quickly looked away. I pulled her face back up. “What did you just say?” I demanded.

“I don’t want to live anymore,” she said and started to cry.

Julie was young. She was in her late 20’s and had been incarcerated 6 months before for intent to sell meth. She lost her child to foster care and had been a runaway since the age of 14. Somehow she had survived on the streets and her stories were gut wrenching. She was sent to me because Steve felt there was hope for her. Steve was my firewall and no one got into my program unless he said they could.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Because I’m a bad person and my daughter deserves better than me. If I’m gone then she’ll be better off.”

I was obligated and contracted by the County to report any and all statements of threatened suicide, violence and all sorts of other things. It was a snake pit to go that route. It was not something I wanted to do yet.

“So you’ve done some bad things. I pretty much figured you guys didn’t end up here because you are all such angels,” I said and sat down.

She smiled for a moment and then it was gone. I looked at the time and it was running out. I told her I would be right back. I ran over to Steve’s desk and pleaded with him if I could keep Julie a bit longer. I explained that we were talking and I didn’t want to stop her. I said nothing of what she had said.

He sighs and throws his pencil down. “Lewis, if she’s not back in her bed by 9:00, she gets written up and sent back. You want that?”

“No, but…”

“But what?”

“Who’s doing the head counts tonight? Maybe I could talk to them…”

He rubs his eyes. “No, I don’t want you talking to anyone. What is so damn important that it can’t wait until you come back here?”

I tell him. He sits down and swears. He looks at the clock and then back at me. “I’ll handle it. Just go talk to her and then come back here and tell me everything. We’ll figure something out.”

We ended up talking for an hour.

When it was time for her to go, I asked her a question. “Julie, did you know that anything your skin comes into contact with is absorbed into you?”

“Huh?”

“You know, if I touch anything, some amount of it goes into the body. You don’t have to be cut for that to happen. Did you know that?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I put out my hand and spat on it. “Go ahead and spit on your hand,” I say.

She looks at me funny.

“I said, spit on your hand and do it now!”

She does. I shake her hand with mine and hold hers for a few seconds. “Part of me is now in you. Part of you is now in me. That means if you hurt yourself, you hurt me too. Please don’t hurt me,” I said.

“I won’t, I promise,” she said and wouldn’t let go of my hand.

“Good. I am going to trust you to take care of me. I’ll see you next week,” I said.

She looked better when she left and hugged me. She was escorted back to her cell. I walked up to Steve and told him what she had said.

“Is she talking to anyone around here?” I asked.

“Yeah, you. You’re elected. I’ll keep an eye on her, but you’re going to be the one she will talk to,” he said and walked away. I swear I could hear him chuckle.

Every time after that, when Julie came to class she told me she was taking good care of me.

She turned out just fine.

You should have killed me.

Posted: September 24, 2012 in Uncategorized
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Going to class that night, I was stressed out. I was going through a very rough divorce because my soon-to-be-ex had turned vicious. I was facing complete financial ruin and bankruptcy. I had been strongly advised by my attorney to settle as quickly as possible and to avoid going to court because I would lose. The law was clear; he was entitled to half of everything and the fact that he hadn’t worked for years didn’t mean anything. He was going after the house, my retirement, alimony and because I worked for my family, he wanted half of my father’s business. This meant he was doing everything he could to put me and my family out on the street.

It had been a rough couple of weeks and it didn’t look like it was going to get any better.

I started class on time and everyone was there. I felt a bit off but didn’t think anyone could tell. I had my usual cup of coffee and the topic of the evening was one’s own personal integrity. I had them all read about integrity and honor being more important than your immediate life. It was a good class that lead to over an hour of discussions. A couple of times I had to raise my voice to get their attention because they were starting to talk over each other and I couldn’t keep up with all of them.

As I was packing up for the evening and grabbing all their lessons to grade in the days to come, one of my student’s stayed behind. Her name was Maria and she wanted to ask me a question. We had time, so I pulled out a chair for her, sat down and listened.

“I just wanted to know if you are alright,” she said.

“I’m fine. Maybe just a bit tired, that’s all.”

She shook her head, reached over and put her hand on mine. “No, it’s not that. I watched you tonight while everyone was talking. There’s something bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”

Maria always brought me a cup of coffee when I came in on Friday night. She was bright and attentive and was always smiling.

“Well, I won’t lie but it’s not anything I can talk about right now. Besides, this class is for you guys and not me and it does help me to come here and be with all of you. Truly it does and it means a great deal to me that you took the time to ask.”

“Stay right here. I’ll be right back,” she said as she ran out of the room. She was back a few minutes later, out of breath and running out of time before her bed check. She put a photo down on the table. It was a picture of a young child in a wheelchair who was obviously suffering from cerebral palsy. It was her son.

“I’m showing you his picture because I want you to know something. What I did that got me in here was wrong but I didn’t think I had any options. It was a stupid mistake and now he’s staying with my Mom. You said earlier that your honor and integrity were more important that your immediate life. I made a choice to help him. I committed insurance fraud and got caught and you know what? I’m glad I did it because it got him some care for a few months that he needed.  Whatever you are dealing with, I just want you to know that I will listen, even if you’re not supposed to tell me anything because I know you have to remain anonymous for your own protection, but I’ll listen anytime you want.”

I leaned over and hugged her. I looked at the time and she had less than a minute before her bed check. She gave me another quick hug, grabbed her picture and ran out the door.

Driving home, I thought about what she had said. The fact of the matter was I was running scared and being threatened and pushed around by a man I had been married to my entire adult life who I no longer knew. I was scared and worried and being careful. I was being careful and I had never been that way.

People often ask the question “What is truth” and the answer is so simple.

Truth is what you say it is. Nothing more and nothing less. You decide what is true for you and that is what it is. Truth is static and can knock down walls and cut through steel plates and always remain what it is you said it was.

The truth of the matter was I was a hypocrite.

That was my truth.

I was not doing what I was telling others to do. I was making decisions based on the fear of what would happen to my life if I did fight. I had turned into a cowering, scared and somewhat pathetic woman.

I had turned into someone I no longer respected or liked. I was a coward because I was worried about money. The realization hit me so hard while I was driving home that I had to pull over and take a few deep breaths.

