It was quite around the house for the next couple of days. I got up and ate my breakfast, without acknowledging Momz presence. When I got in from school, I went straight to F2. When she called me to supper, I came, but I ate in silence. If she tried to start a conversation, I ignored her. I figured that as long as I did my chores, did my homework and ate what she considered healthy foods, she wouldn't punish me. There was no rule that said you had to talk.

On Friday, Momz went back to work. I was relieved to get home to an empty house. When I opened the front door, there were two letters for me on the table in the foyer. One was from Popz. The other was from Momz. There was a post-it on the letter with Momz handwriting. "If you're treating me the way you treat your Dad, you have to read this and respond. That's what you do with your Dad's letters. No more return to sender."

She had me dead to rights, but I didn't have to read hers first or answer it immediately.

I grabbed some snacks. Momz had made cookies and brownies the last two days, trying to entice me with the smells when I got in from school. I had ignored her, but now that she was gone, I could chow down. I took the eats, a coke and my letters to F2. I popped a couple of brownies in the microwave for a few seconds and opened Popz letter.

Dear CW:

I got your church doodle. Your artwork has sure improved since the last time I sat in church with you. You always had talent, but this is really good. What a great way to bring Jonah into the 20th century. I taped it inside my locker. We're not allowed to tape things to the walls, but whenever I open my locker, I see it and grin. Some other guys have seen it too and asked about it. I got to tell them about Jonah and how God used him. God is using you here, even if you've never darkened the inside of these walls.

We have a newspaper here. It's called the Chainlink Chronicle. Do you care if I submit your cartoon to the paper? They print original poems, stories and art work. Anyone can submit something, free people and inmates. I bought a subscription to it for you. You'll start getting it in the mail in January, but it'll actually be the December issue. It's usually mailed out around the 10th of the month, give or take a few days – or sometimes weeks.

I was disappointed that Patty didn't let you come for Angel Tree. I thought maybe she'd get into the Christmas Spirit, but I'm still praying for her. There's a One Day With God camp in March, a couple of weeks before Easter. I've requested that you be invited to attend. Kids come to the prison at 9AM and spend a day with their Dads. There are games, crafts, worship, eats, lots of fun stuff. But the last hour is spent just talking. A ODWG volunteer will contact your Mom to see if you can come. They can be pretty persuasive. I'm asking you to pray about the camp. Pray that your Mom will be receptive. Please do not mention it to her at all. No begging and pleading or bargaining. I'm only telling you about this so you can pray for God to make Mom's heart receptive.

I looked up from the letter and stared into space. Like I was going to pray. I'd prayed for God to intervene when Dad moved out. I'd prayed for four years after Popz got arrested. It had done no good. My prayers just rattled around in the attic and got nowhere. God didn't come to Popz rescue; he sent him to prison and kept him there. He didn't change Momz. I quit praying when I was 12. I wasn't wasting my time praying now. I couldn't understand how Popz could do that either. I guess being locked up did strange things to your mind. But I would honor his request not to bug Momz. I wasn't talking to her anyway. Even if I was, I wouldn't talk about ODWG. She always just blew me off when it came to Popz.

I shook my head and went back to reading. Popz was starting to sound like a preacher. This was weird.

I'm glad you liked your wallet. You didn't mention the note I left you in the hidden compartment. Did you find it?

I assume Clarence has taken you to pick up your Angel Tree gift. He was supposed to do it early this week so you'd have it before this letter arrives. He said he'd take pictures and send me some. I drew the card. It's a knock off of a Norman Rockwell. I don't do good with freehand, like you do, but I can make a presentable copy.

I know you can't write from Mexico. I wish you had J-Pay, that's the email system for inmates. Your Mom would have to set up an account and pay for it, though. Maybe when you're sixteen you can get your own account.

Anyway, I love you. Have fun at Christmas and take lots of pictures. You can print some and mail them to me.

Love, Dad

I looked over at the box from Popz sitting in the corner. I'd opened a yo-yo on Wednesday. It had a pamphlet with it on how to do tricks and a note from Popz that said, "This may seem lame, but play around with it, unless your homies make fun of you, of course. I hear there are some really good U-tube videos on how to do yo-yo tricks, too." I hadn't done anything with it, but I figured I'd take it to Mexico. Maybe I could learn some tricks to pass the time.

