This is my first weekend in Venus and since my folks are down in Galveston for my brother's birthday, they invited some friends to come here to see me. I think my parents were initially met with shock when the friends heard I was so close, then exuberance when they found out they were able to see me so soon.

At all my other units, except Goodman in Jasper, only family was allowed contact visits. All friends could only visit from behind tempered glass windows talking through a phone. So imagine our surprise when we met today when we were able to hug before sitting down at a table across from each other. The wife even sat beside me for a few minutes until a guard came by and told the wife to move to the other side of the table. Throughout our conversation I received slaps on the arm just because it was possible. What a great surprise to learn that all visits are contact. It's so much nicer to talk face-to-face instead of having a glare in the way.

Many of the staff here have said that they are committed to rehabilitation, since this is one last leg before going home. I heard something similar upon my arrival in San Saba, so I was a bit skeptical here. From what I have seen so far, they are actually serious here. I'm going to try to take advantage of any good opportunities allowed so I can cast off the institutional dross I have collected.

First Impressions

Well, I've been here a couple of days now and I guess it's time to describe my first impressions. It would probably take a long time for me to spit out everything, so I'm just going to do a bullet list. Here goes:

• No more "Let's-have-pork-at every-meal'
• A/C: The Texas Necessity
• Fresh fruit, not from a can
• My clothes are my clothes (no unexplained stains)
• Satellite with movies galore
• More weight sets than we know what to do with (medicine balls, too!)
• Flip up your trays and buckle up; the descent to the free world begins here.
• Administration oversees men, not inmates (they want us to succeed, too.)
• Hallelujah! Two or three Christian studies each night
• The shabby chic peeling paint and rust is a thing of the past
• A shower without a timer? You mean I control the water? Cool!
• Only place to absorb vitamin D is at rec (if outdoors)
• Progress toward degree still halted
• Is this cell a broom closet?
• Hey, this window won't open

On the road again - part two

I'm at my new unit now and it couldn't have turned out better unless they released me. But first, the travel.

Again, I was handcuffed to another guy for the bus ride to Huntsville that began at 7:30 AM, had five other stops at various units and arrived at 2:30 PM. We exited the bus and entered one of three cages outside in the transit area. We received johnnies for our first meal since 3:30 that morning.

First I thought we were waiting to be housed overnight or for a few days, but then I noticed some guys getting back into busses or vans. I was standing next to the office and could look through a window at all the paperwork as it came in. I began looking for my name. After about an hour, a sheet arrived that had my name among six others. The top of the paper read "Leaving: Huntsville Unit. Transfer to: Estes Unit." Where is that? I asked around and found out that it is the unit outside Fort Worth that I had wanted to go to ever since I heard about it from a guy in my first chain bus. If I was going to be in prison, this is where I wanted to be, as close to home as I could get and a privately run minimum security prison.

Just from the ride there, I knew Estes was going to be good. Those that were coming with me got on a van with cloth seats. There were only six of us so we could stretch out. The two guards turned on the radio, played with their cell phones and joked around with us as we hit the road. Three hours of air-conditioned travel brought us to Venus, TX, at about 5 PM.

When we arrived, they had trays waiting for us with food far better than any TDC fare. We received three sets of clothing and a laundry bag. No more trading in clothes every day; these were ours until we left the unit or wore them out. I made a phone call home when I got to the dorm and surprised my folks with news that even I was a little shocked by. This spot is a huge blessing.

On the road again

There I was, lying in my bed, listening to the radio and reading my book. My window was open with a nice, cool breeze coming through. The sun had gone down and I was relaxing before my shift started at midnight. this was what I had been looking forward to. It's still prison, but better than San Saba.

Then it was all interrupted.

"Cellie, you're on the chain", called my Mexican cellmate.

"No, not me. You sure?" I responded.

"Yeah, they called your bunk for chain."

This is nuts. I just go here a month ago and only saw parole two weeks ago. The phrase "on chain" means that a person is being transferred and probably comes from the shackles that links inmates to each other on the bus. This is far too soon to be transferred, but sure enough, when I asked the guard on duty, she said it was me that was leaving so I should pack up.

After packing everything and taking it to the administration building to be inventoried, I found out that I was going to Huntsville to be transferred to a pre-release unit. Just because they say pre-release doesn't mean I'm getting out soon. It just means that I'm going to a nicer faciilty, one to ease the transition to the free world. Some people stay at one for more than two years. This was pretty good news, but I still don't my final destination, which I had assumed was my current unit.

I'm leaving all my food behind because I can't fit it into the one onion bag I keep with me on transfer and don't want it to show up in a month if I put it in property. My property from San Saba still has not caught up with me. Now I'm taking my last nap before breakfast here in Dayton. I'll probably leave around 7 AM.