What right did I have to go there, teach these women everything I could if I was not going to practice it in my own life?

I had no right to do that.

The rest of the way home, I kept seeing that little boy strapped down in a wheelchair along with his mother’s face shining with pride and love over her little boy. A woman who had decided, on her own and without any help from me, to give up her immediate life to help her child.

I was ashamed.

I walked into my house, threw my purse and briefcase on the couch and picked-up my phone. It was late but I didn’t care. I had something to say to someone.

The soon-to-be-ex answered and before he could say anything, I told him to not say a word and just listen.

“Sam, I’ve thought long and hard about your demands. I know you are legally entitled to them, but that’s not the point of my phone call. I just want you to know that after all these years of being married to me, you should have known better.”

“Known better than what?”

“That if you were going to come after me, you had one shot and you should have killed me. You didn’t and that was your mistake. Game on,” I said and hung-up the phone.

My attorney was going to kill me, but so what? If I was not a person who was going to live by what I preached, I was already dead. I formed my game plan and took my shot and guess what?

I did what I preached and everything turned out just fine.

If only my students understood that they teach me as much, if not more so, than I teach them.

Timothy

Posted: September 12, 2012 in Uncategorized

For the previous post on this, go to this link and then come back here :https://idisagreecompletely.com/2012/09/11/you-want-me-to-like-you-i-can-do-that/

He and I spent the program sitting in the back, holding hands and listening. Cheryl had taken over for me on teaching the program and was doing a great job. All the kids were responding well to her. They were quite interactive, constantly raising their hands, discussing what they thought and challenging her.

And laughing. People learn best in a fun and silly environment. I strongly encourage laughter while teaching. We did have a few food fights during the program, which is completely against our policy. I think we enjoyed it as much as the kids.

Timothy and I would sit in the back and watch. He would often comment to me what he thought. He wasn’t missing one thing and was sharp as a tack.

One day Mama Betty approached me after class. Timothy had soon become one of our guards on getting us in and out of the building. The kids were always quite kind to him and no one hassled him. They accepted him just as he was, which is something I think many adults need to learn.

“I need your help for something. Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I would like to feed everyone.”

I assumed she meant everyone at her center.

“Sure. How many kids do you have now?”

“No, I mean East Palo Alto. I want to feed them and I’ll need your help…”

And off we went on another project for her. We all jumped into it, got others to help and made the necessary apologies to our families for not being able to show up for dinner on Thanksgiving.

Spending the day serving hungry and homeless people is something I was never quite prepared for. It was a tremendous amount of work for all of us and we ended up running out of food, but to watch children and adults line up for food broke my heart. All of them were grateful and most of them turned around and pitched in to help after they fed their families. We had more help than we knew what to do with.

Timothy helped carry heavy boxes, unloading the cars and moving tables around. He never spoke but just worked. He kept close to me and Mama Betty and stayed away from everyone else. When one man I was serving food to said something inappropriate to me, I saw his eyes grow large as he looked behind me. Timothy had heard him and stepped up close and was looming behind me and glaring at the man.

The man shut-up and left. I looked up at Timothy and nodded. He looked at the ground and stepped back.

After the New Year and our break from the program, I got a call from Mama Betty. “They’re shutting me down and I need your help.”

Long discussions ensued but the bottom line was this – she had been funding her program herself when the government money ran out or wasn’t quite enough and we had done some fund-raising, but there had been budget cuts and she lost all of her funding. This was a huge blow to her and all of us. We had become family. She was not worried about herself. She was worried about her kids.

She was just like the rest of us; poor as a church mouse and yet we always managed to figure something out.

Not this time.

“What happens to them?” I asked.

“We lose them to the system. They go back until they are 18 and then they are on their own.”

We were going to lose Timothy. The others would be fine, but not him.

Over the next few weeks, we tried everything we could think of. I had no idea what to do. She had many contacts and none of them would help her. These were “throw away kids” though no one ever had the guts to say that to her. She couldn’t get one damn public service employee to listen to her, and this was a strong and loud woman who took no crap from anyone. People often complied with her because once she set her mind on something, there was no stopping her.

She made me look like a timid and scared wallflower.

She was shut down the following month and the kids were taken into custody and farmed out. They all ended up all over various facilities in California.

I went to her house one evening after she called me. We sat and drank coffee. She was heart-broken but had been in touch with all of the kids and they were hanging in there. I started crying and she told me to knock it off.

“Timothy is in Juvenile Hall, awaiting placement. He doesn’t have anyone who can take him in so there’s no place to send him. He will most likely go to the ranch and stay there until he turns 18.”

“How old IS he?” I asked. He was so tall and big, it was hard to tell.

“He’s only fifteen years old.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t…”

She grabbed me, pulled me out of the chair and put her hands on my shoulders. “You can and you will, just like the rest of us. You know what your problem is?”

I shook my head.

“You’re a guppy, swimming with the sharks and you don’t even know it. That’s your problem,” she said. “You think you’re a shark and you’re not.”

She was right.

I would like to tell you that I saw him again and we held hands and laughed. I would like to tell you that everything turned out just fine and life always has a happy ending and he and I walked off into the sunset, sharing private jokes and throwing food at each other.

I would like to think that there are people who truly feel that crime needs to be stopped and criminals can be rehabilitated.

But I don’t think that. I think that empty prison beds must be filled to keep the money flowing and people employed. There is no profit if “throw away kids” are helped and loved. Where is the profit if someone never re-offends? There isn’t any.

All it would have taken to save the program and these kids was ONE person in the entire system standing up for us and demanding it. That’s all we wanted and no one did it. Why? Because it wouldn’t have helped them upon re-election. That’s the reality that I know.

Yes, there are many of us that do this work quietly and steadily. And though I may write about it, never forget that my stories include so many nameless people who helped. My stories are only from my point of view and my experience. Most of them wish to remain anonymous. I will always respect that wish.

But it’s about time someone talked about what it’s really like to walk into an intentionally created snake pit and come out alive from it. Barely alive, but I still have a pulse.

I made the fatal error after this of becoming known for the work my group did in two counties. It was a fatal error because we were viciously attacked, personally and professionally. That story can never be told due to the vested interests that crime continue. We hit too close to the pocket-book. But it was well planned and executed. None of us saw it coming and we all paid a heavy price for the work we had done. Mine is only one of many stories.

