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I'd always believed that old saying that the first 15 minutes in jail were the toughest, until I experienced the five minutes after that.
They had me empty out my pockets. They took my wallet, my keys, my shoelaces -- everything, except my pride -- that and my fears and my hopes and dreams and my love of origami and my ability to create the illusion of walking against the wind.
To pass the time, I gave nicknames to everything in my cell. The sink I called 'toilet' and the toilet, 'sink,' and the floor was 'Old Floory.'
I think my dad looked at kids as additions to his tool kit. Twenty-seven years ago, he walked out on the front porch and said, 'Well, I could mow that lawn, but it's just going to grow back again. Or I could go back to bed and gamble some sperm...
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