About two weeks ago, I asked a few fellows to contribute to our Inside View. Few of them wrote some things that will give you an idea about one type of my world’s personalities. We are a colorful bunch indeed.
St. Patrick’s Day: At yesterday’s dinner, a dark brown viscous substance appeared on our plates: Irish stew, by God, if St Patrick could see this production, he’d turn in his grave. Beads of perspiration decorated my red face as I ate a salad only while studying the other men. Some look rough-hewn, men of all ages, conditions, shapes and sizes. Some are beer-bloated, others gaunt. A few left-handed pale faced young fellows, beefy men of middle age and quite a few look like ghetto dogs. Still a few who have an array of ball-point pens in their breast pockets as symbols of office and literacy… Oh yes, we have a full cast of clowns at this zoo.
This day, I took a walk around our small Recreation Yard. I met many guys who shared their thoughts about this day. My Odonist friends hate St. Patrick’s Day. They called him a murderer. A killer who destroyed their civilization. My Christian friends offered me a Cola and a plate of food. They were celebrating the day with food and prayer. I took the soda and chatted for few minutes. I walked toward the Mexicans who were playing cards and asked them about St. Patrick’s Day. They did not care about him but were glad for the day because it’s another opportunity to get drunk and have fun. I nodded in agreement. Never argue with a drunk. Especially if he is completely covered with tatoos. Even his face is tatooed from ear to ear. His left knuckles are decorated with for letters that spell “Love” and the right ones spell “Hate”. Just smile and keep on trucking. My tour ended by the soccer field where I met other South Americans, couple Europeans and Africans. Most of them don’t care who St. Patrick was or is. They just want to celebrate the sunny day through their love for soccer. I joined in after doing my own prayers and finished my cola.
The month of Ramadan is a holy month that is observed and revered by Muslims around the world. In prison, we do the same. The Muslims are allowed to go to Religious Services, perform their prayers, and at the end of the day – at sundown – go to the Food Service and eat their meal. The meal consists of what was served to the general population at lunch and dinner time.
All of us are scared of being sick and dying here, alone. It is hard to think of the news reaching our loved ones and their pains. Especially the pains of the mother, grandmother, sister, daughter, and wife. It is strange to hear of people who abuse each other and forget that life is short. If we indeed love someone, we would never do what would hurt that person. Nothing is worth a tear drop from the eyes of a loved one. Those whose mothers are alive are indeed blessed. I hope they realize that and cherish their mothers and know their values. I do know that if I take all the kindness of the world and give it to my mother every single day, I will never be able to pay her for even one of her labor pains or cramps. Until we meet again, take care.