We were all guppies and the sharks knew it.

I believe that people are good and are often misguided. I will never subscribe to the notion that anyone is natively bad. People do bad things but there is a basic rightness of the individual and all you have to do is get them to see it. Punishment only re-enforces more badness. Focusing on the goodness gives you more goodness.

As long as people are further punished for their misdeeds and have no safe haven to go to, the badness is reinforced. It will continue and I believe that our system is set-up to make sure the vicious cycle continues. It’s not accidental.

I have refused all requests to come back. I now only help on a one-on-one basis and never tell anyone about it. I am under the radar and will stay there for as long as I live.

You want me to like you? I can do that.

Posted: September 11, 2012 in jail, Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

I got the call that I didn’t want to get. It was from a woman who heard about the work we were doing in Juvenile Hall and she wanted us to come to her place and work with her kids. Her name was Mama Betty. I didn’t know who she was but that didn’t matter. She wanted our help and insisted we show up. She gave me the directions and told me what time to be there. She got my name from my friend Denise. After I wrote down what she said, she hung-up.

I called Denise to find out what was going on. Denise had run into her on something else she was doing and they got to talking.

Mama Betty was from the South Pacific. She found a place to rent and started grabbing South Pacific Islander kids out of jail and having them live with her. How she was able to do this was something she never explained to us.

The problem wasn’t what she was doing. The problem was where the location was. It was in East Palo Alto which, at the time, was one of the top 10 worse ghetto’s in the United States. No, not in the Bay Area; in the United States. Everyone stayed away from there. My cousin had been a fireman and they would not go to a fire there without a police escort. He had been shot at several times before retiring. It was a place that was scary to see as you were driving 75 MPH down the freeway.

I didn’t want to go and I told Denise that. It was a very dangerous place and based on what she said, we were going to be walking into a situation without any security. A bunch of white people going to that part of town was a very bad idea.

Denise convinced me to go meet her and at least see the place. She said she would go with me, so off we went one afternoon.

The place we ended up was an abandoned store that was rundown on the outside. It was located in a tiny strip mall with a few other empty stores. I was nervous getting out of my car. There were lots of teenagers standing around on the street, all staring at us. Some called out to us. We kept our heads down, walked up to the door and knocked. Some of the kids were starting to circle around my car. The door opened and that was the first time I met Mama Betty. She looked up at the teenagers and they quickly ran.

She was short, very large with piercing brown eyes and dark skin. She looked us up and down, held the door open further and told us to come in. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I was transported to the South Pacific.

Everything was spotless with lots of plants and furniture. The floor was bare. We walked into what looked to be a huge dance floor with couches and table all around. There were at least 10 teenagers sitting on the furniture, reading and talking. She took us into the kitchen and made us eat. The place smelled like heaven and I was suddenly starving. Before we could say anything, we each had a plate of food piled high. She looked down at me with a very stern look and said “You need to eat and get some meat on those bones. Eat and then we’ll talk.” I nodded and dug in. I was overweight at the time, but not to her. You just knew to do exactly what she said.

After eating, we sat and talked. She worked in the criminal justice system and was able to work with judges and probation officers to get the kids released to her custody. No warden was ever as tough or as kind as her.

She wanted us to run our program and was very clear that she couldn’t pay us.

“What makes you think we want your money?” I asked. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I pay my debts, but I want to make it clear that I will pay you. I will feed you when you come.”

I smiled. “That’s very nice of you. I have to be very honest with you. I am going to have a very tough time getting anyone to help. The neighborhood…”

“Then you must meet the children and after you do, then you come back to me and see what you think.”

With that said, she brought them in and had each one sit down and talk. They had all been in jail, they all had their stories and they were the politest kids I had ever met. I asked one a question and when he gave me a smart ass answer, she actually did smack him on the back of the head, made him sit up straight and apologize to me.

All was good until she brought in the last young man. His name was Timothy. He was very tall and large. He sat down and never once took his eyes off the floor. He would not respond to me. I waited for her to nudge him, but she did not. She stood back and when I looked up, I saw a tear run down her face.

Then I knew. This was the one she wanted help with. Whatever had happened to him was bad. He would not speak or look at anyone. I thanked him and he stood up and walked away with his head down.

I told Mama Betty I would see what I could do. I was not hopeful I could get anyone to help me, but she was right; after meeting all of them, I wanted to help.

It took a lot of work and quite a bit of pleading, but two weeks later I had a group of five additional people. Four women and one man. Driving up there that evening, we were nervous. We pulled up and they didn’t want to get out of the car even though the building was ten feet away. Just as I was opening up the car door, five of the young men from Mama Betty’s came out and escorted us in. Mama Betty had arranged the furniture so everyone had a place to sit at the tables. Food was brought in and so we began.

Timothy was there but sitting off to the side by himself. No one would go near him and he scared my group. I asked Mama Betty what to do with him.

“If any of you can get through to him, that would be enough.”

Over the next few weeks, we developed a routine. We would arrive, be escorted in and someone would stand by the car. We would be escorted out after hours of eating and teaching. It was difficult not to fall asleep on the way home from the work and the food.

Everyone had tried to get Timothy to talk and I started to see that the more they tried, the further withdrawn he would become. He also made them nervous and I was certain this made him more reluctant to talk. It was his size that was scaring them.

One night, I turned to class over to someone else and went and sat next to Timothy. I said nothing, I didn’t look at him or try to get him to talk. I just sat there. I did this every week and on the fifth week, I put my hand on his hand, very gently. He reached over, squeezed it and held on. We sat like that for over an hour. I still said nothing and didn’t look at him. When the class was over, I got up and left.

The next week, I did the same thing. This went on for three more weeks until one night, right after I sat down, he reached over and held my hand. I looked over and he looked up. He smiled. I smiled back. He then mumbled something.

I nudged him and indicated I hadn’t heard what he said. I was not going to speak to him until he spoke to me first. Until then, I would sit and we would hold hands.

“Do you think you could like me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“That would be good,” he said and smiled. Mama Betty saw the exchange and was smart enough to leave us alone.

