Tag: oakdale FCI stories

“Talk To Me”

On By Tony CassonIn Inmates - In Their Own Words, Volume 31 Comment

“The heartfelt counsel of a friend is as sweet as perfume and incense.” – Proverbs 27:9 NLT

“Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, many opinions; for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.” – John Milton

I have never addressed the subject of the comments of my readers. Or the lack thereof, which is more of the impetus for this little blurb than those I do receive.

First, I want to make sure that you all understand that I do not actually post any of these articles myself. My beloved son, Anthony, my beloved brother-in-law, Larry, and my beloved friend, Diane are responsible for that. I cannot go online and see anything, but your comments are passed along to me and I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to write them. Even those few, (thank goodness) that have not been favorable, I do read, so please write them.

They will all be posted by one of my “editors” unless they are suspected of being “phishing” or presenting a danger to others’ computers. While comments critical of my point of view will get posted, any that are simply hateful invective most assuredly will not. And most definitely any that tell about how an article may have helped or affected someone are welcome.

I am generally a very upbeat, positive, forward-moving individual who doesn’t need to be verbally stroked. Okay, I’m a liar. Stroke me, please. Rub my literary tummy and scratch behind my metaphorical ears. Say anything, but say something, for when people are silent, situations such as those facing this country today are allowed to grow and alter the course of tens of thousands of lives, dangerously and permanently.

To those who have taken the time to offer support, encouragement and even disagreement – I thank you.

And for those who may be wondering, Diane is not my wife, sister, mother, aunt, cousin or other relative. She is just a lovely person who makes her opinions known. I do not pay her. (I should, for all she does. However, I am but a poor ward of the government). And if any of you are feeling guilty for not speaking up, you can make it up to me by sending me a birthday card. I will be 59 on October 25th and 59 cards would be nice.

So let’s see – if all my readers and all of my family and all of my friends send cards, that would be… ummm… plus six, carry the one… okay! I’ve got it! I would be short only by about 42 cards. But what the heck!

Only gold is golden. Silence is simply silence.

God bless you all.

Choosing New Beginnings – Toastmasters

On By Tony CassonIn Toastmasters1 Comment

“Choose a good reputation over great riches, for being held in high esteem is better than having silver or gold.”  Proverbs 22:1 NLT

 “We live by making choices.”   David Fink

      Toastmasters has been mentioned in these pages a couple of times. Have I also mentioned how much I hate public speaking? Yes? Well – I hate public speaking. So it was for exactly that reason that I asked for another opportunity to do it. I know it is beneficial, and I know that I need it, so I gave my second speech recently. I probably should have given more by now, but I really hate public speaking. Have I mentioned that?

      Well…I am still alive. I didn’t even need to use the barf bag that I brought for emergencies.

      The subject matter of the speech was such that I thought it was something worth sharing, so I decided to insert the speech here (I had it written out anyway, so what the heck). I hope everyone who reads it is able to get something useful from it. The speech was titled “New Meanings”, and it went like this:

      Good evening fellow Toastmasters, distinguished guests, and staff.

      David Fink said, “We live by making choices”, and when we all chose to name our Toastmaster’s club “New Beginnings”, I believe we chose well. Just saying “New Beginnings” evokes images of a new day being introduced with the sun peeking over the horizon. I believe each new day to be a gift from God and is, by nature, full of hope and opportunity.

      One of the most important things we need to do to take advantage of the “New Beginning” we have each chosen for our lives, is to be open to change and to be willing to look at old things in new ways. We must – each one of us – endeavor to discern new meaning among those things that are most familiar to us. Doing this will enable each of us to make the most out of each new day.

      Opportunities abound in which we can find ways to attach new meanings to our “New Beginning”. Everything that is familiar to us can be molded, shaped, and reinvented into something fresh, meaningful, and positive:  the way we dress; the way we walk; the way we talk; the way we see ourselves; and the way we in which we look at other people.

      Even the way we think about familiar words can bring about new meaning to them. For instance, let’s take the word “pride’. Most of us think of pride as taking satisfaction in our accomplishments. Too much pride can lead to arrogance or conceit, and most are also aware that the Bible warns us against that very thing. As we begin to grow, we become more confident and more sure of ourselves. We naturally take pride in who we are becoming and the direction our life is taking. Unfortunately, this self-assurance we develop can turn to cockiness , and that arrogance I mentioned, turning what should be a positive into a negative.

      In prison especially, pride can get in the way of what we are attempting to accomplish. It can stop us before we ever get started. Pride can impede our “New Beginning” before we take the first step.  However, by attaching a whole new meaning to the word, we can open up an entirely new pattern of behavior that is EXACTLY what is needed to make dramatic progress in our pursuit of change.

