Caged Christmas

"That's the difference between governments and individuals. Governments don't care, individuals do." - Mark Twain 

Christmas descends upon us and regardless of your brand of faith, it’s a day few American citizens can ignore, even the disenfranchised ones in prison.  Inmates generally hate holidays because they’re just one more day without mail.  Mail is big in an atmosphere of systematic dehumanization, it’s a revalidation of humanity, recognition that a prisoner rarely receives, even in the mirror.

Our society has traditionalized the winter holidays as remember, love and be with your family time.  For many inmates it’s more traditional to cry into their arms when the lights go out time.  The inability to feel your wife smile against your chest, or bathe in the sparkles of your kids’ eyes as they unwrap their presents, or even witness a normally grumpy family member catch a bit of Christmas spirit…

Agony.

This approaching Christmas will likely be the worst Christmas in Texas penitentiary history because it’s already been 7 months since we were allowed family visits; courtesy of COVID-19, and the restriction remains indefinite.  Not that Texas allows family visits on Christmas anyway, but the preceding weekends usually fill the visitation room with women, children, laughter and tears: all of which are excruciatingly cherished by men starved for such light.

Thanks to a new prison policy, not only will we be deprived of visits, but now all holiday cards from our children and loved ones are forbidden.  See what I mean about systematic dehumanization?

Holidays are generally unacknowledged by our captors or even ourselves.  Decorations, parties, gift exchanging and now, greeting cards are prohibited by the state, but amongst ourselves there are some exceptions.  Beautiful exceptions actually.

A common penitentiary celebration is the birthday spread.  When it’s someone’s birthday, his friends will often pitch in with commissary purchased food and make a big meal, or even a cake (made in a cage with cookies, oatmeal and maybe some candy-surprisingly delicious) and have a small get-together.  We may punch and rough up the birthday boy a bit, because being men, it wouldn’t look good to hug and kiss to demonstrate affection.  The spread is a subtle expression of what cannot be said: “Hey it doesn’t matter where we are or how tough we act, it’s your birthday and I love you.”

I tend to dread the mail-less holidays but even after 25 years of prison, the dreamer in me still romanticizes Christmas.  It’s crazy because even as a child I never experienced sitting under a Christmas tree unwrapping presents, or sitting with a family through dinner.  Maybe it was Hollywood movies that made me idealize the image of family Christmases, or the rare glimpses I eventually saw myself.  As a young adult I accompanied various girlfriends to their family gatherings.  Not enthusiastically or even willingly, but I’m easy to manipulate because I’m terrified of female tears. The problem was that I looked and dressed repellently.  I wasn’t a boy that any family; particularly a father, wanted their daughter to drag home.  But that’s the magic of Christmas; those families were unfailingly polite, even warm to me.  I witnessed the holiday spirit they showed each other and it filled me with almost unbearable longing.  I was doomed to always be a guest and never a true family member.  All these years later and Christmas still stirs that lonesome longing I felt as a 16-year-old.

Believe it or not, even Texas prisons acknowledge the existence of Christmas.  You won’t see any blinking lights or Santas, but they do give us an extra tray of food.  More importantly, at least to me, they also give us an apple and an orange, which are basically the only fresh produce we’ll ever see.  You don’t really value the small things until they’re gone and, I torture myself for every piece of junkfood I picked over an orange when I was privileged enough to choose my diet.  Fresh fruit is precious and I’m ashamed that it took a Bible-belt penitentiary to show me that.  Of course, healthy food is merely a pimple on an elephant of regrets, but I’m hungry right now, so bear with me.  Yet, despite our lack of fresh produce, there hasn’t been an outbreak of scurvy…who would’ve guessed that dogfood is so nutritious? 

Christmas Day in prison: it’s not that horrible.  The miasma lifts some, it’s quieter and there’s a more positive vibe.  Some guards relax their Nazi attitude (but not too much, so don’t get any ideas!).  Some men go around wishing others a Merry Christmas, and others gather in pockets of fellowship.  It could be worse.  The whole purpose of prison is vindictive punishment, to inflict misery and demoralization, and it’s wildly effective.  But there are moments, you know?  And Christmas is as good a day as any to find them.  

Merry Christmas