That’s what we did throughout the program. We sat and held hands. He would say something once in a while and I eventually started to see how bright and intelligent he was.

One day, I decided to ask him something.

“How come you don’t talk much?”

He squeezed my hand harder. “Because I don’t have anything to say to people who don’t listen.”

I chuckled. “That makes sense to me.”

“Yeah..”

I now smile every time I drive through East Palo Alto. I miss Timothy.

Surviving lock down

Posted: August 27, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

You really haven’t lived until you’ve walked into a jail that was in lock down.

Lock down is when something bad happens inside and all communication in and out is cut. There is no visitation and all inmates are confined to their cells 24/7. This can go on for a few days to a few weeks. Inmates are escorted by armed guards to use the bathroom and showers, but all food is eaten in their cells.

This occurs after there has been a violent incident in the facility. There are other things that happen, but you get the general idea. It’s not a fun place to be at the time.

Well, no one had told the group of us that arrived at Juvenile Hall that they were in lock down. We were supposed to be called if our class for the kids was called off for any reason.

The call never came and so we showed up, like we had been doing Tuesday and Thursday nights for the last two years.

I remember thinking it was way too quiet as we walked in. The night was cool and there didn’t seem to even be a breeze in air. No one was walking in and out. The building loomed before us as we walked in and I got a shiver up my spine.

Something was wrong, something was off but I didn’t know what it was. I just followed my friends, but even they started to sense it.

We got to our first check point to gain entry. This is where you sign-in, provide your ID and sign all the documents. The staff are behind a bullet proof glass wall. You have to go through two doors. The second door will not open until the first door is locked. This prevents anyone escaping or gaining unauthorized access. Purses, cell phones and any other personal items are left in the trunk of your car. I always removed all my jewelry at home. I didn’t do that because I was afraid of it being stolen. I did it because I didn’t want one indication of anything that I had that they did not.

Why rub anything in their faces?

These kids came from all different backgrounds. Some came from affluent homes and some came from very poor living conditions. They were various ages, but none of them were older than 18. If they were, they were shipped to the Main Jail to fend for themselves.

No one said a word to us as they buzzed us in. We walked up to the second floor and went through our next check point. Every move is recorded on camera. Approaching us was a handcuffed prisoner walking towards us, escorted by two armed guards. Etiquette is very specific here as it is everywhere else. We stopped, backed up to the wall, put our hands behind us, leaned against the wall and looked down until they passed.

Never look a prisoner in the eyes in a hallway unless you are staff. It’s considered rude and it can humiliate or antagonize them.

We were cleared and went to cell block to collect our kids. None of us spoke as we walked as that is the correct way to behave. We walked with our heads down and our hands at our sides, in plain view.

When we walked in, it was deathly quiet. Normally the kids are out of their cells, watching TV, talking or reading. There were about 5 staff to handle 25 kids. But tonight, no one was out, all the kids were in their cells and you could hear a pin drop. We stopped at the desk and waited. Again, we kept our gaze down and did not make any eye contact with the inmates.

One of the staff looked up and said “What are you guys doing here and how did you get through?”

We had no idea what she was talking about. My friend Steven spoke up. “Well, it’s Thursday night, our usual night…”

“But you can’t be here! We are in lock down for two weeks!”

She explained that there had been a fight the night before – about 20 feet behind us -and someone had been stabbed. We listened quietly and nodded. I guess it was time to leave and I started towards the door.

“Hold on, don’t go. You want to hear something interesting?”

Like this evening could get any more interesting.

“The only kids who weren’t involved in it were yours. Whatever you guys are doing with them is working, so I’ll tell you what; I’ll make an exception since all of you are here and they behaved themselves. You can have them tonight, just like always.”

We smiled and went into the room they had for us, trying not to jump up and down. The program was working! Who knew?

We unpacked our gear. Soon all 10 of our kids were running into the room (a big no-no, that running shit) and grabbed us and hugged us. They were all talking at once and laughing. It took us a few minutes to get them to calm down. I said one person could tell us the story. Jose raised his hand and asked if he could. We said yes.

“You should have been here! This one kids shoved another one and then suddenly there was this huge fight! It was so cool! Everyone was screaming and yelling, but all of us remembered what we had learned about not responding to violence with violence and all the practicing you had us do on being patient. So, we all ran in here, grabbed the chairs and sat and watched. We just stayed together, kept telling each other to not react and it would be OK. And it was!”

My friends and I all got teary eyed. You try, you work hard but you never know if it does any good or not. You hope it does, you hope you are making a difference but it wasn’t until that moment that all the hard work was worth it.

By then the others starting talking and telling us their version of the story. They were proud of themselves and none of us could have been happier. We didn’t get much done that night, but it was OK. They had to participate in the lock down too, but they didn’t care. They were now using the time to read and write. They had never done that before our program. Some brought us their writing and discussed the books they were reading, quietly, intelligently and with great passion.

You never know when you will make a difference, so never give up. Some of these kids were in for felonies, some were thrown away, many were gang members. Say all you want about how we need to handle crime, get rid of the gangs, make things better for the rest of us.

Talk all you want, stand on as many soap boxes that you have, but there is only one way to deal with problems. Face-to-face. You save one child at a time and no amount of posturing for election and getting a degree and thinking you know all there is to know about people will accomplish a damn thing.

For every child you save, you save the future of this society. Save the child = save the future.

Phone call from Chanteel

Posted: August 13, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

She called me last week. I saw the unfamiliar number ring on my cell phone and almost didn’t answer it. I don’t like to do that, but I suddenly recognized the area code was the same as her previous call to me. Don’t ask me why I can remember that from a few months ago and yet can’t often remember why I just got up and walked into another room.

If you don’t know who I am talking about, go read this post and then come back here.https://idisagreecompletely.com/2012/07/20/today-her-name-is-chanteel-tomorrow-who-knows-what-it-will-be/

As soon as I answered it, I heard her familiar voice.

“I love what you wrote about me,” was all she said.

My heart suddenly stopped and for a moment I felt as if I had just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar by my Mom. I knew I would never write something that would betray someone or hurt them, but having the subject of your writing tell you that is, at best, an odd sensation.

“You did? Really? You read my blog?” I asked and held my breath.