      Some 35 years ago,  I worked for a Los Angeles-based drugstore chain called “Thrifty”. With about 10 other people, I traveled the west coast taking inventory and in each store’s break room there was a sign that gave the “Thrifty” definition of pride. It was:   

                        Personal

                        Responsibility

                        In

                        Daily

                        Effort

      PRIDE. It means that I take RESPONSIBILITY for everything that I do each day. It means that each task that I undertake – no matter how seemingly insignificant that task may appear – will come with a personal commitment on my part to perform that task to the best of my ability. It is an understanding that no task is too menial, too unimportant, or beneath me. It means that I will take responsibility for ME.

      Personal Responsibility In Daily Effort.

      Such a seemingly simple concept, but far too often many of us think that we are better than the jobs we are given or even better than the other people doing the same job. The truth is, we are all the same, especially in prison, and there is no such thing as an unimportant task. Unfortunately, we sometimes let the sameness prevent us from performing to a level that makes us stand out. No matter how negatively we may view a job or task, and no matter how negative the environment around us may seem to be at times, we cannot become the people we all wish to become unless and until we take ourselves seriously and hold ourselves personally accountable for every job we perform, every action we take, and every word that comes out of our mouths.

      If we are wiping tables in the dining hall, or mopping the floor; cleaning the common area in a housing unit, or scrubbing the shower; if we are painting a railing, or picking up trash, our focus should be on the task at hand and we should endeavor to do whatever it may be that we are doing to the absolute best of our ability. I worked in the butcher shop for 15 months and earned the nickname “Tony The Butcher”, which is really quite funny since they rarely let us touch knives. However, “Tony The Butcher DOES sound better than “Tony The Guy Who Takes Chicken Out Of Boxes And Puts It On Pans”. Regardless, I took that job seriously and performed it to the best of my ability even if the conditions or the circumstances were not ideal….even outright negative at times. When we take personal responsibility for everything we do each day, we are making a statement to everyone around us that “There is a right way and a wrong way to do every job no matter how seemingly unimportant it may be, and I CHOOSE to do it the right way because I take Personal Responsibility In Daily Effort! I take responsibility for ME, my actions, and the words that I speak.”

      Once we have learned to do that, we can then attach new meaning to another word we are all very familiar with: PRISON. We can change it from a negative PLACE, to a positive ATTITUDE when we apply the following new meaning:

                          Personal

                          Responsibility

                          In

                          Spite

                            Of

                            Negativity.

 

      I thank you.

AFTERWORD:

      OK, so that’s how it was intended to go. The whole speech, were I to simply read it, would have taken less than three minutes but I went from memory (and mine’s not that good, but we strive to do our speeches with no notes), and I wound up wandering along, borderline hyperventilating, for about 6 minutes. There is a tendency to digress and embellish as we speak, but apparently it was all good because the 30 – 35 people in attendance were extremely supportive and gave me lots of positive feedback. I guess it sounded worse from where I was standing than from where they were sitting. Once my heart rate returned to normal, I put away my barf bag backup and basked in the afterglow. Trust me – for some of us, getting up there is no easy thing.

      I can only say that Toastmasters is a very beneficial program. We are not quite at 30 paid members yet, but we are getting close. Unfortunately, there are over 1700 men here in need of something positive. The money is a drawback for many, but we still seem to attract more each month. It will be nice when it gets to the point that we need to start a second club on the compound. What needs to happen is that the same attitude needs to be injected into every aspect of prison life and I will address these types of issues in my upcoming series “America’s Culture Of Incarceration”.

      In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed my little glimpse into a Toastmaster’s meeting, and I thank YOU for your time.

“To the Children in the Photos: An Offender’s Apology” by Steve Marshall

On By Tony CassonIn Inmates - In Their Own Words1 Comment

“To err is human; to forgive, divine.”   Alexander Pope

I see your faces still. The rest of the images, I have successfully blocked from memory. But I still see your faces; your eyes – blank, confused, uncomprehending, betrayed, bereft – your mouths unsmiling. I will carry the unyielding memory of those faces to my grave.

For the entirety of my adult existence, I have loved, nurtured and protected the children in my life. Even now, when I see photos of starving children with distended bellies or little ones born with horrendous defects to their bodies, I get a knot in my stomach and feel pushed to the edge of tears.

So I cast my thoughts and memories back to that strange and barren time in my life and shake my head in wonder that I could have looked upon your suffering and felt nothing, as if a switch had been placed upon my empathy and turned to the ‘off’ position.

