(Lewisburg Penitentiary)
The first time I met Joe was sometime in 1992. I had just retired from the United States Bureau of Prisons and was working part-time coordinating a college program at the Lewisburg Penitentiary. He was looking for a way out, and perhaps thought college was it. We met several times. He was friendly towards me and appeared comfortable in our conversations. We seemed to "hit it off." Why? I don't know. We didn't share many similarities, other than we both spent about half of our lives in prison. The difference being that he was an inmate and I was an employee. What little time Joe spent on the "streets" was in the "mean" section of Philadelphia. I lived practically all of my life in small, rural, "squeaky-clean" Central Pennsylvania towns. Joe's family was very dysfunctional. He never knew his father; his mother abused alcohol and had several children by different men. Joe was the oldest and probably the most neglected. I, however, grew up in a traditional, nuclear home. My father worked and my mother kept house. There was a lot of love and support and relatively no conflict. Maybe opposites do attract. But, as happens so many times in the lives of young men like Joe, he "stumbled." He was "busted" for arranging to have the mother of two of his children smuggle drugs into the prison visiting room. Of course he was removed from the general population and eventually transferred to a penitentiary on the West Coast. About five years would pass until I would see Joe again.

In 1995, the college program I worked for lost its funding and I was in the market for employment. Fortunately, at this same time the Bureau of Prisons had made it mandatory to offer Parenting Programs in all of its facilities, and Allenwood Penitentiary had entered into a contract with Bethesda Family Services Foundation to provide that program. Consequently Bethesda was looking for a coordinator/instructor, and my background fit the requirements, and so began my work with Bethesda. I experienced for the first time the "Relationship Sequence," and I observed firsthand the power it had to change lives. I began to see in myself how that message significantly changed the way I viewed my own family, my friends, and especially people who have been hurt emotionally and spiritually.

Two years later in 1997, the Parenting Program at Allenwood was flourishing. There were continuous cycles of three, well-attended, ten-week classes, and I had become a well-known fixture at the "joint." I had grown professionally and, more importantly, personally with each new class I instructed.

It was then, during one of my daily "open house" sessions that a familiar face entered my room.

"You don't remember me do you?" he questioned.

Before I could answer he said, "I heard you work here now, so I thought I'd stop by to see you. What do you do?"

I answered both questions to his surprise. "Sure I do, you're Joe and I teach parenting."

"Parenting," he laughed, "what's that all about?"

"Getting yourself together and taking care of your kids," I responded.

The smile left Joe's face; he became silent for a minute, and with a seriousness unbecoming of Joe, he said, "When can I start?"

Thus began our journey. During his three-year stay at Allenwood, he took every class I offered. He became totally involved in every aspect of the program. He worked at resolving his own "tigers." (He really liked the "Tiger-Kitten" analogy.) He made every effort to make peace with his mother, with the three mothers of his five children, and especially his children. We would talk at length about surrender, forgiveness, reconciliation, validating pain, and most of all what it meant to be a man.

Joe was transferred to a state prison in 2000 to finish out his sentence and be closer to home. One day, to my delight, I received a letter from Joe and a correspondence ensued. He would talk about the growing bond between him and his children, and particularly his mother. He told of his marriage to the mother of his youngest children and of the progress he was making personally. He would also share his failures, but instead of being discouraged he would tell of his plans for future successes. On one occasion, I didn't respond immediately to his letter. After quite awhile another letter from him arrived. As I read it, I could tell he was disappointed that I hadn't replied, but still most of it was positive. I instantly sent him a letter telling him he had passed the test; that he was now an "Eagle." He wrote because he wanted to, that he wasn't keeping score and that he wasn't looking for anything in return. I told him I was proud of him. Almost overnight I got another letter from him. He explained that he understood what I meant and what I was trying to instill in him over the years. He was proud to be an "Eagle" and was happy that I was proud of him.

We continue to write. He still talks about his dreams and endeavors. I still encourage him to work hard to reach his goals. We also talk about little things like basketball, golf, and what our families are doing. He tells me he's going to be a grandfather soon and I tell him about my grandchildren.

Oh, yes, he begins every letter, "Dear Dad."