“Yes and I love it. I knew you were talking about me and I wanted to thank you for the story.”

I felt a huge smile cross my face. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and I was camped out on my couch, getting caught-up on last season of “House” on Netflix. Drinking iced tea and trying not to think about Monday morning. I am very good at putting things out of my mind.

“I’m so glad you liked it and I almost didn’t write it. I didn’t want to say anything…”

“You have given my life meaning with your writing,” was all she said.

I did not expect this comment. “I have?” was all I could think to ask.

“You have. I’ve been following your blog since the beginning. I remember some of the people you’ve written about and thank you for showing people we are human too.”

I couldn’t help it; I started crying. Right then and there, I was sniffling and wiping my eyes, thankful I wasn’t wearing any make-up. Make-up on a Sunday just seems sinful to me.

“Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

I shook my head, as if she could see that. “No! No, you didn’t say anything wrong at all. Your words have touched me more than I can say…”

“Susan, what’s wrong? Why are you sad today?” she asked. She was right. I had been sad for a few days but hadn’t said a word to anyone. Suddenly, she was the person I needed to talk to. This beautiful and messed up soul who comes into my life once in a while, touches down and then flies away until the next time.

I took a deep breath and decided to talk. Just talk. “I have, or had, a friend but I’m not sure if we’re friends anymore,” I said and the words just jumbled out of my mouth. No thought to them, no attempt to make sense or to try to even understand what I was saying.

“We were really good friends for a long time. Talked everyday and shared so much. Now the last few weeks, he no longer has time for me. I’ve tried to say hello a few times, I’ve sent a few text messages but I never get a response anymore. If I contact him, I have a 50/50 shot he’ll reply. I don’t know what I said or did, but I’ve had to accept the fact that I am no longer important and I guess it just hurts so much.”

There. I said it. I opened my soul a bit. “So, I am going to respect his unspoken wishes, even though I don’t understand, and try not to be hurt and bitter, and leave him alone. I don’t stay where I am not wanted, but right now, I am hurt and there’s not much I can do about it,” I said. I actually felt better having finally faced the fact that I was very hurt and I was grieving and didn’t know why I had lost such a dear friend.

“He’s an idiot,” was all she said. This made me laugh with the way she said it and the absolute certainty she had. Once I started laughing, she did too. I ended up talking to her for a long time and all she did was listen.

Suddenly the teacher became the student. She spoke to me quietly and in the only way she could, got me to see that I had done nothing wrong and that it was natural to grieve and I would until I was done with it.

I passed onto her the well wishes I had received from my readers and this made her giggle. I told her I was proud of her – she was steadily employed, drug free and fighting her demons every day and today she was winning. Tomorrow was too far away to worry about.

She had to run, but before she hung-up she said “I love you Susan and I love that I can call you anytime, and you’re always there. If this so-called ‘friend’ of yours doesn’t know your true beauty and strength and value, then it’s OK. I know you love unconditionally and always will. I do too and that’s why I can see it in others. We are rare, crazy and we hurt all the time, don’t we?”

“Yes,” was all I could manage to say and she was gone.

She will be back and I will be here and we shall carry on our conversation. After she hung-up, I felt the sadness leave and knew that there was a person out there who cared about me and had replaced the one that no longer did.

Nothing like trading up, eh?

You’re pathetic

Posted: August 1, 2012 in funny stories, Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

She was. Completely and utterly a walking mess. One of the strangest girls I had ever seen and she was new to our High School.

I knew most of the kids that I went to school with from 3rd grade and now all the way into High School. We all lived in the same neighborhood, but over the last couple of years, they began busing kids in from all over the County. There were new faces almost every week and soon the school began to divide into separate groups.

Maybe all schools do this, but this was the first time I became aware of lines being drawn and I did not like it.

There were the cheerleaders who in Junior High looked just as awkward and fat as the rest of us, but something must have happened during the summer between Junior High School and High School, They became pretty and slim while the rest of us were still trying to figure out who we were and what we wanted to look like. They found the magic pill and weren’t going to tell us.

Suddenly they didn’t have time for me and our other friends. They were too busy bouncing around the grounds in their uniforms and I remember feeling jealous and hurt for the first time since Cindy Thayer stole my 3rd grade boyfriend away from me.

Another group were the brainy kids who did actually attend the debate class, along with the chess club and a few other things I had no interest in.

Then there was the losers and these were kids “with a past” that had been sent to our more affluent school. They came from “broken homes” and lived in “foster care,” of which I knew nothing about.

There were a few other groups and I bounced around between them until the lines were drawn. No one told me about these lines and suddenly my friends that I had grown up with no longer had time for me or would talk to me.

I ended up in the “parking lot” group, which is where we played music, acted cool and smoked cigarettes. I sort of ended up there by default but at least I made new friends who liked me. We spent many hours sneaking smokes between classes, talking about how horrible the world was and how adults didn’t have a clue, wrote bad poetry and read books on philosophy. I often climbed the big oak tree and was known to suddenly drop onto people walking past.

One day I heard some odd laughing while I was smoking. Daryl was on lookout for the principal. There were several girls who had surrounded some new girl and they were taunting her. I looked up and saw what they were doing.

Her name was Dawn and she looked pathetic. I don’t say this to be cruel. I say it as my first impression of her. She was very tall, large and had this hair that was frizzy and stood straight up. It was completely cut wrong. To make matters worse, she was wearing a plaid skirt and an over sized sweater and her plaid knee socks had crunched down around her ankles. She was crying and they were taunting her. The more she cried, the louder they got.

I had known these girls since 3rd grade and for a moment, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I figured I was just dizzy from the nicotine and rubbed my eyes and looked again. Nope, I had seen it right. I looked up at Daryl, who was standing guard in the tree, and before I knew it, he had jumped down and was walking towards them. I put out my cigarette and followed him.

I felt nauseous at what I was seeing. These girls had turned into a pack of baboons and had now started to shove her. Dawn wailed louder and they laughed more. Daryl started to run and so did I. I didn’t have a plan of what I was going to do, so I followed him.

He walked up and started yelling at the girls to shut-up and leave her alone. Daryl was one of those kids “with a past” who had been put in foster care and didn’t know where his family was. He was lost, confused and only 16 years old. Many people judged him immediately, including the group of baboons, and he also had been shunned into the parking lot group with me.