Somehow, without realizing it, I became disconnected from my moral center, like a boat that slipped its moorings and drifted, silent and rudderless, out onto a vast, open and uncharted sea with no one at the helm. I can only describe it as an altered state. The person who allowed himself to download those photos and share them with others was not the same one writing these words today. That person did not regard you as a human and suffering, but rather viewed you as a simple assemblage of pixels on a computer screen. That person failed to accord you the basic decency and respect to which every human being is entitled. That person dredged up the pain of your violated childhood, continuing and perpetuating the abuse and exploitation that you experienced at the calloused hands of adults, often the very ones who were charged with loving and protecting you. I search my heart and wonder how I could ever have been that soulless and uncaring.

How, then, do I ask for forgiveness? I often enter the cathedral of my mind and offer up a prayer to whatever great power turns the universe, asking that I may be allowed to forgive myself for what I have done. But I still find myself incapable of self-pardon, so how can I expect any quarter from you?

I committed my offense against you via the internet, so it is only fitting that I use that same venue to reach out to you now in the earnest hope that even one of you will stumble across these words and come to know of the deep, indelible sorrow that I feel over having been a participant, belated or not, in your violation.

In just under four years, I will have discharged my legal obligation for what I have done to you. But an enormous karmic debt remains and it is my full intention to devote the remainder of my years working to pay that debt down.

I am certain that, for many if not all of you, your journey to adulthood was forever soiled by the criminal and unmitigated theft of your innocence. It is my sincere hope that you will have somehow found peace; that you do not repeat the sins committed against you and continue the tragic cycle of abuse into yet another generation. I hope that there are days and nights when those nightmares do not revisit you.

You are, each of you, very real to me now. You are in my thoughts, my hopes and dreams. Should you choose to forgive me, your blessing will be received with deep gratitude and humility. Please know that there is someone on this earth who knows the value of your spirit, the depth of your suffering and the enduring scars that you bear.

I am, and will always remain, deeply and profoundly sorry.

AFTERWORD     by Tony Casson

Mr. Marshall may not speak for all who have stepped over the line of moral decency and adult responsibility, but he does speak for many, myself included. And he speaks eloquently, powerfully, and with great sincerity. I trust his sincerity…I looked up into his eyes after I finished reading what he had written and saw that he was as close to tears as I was.

What you have just read will create varying degrees of comment and consideration. I would ask that any of you who have your own blogs, websites, or know of others would post a link to this article and share it with as many people as possible.

Some will find men like Mr. Marshall and myself to be beyond forgiveness, but I will point them to a recent series here in which a survivor of childhood sexual abuse expressed her ability – indeed, her need – to forgive. Many of us are sorry in ways that the cynical will never understand.

I will remind them that God insists that we forgive each other, and I will point out a very salient fact about those who share prison with men like us and who are very vocal in their condemnation of us and our acts: Not one of them has ever said he was sorry of anything other than getting caught.

Steve, I cannot thank you enough for your sincerity, humility, and courage.

Mr. Marshall is one of several very special, intelligent, and amazing individuals I have met here.

How tragic that we had to meet here, but better here than not at all.

“I Am Grateful , Too”

On By Tony CassonIn Volume 31 Comment

“And always be thankful.” – Colossians 3:15c NLT

“Older men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die. And it is youth who must inherit the tribulation, the sorrow and the triumphs that are the aftermath of war.” –                            Herbert Hoover

Near Menlo, Iowa lies a large boulder with the following inscription on it:

“They lost legs & I walk.   They lost minds & I think.   Sometimes they lost their lives & I live.    I am grateful.”

      The boulder is called “Freedom Rock” and it is painted each year with patriotic themes by Ray “Bubba” Sorenson. This year, he was going to honor his uncle on one of the panels. But he painted a tribute to a young man named Taylor Morris instead.

      I read about this in the May 28, 2012 edition of the Des Moines Register. It was there, on the front page, where I met 23-year-old Taylor Morris.

      In a bomb blast in Kandahar Province, Afghanistan, Mr. Morris lost his right leg at the knee, his left leg at mid-thigh, his right arm at the wrist and his left arm at the elbow. How his major organs were spared is a miracle. But the article states that the young man is determined to move on with his life. He is still a patient at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center near Washington, D. C.

      The article was accompanied by three photographs that brought me to tears and will haunt me for some time to come.

      There is a website established in his name (www.taylormorris.org) as well as one at Caring Bridge. I cannot visit them but perhaps some of you will stop in and offer words of thanks and encouragement to this young man who gave more than any country has a right to ask.

      His mother, Juli Morris, has kept an online journal for her son. Perhaps you can find her and offer her support and thanks.

      Two of the photographs show Taylor as he is today and they will take your heart and squeeze it as you see him working on sitting up with the assistance of a therapist in one and “holding” a water bottle and drinking from it as he lies in his hospital bed in the other.

      The third photograph shows a smiling Taylor shaking the hand of his proud father, Dan, on the day he graduated from Navy training to become an explosive ordinance disposal technician.

