As a 58-year-old prisoner of 17 years serving a life sentence, I always assumed that my role was to be a recipient of the many benefits provided by the army of volunteers from various organizations and persuasions who daily visit my place of incarceration.  I was surprised to learn that my greatest satisfaction would take place when I became volunteer myself.

After I completed the required coursework to volunteer, I approached the endeavor with more than a little hesitancy, thinking I would never have the patience to work with adults who couldn’t read. You see, I liked fast learners – college students, gifted youth, and those who could catch on the first time I showed them how to do something. The thought of patiently reiterating the same instructions and lessons to new learners over and over again did not appeal to me at all.

Then I met someone who was serving a life sentence just like me.  He had come to prison at the age of 14 and couldn’t read or write.  His background was a turbulent and tragic one, and it didn’t include any school. His only living relatives were his dad and his brother, both of whom were also incarcerated.  After we became better acquainted, he expressed to me that it was his main goal to be able to write them letters and to also be able to read any letters that they might write back.

I knew that teaching this young man would be an arduous task because he didn’t trust people and didn’t like sitting still for more than five minutes at a time.  More significant than that – he didn’t believe he could learn or that he had any self-worth whatsoever.  Changing that negative self-image was going to be more difficult than learning words and constructing sentences.  What a challenge!

Days turned into weeks – weeks turned into months.  Finally, the day came when he asked me, “Darrell, do you think that I can write good enough to send my dad a letter?”  Without saying a word I slid him a blank piece of paper and handed him a pen.  As I sat and watched, he painstakingly printed on the paper…

Dear Dad,
How are you?  I am fine.  I love you.  Please write me back.
Love,
Your Son

 As he looked up at me and our eyes met, both of us were welled up with tears.  Then he thanked me as we shook hands, and he headed off to his housing block, the precious letter clutched in his hands.  I knew at that exact moment not only why people become volunteers, but also why some make it a lifelong enterprise.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.  Darrell is a gifted and thoughtful writer serving a life sentence.  He can be contacted at:
Darrell Sharpe #W80709
P.O. Box 43
Norfolk, MA 02056