Bobbie's Ride – A Great Story…
Philip Jay (PJ) Seiler is a life-sentenced prisoner at San Quentin State Prison. PJ is a very dedicated student who participates in many programs. He has been a solid participant of IPP's Group Process Program 'Katargeo' for over six years and he is a peer facilitator for our Victim Offender Education Group, helping offenders of severe crimes go through a healing process and meet with victims for dialogue. PJ is also an avid student of our Violence Prevention Program. His passion is to counsel youth - as is obvious in a very special encounter he had during a rare glimpse of the world to a court appearance after 20 years in prison. PJ saw an opportunity to serve and went for it, showing incredible skill and sensitivity in an encounter with a fellow human being, We encouraged him to write the story down and he worked hard at it.
Here's the result:
BOBBIE'S RIDE HOME
[I was taken to
Court hearing. I won my case and should be released from prison
Soon, after almost 20 years. But that is not what this story is
about. This story is about something heartfelt that occurred along
The way. Something I will never forget.]
Her name was Bobbie. She was hurting, lost and sad. No way was I going to stand by and not do anything.
I was shuffling across the basement parking garage of the Sacramento County Jail in cuffed hands, shackled feet, and orange jump-suit, and heading towards the van that would take me back to San Quentin. On either side of me was one male and one female sheriff deputy.
"There's a female passenger in the van." The male deputy tells me. "Cool." I say. I hope she's nice, I think to myself.
As I approached the van, with its darkly tinted and barred windows, I couldn't see the woman sitting in the back seat. The female deputy opened the sliding van door for me. I carefully stepped in the van, making sure not to trip and land on my face. In cuffs and shackles, that can happen.
Once we were all seated in the van and prepared for the two hour drive, I looked back to see the woman I was to share this ride with. But, the way prisoner transport vans are set up, with meshed steel separations between the seats and the back seat facing directly out the back window, it was difficult to see her. Plus, she had a big jacket on with the hood pulled over her head, so I couldn't see her face at all. All I could see was this big fluffy hood poking up over the back of the bench seat.
Of course I was going to say something. I'm not one to miss out on a conversation with someone. At the same time, I was hoping that the deputies would not stop us from talking. It is common for them to stop prisoners from talking, especially if it's a man and woman talking. But that wasn't going to stop me from trying. No way.
[Of course I'm going to try to talk to her. I'm not ashamed
or afraid to say that I enjoy talking to women about more just
"the weather." The California Department of Corrections does
their best – to the point of throwing you in "the hole" and "writing
you up" – to try to make a prisoner feel ashamed or afraid to
have personal conversations with women. Luckily, the two
officers in the van listened to what I was saying first, and let
me talk.]
I turned toward the back of the van and said, "Well it looks like we're going on a ride together." The woman said nothing. I waited a few minutes, then as the van was pulling out of the parking garage of the 16 story court house tower, I kindly said, "Wow, a beautiful day for a drive." Still no reply. I didn't give up, but I waited a few more minutes before I spoke to her again.
On the road now, I realize how hot it is in the van, and I'm only wearing a thin orange jump-suit. This woman is wearing a big thick jacket. So I said to her, "Aren't you hot in that jacket with the hood up like that?" (I'll admit that part of me wanted her to take the hood down so I could see who I was talking to.) What happened next was the beginning of an absolutely beautiful experience.
She finally said something, "I'm all right." And I heard her voice; a soft, high innocent sounding voice. This is a girl!, I thought to myself. My heart dropped into sadness to know that such a young woman had gotten to a point in her life where she was sitting in the back of police van, cuffed and shackled, riding with a convicted murderer – me. What has our society come to that we don't take care of our children before they get to a point to such fear, pain, and despair?!
What came out of my moment of sadness – thinking about this girl's situation – was my immediate, intuitive decision to try to help her talk about it. I have been counseling and mentoring at-risk boys for almost 15 years through volunteer youth programs in San Quentin, so I felt I may be able to help her.
I told the young woman my name and my situation, and then she told me that her name was Bobbie. I made sure to be real gentle, caring, and careful with what I said, for two very important reasons.
One, I did not want to scare or hurt her, or make her feel inferior. At the same time, I wanted to get as much of her story as I could. Not for my curiosity or entertainment, no way, but for her, Bobbie, to be able to tell it, maybe like she's never told it before, so she really gets a chance to feel it and think about it. This is empowering for at-risk people. Also, I wanted to get as much of her life story as I could, so I could better work with her.