      As a father, I can feel Dan Morris’ pride as he smiles at his son and shakes his hand. Dan is wearing sunglasses in the photo. The dad in me thinks it is to cover his tears of pride.

      As a father, I can feel the pain he must now be experiencing for the sacrifice his son made for his country. There is probably anger, too, and, of course, the inevitable, “Why Taylor? Why my son?”

      As a citizen of the United States of America, I only hope that this country never forgets the sacrifice of this young man and all of the others who have died or left parts of their bodies or souls on battlefields in Afghanistan, Iraq or anyone of the countless other places we have found it necessary to send our sons and daughters to settle the disputes of their fathers.

      Apart from the thousands who have made the ultimate sacrifice of life defending freedom in Iraq and Afghanistan, there have been over 1,400 individuals who have lost a limb. Over 400 of them have lost more than one. This is’ in addition to the many thousands more who have been “simply” wounded.

      As an inmate in federal prison, I hear many men grumble daily about their loss of freedom. Perhaps they would jump at the chance to trade places with Taylor Morris.

      I suspect not, however.

      As a human being, I thank God for men and women like Taylor Morris who keep me safe in my freedom, even though I chose to abuse it. I can only say, “Thank you and God bless you and watch over you, Taylor, and everyone else who has served and sacrificed for all of us . . . even those of us in prison.”

      Like “Bubba” Sorenson and millions of others, I am grateful too.

“Giving A Voice To The Victims: The Voices Of Disappointment And Anger”

On By Tony CassonIn Giving a Voice to the Victims2 Comments

 “Shame and dishonor were his flags, and self loathing was his constant companion.”     – James Lee Burke; “Feast Day of Fools”

“Remember it is a sin to know what you ought to do and then not do it.”                               – James 4:17 NLT

Many of us serving prison sentences for not using our freedom in a way that honors ourselves and our families have foolishly – and selfishly – exposed those we love to the same shame and dishonor we have branded ourselves with. We have also made them victims of the sins we have committed, while at the same time making them unwilling and unwitting accomplices to our crimes.

In addition, we have forced them to shoulder a disproportionate amount of the burden for our wrongdoing through simple guilt by association. While we languish in the purgatory of prison, their lives continue in the real world. While our lives are held in a static state of suspended animation, their lives move forward on a daily basis. While many of us try to explain our behavior to ourselves, our families are left trying to explain it to the world in which they live.

A great many men I meet have strong family support. While some have lost everything and everyone that used to make up their former lives in freedom, many more still have their families and friends solidly behind them offering words of encouragement and support.

They are to be commended for that and we who are the recipients of the genuine goodness of their hearts should all take note that the debt we owe them can more than likely never completely be repaid.

While they function unwaveringly as brave defenders of our tarnished honor and smile encouragingly for us, let those of us who are blessed enough to have individuals who are that strong fighting on our behalf, never forget that we have disappointed them. We have let down those who love us; those who need to look up to us; those who reach for us when they are uncertain, afraid, need help making a major decision or just tying a shoe.

In many cases, anger accompanies the disappointment, but far too often the anger is kept from those of us whose behavior triggered it in the first place. The consideration for the feelings of those locked out of society’s sight is another attempt by those who love us to “protect” us and to try to shield us from unpleasant realities that we created.

While this is a touching display of the lengths to which love will go, this is not what is needed.

What is needed is for those who are disappointed and angry to make sure that the one who causes them to feel this way is aware of it. Of course the offender must also be reassured that he is still loved and still supported. But the negative emotions created must not be borne only by the incidental victims.

What is needed is for those incarcerated to reflect on the disappointment and anger they have caused in others and use it ‘as a catalyst for change within themselves. This will ensure that whatever caused them to violate the trust of their loved ones and the laws of society will not be repeated.

What is needed is for society to recognize that the system we use to punish those who commit transgressions against it also punishes everyone who is a part of that individual’s life, so we must exercise caution that the prosecution of an individual does not become the persecution of a family, as is so very often the case.

What is needed are prosecutors and judges who see not just the offender but the twenty-year-old daughter of that offender who takes an overdose of drugs or alcohol and lays down on the side of the road in what turns out to be a suicide attempt that is foiled. Her pain over what is happening to a father she loves momentarily overwhelms her, and this is how she reacts to his absence. (This happened to the daughter of someone I was incarcerated with.)

What is needed is an awareness that another young woman was successful in the taking of her own life because she felt the stigma and restrictions placed upon her father by the sex offender registry were hers to bear as well and the burden proved to be too great. (This I read about in the paper.)

What is needed is for society to hear the cries, see the tears and share the pain of a young girl whose father is in prison and cannot attend her school play to share in her moment of happiness and view her in the spotlight of recognition. (This happened to a friend of mine’s daughter.)