Blind Men

"Ailred, I know hours well enough," I said. "Stick a twig into the soil and watch the shadow turn. Or take old Wear out there. Let him rise another inch or two, and either we'll grow gills or shipwreck sure. That's hours for you. It's inch by inch and hour by hour to death. It's hours gone and hours still to go. No puzzle there. A child can count it out. But what is time itself, dear friend? What is the sea where hours past hours still to pass, but all of them instead was? Is there no time yet to come that's not here now?"

... "You speak of time, Godric," Ailred said. His cough for once was gone. "Time is a storm. Times past and times to come, they heave and flow and leap their hands like Wear. Hours are clouds that change their shapes before your eyes. A dragon fades into a maiden's scarf. A monkey's grin becomes an angry fist. But beyond time's storm and clouds there's timelessness. Godric, the Lord of Heaven changes not, and even when our view's most dark, he's there above us fair and golden as the sun." And so it is.

"God's never gone, my gentle, ailing Ailred said. "It's only men go blind."

- Godric, Frederick Buechner

Phoning home

One of the first things I noticed when I got here were the bright blue phones on the dayroom wall. At San Saba, they had just started putting the phones in. We were one of the last units in one of the last states to get phones. I was glad to see then already in place here.

The phones can only be used to call members on your visitation list and are quite pricey compared to normal minutes. We are allowed 120 minutes each month and each call can be no longer than 15 minutes. We can call collect or use a prepaid debit account that costs a bit less. The most backwards part is that the only numbers we can call are land lines, which rules out all cell phones, the main mode of voice communication these days. I understand security concerns, but that's why they make sure each number is actually registered to a visitor. My family did not have a land line until they found out that was the only way I could contact them.

When making a call, the phone system by Embarq makes us go through several security measures, including voice recognition. In San Saba, a technician came by to get our voices registered. We say our full name, then "Texas Department of Criminal Justice." This is where everyone has the most problems. I had to try close to thirty times when I made my first call before it went through. And the system hangs up on you if you don't clear in four times. Being in a noisy dayroom doesn't help.

The first time I went through to my parent's phone was a couple of weeks ago. There was no answer, as I later found out that the phone was unplugged to keep from getting telemarketer calls until they found out I could call. My first conversation with them was last week and I talked to my youngest brother for almost the whole fifteen minutes. After a few tries, I was able to manipulate my voice correctly and I had a good conversation with my folks.

Today I spent at least an hour trying to get my voice to go through before it worked. Unfortunately, no one seemed to be home on the two times I managed to get through. I guess I'll just have to try again later.

I didn't know when it would come but I knew last night when I got the lay-in that it came exactly two months early. This morning I had my parole interview. I gathered all my support letters and my parole packet to make sure I had all my references right if I got nervous and hesitated or forgot. I met with a representative of the parole board, not an actual board member. Even still, it's a good thing I brought my stuff because I did get nervous and hesitated and forgot.

The representative asked me about my criminal history, job history and educational background. I gave details about my probation violations that got me here - each one technical and self-reported. We moved on to my accomplishments since I've been in prison and I showed her my certificates and college transcripts. I gave her the addresses I would like to parole to and told her my plans including work and college.

Finally she asked me why I should be granted parole. I answered that I have completed counseling and realize how much I have hurt my family. I have matured since my crime (committed at age 14) and have plans to complete a master's degree and serve my community. I also have my family and many friends who are waiting to give support upon my release.

I don't think it was possible to know how it went, but I think it was as good as it could be. I was nervously shaking and was slow with some answers because I was nervous. The rest of the day I've been thinking about things I could have added. Now comes the period of even more nervousness: the excited, anxious, hopeful waiting for an answer. I was told that I would hear back in about three months, but I've seen guys get an answer much faster. It would be so cool to be home for Christmas.

OD on Junk Food

Today I had a great visit from my two best friends from back home in Fort Worth. They have been married since I came to prison and I haven't seen the husband since before I was arrested almost 2 1/2 years ago. Even after all that time he was wearing a shirt I got for him with my employee discount at American Eagle. Some things never change.

They brought a roll of quarters and when the wife asked me what I wanted from the vending machines, I said Sprite and Skittles - my usual for a visit. She said she would get me something else and wanted to know what else to get. "Surprise me," I said.

Well, surprise me she did. She came back with four bags of sweets and four bags of chips in addition to the Skittles and drink. It was a glutton's heaven.

"You better eat quickly if you want to finish it all." she said. After my thanks, I said I would probably have to share some with other guys, which I did. That was a lot of food.

As I stuffed my face with junk food, we caught up on all the goings-on where we are. I told them all about my new unit and I heard how all my other friends were doing. They shared their plans for moving up to Indiana so the husband could take on a short-term missions coordinator position. If it happens - and it looks like it will - they will be leaving next summer. That means I need to get out sooner rather than later if I'm going to spend any time with them. I already missed their wedding. Life goes by quickly out there while I'm at a standstill here.