And two, because the two deputies were listening to everything I was saying to this girl. I had to be conscious of how I talked to make sure that the deputies knew I was not trying in any way to get at this girl in a flirting or sexual way, and of course, I wasn't. All the deputies would have had to say was, "You two can't talk to each other." And there was a very good change that they could have said that – with a 45 years old man, a convict, talking to a girl. As hard as it would have been – agonizingly hard – I would have had to stop talking.
During the whole first hour of this two plus hour drive, I was letting Bobbie do all of the talking, to get her whole story, and to, as I said before, allow her to "get" her whole story. I was only making brief comments, to show my concern, empathy, interest and attention.
Bobbie told me everything. Just the day before our ride she had turned 16. She ran away, by bus, from
She went on to share her family story with me. She is one of triplets and she lives with her mom, brother and sister. She has a good loving and caring mom and family, and a good family life. Her mom divorced her dad years ago. He is out of the picture except for an occasional visit. She lives in a nice neighborhood in
It wasn't until Bobbie started sharing with me all of the above things that she finally turned her head to look at me and we made eye contact. This was a beautiful, African American girl. A person I could easily picture in a loving family portrait, or in a school choir singing on stage. She wasn't a hardened gang-banger, or even a trough acting or looking girl. Not at all the kind of person one might expect to see in a jail van at that age.
During the first part of her sharing, I couldn't help but think to myself, why did this girl run away from home?
Then she said, "I have a boyfriend." The expression on her face instantly changed, from happy and proud – talking about her mom, family, family life and friends – to sadness, pain and fear.
She went on, "He's 20 years old, and he hits me. He doesn't allow me to hang out with my friends." Bobbie continued telling me all about that dark side of her life.
This was breaking my heart to see the pain and despair in the eyes of this young woman.
From the moment Bobbie said, "I have a boyfriend," her eyes welled up with tears. After she was done telling me about the sad and painful things, I started to talk and we began an equal exchange.
The first thing I said after she said, "I have a boyfriend," was, "Oh, you didn't run away from your mom, you ran away from your boyfriend." Bobbie's tears cam again, and she said, "Yeah…"
I did my best to comfort her, with my words and eye-contact through the steel mesh (being cuffed and in a cage, all I had was words and eye-contact). I tried to validate her feelings of pain, fear, sadness, and confusion, and to normalize them, so she wouldn't feel alone. I grounded her by letting her know that she was safe right then. I assured her that her reactions to her situation were common. "You are not stupid or wrong for how you are dealing with this situation, Bobbie," I said. "You are only dong what you have learned or heard what to do." I told her that there are different ways to deal with her situation to make herself safe, and make her feel much better. I offered to her that she and I could explore ideas, if she wanted to, and she did!
(I was so glad that the deputies were not stopping Bobbie and me from talking!)
She had watched her mom get beaten for years by her dad, until the divorce. She didn't say that she had been beaten or sexually abused in any way. She didn't offer it, so I did not push for that information. I didn't feel that there was time to go there, if there was a "there." Besides, I believe it's more appropriate for a female counselor to conduct that conversation with a girl victim/survivor.
Bobbie also told me more about her boyfriend. She told me that he is a gang-banger and a dope dealer, and that he has been in prison a few times. She said that he sits in his car in front of her house, to make sure she doesn't go anywhere without him. I told her that that is called stalking. She also said that her mom is afraid of him!
Bobbie went on to say that not only does her boyfriend keep her from her friends, as much as he can, but he has threatened Sam (the 15 year old schoolboy she likes), telling him, "Stay away from her!" She told me that she really likes Sam, and that she would much rather have him for a boyfriend.
[A 15 year old girl with a 15 year old boy. What a concept.
That's how it should be. In most cases when you have no father
or father figure (man, a good man) in a young girls life, she
is much more likely to get with an older "man," that is abusive,
and irresponsible. Boys and girls need good mother and father
figures/mentors throughout there childhood years.]
Bobbie told me that her mom was 55 years old, a good parent, and made a good home life for the family. "My mom is always there for me, she said, to help with my homework, for mother/daughter talks, and other things." Bobbie told me the names of her mother, brother, and sister, and what I find interesting was that the only person she didn't name was her boyfriend.