What is needed is for society to experience the anguish of a loving grandmother who closes her letter with “I’m starting to cry now so I’d better end this letter.” (I read thise words written to another inmate.)

This, the most powerful nation on earth, must understand that locking up millions of individuals has a profound effect on tens of millions of innocent lives. There are better ways of dealing with non-violent offenders than locking them away and perhaps the citizens of this country should demand this from their elected officials.

This, the most powerful nation on earth, must understand that a year taken from a family can never be given back, so it is incumbent upon society – in the interest of true justice – to find other ways of correcting behavior.

The handing out of multiple year sentences for non-violent offences as if the years were a handful of Halloween candy must stop.

God Himself no longer visits the sins of the fathers on future generations.

Just who do we think we are to do exactly that?

“Prison, Part II”

On By Tony CassonIn Part II1 Comment

  ” ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ ‘Lord’, he said, ‘I want to see!’  “  Luke  18:41  NLT

  “I said to the man at the Gate Of The Year, ‘Give me a light that I may go forth into the unknown.’ And the man replied, ‘Put your hand in the hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light, safer than a known way.’  ”   Britain’s King George in a New Year’s message to his people at the beginning of World War  II

       I put my hand into the hand of God as I lay on the shower floor that was covered in my own blood. I have clung tightly to it ever since.

      I told the Lord that I wanted to see myself the way He sees me and He has lovingly helped me to heal the affliction that clouded my vision. He has allowed me to see myself finally as His child, His servant, His warrior.

      Today, I am able to look in a mirror without seeing the evil that had inhabited my body, consumed my soul, and transformed me into something less than God intended. I still see the scars on my neck, evidence – and reminders – of that bloody battle that was waged for my life. Looking at them, I am reminded of the pain that I had caused to those who loved me. Looking at them, I am reminded of the disappointment of those who counted on me to be a better person than I was.

      I am also acutely aware of how close I came to leaving this life as the broken, sinful person I had allowed evil to make me. But being the good Father that He is, God heard my cries of anguish and my plea for forgiveness. He saw me reaching out for His hand and it is because He is who He is that I am forgiven, that I am loved, and that I am able to sit here in this prison and consider to myself to be one of the most fortunate and blessed people on God’s earth.

      I recently passed the midpoint of my sentence. I look back in awe at the power of God as I examine how He has helped me to use the time here to build a relationship with Him that enables me to see in myself what He has always seen and use that person to serve Him and to glorify His name.

      I have tried to do for myself what no one else can, and what I would be unable to do were it not for the One who stands beside me, keeping vigil and offering guidance. Sin brought me to the brink of death. God caught my hand and pulled me back before I tumbled headfirst into the abyss and deposited me here. With God’s help, I have remained positive, tried to be productive, and tried to help myself and others understand that this should be viewed as the beginning, and not the end. Because of these things, I am able to look back and say, “Thank you, Lord. Now help me look forward and continue on exactly the same path.”

      As Paul said to the Romans, “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord!” (Romans  6:23  NLT)

      I almost paid that high price. I am thankful that I was allowed one last chance to accept that free gift which is valuable beyond mere human comprehension.

      While this is far from being a horrible prison, any prison is a terrible place to be. However, to live without family, friends, and freedom does not have to change us for the worse. With God’s help, we can use the time to become better than we ever were before.

      One day I will be somewhere else. For the moment, I will continue to hold the hand of God and walk through Prison, Part II.

      I thank you all, and may God bless you and your families.

Battle Lines – A Song

On By Tony CassonIn Volume 31 Comment

 

When I walked  out the door, The Devil was standing there waiting;

With his dead, icy eyes He stared at me, anticipating.

I returned his cold stare  And I asked what he wanted to do;

He said I think you know  I have come all this way just for you.

I looked straight at him And I said I must ask you to leave;

You are powerless here  For it’s in Jesus Christ I believe.

He just threw back his head And he laughed then he looked back at me;

When I’m finished with you Your faith will be gone you will see.

(Chorus)

The lines have been drawn

 It’s to Jesus I’m sworn

To the Lord I’ll forever be true.

I will fight to the death

To my very last breath

I will never surrender to you.

With the battle lines drawn I’ve taken my stance, I’ll not waver;

With the armor of God The odds are all stacked in my favor.

The ice in his eyes Was replaced with the fires of hell;

I have been there before I remember the pain very well.

We draw back our swords And we circle to start our slow dance;

My faith is so strong That the evil one hasn’t a chance.

