Across the Aisle

Across the Aisle

Special Thanks to @CoryBooker & @SenRandPaul http://thegoodfight.fm/episodes/28-cory-booker-and-rand-paul-partners-on-crime AND to Marie Gottschalk http://www.upenn.edu/pennnews/news/new-york-attorney-general-s-office-intern-penn-s-iris-zhang-facing-her-fears and http://books.google.com/books/about/The_Prison_and_the_Gallows.html?id=N9brN4Bx8GgC AND to Robin Garrett http://www.wcupa.edu/_academics/healthsciences/nursing/faculty/garrett.asp AND SEUNG MIN KIM http://www.politico.com/story/2014/07/cory-booker-rand-paul-team-up-108640.html 

At the Chester County Democratic Committee meeting I just attended, I loitered outside like a punk against the wall of a Denver pot house for the arrival of Pennsylvania’s potential next governor. I was jockeying for a photo of the two of us together to be posted to the Growing Examples website as an endorsement, and to increase legitimacy of the organization as we head into our Fall fundraiser. Calculated, I know, but also the sign of forward thinking and commitment to the organization’s success.

The Democratic PA Senator who was hosting the event was an old family friend; my ninety year old grandmother, Lily, has been a longtime supporter of the sixth term senator. A staff member of his recognized me and called me by name. I sort of recognized her and asked would I be able to get a photo with tonight’s guest. She said, “we’ll see,” without smiling.

Two other office aides exited the township building as a black SUV arrived. Out came the candidate and as he approached the building I stepped to him, asking for a photo together. A campaign staff member introduced himself, handed me his card, Howard Starr, it read, and grasped the outstretched camera app. Stepping into the lobby, we posed for a shot, but were interrupted and instructed by Starr that we were backlit and we should shift to have the light on our faces. Good Job, Starr! And so I got the pic. It’s now just waiting for the opportune time to drop.

It was in Grad school that I was introduced to Marie Gottschalk’s “The Prison and the Gallows – The Politics of Mass Incarceration in the United States.” And, it was just after school that I began raising awareness of Restorative Justice in my own hometown. Here is where I intercepted a professor from West Chester University. She had been my own Women’s Studies prof when I attended undergrad there in the nineties. She told me about a PA State Representative in our town who was open to meeting all his constituents, R or D, and suggested that I approach him with my Re-entry Program idea. Way to Go, Professor!

I did do that, made a call, spoke with an Aide, set up a meeting, and waited patiently that first day for coffee and for my audience with the Rep. When we did meet, he was excited to hear about the idea, agreed that it reaches across political party lines and promised to continue our conversations moving forward. We did. Awesome! Now, he sits as an advisory member on the Growing Examples board.

New Jersey State Senator, Cory Booker is also preaching awareness of the positive influence of common ground. He and Rand Paul, who’d thunk it. Thank you common sense. 

#commonground #commonsense #restorative #practices #justice #partylines #growingexamples 

Pay For It

Special Thanks http://www.youtube.com/user/ApesMovies to the film, https://twitter.com/ApesMovies and to: @Celazul1 @LWolf14 @A_Fieldhouse @juanma_lz @kristenpurcell 

Go see Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. Skip Universal Studios Orlando. For the same reason.

It had begun to rain, spitting singular large drops; the Central Florida, mid-July thunderstorm was about to begin. And we were at Universal Studios Orlando, in Seuss Land. We could see a cups and saucers knock off ride, and the line was short. There was a roof. My sister, her four kids, and me trooped through oversized, brightly painted, fiberglass character statues, long skinny palm tree legs, bushes shaped like green eggs and ham and increasingly faster rain pellets to the line for the Seuss-a-whirl.

