Asking "Why?" on Sundays

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Dear Dee,

I hope you are enjoying your time in the east and the celebration of a 100^th birthday. It was once a goal of mine to live to the age of 100. Now I have attached a qualifier—I would like to survive to that age if the quality of my life warrants it. I don’t want to be hanging around just for the achievement of a goal. I don’t want to be a burden to others, of course. But I also don’t want to spend all of those years as a fugitive, which may become my lot; nor do I want to spend the time homeless and adrift, which is another distinct possibility.

I’ve been thinking a lot this past week about how very tired I am of living this way. Since I am not yet halfway down the road, it’s much too early to be feeling this way, I know. Others around me still hold out hope that pending legislation or other factors will result in the shortening of their sentences. I clung to those hopes for the first couple of years into this. But I have developed what I believe is a more realistic outlook. Anything that depends on change through the political process is doomed to failure.  No politician wants to risk being tarred with the “soft on crime” brush. And no politician wants to be the bearer of the standard that advocates mercy or understanding for sex offenders. So I have accepted that the front gate will not open for me until July 19, 2016. I do know that a change of location to a place that is run more like a low security would be a very welcome one, particularly if it was to someplace where I could see my family.

This letter has a distinctly negative tone and I apologize for that. It’s not depression talking. I am still keeping that devil at bay. But there is a certain enervating quality that sets in as one views the world moving on from a vantage point that never changes. It’s frustrating, for example, to watch the innovations in technology without being able to experience them first-hand. Or to follow my brother’s declining state without being able to help and support him.

Church: The chalice lighting was by JR, who spoke of stepping outside of his comfort zone in order to perform in public and the joy that it has brought to him.

Amy Levy-Lyon’s sermon, “Falling Apples,” focused on the need for a child to ask “why?” and how we move away from that as we grow older. She lauded those of the Jewish and UU faiths for questioning the world, scripture and just about everything else. I thought about the fact that I was reading her words in a place where questioning is not only not encouraged but not permitted. Of course, I can still do so privately and regularly, particularly during these Sunday “services.” That is where I can still claim some small measure of freedom and it feels exhilarating when I do so.

Rev. Fleck writes of “angels,” stripping them of their wings, halos and supernatural properties and giving them a real world perspective; examining the behavior of people who give of themselves for the good of others. How often have we been the recipient of such good words and said or thought, “You’re an angel.” It makes the title of “angel” a worthy and realistic goal.

Another week down with 205 to go. Next month, on the 21^st, I will have served 1,000 days. And so it goes.

Love, Steve

To the Children in the Photos: An Offender’s Apology

As Steve mentioned in earlier letters, he set himself a goal of addressing the children in the photos from his current perspective. His mini-essay was published in a blog kept by another inmate, Tony, who was a friend of Steve's. You will find some additional comments from Tony at the bottom of the post.
 
In his letter to me, Steve wrote: "I said in an earlier letter that I wanted it to be the best thing I've ever written. I don't honestly know if I achieved that. I said everything I have to say in it, but it still seems to my eyes to be inadequate. Perhaps I'm seeking to say something for which there are no words."

“To the Children in the Photos: An Offender’s Apology” by Steve Marshall

I see your faces still. The rest of the images, I have successfully blocked from memory. But I still see your faces; your eyes – blank, confused, uncomprehending, betrayed, bereft – your mouths unsmiling. I will carry the unyielding memory of those faces to my grave.
For the entirety of my adult existence, I have loved, nurtured and protected the children in my life. Even now, when I see photos of starving children with distended bellies or little ones born with horrendous defects to their bodies, I get a knot in my stomach and feel pushed to the edge of tears.
So I cast my thoughts and memories back to that strange and barren time in my life and shake my head in wonder that I could have looked upon your suffering and felt nothing, as if a switch had been placed upon my empathy and turned to the ‘off’ position.
 
Somehow, without realizing it, I became disconnected from my moral center, like a boat that slipped its moorings and drifted, silent and rudderless, out onto a vast, open and uncharted sea with no one at the helm. I can only describe it as an altered state. The person who allowed himself to download those photos and share them with others was not the same one writing these words today. That person did not regard you as a human and suffering, but rather viewed you as a simple assemblage of pixels on a computer screen. That person failed to accord you the basic decency and respect to which every human being is entitled. That person dredged up the pain of your violated childhood, continuing and perpetuating the abuse and exploitation that you experienced at the calloused hands of adults, often the very ones who were charged with loving and protecting you. I search my heart and wonder how I could ever have been that soulless and uncaring.
 
