Calmly, Carefully, Completely(43)

“Your daughter is going to be a bitch?”

He sits up this time. He’s getting defensive, I can tell. I hold up my hand to stop him.

“Every woman is someone’s daughter. Someone at home loves her. And you devalue her and every other female by referring to women as bitches and hos.” I’m from the neighborhood. I could spout off a lot coarser words than they could probably imagine. But they get the idea. “The girl you’re with is someone’s daughter. You have to remember that when you treat a woman poorly.”

The same boy shakes his head. “Some b—” He stops and corrects himself. “Some women don’t want to be treated like somebody’s daughter,” he says. “If their dads ain’t so good, they don’t know no better.”

I nod my head. “When a woman grows up, she accepts the love she thinks she deserves. Do you think that’s fair? Is that what you want for your own daughters?” I look around.

One of the boys leans forward. I have his attention, I think. He looks me directly in the eye as he says, “I will treat my daughter like a princess. Because if I don’t, she’ll latch on to the first man who does, even if he’s no good. My grandma told me that.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a picture. “That’s my girl,” he says. He beams with pride.

I lean close so I can smile at his picture. Then I reach out and shake his hand. “Your daughter thanks you. And so will the man she marries someday.”

“You got a girlfriend?” one of them asks. I am suddenly the center of their attention.

I shake my head. “No. I just got out of prison a couple of days ago.”

“He ain’t had time to go hit dat, yet,” one boy says, and another high-fives him.

“I’ve done my share of hitting that.” I draw air quotes around the last two words. “Hitting that’s not enough for me. I want a relationship. I want somebody to share my life. I want someone to take care of me and who will let me take care of her. But even before all that, I want to better myself so that I’m worthy of her.”

“Shit,” one of them grunts. “You don’t even know who she is and you’re already trying to change yourself for her. Fuck that.” He throws his hands down like he wants to brush away my thoughts.

I shake my head. “I want to be better for me. But I have no doubt that whoever I end up marrying will be better for it.” I start to tick items off on my fingers. “I want to go to college. I want to get a good job. I want a house. It may be a humble home, but it will be mine.” I pat my chest. “I want kids to run up and down the hallways. I want to go to soccer practice and coach Little League and I want to hold a little girl’s hand while she dances on her toes in a tutu. I want to watch my kids make it to college and watch them do better than me.” I look at Phil. “Those are my plans.”

He smiles at me and nods. “How many of you have solid plans for when you get out?” he asks.

The boys look toward one another.

“How many of you plan to graduate?” he asks.

Only half of them raise their hands.

“How many of you plan to work?”

All of them raise their hands.

“How many of you plan to have children that you’ll take care of?”

Only the boy with the picture in his pocket raises his hand.

“How many of you use condoms when you’re hitting that?” Phil asks.

The boys laugh.

Phil chuckles. “Then a lot more of you are planning to have kids than I thought.”