This place where we were guided to wait in line was open air. Unlike the claustrophobic closed split rail halls for Harry Potter mountain, these aisles were just steel pipes and shiny, silver chain link. We could see everyone, and everywhere, and even the ride from where we waited. The family just in front of us was speaking spanish. They stood, a grandfather, mom, grandkids, and one almost-bored preteen. But, even she was laughing every now and again, temporarily distracted from fixing her hair. They were happy, under the ride roof, hidden from the rain, and enjoying one another. They mirrored my family’s own mood. “SMACK” the clap of thunder struck. We laughed and joked, something about angels bowling, and the line lurched forward. Lurched, but there are so few people in line before us, “Why such a little move forward?” I wondered this aloud. Then I noticed. Six ride cars were filled first. Twelve express pass riders had just jumped in front of the line in which we waited. My sister, Cindy, shook her head.

“It’s not Disney,” she lamented. I thought about what she had said earlier.

Universal sells an add-on to the exorbitant $92 ticket price, for an additional 76 dollars you can get the fast track ticket, or express line wait, whatever it’s called. And, not have to stand in line nearly as long as the regular $92 ticket holders. Regular. Ninety two dollars. Prior to this ride, the express line riders were kept better hidden from the regular ticket holder lines. But, here, completely exposed, the difference was plainly visible. I pointed to the line and my sister nodded. “Yes,” she spoke, “I like Disney better, they have express lines also, but every park ticket gets to access the lesser wait times. Each ticket has a code, and every hour it permits a holder to utilize the express lane. You can essentially go on every ride, with that express pass if you plan it right.” She smiled. Then, her face grew sad, “But, I heard that Disney may be following this trend at their parks now, too.”

“That sucks,” I blurted, then, “I mean stinks, that stinks. It makes me really angry. Watch how the kids look at the express pass holders. For that matter, look at my own anger, and envy, for those people. It certainly says a lot about disparate income.” Cindy agreed, while her daughter, Karen, who had appeared to not be listening to us, wrinkled her nose.

“It is lousy,” Karen spoke up determinedly. “If we’ve also paid to be here, then why can’t we all use the express pass?” I looked at Cindy, who I know keeps most household financial matters discreet, but before either of us could respond, Karen spoke again. “It’s not very fair.”

And that is the answer, isn’t it. It’s not very fair. This leads to why I have also included the Dawn of the Planet of the Apes endorsement. In that film, in the first six minutes, a narrator, or perhaps a news feed overlay, someone is talking, and they speak about the resources running out for humans. And how, at first, those with money got to use the resources, but then fighting ensued, and as the resources diminished, eventually, most people had killed one another off. Even the money holders. There are a few different moments in the film when peace could be reached, but greed and hate and power and breach of trust, and murder, they keep us and the apes from that peace pinnacle.

I don’t think I have it in me to go postal, but, if I did, it might be while watching express pass holders jump in front of me for resources. Or, more, watching my niece and nephews watch people jump in from of them for resources. Oh wait, I watch that, already, all the time, just about most everywhere. Oh, money.

#money #resources #family #restorative #practice #disparate #income #growingexamples

Teacher Peer Self

During one of our first meetings together, I asked low-income, inner city, 7th- and 8th- graders to write one answer for each of three questions onto individual 3 x 5” notecards. Students were enrolled in Conflict Resolution, a preventative program developed as part of Growing Examples. http://www.growingexamples.org The following is a list of their answers, in no particular order.

 

One thing I expect from my teacher:

Be respectful

Be able to control the students

A lesson

Teach

Teach what they have to teach and get rid of the annoying people

Treat me the same way they would like to be treated

Stay strong, be brave, be strict and be caring

Stop quitting on us and letting us get to them

Respect and patience

 

One thing I expect from my peers:

Treat me with respect

Be good people

Be kind, be loyal, be respectful

Let me learn

Kindness

Respect and appreciate more, teach others and teachers

Respect

Be respectful to others

Be respectful or better influences

 

One thing I expect from myself:

Be more patient; stop having anger problems

Pay attention/listen

Be respectful

Epicness

Succeed

Be respectful to myself and to others; learn how to control my actions

Self-esteem in great amounts

Succeed in life; be respectful to people that are talking

Not worry about others think

Bǎwò Guāngyīn

Bǎwò Guāngyīn

Ken brought Chinese take-out and a bottle of Mezcal for dinner one night last month. The fortune in my cookie read, “Keep it simple. The more you say, the less people will remember.”