Positive learning environment

I'm no longer in the same cognitive intervention with the teacher who asserted her own opinion to the point of belittling others and didn't seem to care about us anyway. Last week I went to the principal and asked to be moved to a different class. He asked me to write a couple pages about why I wanted to move and to come back the next day. Well, the next day I was in the infirmary for five hours for nothing and missed class and the opportunity to talk with the principal again. I told my teacher the next day that I had to speak with the principal, but she didn't believe me and made me stay in class. This continued each day until this Wednesday when she allowed me to go during scheduled walk-ins.

I apologized to the principal for taking so long and gave him my pages about the class. He told me to look forward to getting a lay-in for a class change the next day. Sure enough, it was there.

My new class is really laid back. We covered what we needed to within the first hour or so, spent some time talking about strange conspiracies, then watched an MSNBC special on heroin addicts. There wasn't any yelling, profanity, or craziness (except the conspiracy stuff) and the teacher actually treated us and our comments with respect. This is a much better way to waste the three hours each day.

Goodbye to another friend

My coworker, Matt, left to go home on parole tonight. He had to wait about six months from the time he was supposed to leave because it took forever to get an approved address to go home to. It seems like the system does go out of its way to make things difficult sometimes. He has had a lot of anxiety about his release and how difficult it will be to find work and a good social group. He feels like he is too old for college and his record is too much of a stigma for employers to look past. His past experiences with betrayal aren't an encouragement, either.

I've talked with him about my own positive experience and those of other guys I've encountered. While I was on probation, I was encouraged and accepted by friends I made in college group at my church and had a petty good job for a guy my age. I've met guys with felony records that managed apartment complexes, worked as investors ans started their own businesses, I think that if a person wants a successful life and they do the research to find out how to get where they want to be, with proper effort they can get there. Of course, there are some areas a felon can't go into without having their record expunged.

I hope Matt finds a nurturing community that will continue to encourage him to productivity. I think he'll feel better after he's been out a few months. Now I am left to work alone, which I prefer unless I have a good coworker like Matt.

GOAL!

Today was the first time in about a year that I've played soccer. I hadn't played at my last unit because no one else was going out to play. I just stayed inside and worked out on my own. This place is a different story. There are quite a few guys that play. I'm still working out, too.

When I got here I saw a guy from my last unit who I played soccer with. I was one of the better players at the previous spot, so in the first couple weeks of my being here he was hyping me up with all the other guys. I had people asking if I was "that guy" and if I was going to play. There were several weeks of hype before I finally played because I had to repair my shoes.

This weekend I was ready. The field has no boundaries except those that are called. The goals are about the size of hocky or lacrosse goals, which makes for more difficult scoring. Overall, everything is smaller. With the eight-man teams it got crowded, and crisp passing was needed for any success. My touches on the ball were not as sure as usual and I got winded sooner that I expected, but both should be back in the coming weeks. I did manage to score off a great pass, though. I'm just glad to be playing again.

"The radio reminds me of my home far away..." *

Boy, I can't express how great it is to have a radio. For the first time since incarceration I have new terrible pop songs stuck in my head. The best part is that I actually enjoy them in their stupid catchiness. I wonder how long that will last.

I began by listening to classical music on my cellie's radio. I was able to buy my own radio last weekend so I didn't have to wait until he wasn't using his. The radios don't come with antennas so I attempted to make one out of a paper clip and the foil seasoning packets from ramen soups - ramen seems to be useful for everything in prison.That first antenna didn't work too well, so I cut a Coke can into a long, thin strip and jammed it into my window frame. Immediately my station count went from a low one digit number to a high teen, including many in stereo. It doesn't look pretty at all but it works very well.

I got my musical feet back starting with the pop and adult alternative stations. I don't think music has changed a whole lot, but it was almost all intoxicatingly new to me. After admitting to myself that, yes, I did actually enjoy Taylor Swift's and Lady Gaga's music (did I really say that?), I moved over to the rock station to reintroduce myself to great hard guitar riffs from the likes of Chevelle.

Now that I had my mainstream music foundations, I was ready to hit the indie airwaves of college radio from Rice (University). Whoa, maybe I did that a little fast. The crazy time signatures of avant garde stuff was a bit much for my atrophied ears, but after hearing a couple familiar songs from Clap Your Hands, Say Yeah! and M. Ward, I was hooked again.

When I'm not exploring sounds on college radio, I'm listening to the news and familiar radio shows on the public radio station. This evening I closed my eyes as I listened and laughed along with Prairie Home Companion and I felt like I was at home with my family. It was a good serving of comfort food to sing along to "Powder Milk Biscuits."

* Take Me Home, Country Roads, John Denver