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“Giving a Voice to the Victims: From Victim to Victor”

On By Tony CassonIn Victims - Their Stories2 Comments

“Be ashamed to die until you have one some victory for humanity.”  Horace Mann

“I wait quietly before God, for my victory comes from Him.”   Psalm  62:1  NLT

      There are victims of child sexual abuse and there are survivors. And then there are the victors.

      It is evil that causes people to sexually abuse another person. It is evil that allows someone to steal a child’s innocence and claim it as their own. In a battle with evil, God is the only ally that provides us with any hope of victory. It is God and God alone who can provide the strength and love needed to enable a person who is confronted by evil to stand up and draw the battle lines and move confidently to victory.

      In today’s superficial world, things that mean nothing at all are glorified and the One who means salvation to the entire world is relegated to an afterthought. Many people are uncomfortable when the conversation turns to God for they have never fully relied on Him and experienced His power. When we decide to make a stand with God against the evil that walks this earth and preys on the innocent, we are able to confidently draw a line in the sand, look evil in the eye, and say, “Bring it!”.

      In this next installment in the story of her personal war against the evil that tried to consume not just her innocence, but her very soul, her identity, and her life, our courageous young friend moves from being a survivor to being a victor as she draws her own battle lines.

Her story continues:

I’m Possible                                                

     I’m a fighter. My story involves four options; to give up, to give in, to give it all I’ve got, or to give it all up to Him. The way I see it, to give up is to give in. To give it all I’ve got can be selfish, and to give it all up to Him seems impossible. But I have to stop there; even the word “impossible” is contradicting because it says “I’m Possible”. The fourth option is the reason why I’m alive today. Not alive in a physical sense, but alive in spirit. I’m a fighter. I’m alive. I’m possible.

     To give up. My mindset for the longest time after the abuse. If I failed at being perfect at any task, I’d give up right away. My life seemed to lack purpose. To me, my body was physically there to be used as a sex object and nothing more. To give up was easy as I walked through life with no self worth and no value – except for what my body was intended to be used for. Most times I had myself beat before I even had the chance to find the strength inside to not give up. In complete honesty, I thought daily of giving up totally. To give up on life seemed way better than the hell I was being forced through. But something, no not something, someone kept me going. I fought an every day battle of even wanting to push forward to the next day. My body was a temple for God. Intended to be used to honor Him and the life he has blessed me with; but how could I not give up on that when my temple was destroyed, not by choice? How was I supposed to not give up when it seemed as if He gave up on me? I fought. By giving up, would believe in the lie that God did this. That God gave up on me. To give up would be letting Satan win. To give up would be to give in to the torture I was put through. I’m a fighter against that lie. As I got older, I wanted to make it evident that I would not give up, I would stand and stand strong. To give up was not an option.

     To give in. During the abuse I was made submissive. In every act done or manipulated into doing, I gave in. It was my fault, I was guilty, I was blamed for being too easy. I gave in to those lies. It later affected my everyday tasks and daily routines. I’d be undeceive, unable to make decisions for myself, and easily conformed into the person people wanted me to be. I had no backbone. I couldn’t stand up for myself. I gave in to all the lies of believing I was ugly, worthless, guilty, not good enough, and so much more. I fought every day to build courage. To build confidence to not give in; like I was a branded cow. I was only good for producing one or two things for my “master”.  Every time I would give in, that something, no not something, someone saved my cognitive thought process and fought for me. I fought to find strength to develop my own identity, one separate from the one I unwillingly gave into. To give in was weak.

     To give it all I’ve got. Well that’s just unreasonable. Sure, ultimately it is my physical and mental strength to give anything I do my very best. But that is not MY doing. This is exactly why I failed myself on so many occasions. I believed it was all me. As a Christian from a young age, I wondered how could my strength to fight this every day battle come from God, when he did nothing to help me when I was crying out to Him silently in fear? The pain I felt was mine not His. The tears I cried myself to sleep with, fell from my eyes, not His. The body that laid there absent-minded was my six year old body NOT His. The fear I felt, my feeling, not His. This phase I went through was all me. It was my battle, my emotions, my body. Every day I gave it all I got. Admitting this I could slap myself for but I will give it all I’ve got because and for Him. To give it all I’ve got can be selfish.

     To give it all up to Him. I didn’t give up because, He persevered. I didn’t give in because He fought for me. I gave it all I’ve got because He gave me strength to fight for the next day. The previous phase I went through was the biggest lie I could ever lead myself to believe. Sin was committed against me, Christ’s love was used for me. I wasted so much time blaming God for allowing the abuse to happen to me. But little did I know at that time, that God did something to protect me because He kept covering me with restored purity and new spirit to face another day. Every bit of pain I felt, broke His heart too. The tears I cried, He paid the price for by the blood that covered our sins; even the sin committed/used against me. The body that laid there on so many accounts, was His temple. He knit me together in my mother’s womb. My body is His. Its intended to worship Him, made perfect in His image. He too felt every wrongful act done against me. The fear I felt was heard through my cries but I was too hurt to hear his gentle whispers to “be still, know that I am God, and that He was there for me”. I’m a fighter because He fought for me. Now its time for me to fight for Him. To give it all up to Him is not impossible. I’m Possible.