Suddenly, one of the girls shoved Daryl and then put her hands on her hips and stuck her tongue out at him. “What are you going to do, dick head? Hit a girl?” she laughed.

Daryl looked at her for a moment. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,’ he said and shoved her back. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was enough for her to have to step back a few feet to catch her balance.

It was suddenly deathly quiet as everyone stopped teasing Dawn and looked at the girl he had shoved. Daryl didn’t flinch and just stared at her. She started crying. Daryl grabbed Dawn’s hand and marched her to the parking lot.

I had watched the whole thing and I have to admit, when he shoved her, it made me smile. It was about time someone stood up to that bitch. I figured he would get into trouble, but he didn’t seem to care. I ran behind him. At one point I turned around and flipped them all off. They were still standing there with their mouths open. God I wish I had a camera for that shot.

Daryl brought Dawn to the parking lot and we all greeted her. She had a strange eye and I found out later it was a glass eye from a car accident. She was all wrong for our school and that made us like her even more.

Daryl ended up getting suspended for a week and nothing was done to discipline the baboons. That was fine with all of us because from that moment on, Dawn was never left alone.  We were all her body-guard of sorts, I guess. It just happened naturally. She eventually blossomed as the year wore on. She lost weight, grew out her hair and started wearing make-up.

I was wrong. Dawn was not pathetic. Those ‘perfect” girls were.

But there was one thing she and I would always do and somehow get away with it. On occasion, we would wander by the cheerleaders during practice and moon them. I swear the coach saw us and said nothing.

You sent me a “Wink?” Are you kidding me?

Posted: June 9, 2012 in Dating, Uncategorized
Tags: , , , ,

You know what a wink is? No? Well I’m going to tell you about one of the stupidest things ever invented for a dating website.

What it is, is you send it to someone who I think indicates you are interested BUT ARE TOO FRICKIN SCARED TO TALK TO!

WTF? I’m sorry, but this just drives me nuts. I mean, let’s get real here, shall we? Glad you agreed because I’m going to do it anyway, so I was only asking to be polite.

The reality is, you sign up for this service to meet people, in the hopes of finding your true love or at least a shot at getting laid.

Let me remind you of this fact – THIS IS WELL KNOWN! This is NOT a secret.

Sorry about the caps, but I really am shouting over here as I type. I would say that I would try to tone it down, but you already know I won’t, so why lie?

I mean, it’s not like you are secretly trying to meet people and pretending that you are actually interested in their hobbies or really care much about them from the beginning. I don’t give a rats ass about what a guys hobbies are or what he does for a living. I am more interested in weeding out the freaks in the hopes of finding maybe, just maybe, some intelligent life on the internet.

I know, I dream, but you can’t stop me from dreaming. Don’t judge me.

So how did this all come about? It’s simple. It’s because I am an amazing friend, trustworthy, loyal to the core and I can’t watch my friends walk into a slaughter-house.

It’s really all Dee Dee’s fault. Really it is.

Dee Dee and I have known each other for 40 years. We worked together for a long time and she is going through a divorce at the age of 60. I, and others, have been by her side the whole time and Dee Dee actually stopped me from “friending” her soon-to-be-ex-douche-bag-cheating-dickwad-of-a-husband on Facebook because I wanted to post on his wall what I thought of him and also “friend” his whore and do the same thing.

I am NOT lying. She stopped me from doing it by physically removing my fingers from the keyboard of MY laptop as I was sending the friend requests.

“Lewis, you can’t do that. Stop it.”

“You’re not the boss of me!”

Sigh. “This time I am, so let it go.”

Snap. Snarl. “Fine!” I say as I snapped my laptop closed, glared at her and promised I would not do it.

Later on, she decides that she should get online and is ready to date again and asks me about it.

“NO! Don’t do it! Please Dee Dee, there’s got to be a better way! Tell you what; you and I can date each other.”

“Lewis, you are such a freak. I don’t want to DATE you! Are you out of your mind? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t mean date, like a gay thing..”

“Get away from me. Now.”

“No, hear me out. What I am saying is this – I’ll invite you to wherever I am going. Include you in on the things I do. You haven’t been single for a very long time and it’s not nice out there. It’s a cruel world and if you try to go it alone, you will be butchered. Things have change a lot and…”

“OK, OK. Stop talking. That sounds like fun, but I want to sign-up for the dating websites and I really need you to help me because….”

“Yeah, don’t finish that sentence, please. I get it. What do you want me to do?”

And so the journey began, once again. I helped her put together a profile, got a really great picture of her and told her a bit of how to maneuver around it because she barely knows how to check email.

“Now Susan, I need you to put up your profile so you can see mine and see how it looks and help me. I’ll give you my password and you can see what’s going on and what I need to do.”

Head slamming  on her desk.

“Lewis, stop that. You’re going to hurt yourself and I’ve always been worried about you being brain-damaged as it is.”

I rub my forehead and sit back, stretch against the chair and look up at her.

“Say what? You want me to….go back….there?” I stifle a scream that is about to erupt from my throat.

“Yes. I need your help because I don’t know anything about this.”

I know I will do it. She has these puppy dog eyes, is a babe in the woods and needs my protection. I know she does because Dee Dee is one of the most amazing women I know. I mean this. She is beautiful, smart, funny, scary intelligent, kind, giving, hard-working, etc. You name anything positive about a person and that would be Dee Dee.

She’s also been married for a gazillion years and thinks at the age of 60, she going to find someone right away.

Maybe she will and maybe she won’t, but she’s decided to go out on the internet and talk to people.

May God have mercy on her soul.

So, yes, I signed up because I love my friend and part of me hopes it all works out for her and the other part wants to drag her back to me and convince her that it’s much more fun to go out with me to the movies and eat popcorn and throw it at each other and laugh and to go to clubs and dance, with me always nearby and bitch slap the rude men. I want her close by because she really is just a sweet, little lamb that doesn’t want to live out the rest of her life alone, just like me.

She calls me one day. “Susan, what does it mean when you get this thing called a wink from someone?”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Dee Dee, when someone winks at you, it means….shit, I don’t know what it means. I could mean they are flirting with you or it could mean they have something in their eye.”

