I’ve said it before on this blog. All three of my grown children are still at home. Ages 23, 21, and 18.
We’re in no hurry to push them out. We all get along nicely.
#1 son recently sent me a text, “I’m quitting my job. I’m going to jail.”
As his parents, we were stunned. We’ve led careful lives. No arrests. No illegal drugs. His only encounter with police was a speeding ticket in our neighborhood after he picked up his high school diploma. Yes, he was a little excited and distracted.
I quickly responded for clarification. Turns out he was taking a job at a local jail as a cafeteria food service supervisor.
A former boss at his current job recently left to work at the jail. She needs more workers and came back to specifically invite him to apply to work for her again. He applied, interviewed (with her and others) and got hired.
He started last week and is enjoying it so far. He works for a company that has the food service contract for the jail. The inmates cook, clean, and serve. He supervises their work and controls utensils and supplies. The hours are more. They pay is higher. He’s enjoying the interaction with new people (inmates and fellow workers).
He began sharing work stories with us last night between episodes of “Prison Break.”
“It’s not like that, Mom. I’m not in the cell blocks.” he said.
An inmate asked for a meat thermometer. My son hesitated because it’s a sharp object and he just wasn’t sure if it was allowed. After checking with a supervisor, he handed it over.
As the inmate verified the hot dog temperature, he said, “Hey. It’s cool. I know you had to ask about this sharp thing. But you know, if I was going to kill you, I’d probably use that three-foot spatula over there. It’s a lot like a shovel.”
My son says it was a joke. As a parent, my prayer life just intensified.