Letter from a Felon

This was posted on a National Institute for Literacy listserv. It gives us all something to think about.
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One of the men that participates in the Hope House program (called here , "Michael Fields") asked me (unsolicited) to post this for him. Since he is locked up, Michael does not have access to the to the rest of the discussion, but we regularly correspond via e-mail. I paste his message intact, except for name changes):

My name is Michael Fields II.
I am a 34 going on 33 year old incarcerated father.
I have 4 children, ages 6,7 and 10 respectively.
I have been locked up for 6 going on 7 tremendously long years.
And I'm scared.

I'm scared because I saw a statistic somewhere that said that most children are destined to stay in the same socio-economic bracket as their parents...
I am a incarcerated father.
I make .32 cent an hour.
I have 4 children; each who will probably have 2 of their own...
I am scared that because of me, my children and their children, might not only be victims of circumstance, but victims of numbers as well.
Ok, yes I broke the law, and I have to pay for my sins. And though I feel my time is definitely disproportionate with my crime, I believe in Karma, but why should my babies have to pay for my karmic empiricism? Why should they have to be born into a cycle of perpetual servitude?
So I teach Marti, Joanie, Marty and Michael III that drugs are for dummies. That only dummies sell drugs because they can't figure out a way to make money honestly and legally, and I hope they do as I say instead of how I did...It's kind of hard to show them 'how I do' from behind this razor wire. So I have faith, and alot of hope. And that's where Hope House comes in. They give us faith and hope, that our children won't have to repeat our failures. That maybe hearing their father read a book to them every month will not only make them smarter, more literate children, but it will help them see the things that even an incarcerated father can do... Maybe the yearly Hope Camp can help to reconnect that bond that was disconnected by my ignorance. And maybe, we'll figure out that incarcerating the solution will never solve the problem. Educating and reuniting them will. And the statistics will change. And I won't have to be scared any more.
After all, the antithesis of fear is Hope.
Marshall.

Huh?

I have a lot of things on my mind this morning. Unfortunately, none of them are really related.

And not all of them have to do with me.

"It's not about me."

Okay, maybe it is.

Here goes anyway.

1. If you screw up when you're writing on a card, cover it with fru-fru and write over it, is that cheating?

2. What if you do it with a cake?

3. Have you ever gone into a public toilet and clogged it? Do you run out in embarrassment or just try to act normal?

4. If you hold a rock really tight and after, your hand shakes, does that mean you have carpal tunnel or just really weak hands?

5. If you have hot flashes when you are young, does that mean you are going into early menopause or are you just hot?

6. If your child sits on an egg, breaks it, and then says she did it because she wanted to see if it would hatch, what do you do?

7. If your post-it note falls between the crack of your desk and the mess on the floor, do you move everything and pick it up, or do you leave it there?

8. If you are in a really bad or super weird mood, should you avoid emailing your boss?

9. Should you ask your spouse inane questions if s/he has had a hard day at work? Will this amuse or annoy?

10. If your brain is all aflutter with disjointed thoughts, should you blog anyway?

That's it for this morning.

Something inside of me is saying, "Girl, get your head together!"