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By SARAH SMILEY
Why Sarah Spent The Night In Jail
Before I explain why I spent the evening at the county jail, let me tell you how Dustin became den leader for our seven-year-old son Ford’s Cub Scout group.Ford can spell words like “democracy” and adds multiple numbers in his head faster than his mother. He isn’t afraid of many things except for: the dark, bears, and sleeping outside in the dark with bears.
Rather than signing up for something a little more congruent with his personality – say, the Young Republicans or the Science Club – Ford decided to try scouting. No one was more shocked than his dad and me.
At the local scouting store, we spent what seemed like Ford’s college savings on a Cub Scout uniform, badges and other paraphernalia. There I began to understand Ford’s desire to be a Tiger Cub. He wanted to wear that blue uniform in the worst way.
Dustin would not realize this insight until I told him later. So, with a bundle of equipment in his arms, he looked down at Ford and said, “Won’t it be fun when we go camping together?” The blood drained from Ford’s face. “You mean this will involve caaaaamping?” he said. “With bears? In the dark?”
To help ease Ford’s anxiety, Dustin, the Navy pilot trained for war, volunteered to be den leader along with our neighbor, Dan, a Marine pilot trained for war. Ford may be afraid of camping, but Dustin is decidedly more afraid of organizing crafts and folksy sing-alongs. He could probably handle himself sleeping in the dark with bears, but we both knew he might glue his thumb to his knee if left to figure out paper mache on his own.
Therefore, I became a “silent” den leader, ready to step in whenever the glue sticks and construction paper became too much.
Due to other obligations last week, however, I was unable to assist when it was Dustin’s turn to set up the weekly den outing. The boys were going to see a police station, but when the sheriff called to confirm, he said, “Your tour of the county jail is all set up. We’ll see you Tuesday night.”
The county jail? Did Dustin really set up a tour of the jail for a group of six- and seven-year-olds? Surely there is some mistake!
But no, there was no mistake. Tuesday night, on the way to the jail, Ford started to cry. “Will we see prisoners?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “They won’t take you back with the prisoners. They’ll probably show you where they keep the police cars, and maybe they have a pretend jail cell set up for display.”
Inside the jail lobby, a sergeant gave us our instructions:
Keep you hands in your pockets at all times. Do not touch anything, especially not the doors. Don’t look the prisoners in the eyes. Do not speak to them. Remember, these are very dangerous individuals.
I’m not sure whose eyes looked more afraid, the children’s or their mothers’.
“You will never live this down,” I whispered to Dustin.
Our first stop on the tour: watching two new inmates as they were escorted from a police car to the “intake” room. Second stop: seeing a dozen male criminals confined to a room together, waiting for their cell. Third stop: the restraining chair, where rowdy inmates are strapped down at their ankles, wrists, and, if necessary, their head. “Anyone want to test it out?” the sergeant asked. Ford did not raise his hand.
The sergeant had already told us that the jail has two types of inmates. Those in the blue suits are “your average criminal.” The ones in the red suits are the “really, really bad guys.” When he said our fourth stop would be the jail cell, where we would see actual prisoners, Ford clutched my hand.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure it will just be the blue-suit people. They wouldn’t take you to see the red suits,” I whispered to him.
Just then, the sergeant said, “When you see the guys in the red suits in here, remember, don’t make eye contact.”
There was no way to make the situation better. In Ford’s short time as a Cub Scout, he has managed to get out of every camping event. So I leaned down and told him, “Maybe scouting doesn’t always involve camping, but I honestly didn’t know it would mean seeing prisoners.”
That’s what you get when your den leaders are a Navy pilot and a Marine.
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Sarah Smiley is the wife of a Navy pilot and daughter of a retired Navy pilot. She is the author of “Going Overboard: The Misadventures of a Military Wife” (Penguin/NAL), and her syndicated column “Shore Duty” appears weekly in military and civilian newspapers across the country. Read more about Sarah at her website, www.SarahSmiley.com.