Alabama Blues

When I moved to Seattle, I took a job at YouthCare as a Case Manager for a program called Civic Justice Corps. It was a job readiness program that worked with young adults coming out of prison or jail and was intended to teach these young folks job skills.

I started work three days after I moved to Seattle and after working in San Francisco, working as a case manager with formerly incarcerated folks, first in a court diversion program, then designing and running a post-prison/jail reentry program. Unfamiliar with the Seattle landscape, I dove in like I did in San Francisco because, that's what I do. I learn where I live.

My caseload consisted of 15 young adults between the ages of 18-24, mostly young African American men. Young men with children, young men who never really got to be children, young men who got into trouble for being children.

As I dove into Washington's criminal justice system, I was shocked with the differences in law and policy. Arrest records and juvenile records were showing up on background checks, young folks were getting convicted for "malicious mischief", ban the box was a new concept, kids were going to prison. Where the hell am I?

One of the young men on my caseload was a 21 year old young African American man from the "Souf End" of Seattle who had just been released from a four year prison stint. Meaning he went to prison at the age of 17.

Quiet and cold, he showed up to work with this job readiness training program every day. I didn't appreciate his attitude but I did acknowledge that he was showing up. A couple of times early on, he challenged me and I challenged him in a group setting. I remember pulling him aside one day after a particularly irritating battle, telling him "you are very intelligent, you don't have to prove it all the time. It is seen."

We became friends after that. The final ice breaker was when we talked about how one must grill a cheeseburger. Rapport. Connection. Good energy. Visibility.

I jovially called him by his last name and he, in private and eventually in public, called me his "work mom." He started to make friends with his peers and started to relax and extend his personality. It was fun to be a part of. I encouraged him to get his license and we ended up going to the Department of Licensing four times for that-twice for him to fail his written test, once for him to fail his driving test and finally, to get his license. That fourth time, after he and I had collectively spent about fifteen hours sitting in a licensing office, he walked out of the testing area with a look of pride on his face and an eagerness to share his good fortune. He had passed.

The following day, he showed up to work and out of nowhere, started talking about his family roots in Alabama. He wanted me to google his family's home in Alabama so we did. We went to Google street view and the screen filled up with an image of a mobile home in the middle of a wooded area somewhere in rural Alabama. The family home. I felt his combined energy of pride, roots and determination.

He graduated from that job training program. His mother attended the graduation and he introduced me to her. A small woman who carried her hard life on her face and bones, she was there to support her son, amidst both of their hard circumstances. When he introduced me, he said "tell my mom what I did while I was here" and I proceeded to tell her about the different certifications he achieved, the good work he did and the progress that he had made. She listened intently, longing for hope but bracing herself for bullshit, and finally accepting that some genuine and positive truth had been spoken about her son, relaxed into a feeling of pride. So did her son.

He and I lost touch after he graduated from the program. Life happened and I was his Case Manager. Two years later, I received a letter at work from Coyote Creek Corrections Center. He had been convicted of robbery and sent to prison for five years.

We wrote to each other for the next five years. He attended accounting classes while in prison and I attended graduate school. I listened to his plans and dreams and I kept him updated on what Seattle was up to.

He was released the year I graduated with my MSW. We connected on the phone I congratulated him on his accounting certification that he earned at Coyote Creek and he congratulated me on my Master's degree. We lost touch again and haven't spoken since.

What a beautiful and tangled web we weave. Beauty and love in all of it if you make the right choice and get tangled in it.

Sometimes

Sometimes I cry for the way that we hurt each other.
Sometimes I cry for the way that we hurt ourselves.

Sometimes I cry for the way that we love money.
Sometimes I cry for the way that we have to work so hard.
Sometimes I cry for the way that we really don't have to.

Sometimes I cry for the way that we treat animals.
Sometimes I cry for how well they treat us in return.

Sometimes I cry for the way we hurt women.
Sometimes I cry for the way we hurt men.
Sometimes I cry for the way that all of our tears are disregarded.

Sometimes I cry for how our country is going down the tubes.
Sometimes I cry for how little we do about it.
Sometimes I cry for how little we can do. 

Sometimes I cry for how quickly we get old.
Sometimes I cry for how young we never got to be.

Sometimes I cry for all that we have lost.
Sometimes I cry for all that we have and will gain.
Sometimes I cry for the way things should be.
Sometimes I cry for the way things could have been.
Sometimes I cry for the way things once were.

Sometimes I cry for all of them at once.

And that's ok.

Let's all just take the time to do so. That's ok too.