How, then, do I ask for forgiveness? I often enter the cathedral of my mind and offer up a prayer to whatever great power turns the universe, asking that I may be allowed to forgive myself for what I have done. But I still find myself incapable of self-pardon, so how can I expect any quarter from you?
I committed my offense against you via the internet, so it is only fitting that I use that same venue to reach out to you now in the earnest hope that even one of you will stumble across these words and come to know of the deep, indelible sorrow that I feel over having been a participant, belated or not, in your violation.
 
In just under four years, I will have discharged my legal obligation for what I have done to you. But an enormous karmic debt remains and it is my full intention to devote the remainder of my years working to pay that debt down.
 
I am certain that, for many if not all of you, your journey to adulthood was forever soiled by the criminal and unmitigated theft of your innocence. It is my sincere hope that you will have somehow found peace; that you do not repeat the sins committed against you and continue the tragic cycle of abuse into yet another generation. I hope that there are days and nights when those nightmares do not revisit you.
 
You are, each of you, very real to me now. You are in my thoughts, my hopes and dreams. Should you choose to forgive me, your blessing will be received with deep gratitude and humility. Please know that there is someone on this earth who knows the value of your spirit, the depth of your suffering and the enduring scars that you bear.
 
I am, and will always remain, deeply and profoundly sorry.

AFTERWORD     by Tony Casson

Mr. Marshall may not speak for all who have stepped over the line of moral decency and adult responsibility, but he does speak for many, myself included. And he speaks eloquently, powerfully, and with great sincerity. I trust his sincerity…I looked up into his eyes after I finished reading what he had written and saw that he was as close to tears as I was.
 
What you have just read will create varying degrees of comment and consideration. I would ask that any of you who have your own blogs, websites, or know of others would post a link to this article and share it with as many people as possible.
 
Some will find men like Mr. Marshall and myself to be beyond forgiveness, but I will point them to a recent series here in which a survivor of childhood sexual abuse expressed her ability – indeed, her need – to forgive. Many of us are sorry in ways that the cynical will never understand.
I will remind them that God insists that we forgive each other, and I will point out a very salient fact about those who share prison with men like us and who are very vocal in their condemnation of us and our acts: Not one of them has ever said he was sorry of anything other than getting caught.
Steve, I cannot thank you enough for your sincerity, humility, and courage.
 
Mr. Marshall is one of several very special, intelligent, and amazing individuals I have met here.
How tragic that we had to meet here, but better here than not at all.

Living in the Future

To readers from Dee: In his letter of July 29, 2012, Steve began to talk about where he might go to live when he is released (even though his release date was still four years away). Steve’s presiding judge sentenced him to lifetime supervision, which requires him to report monthly to his probation officer (PO). For the rest of his life, he must obtain permission from his PO to leave the state; have any direct contact with anyone under the age of 18; enter any area where children frequently congregate including, but not limited to, schools daycare centers, theme parks; theaters, and playgrounds (imagine if he was someone who had young children of his own!); possess or use any media forms containing sexually oriented material; own any camera or recording device; or use a computer or gaming device or cell phone (anything capable of internet connection whether or not such connection exists). As you can see, his quality of life will be greatly influenced by the luck of the draw when it comes to PO assignments.

It is interesting to note that the judge also recommended that Steve “participate in intensive sex offender treatment and educational and vocational programs during incarceration.” No such programs exist in his federal prison!

Although Steve’s was a federal offense because it took place over the internet, federal probation officers generally follow the rules laid down by the state in which they operate. Following the passage of a law in Florida in 2005 commonly referred to as Jessica’s law, all but about six states have enacted laws either allowing or requiring electronic monitoring of SOs, among other things. Though I could not ascertain from my internet research which monitoring laws might apply to him because most descriptions I saw referred to “certain SOs” or “specified SOs,” California, the state where Steve grew up and had his career and in which his child and grandchildren live, requires GPS monitoring of SOs for life regardless of whether or not they ever touched a child inappropriately.

In addition, many states have laws about SOs not being allowed to live within 1000 feet or 2000 feet of any place where children gather. This includes preschools, schools, children’s recreation areas, parks, and in some cities, even churches. Many corrections departments have come to realize that residency restrictions hamper the reentry process for offenders, make it more likely that they will not get treatment, and increase their chances of recidivism. Often, they are forced to live in remote areas where they cannot easily access services or employment, and it is well documented that an increasing number of SOs are becoming homeless. It’s no wonder, then, that Steve was casting around for information on states in which he might have an actual chance of living a semi-normal life.