On Thursday, I'd opened a book filled with card game rules and a deck of cards. The note said, "When you're locked up, you have a lot of spare time. Maybe we can play some cards when I get out." The book included every card game I'd ever heard of and lots I hadn't. Most had variations on how they could be played. The Spades rules were different than how Momz played, but her way was one of the variations.

I hadn't even thought about today's gift. I went and picked up package number four. Inside was a digital camera, still in the package, with a 8 gig SanDisk card, also in its original packaging. The note said, "I know you have a camera on your phone, but I hear you can get better photos with this. Anyway, the guys at the paper told me that I had to get it for you. They all wanted it for themselves. You should be able to take lots of pictures on an 8 gig card."

It wasn't a top of the line camera or anything, but it wasn't a cheap toss away, either. I couldn't believe Popz scored a camera. "The Angels must have pretty deep pockets," I thought.

I sat down and typed Popz a quick letter, thanking him for my package and assuring him that I wouldn't talk to Mom about ODWG. I didn't tell him I wasn't about to pray for Momz heart to change. I just didn't mention it at all. I told him he could do whatever he wanted with my cartoon. My last paragraph said, "When I found out that Momz wouldn't let me attend Angel Tree, I didn't get the red ass like when I got the birthday card. Instead, I calmly told her that from now on I'd be treating her the way she was forcing me to treat you. I don't talk to her at all. I completely ignore her, as though she's not even there. She left a letter for me today, though. I guess I'll have to read it, lol, since I read yours. When I first found out about her deception, I wasn't talking to her except in angry tones so she tried writing. I marked everything she gave me 'return to sender' and slid it under her bedroom door. She got the message and quit trying to leave me explanatory notes. Now I guess, I've boxed myself in a corner. I can't put return to sender on her letter because I don't do that with yours. She thinks she's being crafty, but we'll see."

I had gotten Jake to take a couple of pictures of me on Blue Ox. I had taken one of the gaming setup. I took a picture of F2 with its wood burned sign and its bottle wind chimes. We'd taken a selfie of Jake and Marlow and me in front of F2. We were toasting Popz with our brews. Marlow had a selfie stick. For homeless dudes, they sure had a lot of stuff. When I asked about it, Marlow just shrugged and said. "Guilt gifts."

I put the pictures in the envelope with the letter. I put two stamps on it cause I didn't want it to come back with "insufficient postage" stamped on the front. I put Unlce Clarence's return address on it, just in case. I walked down to the 7-11 where there was a mailbox and put the letter in the box. I still didn't trust Momz, and I sure didn't want her to get a look at the pics. I'd be grounded forever if she saw the selfie.

When I got back, I took out the tablet and logged in to WOW, but Jake and Marlow weren't playing. I didn't really want to play with a bunch of guys I didn't know. I put the tablet back and picked up Momz letter.

Dear CW:

I know that you think I'm being unfair by making you wait until the school year is over to go see your Dad. I've been praying about it. I did a study called "Making Peace with Your Past." I'm trying to figure out how to forgive Paul and move on. Obviously I haven't made much progress, but I am trying. I probably need to do it so that I can move forward into a new marriage, anyway.

Please bear with me and cut me some slack. I do love you. I want you to be happy, and I know you think visiting Paul will accomplish that. If only I could believe he's really changed. Clarence keeps telling me he has. He says Paul found God and it changed him. Everyone finds God when they're down on their luck, though. There's an old saying, "There are no atheists in fox holes."

I just have trouble believing this new Paul will be able to cut it when he's free to chose any lifestyle. I'm so afraid his conversion is like the parable of the soils in Matthew 13. Some plants grew quickly but had shallow roots and died when faced with trials. Other plants grew but were choked out by thorns that represent the distractions the world offers. Right now, he doesn't have to face the distractions he faced when he was free. There are some trials in prison, of course, but I doubt they rival the ones free people face every day.

Please give me time to work through this.

Love Mom

Momz was evidently not in the know. Unk said Popz was faced with whether to do drugs in prison. I'd seen lots of prison movies. It looked to me like there were tons of trials, guys trying to get over on you, gangs, protection issues. I knew everything I saw in the movies wasn't true, but there was no way all of that was made up. I quickly typed a letter to Momz.