I laughed at the presence of the tequila. “I need to photograph this and use it for the blog when I don’t have a topic, or when I don’t have time to write one week.” I said, lifting my highball. My iPhone was in my pocket. It has a great camera.

“Oh yea, read mine, Cutie.” Ken passed me his slip of cheap white paper, his thumb lingering in the center of my open palm, his eyes sparkling.

“Learn to speak Chinese, Nǐ hǎo, hello.” I read. Ken smiled.

“Yea, turn it over, Smartass,” Ken quipped and pulled his hand away.

I turned the fortune over to read, “Flattery will go far tonight.” And it did…

I didn’t photograph the cookie fortune, though. I thought about it again the next day, “Oh, I really want to photograph that fortune for the blog.” Again, phone in pocket, slip of white paper with little red letters readily available, but no photo-taking. The fortune, “Keep it simple. The more you say, the less people will remember,” remained on the small kitchen table.

Two weeks later, while packing the Macbook Pro for the short trip I was taking, and the essay I’d be writing: “This is a great week to use that fortune cookie photo,” I said to the unmade bed, “Keep it simple.” But then went back to packing, and, for a third time, I didn’t get the pic.

As I am tasked with this essay, I am missing the lost opportunities I had to make this post really great. Really short. Really simple. I am missing the photo I didn’t take of the fortune cookie. “Keep it simple. The more you say, the less people will remember.”

Now, the accompanying photo for this essay is the “click to add” photos screenshot from the Facebook “create an event” page. Great, Joe. Next time, how about a little “Carpe Diem,” or, as the interweb says is Mandarin for the classic Latin, “Bǎwò Guāngyīn.” Carpe diem, seize the day, keep it simple. I sit here writing, lamenting, “What’s more simple than smartphone photography?”

 

Lost or Stolen

Special Thanks to @RevRunWisdom https://twitter.com/RevRunWisdom and to Scott Allison, Ph.D. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/why-we-need-heroes/201404/do-heroes-make-us-smarter AND to Alan Castel, Ph.D. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/metacognition-and-the-mind/201404/wisdom-ask-siri-or-ask-grandma

Cam called while I was still on 76 East traffic into Philadelphia and I answered. “Joe, Roxie got a call from Franklin Montgomery, the director at the Port Richmond site.” I knew who Franklin was; we’d been working his site for six weeks. “Joe, he says he’s missing a laptop.”

“Well, that sucks,” I replied. “Was it one of our guys?”

“That’s what he’s claiming. He says it was there in the AM when he left for a meeting and when he returned, it was not there anymore.”

“When did he return,” I pressed my breaks too hard as the tractor trailer on my left swerved more than a little over our lane line. “We were there until 3:30,” I said, annoyed.

“After that apparently; he says nobody was there when he arrived back. He didn’t give a time.” Cam paused then asked, “What’s the bathroom policy there, Joe?”

“We use the bathroom inside the building. A guy comes to us, Janice or I, and asks for the front door key. We give it to him. Or her, if its Damaris.” At this point in our Basic Construction class, we were about four months into our nine month program. We were down to only seven participants, and one guy, Luis, who was borderline absenteeing himself out. So technically eight. We had started with 16 in this program, a part of The Mural Arts Program of Philadelphia’s restorative justice programming. That we had eight still in, at the four month mark, was good stats. I felt protective of the remaining guys and girl, who were really showing commitment to their success.

“Im not saying it was one of our guys, Joe.” Cam interrupted the angry analysis track running in my head, “And, Im not saying that it wasn’t. But, we’re going to have to adjust how our guys, and Damaris, enter, or have access to the building.”