In his letter of August 5, 2012, Steve wrote:

Dear Dee,

Your packet on federal probation and supervised release was pretty overwhelming and sent me into a downward spiral for a time. I was having thoughts of “What’s the point? If I can’t be near or with those I love, what kind of quality of life is going to be possible?” I got past that and am doing my best to stay focused on what can be achieved as opposed to what cannot. The GPS ankle bracelet thing is a deal breaker. I cannot and will not spend the rest of my life being tracked like a wild animal. I am not and have never been a predator. I have even thought of the radical solution of fleeing the country altogether. There is still a lot of research to be done. It seems to me that we need to focus our attention on finding a place where they make some kind of distinction between child molesters and those who have done what I did. The only real hope I have is that some of those laws will get re-examined in the next four years. With the increasing numbers of people being locked up for this, it’s going to place an enormous burden on the probation departments as these people move through the system and beck out into the free world.

I signed my divorce papers yesterday. It’s a done deal, but of course, I’m still financially attached to P. until the house sells. At the moment, no one is even looking at it. If we can disengage our finances by the mid-point of my sentence, next April, then I will have a chance to save up nearly $100,000 from my pensions by the time I am released, but that’s a big “if.”

Fleck’s piece this week was titled “Living in the Present.” It says that the past and the future are reference points for where we’ve been and where we hope to go, but we cannot act in the future or the past, only in the present. Do you think he’s telling me not to obsess about my life four years from now?

That’s it for this week. Send sermons!

Love, Steve

Killing Time

July 22, 2012

Dear Dee,

The TV Guide crossword book finally arrived! There is a section called “Classic Puzzles” in which they reprint puzzles dating from 1954 through 1994. I amaze myself at what facts I still carry around in my head regarding television as far back as 1954 when I was eleven.

So far, I don’t feel much different being 69, though the number does tend to evoke snickers when I mention it, the result of a kind of Beavis & Butthead mentality that tends to prevail here.

Church: Amy Levy-Lyons piece, “The Opium of the People” struck a chord with me. I’ve been sensing for a while now that I am not making the best use of my time here. When I was under house arrest, with the entirety of my prison experience stretching before me, I had plans to be of service here, perhaps working in the educational department, teaching creative writing or screenwriting or perhaps tutoring inmates going for their GED. But the woman who runs that department has an open hatred of sex offenders and will not allow any to work there. I also fantasized about perhaps trying to weasel a video camera and a computer out of them and starting a film workshop where the inmates could be taught how to write, shoot, edit and score their own movies. But that would fall under the recreation dept. and the guy who runs that also maintains a “No SOs” policy. In fact, the only places we can work here are in the dining hall, where I do, and picking up trash on the compound. All the other jobs are reserved for those with nobler charges such as drug dealing and gun running.

I still maintain a desire to help others and do so whenever the opportunity presents itself. I critique writing projects that some inmates have launched for themselves, and I am doing typing for a friend’s project of writing 366 daily religious devotionals.  But overall, I would have to say I am guilty of what Rev. Levy-Lyons calls killing time. I don’t even spend nearly enough time on my own writing. I guess the message for me here is that I need to be more proactive in finding better uses for my time. I’ve been guilty of regarding this prison sentence as an interruption of my life rather than a part of it.

Fleck’s chapter, “Be Not Angry with Yourself” also resonated with me. I have been—and remain—profoundly angry at myself over what I did to destroy my life. I know it stands in the way of my being able to forgive myself. Fleck writes: “Being angry with oneself is a barren preoccupation. It wages a losing battle with the past, for what is done is done. One has to live with it, even if it is embarrassing, hurtful, imperfect. “Wow!” Words expressly for me from a man I’ve never met who is many years dead. I wrote last week of the piece I intend to write to the children in the pictures. I still haven’t put pen to paper because one of the stumbling blocks has been—how do I dare ask for the forgiveness of others when I still have not been able to forgive myself? I’ve pretty much decided to include that conundrum as a part of the piece. Another reason I am slow to write it is that I want it to be the best thing I’ve ever written. So I don’t want to rush it. But I do hope Dr. Fleck’s words help propel me in the direction of self-forgiveness.

So that’s it for another week. May I continue, with your help and support, to grow in tiny but measurable ways.

Love, Steve

On accountability

July 15, 2012

Dear Dee,

This week’s sermon was another form Ana Levy-Lyons at All Souls in New York titled “Location, Location, Location.” She cites the Hebrew scriptures as telling us to be aware of where we are going and to whom we are accountable. It struck me as odd that I seem to have a better handle on where I’m going than on where I’ve been. I know I’m on a quest to become a better person. Where I’ve been is a bit of a haze representing all the time I spent in an unenlightened state, engaged in activities that I wish I could forget. As for the accountability part, I think I am most accountable to myself, since I will be holding myself to a higher and stricter standard than just about anyone else would.

My first foray into the new Fleck book was meaningful. The chapter, titled “The Blessings of Imperfection,” says that we learn from trial and error, not trial and triumph. It’s difficult for me to regard what I did as an error or a mistake because a mistake is something one makes while trying to do something right and simply making the wrong choice. In my case, I knew from the start that it was wrong. I have to remember as I try to analyze the reasons behind my actions that reasons are not the same as excuses, for there are no excuses for what I did. Whatever else they were, they were most certainly the actions of an imperfect man. In the future, it is my goal to strive for perfection, knowing full well that I will never achieve it, but taking comfort from the knowledge that the effort will result in a better man.

This theme was also useful as I mull over a piece that I want to write titled “To the children in the pictures.” Since I used the internet to do them wrong, it seems altogether fitting that I use it again to seek their forgiveness. It will most likely not reach the intended eyes, but I have to try.

This week I received the draft copy of my divorce papers. I am sad but resigned to this course. I had a few niggling changes, but I will sign it the next time I have access to a notary. Strike three—I’m out!

That’s it for another week. Love, Steve

Oh, brother, where art thou?

July 8, 2012

 Dear Dee,

My brother, Dennis’s, situation continues to decline. He thought he got some good news when they told him that the tumor had shrunk, but what they didn’t tell him until a few days later was that his lungs were full of a cancerous fluid and it has spread to his spine. For this reason, they are not starting radiation as planned. They give him about a 5% chance of surviving for more than a year. It makes it highly unlikely that I will ever see him again unless this transfer comes through. I have been calling Dennis every Friday. I can hear the changes in his voice. He sounded at his best and strongest during the week he had off from chemo.

In the Come as You Are piece this week (the last piece in the book), Fleck pointed out the value in having someone from your youth to grow old with, so that you can share and help each other remember the people and stories from that period in your life. It made me think of Joe and what a devastating loss his death was to me. Of course, Dennis is another one. He’s the only person in the world who shared my misbegotten childhood from its earliest days. When he goes, it will be an incalculable loss.

I liked this week’s sermon by Ana Levy-Lyons, “The Return of the Real.” In it she stresses the need to integrate the image we project to the world with the person we truly are. She points out that “integrate” and “integrity” share the same root word. She says that so many people today will post on Facebook that they are heading out to the soup kitchen to feed the homeless so they can bask in the approbation of others. The real value of the action lies in the doing of it. It called to mind something I remember hearing from, of all people, Dr. Laura on the radio, “Integrity is what you do when no one is watching.”  All of my self-esteem was vested in the image I projected to others, to the point that I believed that this was who I truly was. I talked the talk without being willing to walk the walk. Lesson learned.

Just another day in the life…

 June 24, 2012

Dear Dee,

I really should have gotten an early jump on this letter as it promises to be a fat one. I have a letter of yours to respond to in addition to my usual Sunday ramblings. But here it is Sunday once again and away I go.

I am awaiting the arrival of the TV Guide crossword puzzles you ordered. It takes 12 to 16 weeks for them to process the order? I’m reduced to culling through discarded newspapers looking for crosswords to do. I have found that, once I’ve done one, my mind feels “tingly,” as though it has gotten some exercise. For as much reading as I do (132 books since last Aug. 5), it is a passive activity, only marginally more active than watching TV.

It was interesting to hear you say that it was weird for you to leave without me. For me, being locked up has become the norm. I spend a certain amount of time each day waiting for someone to come and unlock a door so I can go where I need to. When I am finally finished with all this, it will seem strange to walk out the front door whenever I please. The act of sitting down in a restaurant and ordering whatever I want will, I expect, be more than a bit overwhelming in the earliest days of my long-dormant freedom. Still no word from the Bureau of Prisons on my transfer. Having been born and raised in California and with my daughter and granddaughter living there, I am hoping to be able to live there after my release, but I am trying to find out about their living restrictions and voting rights for sex offenders.

Thank you so much for renewing The Week and Mental Floss magazines. I look forward to both.

AS for exercise, I’m really lacking there. I didn’t do nearly as much as I should have when the weather was ideal. Now it is hellishly hot and humid. The guys who do go out there come back soaking wet, looking as if they were hit with a fire hose. There won’t be much relief from it until around late September. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get my transfer to Terminal Island after all, where I can walk the track year round.