She said that she enjoyed school and learning, and spending time with her friends, "When I can get away with it," she said, "without my boyfriend interfering." She didn't get in big trouble at school or at home, and she didn't hang out on the streets.
She told me why she wants to be a teacher, "Because I want to help little kids have fun and laugh while they learn. The kids in my school all want to grow up too fast, and that's sad," she said.
Bobbie is girl with goals, ambition, drive, and love in her heart. That was easy for me to see.
During our dialog, I used a question and then a statement to make two major points. The question was, "What was the first thing your mom said to you when you called her from
Then the statement I made was, "Your mom has 55 years of wisdom. She's lived a hard life. You might want to listen to what your mom has to say, Bobbie." "Yeah. You're probably right," she said.
Time was getting short for us. We were coming out of
[I believe that sometimes you just have to tell youngsters
(and I have two boys of my own) what they don't want to
hear, but deep down they know it is the right advice, so they
really do hear it. Many grown-ups don't do that, and the kids
are longing for it. Even if they don't know they are. I give that
advice, only when I strongly feel it should be given, with no
hesitation, and no regrets, like on that day with Bobbie.]
I wanted to hit hard the important part of this situation, dumping the boyfriend. But I wanted Bobbie to feel it, deep down in her soul, so she would own the decision, and do it.
So I said to her, "Bobbie do you know what happened to you face when you went from talking about your mom and your family, to talking about your boyfriend?" (Her face did it again, as soon as I said boyfriend.) She already knew the answer, but she still said, "What?" I told her how much her face changed. Then I told her, "You have got to dump your boyfriend! Have your mom do what she needs to do – get a restraining order – to keep him away from you."
Bobbie's tears came again. I knew why they came. When I said that to her, she knew she was going to have to leave him, or more like, she was leaving him that moment. So it was hurting her badly, because they had been together for almost a year. She was in love with him; her heart was breaking right then and there. Which hurt me (yeah, my eyes were welling up a few times too during our conversation) because I know the feeling, and she was so young to have to go through that.
I knew Bobbie had already started the process of letting him go and that made me feel good. Letting go of the person who was no good for her – hitting her, controlling her, scaring her, and scaring her mom! This young woman, who deserved so much better than him, was letting go.
I spent a fair amount of time acknowledging and validating the pain she was feeling. Saying things like, "I know how this must hurt. You love him and your heart is breaking. I know how terribly painful it is because I've gone through that too. Most people your age or older have. It's all right, and it's important to feel the pain."
Then I spent a good amount of time building her up and empowering her, while watching her tears dry up. I said things like, "You are a beautiful, smart, interesting, driven, funny, caring, loving, young woman! You deserve so much better than him. You deserve someone who is going to treat you like the love-worthy person you are. Maybe Sam." And we talked about what some of her interests were, and what she liked to do with her free time.
There were a few other important subjects that came up during my time with Bobbie, and I was worried that the deputies would stop me from talking, but thankfully, they didn't. I was able to talk to her about safe sex practices (I'm a trained Peer Health Counselor) and about testing for STD's.
I also told her that, "You don't have to have sex with Sam (or any other guy just because he's nice to you) on the first date, the first week, or even the first month." I encouraged Bobbie to, "spend a long time dating a guy – to make sure he is going to consistently treat you with respect and kindness, which you deserve – before you go to bed with him. Wait until you are older for that, even. Be a girl again for a while. OK?" (I don't know if that advice landed, but I gave it a shot anyway.) She said, "OK. That sounds like a plan."
During our conversation, I also stopped her in her tracks the moment she told me her last name and what school she went to. I said, "You know that I am in prison for murder, and that I may be getting our soon." (I had told her all of that when we first started talking, so she knew who she was talking to). I said to her, "I am a stranger to you. I could be lying to you about why I am in prison!" (I wanted to really give her a scare, so she wouldn't make that mistake again.) "Don't ever again tell a stranger your last name and where you go to school, or any other information, except for your first name. OK?"
Bobbie was clearly shocked – which is what I wanted. She said, "Jeeze, I didn't even think about that. Thanks for telling me that."
At this point I felt that I needed to get her one more time – big. So I steered our conversation back to the more serious, then said to her, "You watched your mom being beaten and abused by your dad. Now you are getting beaten and abused. You are going to have a baby with this guy if you don't leave him now, or if he doesn't kill you first! That's what happens many times in this kind of relationship. He's gonna beat your child, maybe worse. Your little girl is going to grow up watching you get beaten – like you watched your mom get beaten. Then, guess what, she's gonna pick a guy who beats and abuses her." Bobbie's tears were flowing again.