Finally, some breathing room in the traffic, as I passed the Conshohocken Curve, “Cam, you know we can do a porta potty, or we can accompany the guys into the building for bathroom breaks. Janice can accompany Damaris. What do you think?”

“We’d rather not hafta afford a rental, but goin’ with the guys into the building sounds right.”

“Fine,” what a pain in the ass, I thought. And it was, for the rest of our time at that site, when someone had to use the restroom, one of the instructors would have to stop and accompany a guy to the building. We eventually made it into scheduled bathroom breaks. And we dissuaded the use of bathrooms when it wasn’t break time. We also never did solve the case of the missing  computer.

The next year, I was program directing for a bunch of kids out in Coatesville, with a woman, Carolyn, and we were invited to spend the day cooking at Chester County Food Bank. Their facility included a large commercial kitchen, a distribution warehouse, and their offices. The restrooms were located out in the office section of the building. Here, desks were littered with personal mementos, plants, and photos in frames, (Author’s note: think office decor of the second half of Dolly, Jane, and Lily’s film.) One girl, Michelle, approached me about seven and a half minutes into the preparation time for our first class recipe. “Mr. Ovelman, I haft use the bathroom.”  She stood on her toes, in white candies, or, what I would call candies, not sure what they’re called now, and pink and orange striped knee socks. Her arms stretched, and hands opened flat with her plea. Completely trustworthy, right, I mean, come on, it’s Michelle. But, we were here today, and it was Saturday, and we were the only people here today. The desks were littered with mementos. And there were two doors between the commercial kitchen and the office space, both on hinges whose natural position was closed. I thought about the missing laptop. I thought about the way it made me feel that one of my guys was accused of theft, when who really knows what happened. You know, a laptop is a hard thing to tuck into ones shirt, unnoticed.

I stopped, running through my head, looking out onto the 14 or so kids around the stainless tables as they diced and chopped, and two making a rue, and more at the sink peeling potatoes. Michelle doin’ the pee dance and beginning to draw attention. But, I didn’t want to hear on Monday that someone was missing something from one of their friendly desks. Perhaps something they’d mistakenly thrown away, or misplaced, or took home, or gave away or traded.. Or, or or… I didn’t want our kids to have to face that opportunity today; I wasn’t going to have all our kids, or our program, take the fall. I asked my partner Carolyn to accompany Michelle out into the office area, telling her quickly of the missing laptop story. She agreed. When they returned, I addressed the class of fourteen fourteen-year-olds. “Can I have your attention.” I called, and they gave it to me. I told the story of the missing laptop. I also shared my concerns about the building set up and access to the personal office space here at the food bank. I told them that I didn’t think any of them would steal, but also said that taking this precaution avoided any negative responsibility being thrown our way, for perhaps, maybe someone else’s mistake. The students listened.

Kyle spoke up as I finished. “Sounds right,” He asserted. And the students agreed to only use the restroom if they really needed it, but would try to wait until one of our scheduled break times. Emergencies had Carolyn or I standing in one of the swinging doors. And on Monday, we did not receive a call that anything was missing. What we did receive was a call that thanked us for leaving such a neat facility, as we had returned it to the state it was loaned to us, clean and tidy.

Audience

Forbes: “If you observe any of these warning signs, you need to intervene now:” Thank you to Zeynep Ilgaz.

 

She said, “You can suck my dick.” Thirteen year old, “I don’t like myself”, mostly engaged in the lessons, bullied- Raneetha. Ohh, Raneetha. She was standing her full, four foot four, her splayed fingers digging into wide, maturing hips, and her chest puffed up and out. She spat the line with genuine frustration, dropping her jaw with each beat to reveal pink gums beneath mostly straight teeth. “You.” Jaw drops. “Can.” Jaw drops. “Suck.” Jaw drops again. “My dick.” Marking the performance that she knew, deep down, she was capable of performing, her eyes furtively shifted to gauge my reaction, but received little information. Then they were off and back to focus on her epitaph’s receiver, Jamari. Jamari just laughed, while Raneetha tried to suppress her own smile. I could see both of them, but my eyes were focused on Brandon.

