Imprisoned

I was driving into Philadelphia the other day and was crossing the Delaware river on one of the major bridges. Looking off the right of the bridge, I could see the Camden county jail. The jail sits behind two fences with a buffer zone in between. An abundance of razor wire was there to discourage travel through the buffer zone. Standing outside the fence were several women. They weren’t together. A couple had pre-school age children with them. They were there to communicate to with their men in the prison. I’ve seen them do this before. It seems that they have some primitive sign language to communicate the basics. Perhaps they just wanted their men to see the children, but I don’t think so. Maybe they just needed to make contact to arrange for some crack. I don’t know. Maybe though, they just want to see their men.

I’m sitting here thinking about how this makes me feel. Searching the thoughts I want to key in. I’ve started this next sentence many time and deleted it. Do I want to say that I resent the fact that even prisoners are appreciated? I think that is where I was going with this as I started the subject, but I’m not sure it sounds right. I’m not sure I want to resent something like that. I think I’m going to let that resentment go.