     Since I eventually sought after God and talked to Him about what he already knew, I found a renewed strength to fight back, reclaim what was lost, Become me.  I’m possible. I am able to look my perpetrator in the eyes and genuinely say I still love you. I am able to forgive him. I am able to tell myself that I am beautiful. I am able to have hope in a bright future. I am able to love unconditionally. I am able to stand up for my beliefs. I am able to be imperfect. I am able to fight for a better tomorrow. I am able to talk about this and spread awareness. I am able to do all these things because the great “I AM” is alive in me.

     I will not give up, because that is not an option.

     I will not give in, because that is weak.

     I will not give it all I’VE got, because that can be selfish.

     I will give it all up to Him, because it is possible.

     I’m possible.

     Thanks to my hero, my Dad, I was reminded that the only option is the fourth. Fight because He fought for you.

      This month is Child Sex Abuse Awareness month. I wanted to share this side of my story because it is something worth fighting for. I wanted to take the opportunity to look at God’s prevailing power in such a nasty part of our society and the statistics that are unfortunately true. There is good that can come from this. For anyone who is struggling with being a victim, you are not alone. Fight for another day, because I promise you, its worth it.

He is with you.

God is good.

I’m possible. 

You can be too.

Give all up to Him.

Apparently, I am my Brother’s Keeper and Other Prison Oddities

On By Tony CassonIn Inmates - In Their Own Words1 Comment

 By Steve Marshall

      When one first sets foot inside the stark confines of a prison or jail, the first lesson to be learned is that this is an entirely different world. Everything one has learned up to that point about to live life is placed on ho and a whole new set of instructions comes into play.

      For example, here at Oakdale, we take our meals in a dining hall comprised of about 50 four-man tables. When you finish your meal and prepare to leave, you knock on the table. The others seated with you respond by each providing an answering knock.

      During my first week here, I asked someone the meaning behind this odd custom. I learned that it was a throwback to a time when inmates were not allowed to speak during meals. (This situation still endures at some higher level facilities.) When someone prepares to get up from the table, his knock is meant to convey the following message: “Excuse me. I am getting up now. This only means that I am leaving. I have no intention to attack you.” The answering knock implies: “We understand. Thank you for not attacking us. We appreciate it. Good bye.” This custom is one that I have not adopted. Instead, as I rise, I usually say “Have a good day” (or evening.) This seems to work just as well in conveying the message that I do not intend to beat up anyone.

      Another timeless custom is the “cool” prison nickname. This is often employed s a defensive measure. For example, if one is named Marvin or Ronald, this does not serve to keep others at bay nearly as effectively as “Killer” or “Bruiser.” However, in practice, I have noted that some of the nicknames tend to defeat their purpose by turning out to be . . . well I’ll just say it, kinda silly.

      In my unit alone, we have a “Boo-Boo”, (shades of Yogi Bear) a “Ya-Ya” and silliest of all in my opinion, a “Hot Sauce.” I have thus far resisted the temptation to address him as “Mr. Sauce.”  You see, “Hot Sauce” sports the tear-drop tattoo. A single teardrop under one eye is meant to convey that the wearer has killed someone. “Hot Sauce” has a whole splash of them so I have opted to avoid him altogether and remain off his radar.

      These customs and many others like them are generated among the inmates themselves. But occasionally, I come across one that has originated with the prison staff.

      Last year, our unit counselor came upon an entire trash bag full of hooch. (“Hooch” is a prohibition-era term for illegal alcohol.) One inmate in my unit had created the forbidden elixir from pilfered oranges and the yeast from bread. You should know that most people in the prison population turn into McGiver complete with the ability to turn a paperclip into a Gatlin gun.

      While I have never imbibed, I am told this “hooch” ferments for only a week or so in a trash bag, so I am surmising that it does not have the woodsy tang  of Jack Daniel’s that has steeped for twelve years in a specially treated oaken barrel. But I’m guessing that it gets the job done nevertheless.

      Anyway, the unit manager assembled us all and announced that our beloved microwave ovens were being removed until further notice. I looked around to see who was going to raise his hand and object to the idea of punishing over two hundred men for the actions of a single individual but no one did. The microwaves were not returned for another six months.