Brandon kept interrupting Raneetha, as she was losing her cool with Jamari. Brandon also, now, was standing, shifting weight from one foot to the other, “Raneetha, you got to calm down.”

“Brandon.” My stern voice out. “Brandon, please sit down now, and stop talking. Please. This is the last time that I’m gonna ask.”

 

Raneetha: I have nothing to calm down for.

Jamari: (laughing) Just quit your playin’ Raneetha.

Brandon: Just be calm.

Raneetha:(shouting) I AM NOT PLAYING!!!

 

Leveling my voice, “Brandon, sit down now. And stay out of this, please.” Raneetha’s hands began pounding at the sides of her head as she repeated her shout. I decided that this escalation had been allowed to progress as far as I felt comfortable. Standing from my own seat in our circle, I walked directly to where Brandon was standing. I stood as close to his 4-foot frame as I could without touching. “Sit down, Brandon. Now.” I said, looking down.

Brandon sat. “But she just,” he was still talking, even as he was sitting.

“Brandon,” I interrupted. “Stop talking.”

“But she just…”

“I don’t wanna hear it right now. We can talk about it later, if you still want to, but for right now, you need to be here, seated. And with your mouth shut.” I looked down into his upturned face, and his wide brown eyes found mine. Then, head swung down, and eyes leveled, to look out and to his right, beyond me.

“Fine.” Brandon’s skinny dark arms crossed. Now, I was able to return to my seat in the circle.

On my way back, I admonished Raneetha quietly as I passed her, “Stop beating your head, Raneetha. Please.”

Once, I was seated, I asked for everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s have everyone’s attention here; eyes on me, please.”  Raneetha was still standing; she stopped beating her head. Jamari was already back in his seat, smugly smiling, lounging legs outstretched, shoulders back. Brandon’s head was shaking back and forth, but at least, he wasn’t talking.

“Everyone should now be back in their seats, sitting upright, eyes and attention focused on me.” Jamari pulled himself to straighten at his back. Brandon stopped shaking his head, turned and looked at me. Everyone in the circle, ten or eleven of us, were basically now sitting upright and focused on getting back to the program. Raneetha looked around, then dropped into her seat, with a small huff. She raised her head to look at me.

“Language that is inappropriate during your regular school day is also inappropriate during this program and please refrain from using it.” I stated. I did look directly back into Raneetha’s eyes, and also scanned all the eyes of our circle. Then, I asked, a slow smile on my waning face, “Now, what are some things that can happen when one person is losing their cool, and their is an audience? What do you think about the audience’s role in conflict?”

We do.

The facilitator asks the group, “Who decides whether this will be an enriching class.”

Some, including the facilitator, respond in unison, “We do.”

The facilitator asks the group again, “Who decides whether this will be an enriching class.”

More respond in unison, “We do.”

The facilitator asks for a third time, “Who decides whether this will be an enriching class.”

Most respond in unison, “We do.”

Then, we begin.

I Hate Stevie Nicks

Special Thanks to @StevieNicks

Posts by StevieNicks

and to @DollyParton

Posts by DollyParton

. Also to @_KennyRogers

Posts by _KennyRogers

and to Elanore Madden, http://www.ehow.com/how-does_5209222_music-affect-memory_.html and http://www.emedexpert.com/tips/music.shtml

My first real boyfriend, Ben Marks, was beaten up repeatedly as a kid by multiple boyfriends of his drug addicted mom. There is one incident he recalls of his face pushed beneath a steam radiator. He could see just a hairy forearm, bent at its elbow. In the Eighties, he spent time at a behavorial health treatment center in Philadelphia called The Bridge. According to Ben, the center incessantly played the song Bridge Over Troubled Water, by Simon and Garfunkel. As an adult, Ben could not, would not, listen to anything S & G, not in a car, not at the bar. We would leave a restaraunt that had the track playing, or move to another beach if we could hear any tinkle of the two Seventies singers. Ben’s favorite song, though was Songbird, by Fleetwood Mac, released in 1977. When Ben and I broke up, I made my Rumours cassette tape warble from overplaying, and over-rewinding, just that last track on side 1, Songbird.

