POTENTIAL TO DO WHAT?

A close friend asked me what it means when someone says you have potential. I gave him my response: "It's when you have something in you that can make your life better, or worse." He became satisfied with the answer I handed him...but me, I explored it more with a friend who would depart from prison in a few weeks.

He's a white male, 25, uneducated, and has been combating a drug addiction since his entrance into the prison system as a juvenile. He was someone I met two years ago, and have been in his presence daily. We spoke on his departure, and what would come once out there:

1- Living with his brother.

2- Seeing his formerly incarcerated girlfriend.

3- Reconnect with his parents.

4- Work for a warehousing company.

As he shared his goals, I motivated him with the normal story:

1- I'm doing life, look at me as an example of what not to do when trouble arises.

2- Find a mentor to keep you heading in the right direction.

3- Don't associate with those who haven't grown up mentally.

4- Never be afraid to ask for help.

I gave him my all, then returned to my battling for freedom. While I did, I kept an eye on him. He fell back into his incarceration, and that's where the flaws showed up.

He went to segregation for an illegal cellphone. He spent months in segregation, even asking me to get some food sent back there for him to eat. I shook my head and helped when I could. He was a friend, and I also sent him a book back there to read: Mother California by Kenneth E. Hartman.

You see, this was a book about a former Aryan Brotherhood member who reshaped his life into something extraordinary. I felt my friend would be impacted by it, since he's an active AB in prison. Well, when he was released from segregation, he told me he read the book, then returned to his life inside.

As the months continued to tick away, we spoke periodically:

1- How are you doing?

2- Did you watch that TV show?

3- JT and I are cooking, can I get a sausage from you?

4- How do you get somebody to clean up their cell?

Nothing was about him getting free, only prison. I got on him to cut out those thoughts and prepare for the second stage. He smiled and told me he's been cutting back on eating prison food because his cousin said the food on the outside messed you up for a while. That's what we spoke about.

I'm not his parent, nor his caregiver. I'm just another man who wants what he's about to have: freedom. Nothing more. That's why I'm overstepping because I cared enough about him and many other young men who walk out of this monstrosity. Even as I did, I'm not capable of making someone do something they don't want.

That's why when he squandered all the money he saved, he began leeching off of his friend. As someone who weighs around 300 pounds, he eats--and ironically, never ventures to the chow hall for any of the meals. So, he eats, and all of it on the expense of others, with promises of I'll pay you back when I head home.

This played out to the point that his celly began arguing over money. So, to avoid any more issues, he moved out of the cell and came to my housing unit, where he asked for a soda from me.

I watched him get a job, but never did it. I even watched as he signed up for programs to help him grow mentally. He slept in. He missed one class after the next. I shook my head as he made complaints that his celly kept him up late into the night.

This was a kid who came in as a juvenile, doing juvenile life. As he aged out of juvenile detention, he entered the prison system, gravitating to the gang life: Aryan Brotherhood. The ink that tattooed his flesh he now wished to get covered up, because as he socialized with Black men like me, his outlook on life shifted.

He told me that all his friends are of color. Crazy, but he considered me a brother, even going as far as becoming friends with my actual brother in the free world. I gathered that as someone young and impressionable, he grew up--but not from all his antics.

I watched him get drunk and stagger around the day room, dancing and singing country songs. We all laughed because he's a cool guy who everybody congregates with. That's why I looked at him as someone who gotta succeed. Prison wasn't a life anyone wanted anymore, but those antics that kept him in the clutches of the prison mentality were what I worried about.

I decided that I would include him in a Saturday morning roundtable discussion on bettering oneself. This was inspired by another young white kid who was sexually assaulted as a youth. He wanted guidance on dealing with his anger. I felt that, as a collectiv,e we could extract an answer from all of those in attendance (5 men in total). Well, as we spoke, the men began to shed their fear, worries, and problems that hindered their personal growth. This was a powerful moment that I felt affected all in attendance. Why? Because the main person I worried about opened up and shared that he wanted to become a better version of himself. I applauded this declaration.

When our hour-long discussion ended, I marched to my young friend's cell and caught him getting high. I hid my emotions as I cried inwardly. At that moment, I released him from my heart. He, like many others before him, chose to continue doing what they felt was best for them. I planted my seeds in him, now it was on him to nurture them. HIM.

I returned to my mundane life of mass incarceration, watching from afar. My young friend was shirtless when a sergeant ordered him to put a shirt on. This was my young friend's response: "You can write me a charge, I don't care. I'm going home next week. Do you want my state number or my ID?"

Potential...we all have it in us. The problem is what kind do we have? Good or bad. I see the truth written in plain, but it hurts to accept it as fact: my young friend doesn't have the kind to succeed...sadly. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe.