Nut Cracker

The following is an excerpt from Part One:

A mother can describe the agonizing pain of giving birth. Someone who has never undergone the ordeal will by no means appreciate the agony. A man can express the torment of being smashed in the groin. Only those who have had their nuts crushed will ever know the excruciating sensation. And an inmate is the only variety of mortal who can identify with the uncertainty, despair, and inhumane treatment in holes of horror, the institutions of terrorism known as prisons.

Some distressing circumstances of lesser impact can also be disturbing nonetheless. For me, being referred to as “Pops” or “Old Timer” is one of them. My dad was called “Pops” for decades. He fit the image and the temperament. Behind bars, age is as identifying a factor as skin tone. Being white puts me in the marginal minority. Being over fifty nearly puts me in Intake Service Center extinction. When someone hollers “Hey, Pops,” I generally respond. I myself do not feel ready to be thought of grandfatherly, but my cohorts do.

Restriction is another difficult-to-swallow condition. The first self-study course I took on prison was Reminiscence 101. There, I was rapidly reminded that absence, as well as abstention, does cause the spirit to nurture fondness. Vicissitudes demand that ordinary endeavors such as driving a car or walking the beach are activities of a bygone era. The saliva stimulating sensation of eating a steak becomes a vicarious adventure. Dental floss and Q-tips are considered nonessential or dangerous, therefore deemed not available.