“No! I’m talking about getting a wink from someone on this website. Will you take a look at it for me and tell me what to do?”

“Yes. Hold on while I log in…”

And there they are. Winks. From men. She has some and I check my account and I have some.

What does it mean? Why are they doing this? Am I suppose to wink back or do I ignore it? I don’t know but I don’t like it.

I call her back. “OK, as near as I can tell, it means they are letting you know they are interested in you.”

“Well then, why don’t they just send me a message?”

“I don’t know Dee Dee.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I..well…the thing is..”

“Should I wink back? And if I do, what happens then? Or should I send them a message and say hello? What happens if I don’t? Is that rude? How does this work?”

I tell her to send a wink back. I do the same. I send one back to everyone who sent me one. Why? Because I don’t frickin CARE anymore because I already know one thing and one thing for sure – if I man can’t just talk to me, I’m not the woman for him.

I had about 10 winks going back and forth before I stopped. I get a wink. I send one back. He sends another one and soon I am involved in what feels like the Wimbledon game of winks.

I hate these men and that’s not a good attitude to start out a possible relationship. Not good at all, so I stopped. They went away and soon my life was peaceful and calm again and the urge to slap them was gone.

I try to be a nice person, but even I have my limits.

Either talk to us or don’t. If you can’t, it’s OK. We understand and aren’t interested. But most of us have been there and done that. Some of us have children and grandchildren. We’ve been through enough wars and are old enough to be quite mellow, laid back and never got the memo of our sex drive diminishing as we get older. TRUST ME ON THIS ONE! We run businesses, care for our family and friends, have dealt with more crap than we care to think about, suffered through unbearable losses and betrayals and we are still here.

Older women are the worlds best kept secret and we don’t suffer fools gladly. But we will talk to you and smile.

But don’t ever send me a wink again. I will hurt you.

Yeah, I broke the bitches nose.

Posted: May 5, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

She had it coming for a very long time. And no, I feel no remorse about it. In fact, every time I think about it, I smile.

Her name was…Janet. Yeah, we’ll use that name. It’s a good name and nondescript.

I’ve learned that by the time something results in violence, there is a whole, long history there.  I mean, most things that turn out like this didn’t happen suddenly. It started long before the actual incident and there is all sides to the story. This is especially true for people like myself who are not violent and don’t deal with things in that nature.

That night had been the culmination of close to 10 years of her verbal and mental abuse. It’s interesting how people talk about abusive relationships between romantic couples, but not so much about the kind that can occur between friends. Women friends, to be specific. It happened to me and I didn’t even know it was going on.

I was in my mid-20’s when I first met Janet, via my good friend Pam. I remember when I first met Janet, I wasn’t sure at first that she was a woman until I heard her name. She was taller than me, older by about 10 years, and had this very direct manner about her. I liked her because she was a friend of a good friend.

We began hanging out together over the next few years and formed a close friendship. One of my first clues that something wasn’t right about her was my husband could not stand her and would have nothing to do with her. He was always cordial towards her, but always had to be some place else when she was around. He loved my friend Pam and they got along great, but when Janet was around, he would leave.

It was becoming obvious over time and I finally asked him about it. He had never said anything to me and just left us alone.

“I don’t trust her and she’s nothing more than a blow hard. I’m sorry, I know she’s your friend, but I just don’t want to be around her and I don’t want her coming over.”

I tried to convince him that she was fine and that was my second clue. Why was I trying to “sell” him on her? He was a likable person when he felt like it, but not everyone liked him. (That’s another clue – if you’re dating someone and your friends don’t like him, run away quickly. Remind me to blog about that sometime.)

My husband was the most amazing  judge of character of anyone I had ever seen. He was NEVER wrong. It was a gift and I should have paid attention to what he was saying, but I didn’t. I learned to never to do that again. It wasn’t they way she acted that he hated. It was HER. The person that he couldn’t stand.

Anyway, I made sure that the two of them didn’t interact and that seemed to keep everyone happy.

Over the years, Janet began to drink heavily. This was gradual and was unnoticed by me. I did not see her that often as she lived out-of-town with Pam. They were roommates since both were divorced and raising their children together. I would go up for a weekend every few months and spend time with them. That’s when I started to see how badly Janet had deteriorated.

I had some training to do one Saturday way up North, which was close to their house. The next day was Easter and the plan was for me to stay over Saturday night, spend Easter with them and the kids, and then drive back home Sunday night. It was a great plan.

I had not seen the two of them in over a year between work and family schedules and I only talked to Pam which was fine with me. Janet was someone I would never have been with friends with on my own. She was too abrupt, rude and crass for my taste. But because of my friendship with Pam and her friendship with Janet, I accepted her as a friend.

When I arrived at their house that night, I was shocked at what I saw. The house was a disaster, the 3 kids were running around and they had a look of scared animals about them. I didn’t know what I was seeing, but I didn’t like it. Pam looked horrible, as if she hadn’t slept in a week and sitting in her recliner (or throne, if you knew Janet) was the Queen Bee herself – Janet.

She glared at me when I came in and actually snarled. I nodded my head in her direction and she looked away. I didn’t know why she was being so rude, but I didn’t care. I was worried about Pam.

I said hello to the kids and hugged them. All three try to sit on my lap, so I opted for the floor and talked with each of them. They were happy to see me and I started to calm down when I saw their smiles.

Janet refused to talk to me, so I played with the kids for a bit while Pam was in the kitchen. She was fixing me a late dinner. I got away from the children and went into the kitchen. Pam was at the sink. I walked up behind her, placed my hands on her shoulder and turned her around to look at me.

“OK, you want to tell me what the hell is going on? In all the years I have known you, I’ve never seen your house look like this, I’ve never seen you this tired and I don’t even want to know what’s up with Janet. Talk to me, please.”

Pam’s eyes teared up and she looked down at the floor. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Janet is drunk all the time, I don’t have the money to move because she has refused to work and I’m worried about the kids. I can’t leave here without them and I can’t stay. I just don’t know what to do.”

Pam had one child and Janet had two. Pam had been raising them for years, so the idea of just walking away from the was not an option. This I understood because I would not have done that either.