Then I gave her the power option. I told her, "You have the power, right now, to stop that cycle. You can, right now starting today, eliminate that sadness and pain from yourself, and form all the girls in your family that follow you. You will be known as the woman in your family who saved your children, and your children's children. First, right now, save yourself." More tears flowed, but the expression on her face had changed to determination. That was beautiful to see.
So much can be seen in a young person's face during these kinds of dialogs. I was seeing enlightenment and interest. Kids can't fake that. This was a turning point in Bobbie's life. I hope with all my heart that she sticks with it and completes the change.
The van was pulling up to the San Quentin gates. I only had a couple more minutes with my new friend. I asked her one short question, "What are you going to do?" (Bobbie had already told me that the deputies were taking her to Juvenile Hall, where her mom was going to pick her up.) Bobbie answered, with no coaching from me, "I'm going to give my mom a big hug and kiss, tell her that I love her, that I'm sorry for running away and making her worry. And I'm going to ask her to please help me to start making good decisions."
And, without me saying, "what else?" Bobbie went on to say, "I'm going to dump that guy and have my mom make sure he stays away from me. I'm gonna start spending more time with Sam. I'm gonna keep getting good grades in school, go to college, and become a teacher." As she was saying all of that, with strong determination in her voice, my heart filled with a kind of joy that I've rarely felt before.
[It doesn't happen very often that a young one I interact
with seems to do a complete 180° (in terms of changing
one's path) right in front of me - not a fake 180°, but one
from the heart and soul. Bobbie did just that. From a
troubled, confused, hurting girl, to an empowered,
enlightened, determined young woman.]
We were pulling up to the place in the prison where I had to get out. I wish I could have kept talking with Bobbie. I wish I could have talked with her and her mom together, but I couldn't, being in prison and all. So, before I had a chance to say anything more, Bobbie said, "It was nice talking to you; I wish I could give you a big hug. Thank you for talking with me. I'm going to be all right now."
I thanked her, for being brave enough to share with me, and strong enough to make the decisions she made today. Then I said, "I know you will stick to your decisions. I can see it in your eyes, and hear it in your voice." And I could!
As I exited the van (after the female deputy opened the sliding door for me), the male deputy said to me, "That was a good thing you did." I gave him a friendly nod. Then, as the female deputy was uncuffing me, she said, "Me and the other deputy looked at each other when you first started talking to her. We almost stopped you from talking at that point, but we gestured to each other to hold off and see what you were going to say first. I am so glad that we did. How did you know what to say to that girl so she would listen?!" I told her, "I've been counseling at-risk youth for almost 15 years." She said, "You may have saved that girl's life today." "I hope so." I replied. I waved and smiled to Bobbie in the van. She waved back, I'm sure, but I couldn't see her because of the darkly tinted van windows…
This was my first time counseling a girl and I didn't know if I could be effective at counseling them at all, especially into the depth I went with Bobbie. So it felt good to learn that I can help girls too.
In addition to that, I've sometimes had my doubts about being effective at counseling at all in a casual, impromptu way, outside of the structured youth counseling programs I've been involved with. You know, where the youngsters know that they are at a specific place for a specific reason. It feels good to know that I can "fly solo" if need be, because counseling youth is what I want to do for as long as I feel I am effective at it.
Working with Bobbie had meaning for me on many levels – of bravery, connection, empathy, learning, being non-judgmental, allowing the moment to happen. And all of that was on an open flow, from Bobbie to Bobbie, from Bobbie to me, and from me to Bobbie.
What an honor, and how fortunate it was for me to be in that van with that courageous young woman, Bobbie, on that day…
This true story is dedicated to Bobbie, and all the other Bobbies out there who are struggling with hardships, and are trying to find their way out of pain and into more happy and fulfilling lives.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I want to give a special thanks to Nan Sincero for her hours of help and encouragement, and for her expertise in editing this story for me in her capacity as a San Quentin Project R.E.A.C.H. tutor. Thanks so much for guiding me through the writing process, Nan.
Please do not copy, reprint or distribute this story in part or in full without permission form Phillip Jay Seiler Sr. Feel free to write comments or questions to Phillip at San Quentin Prison, E16869, 2N90, San Quentin, CA 94974.