Church: RK talked about Earth Day in his chalice lighting. Well, that was the theme of Rev. Bob’s sermon of April 22 wherein he underscored the value of sound environmental thinking contained in the seventh principle: Respect for the interdependent web of existence of which we are all a part. I shake my head in a continual state of disbelief that global warming and climate change are still considered to be partisan issues rather than accepted fact. How far we have strayed from the beliefs and philosophies of the Native Americans who respected and revered their relationship with the earth.

Come As You Are had an impact on me. I thought I was going to dismiss it when I saw its title, “Honoring Your Father and Mother” given that my father doubted his paternity of me and my mother was more involved with her addiction than her children. But Fleck surprised me by admitting that he never liked his father with whom he had a distant and troubled relationship. His father died at the same age mine did—59. He was left with a lot of unfinished business, as was I. He says he moved closer to honoring his father and holds out for the possibility of an afterlife wherein he might get the chance to finish the job.

Chicken Soup for the Prisoner’s Soul extolled the benefits of writing as a part of the rehabilitative process. I think we’re ahead of them on that score.

Whew! I was right. This was a fat one. My hand is sore, so it is time to call it a wrap. As always, I appreciate all that you do.

Love, Steve

Reflecting on not reflecting

June 15, 2012

Dear Dee,

This week I begin my “Sunday letter” on a Friday. I awoke this morning in a mood of reflection and introspection, giving rise to a desire to set my thoughts and feelings down in written form. I suppose if I had a therapist to visit today, these are the things I would be addressing.

I am impatient for freedom; not only because I am sick of being locked up, although that is a part of it. I am eager to embrace a more enlightened life, only small portions of which I can experience in prison. I am desiring of the rewards found in the act of trusting in another human being; something that is not encouraged or advisable in a climate of incarceration. I am in the process of rebooting my life and anxious to see if the new program works.

I realize that I have gone through most of my life without reflecting very much on who I am or why I make the decisions I do. I have spent much of that time on autopilot, trusting in my belief that I was, at heart, a good person without doing the work required to actually be one. In my prior existence, if I wanted to do something, I just did it with no regard for the reasons behind it or the consequences that may result from it. I can cite my divorce as a prime example of something that I initiated without giving it the thought and consideration that it deserved or required. My life, it seems, is littered with such ill-conceived acts.

Growing up with no viable bond with a mother or a father left me with a sense that I was on my own in this world from a very early age. One positive result of this condition was a sense of independence. But the downside was a reluctance—or perhaps an inability—to fully engage in intimacy. A part of me always remained closed off and inaccessible. So I am anxious to discover what a relationship could be like with all the doors open.

Ironically, it is entirely possible that I won’t get the opportunity to find that out. Any new relationship that I might establish will be tainted by a very heavy load of dark baggage that I will be bringing to it; an aggregation of experiences that would scare away most mortals. That remains an outcome that I cannot, at this point, predict.

But the question of whether or not I will ever again have a significant relationship is secondary to the larger issue. Will I emerge from this experience a better man than when I began it? I like to believe that I will; and if I do, then something very positive will have resulted from all of this negativity. Whether one believes in the existence of an omnipotent god or simply in the concept of karma, it would seem that all of this happened for a reason; to capture and hold my attention and direct it toward the signposts I need to be heading in order to achieve a higher, more enlightened state of being.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Father’s Day. I have spoken with my daughter but have not yet connected with my son. But I sent each of them a letter earlier this past week telling them what it means to me to be their father. Sometimes it’s easier to write these feelings out and let them read them in private rather than verbalize them, which tends to demand a response. I just wanted to let them know how I felt and let them sit with that.

Church: The chalice lighting spoke directly to me as the speaker talked of her personal conceptualization of God. She said, “I understand it as energy that is within every cell of my being, in every particle of what we often call inanimate objects like rocks. At the same time, the Divine is outside of me and I am enveloped within the field of energy itself.” Her beliefs mirror mine exactly.

The sermon was the first of the four that Rev. Bob from Little Rock sent me—his Easter sermon from April. Easter for me has always been about hiding brightly colored eggs from little kids and then carving up a big-assed ham. But he provided me with an added appreciation for the holiday by asking us to regard the Easter story as a metaphor for the renewal of nature in the spring, the brown lawn turning green—or the renewal of the human spirit for another year.

Once again, my hat is off to G. Peter Fleck. His words in “Come As You Are” perfectly reflected what I wrote about on Friday, earlier in this letter: “…lately I have come to believe that these negative experiences may well be what life is all about, that success is not the absence of failure but the overcoming of failure. Not the absence of weakness but the overcoming of weakness. Not the absence of mistakes but the acceptance of the mistakes, which means the forgiving of the mistakes.”

So, all in all, a pretty good Sunday. And a nice day to be a father.

Love, Steve