Last night I met a man with his wife at a Karaoke house party in Stowe, Vermont. As Fleetwood Mac, and subsequently Stevie Nicks fanatics, my sister and I suggested that we sing the rockin’ Stevie Classic, Edge of Seventeen. John spoke, “Oh God, no. I hate Stevie Nicks, I hate Fleetwood Mac.” A chorus of incredulity and what, what are you talking abouts responded.

“But, John, ‘Landslide!?’, ‘Stand Back’, ‘You Make Lovin’ Fun’?” Christie turned herself into our circle to face John, arms straight at her sides, hands stiffly bent at her wrists to be perpendicular with the floor.

“Songbird,” I added, arm at my side, bent at the elbow, my pointer finger pointed up.

“Wait, wait, there’s a story.” John protested. Carrie, standing next to me, laughed, insisting that we listen to John plead his case.

“When I was fourteen, I went to my first real party, like the parents weren’t going to be there party. There were 8 guys and 5 girls.”

“That’s good odds,” I interrupted. John arched his brow.

“8 guys to 5 girls,” he said again. I had misheard.

“Good odds for me, then…” I quipped.

John smiled and resumed. “So there I was in my dress shirt, and pants, and good shoes, because my mom thought it was a real party, and made me dress up. There I was sitting on the couch with two other guys wearing button down shirts, watching tv, while the guys wearing rock tee shirts were all making out with the girls in the other room. The whole time, we could hear Rumours album playing.” We all laughed. “They just kept flipping it over and over. Anytime, I hear anything remotely related to Fleetwood Mac I am right back there in that living room, an awkward fourteen year old boy, not making out with a girl.”

Carrie leaned in with a lengthy tongue kiss, a little uncomfortably… long. “But now you make out with women.” She said smiling, as they parted.

Christie and I instead decided to sing “Islands in the Stream,” released in 1983, and the second number one pop song for both Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton. When it got to the part where Kenny and Dolly sing, “When we rely on each other, uh huh,” Christie and I swung our hips in unison with our arms, bent at the elbows, reaching up to clap in front of our faces. John and Carrie kept kissing. The kids were all dancing. We really had the crowd a’rockin’.

 

 

 

 

 

Character

Thanks to Steve_Brady http://www.strategicmonk.com/2014/05/10/power-listening/ 

Tweets by Steve_Brady

AND Congratulations to 

Tweets by TrinityExecHead

Jim Simon M.Ed

“Describe one positive character trait you can attribute to the person sitting to your left. Who wants to start?” I asked. Tayana’s hand went up and she began.

“Fred is funny.”

“Sandella helps me with my work.” Fred stated, as it was his turn next. Sandella looked pleased, then over to her left to contemplate a character trait that she could describe about her friend, Maria.

“Maria is…” she paused, cocked her head, twisted her hair, “she is pretty.” She blurted.

“Pretty is not a character trait, Sandella,” I said, interrupting the flow of our circle question exercise. “And, you’ve heard me say this before, everyone is beautiful. The only time a person can be ugly is when they speak.”

Sandella rolled her big brown eyes, and twisted her hair some more. Another popular student, Zania, spoke up, “Come on, Sandella, go.” And she went.

We continued until everyone sitting in our circle had gone. As we finished, the students asked could we also answer about the person sitting on our right, which we did. There was some good-natured jeering, and some surprises, too. Mabel and Tony argued meanly almost every program. Today, they were sitting next to one another, and when they spoke about each other’s positive traits, each was sincere.

Next, I asked each student to name a character trait that they were proud of in themselves. In the past, this question was hard to glean an answer for from most. But, today, they went right to it. Three hands went up to go first. I chose Rene and she began. Everyone answered thoughtfully, and with minimal embarrassment.

Next, I asked, “OK, great, now this may be harder to share out loud, but I want you to think about a character trait in yourself, that you think needs improvement.”

Of course, Mabel put her hand up first; Mable talks incessantly bad about herself. “OK, Mabel, what character trait do you think needs improvement and in which direction do you want us to travel around the circle with our answers.” She hesitated a moment while deciding in which direction to go, but once she had decided, she quickly said her answer.

“I could have a better attitude.” She said.

“Not listening,” Brandon, sitting to her right, said next.

Zania was seated to the right of Brandon. “I could fight less,” she said. And so on, until we got around and back to Mabel. When it had been my turn to answer, I said that I could be more accepting of other points of view. Imagine that, a little practice of what I preach…

“Now, lastly,” I facilitated, “ I want you to remember the Goal Setting Pyramid exercise we’ve done before.” This is an exercise for adults and children alike, where the primary goal is written at the top of the pyramid. The next line below it has three or four empty spaces, and under each of those spaces are more empty spaces. The idea is to fill in the empty spaces with the little tasks necessary to complete bigger tasks in order to achieve the Big Goal.

“If you place at the top of your Goal Setting Pyramid, ‘Be more accepting of others,’ what is a little goal you can achieve at the beginning of your improving character process? For example, in my case, I said that I wanted to be more accepting of different points of view. One way that I could practice this: I could intentionally enter into a conversation with someone whose opinion I know differs greatly from my own, and then just really listen. Based upon which character trait you said that you wanted to improve in yourself, what is a way in which you could practice better character?”

Is it Scary

Special thanks to https://twitter.com/Youth_Justice Urban Youth Justice (Youth_Justice) on Twitter and https://twitter.com/YouthJusticeNY Youth Justice Board (YouthJusticeNY) on Twitter and to Coming Soon “From Education to Incarceration: Dismantling the School to Prison Pipeline” | Dr. Anthony J. Nocella II

 

“Joe, are you willing to come and speak about Growing Examples, at my youth program in Parksville. We are talking about entrepreneurship in our nutrition class.”

“Seems a stretch to me, Myrna, but I’d be happy to do it.”

“No, you’ve started this business, you know these kids, and I think you’d be a good fit.”

“OK,” I said.

I set to preparing an hour-long program on Entrepreneurship, including ice-breaker games, a quick, short lecture with a think-pair-share activity, and then small group work that included brainstorming a small business. Did I say I was asked to speak for just one hour?

I arrived the Parksvile Youth Center ten minutes before I was scheduled to begin, and walked into a large converted warehouse or gymnasium, with a skate park to my left, and some pool tables and other table games in an area on my right. Straight ahead sat the long basketball court. The skate park and game tables were empty. Although unusual for this bustling hub of teen angst, and pre teen wonder, this was no surprise. For straight ahead in front of me, covering the gym floor were rows of unfolded folding chairs, and 30-40 kids sitting, arms flailing, voices rising and bouncing off the drop ceiling seemingly a thousand feet above. White skinny arms, and black skinny arms, and fat arms, and Menonite arms attached to bony fingers adjusting her bonnet now. Alot of the kids that come here were skinny, hungry, really. In this blighted town, this Center was well-designed to be a place of nurture and love. And, full of love that I am, and resilient as I am, I still was baffled. I spotted Myrna talking with the Center Director, Dan Short, and made my way to the Visiting Teams’ side of the court.

“Hi Danny,” I said, shaking the tall, dark-skinned, muscular, African American Director’s hand, “Myrna.” Reaching to take Myrna’s hand, I said, “Lots of kids here today. I thought you said that your program had just fourteen?”