      About a month ago, another bag of “hooch” was found, another meeting hastily assembled and once again, the microwaves were gone. This time, I raised my hand to ask the obvious question and the unit manager replied, “You are all responsible for policing your own unit.” This was news to me. Foolishly, I had assumed that my job was to follow the rules but now I was being told that I was expected to enforce them as well. The inmates refer to the Corrections Officers t here as “the police”, so it was a fairly natural assumption that they would be the ones doing the policing.

      I have not been successful in obtaining any information as regards what specific steps I need to be taking should I encounter anyone manufacturing “hooch.” Do I beat him senseless? Do I merely threaten to do so? In either case, I would be in violation of the rules and sent to the SHU (Special Housing Unit or as it is lovingly referred to by one and all here, THE HOLE.) Do I snitch on him? Well, if I do that, then I am the one who will be beaten senseless. Do I shake my finger at him and say, “Bad inmate”?

      Yeah, that’ll work.

      So I am left to ponder the imponderable. The only answer that I am left with is that the staff is saying with a wink and a nod: “Take care of this dude however you want. Just don’t let us know about it.” From my point of view, the easier course is to just do without the frickin microwaves.

      I cannot, in the course of a single article, begin to cover all the ways in which prison life differs from that of the free world. That would take an entire book and a very fat one at that.

      Perhaps one day I’ll write it.

      But for now, I am content to observe at a distance as prisoners bump fists rather than shake hands, hold extended conversations at the top of their lungs with others on the opposite side of the compound, or smuggle ten-pound rump roasts out of the kitchen concealed in their underwear.

      What do I know? It’s their world. I just live in it.

“A Terrible Place for Terrible News”

On By Tony CassonIn Side Story, Volume 31 Comment

 “He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.”  2 Chronicles    NLT

“Grief is a tree that has tears for its fruit.”   Philemon

      There are three of us who work in “The Butcher Shop”. It is a refuge of sorts from the daily chaos and confusion that are part and parcel of operating an institutional foodservice facility. Although we are certainly an integral part in the maelstrom of meal preparation, our part in the process takes place in the relative peace and quiet of a 40 degree walk-in cooler that is roughly 8′ wide by 20′ long and contains a long stainless steel table, a sink, a slicer, and various racks on which to store product. When we report to work, the door is unlocked and re-locked after we enter. This is not a form of punishment or to make sure we don’t leave our posts. The lock is to safeguard the food we are working with….to make sure IT doesn’t wander off and become a part of the prison economy.

      Our business is meat, therefore, we are “The Butchers”, although “Meat Preparation Specialists” would be a more accurate title for us. Simply put, we take boxes of frozen meat and get it into and onto various pans and racks. The cooks then take it after it is prepped and work their own special brand of ‘magic’ on it (cough cough).

      As I said, there are three of us, and I have been there the longest. I am joined in that cold, damp, quiet place by two young men named Nate and Derek. Their two ages together fall one year short of equaling my own ‘ripe old age’ of 58. In age, they are both somewhere between my daughter and my son. I bear the brunt of many jokes about being the old man. I suppose I do look upon them both with a certain paternal attitude and I like them as individuals. I also feel pain for the circumstances that cause them to be in a place like this and I feel pain for the families they both have who support them and wait for the day when they return home.

      Derek and I not only work together, we share the same housing unit so we see more of each other. I have known him longer and have learned more about him and his family over the year and a half or so that he has been here. He also is second with seniority in “The Butcher Shop”. We work well together and I respect his abilities, his work ethic, his intelligence and his sense of humor even when I am on the receiving end of it. Derek is short, so I call him “Shorty”. He calls me old. We like each other.

      Derek is also a very talented learning artist and is constantly sharing with me things that he has drawn. He drew a beautiful cross for me that I taped on my coffee mug. His mom has sent him many books on drawing that he always shares with me, as well as other books on subjects that he enjoys. He is unique not only in his talents, but in the fact that his family lives very close to hear, which is a rarity. His mom pops in very frequently for visits. They are very close emotionally as well, and Derek has shared with me sheets of photos his mom has printed out for him and tells me all about the different members of his family. It is very obvious that Derek and his mom’s relationship goes beyond that of just a mother and son. She is his best friend.

      Or was. Derek’s mom passed away completely unexpectedly on Easter Sunday. She was only 52. Apparently she had a stroke, and then started hemorrhaging. Such terrible, terrible news to receive. And this….this is the most terrible place to receive news like that.

      May all of you join me in prayer for Derek, his little brother, and the rest of their family. I know this will be difficult for all of them, but especially so for someone in a place like this. There are many who receive news like that in here. Perhaps while you are at it, you can pray for them as well.

      At times like these it is hardest to trust in God and His reasons, but it is at times like this that it is the most important to do so. Derek will miss his mom, I am sure. So will I. He introduced me to her in a way, and I thought she was pretty special.

      God bless Derek, and all of you.