I hugged her and told her it would be OK, that we would figure something out and she calmed down.

I grabbed some food from the frig and made her sit down and stop waiting on me. The kids came running into the kitchen and it became obvious everyone was avoiding Janet.

I walked back into the living room and she snarled at me again. I sat down and looked at her. She was drunk and she was not a nice drunk. She was one of the nastiest drunks I had ever seen and I now understood what a horrible position everyone in the household was in. I was angry but I stayed calm. I took the drink out of her hand and put it on the table. It was time to get her sober and try to give the kids a decent Easter.

She looked at me and said nothing. I was tired of her abuse of my friend and the children. It was one thing to put up with her barbs and snide remarks to me over the years but it was a whole other thing to pick on my friend and upset children.

She didn’t drink the rest of the night and was quiet. Anytime she would start to say something, I would look at her and she would shut-up. We spent the evening playing with the kids and when it was time to put them to bed, they were cheerful and excited about the Easter Bunny coming that night.

Once they were asleep, I began to help Pam with the Easter baskets and the hiding of the eggs. Janet remained on her throne and out of my way. There was an unspoken understanding between her and I that I would not tolerate any of her bad behavior or drinking.

It was late before I made it to bed in the guest room. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a large bang outside my bedroom door and I heard Pam scream. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was out of bed and flung open the door.

Janet had thrown Pam against the wall and was yelling at her to give her the keys to the car. I found out later that right after I had gone to bed, Janet started drinking heavily and wanted to go for a drive. Pam had grabbed the keys away from her and that’s when Janet went after her.

It didn’t take me even a second to yell at Janet and tell her to leave Pam alone. This really pissed her off and before I knew it, she turned around and came after me. She picked me up and slammed me against the wall. My head and back hit the wall hard and I slid down. She turned around and went after Pam again. I shook my head (you actually do that, just like in the movies) and I pulled myself up and yelled at her again.

I have never in my life been in a fight. Not even with my brothers. I have never been struck, hit or slapped and I have never hit another person. I have never had the desire to physically hurt someone. I have a peaceful nature, but that all left me when I saw my friend being hurt. All I knew was that it was not going to continue, no matter what I had to do. I would never stand by while a bully is at work.

She turned around again and lunged towards me. I reacted by putting my hands up and then suddenly all the boxing lessons my brother had given me came into play. I made a fist and extended my arm and made contact with her nose. I wasn’t aiming at all. I just happen to have the right angle with her height and she ran into my fist as much as I hit her with it.

It’s hard to describe the noise it made and even more difficult to explain the immense pain that was in my hand and shot up my arm to my neck. Janet screamed, put her hands up to her nose and I watched as the blood came pouring out.

It was surreal. Pam was standing in the background, stunned. Everything had happened so fast, within seconds and now time stood still.

I felt great. I felt wonderful and I didn’t care if I broke her nose or not. For one moment, it was quiet.

Janet screamed and ran out of the house. I grabbed Pam. She was fine but in shock.

All I could think about were the children. That was my only thought. I didn’t care about the stupid adults anymore. I wanted the kids to be OK and prayed they hadn’t heard anything.

I sat Pam down and ran upstairs to check on them. They were all sleeping. I felt such relief. I ran back down the stairs and told Pam we were all leaving.

She didn’t understand. I told her again we were all leaving and going to my house for the night. I told her to start packing a few things, grab the Easter baskets and when my car was packed, put the kids in my car.

Pam nodded. She was in shock, so I tried to be as patient at I could, but I knew more trouble was brewing. Janet had run outside, tripped on a garden gnome and was lying in the driveway. She was crying and threatening to call the cops on me. I wanted out of there as fast as I could but I couldn’t leave the children or my friend.

Janet got up and walked up towards the front door. It was partially glass and I saw her nose was still bleeding a little bit, but she wasn’t dead. She put her hand on the knob, looked up and saw me. I stared at her, shook my head and raised my fist to indicate I would hit her again. I wasn’t kidding.

She screamed and ran off into the garden, still threatening to call the cops. Well, she would have to get into the house to do that, and I figured we would be long gone before she was sober enough. Plus she didn’t know what kind of car I had and if she did call, it would be obvious she was drunk.

We finally got the car packed. We had three kids to squeeze into it. Somehow we were able to move them without waking them. I grabbed my things and put Pam in the passenger seat. Janet stayed away and I could hear her in the background, talking to herself, randomly screaming but too afraid to come near the house.

As we drove off, I told her we were leaving and she could go back into the house. I peeled out of there as fast as I could.

I drove for 3 hours and held Pam’s hand. I told her to sleep and not to worry. We got to my house at 3:00 in the morning. I went inside and fixed up my bed for the kids. Pam and I carried them in and tucked them into my bed. Pam slept in the spare room and I slept on the couch. My hand was killing me but it wasn’t swollen. I put ice on it, took some aspirin and dozed for a bit.

The next morning, I got up early and went to the store. I got toothpaste and toothbrushes and a bunch of food for everyone. I came back and hid Easter eggs and baskets and made a pot of coffee. I waited for everyone to wake-up.

We ended up having a great Easter. I unplugged the phone because I didn’t want Janet to call, even though I knew she wouldn’t. They stayed with me for a few days and soon everyone was looking like themselves again.

I spent a lot of time listening to Pam about what had been going on for so long that I didn’t know anything about. It was a bad situation that occurred over a long period of time. It was gradual and insidious and had come to a head that weekend.

Pam eventually moved out and cut Janet out of her life. She and I kept in contact with Janet’s two kids as much as we could. Their father was not around – don’t get me started on him – so we did what we could.

Everything turned out just fine. I saw the two kids last summer. They are grown with families of their own. That evening was never mentioned and as far as I knew, they knew nothing about it.

I was wrong.

When I saw them last July, I hugged them. Both of them said they would always love me for what I had done.

I actually didn’t know what they were talking about. It was long forgotten for me.

“We remember the night you took us out of there. We remember the Easter you gave us and we remember you always being there for us, even if it was in the background. We’ve always known you were there for us.”

To say I cried is an understatement. Those words have never left me and they never will

Never think that children don’t know or don’t understand. They do. They always do.

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