“Danny thought it would be good for all the youth to hear your program,” she smiled. Danny smiled.

“Great,” I said. I smiled. Thinking, great, I had prepped for fourteen, and seriously over-planned for that number. OK. I have enough game pieces to do small teams of 12-14. It’s a roll the ball through tubes and not drop it game; each person holds a tube, they form a line, and move the ball through the tubes, down the line. This will work. And then I can just adjust the quick, short lecture part to just the…

“Ready,” Danny asked. I turned my head. My eyes refocused on the two before me.

“Ready,” I said. I was introduced and began. I had the students all count off, and get up from their seats to form lines. WAIT. Did I say, I had been asked to speak for just an hour. (And, btw, to just fourteen, and now their were 3 groups of twelve!) I saw Myrna’s smile wane when I gave the direction to leave our seats!!! As I realized my mistake, I still had to go with it, they were so excited, the kids.

We did a quick game; it was hectic, and fun. And, it was 27 and a half minutes before we were all back sitting quietly in our seats. So, now the quick short lecture, which literally was only about ten minutes long of how I had the idea, and what a board is, and who I hoped to help. I didn’t ask for questions. Instead, I announced that we would split into pairs, and began our think-pair-share activity. I ask a question, youths are asked to answer the question alone, youth are then paired to talk about their answers together, and finally, report back to the group. But WAIT. I’ve only been asked to speak for an HOUR!!! And, now it was 39.5 minutes in. 27.5 for the initial ice-breaker game, then ten minutes of lecture, then two minutes of Think-Pair-Share instructions. Myrna raised her hand.

“Yes, Myrna,” I called.

”Joe, we only have about 20 minutes left. Maybe you’d like to talk a little more about the people you hope to help, and about jail. For instance,” the youth all looked at Myrna, now, waiting, “How many of you know someone who has been to jail or prison, or is in jail or prison right now?”

Voices began, hands shot up, “My Uncle is there now,” “My moms has been there,” “Two of my cousins are upstate.” Skinny white, and black, and Spanish and arms bent at the elbows, like they were doing an over the head shake-weight exercise. One hand held the elbow of the other arm whose fingers stretched up, the arm shaking to and from. One really large red haired boy stood up, placing both hands on thick round thighs, pudgy transluscent fingers digging into his freckled thighs. “I got my two brothers there now, and my Uncle.” He turned as he said it, playing to his audience, smiling.

“Sit down, Michael,” Myrna announced.

“Thanks, Myrna,” I boomed, clapping my hands together three times over my head. “What an awesome question.” A few kids clapped three times back, and I repeated the gesture. “When you hear me clap three times, I want you to clap back three times to me. OK,” I stated. One, two, three. We did this a couple times, and then they were quiet again. I re-stated Myrna’s question and asked that they remain quiet as they raised their hands. More than two thirds of the kids raised their hands. Maybe closer to 3/4. I remembered where I was. Parksville. A once booming industrial Chester County town, now drugs and section 8 and TANF eligible youth at community centers. I asked the kids, did they have any questions for me. Hands were raised in response. I called on a small framed pale girl with short braids.

“What’s it like in jail, is it scary,” she asked.

“It can be,” I said, “But, it can be manageable. What are some things that you think people do in jail?”

We began a conversation then, about expectations, assumptions, rumors, and facts. The twenty minutes left to our time together happened very quick. And, then I was being thanked, and there was applause. Kids folded their chairs, mostly walked them to their storage place, then repopulated the skate park, game tables, and basketball court.

Myrna and Danny thanked me. Myrna said that was the part she that wanted, that poverty leads to incarceration, and that she knew her kids were suffering from both those things. I thanked her, and Danny, and left the center to a white blinding sunlight off the concrete parking lot. The train whistled, passing through town on it’s way to the state capitol. It was the 4:05.