Dear Momz:

I don't just think you're being unfair. I know you're being unfair. Your bitterness is turning you into a shrew. (Yes, we studied Shakespeare in school.) If you really are trying to find forgiveness, the Angel Tree church has support groups for the families of men in prison. There's evidently one for women. Maybe you can go there and talk about your issues.

As for Dad's conversion, right now his seems more genuine than yours. Do you know he prays for you, that God will change your heart? When's the last time you really prayed for him? Doesn't the Bible tell you to pray for your enemies? Maybe you need to put Dad on that list and start praying. I mean, you're treating him like an enemy.

As for distractions and trials in prison, Uncle Clarence said Popz got drugs in there a couple of times first off but decided to go clean, so evidently there are drugs if you want them bad enough. Don't you think having to live 24/7 in a dorm with a bunch of guys is a trial? If Dad can live like a Christian there where you can't really hide, maybe God did change him. Sounds to me like your God isn't big enough.

CW

I folded the flyer the lady at the church had given me inside the letter and put both in an envelope. I thought about holding the letter until Momz left for work on Saturday. That way Momz wouldn't get it until she got home from work tomorrow. She deserved to sweat it out a little. I decided that the letter wasn't what she was hoping for anyway so I might as well dash her hopes immediately.

On Saturday morning, I walked down to the strip mall on the main drag. Seth wasn't picking me up until just before 12, so I figured I could run my errand and get home before he showed. I remembered seeing a shop whose window featured things carved from wood somewhere in the little mall. It was tucked between a fitness place and a bakery. I grinned, thinking that the wood carver served as a buffer between a place that sold mostly sweets and a gym that encouraged people to eat healthy.

When I opened the door, a chime sounded. A guy in the back, who was actually hand carving something, looked up and waved. On shelves on one wall were wooden replicas. One was a New Orleans streetcar. I was staring at it when the guy came up to me. "Do the lights work?" I asked, pointing to the tiny lights on the model.

"Sure" He reached inside and flipped a tiny switch. The car lit up. "The seat backs are hinged, too,." He demonstrated moving it for me. "It's pretty much an exact replica of one of the ones up town."

I couldn't help but notice his tattoos. Both arms were covered, but some of it didn't look quite as professional as the rest. Those tats were still cool, but the colors were less vivid, and they weren't quite as defined. I wondered if they were old and the more vivid colors were new, but I wasn't going to ask a personal question before I had a chance to talk him into sending my present to Dad.

"I don't see any electric saws, only hand tools." 

He waved towards a door in the wall behind where he'd been working. "This place is pretty much set up like a row house. I have saws back there. I use them to make run of the mill stuff." He waved at the shelves on the other side of the store that held ornaments, magnets and other odds and ends. "I keep some of that stuff on hand for tourists or the occasional local that wanders in, but my replicas of boats, trains, cars, and other movables are what brings in the big money. I do those on commission"

"I guess I'm sort of a local who wondered in." I cleared my throat. "But I'm not really looking to buy. I'm looking for help."

"If it's a job you want, I just don't earn enough to hire an apprentice."

"No, it's not that." I sort of looked down and scuffed my shoe. I thought he'd ask another question, but he didn't. He just stood quietly, waiting for me to go on. I figured I just needed to bite the bullet.

"My Popz is in prison," I blurted. "I made him something. I want to send it to him, but Uncle Clarence said inmates can only get packages from businesses, not individuals. I'd pay you to mail this to him." I took the P out of my backpack and held it out.

The man grinned. "That I can do." He pointed to one of the faded tats on his right arm. I think it was supposed to be a dragon with its tail wrapped around the arm. "I got this when I was down." He smiled. "I'm always glad to help a brother."

"You were in prison?"

"For 18 years. That's where I learned to make things without relying on electric saws." He waved at the street car and other large items. "I know what it's like to wish you could get something meaningful from your family. All we could get were pictures. They could have stores send us ready made stuff, but things they made themselves were contraband."

"The name's Troy," he added, holding out his hand.

"CW," I said. We shook.

"Come here, let me show you something." He walked over to a desk and pulled a drawer open. He took out what looked like a skinny magazine only without the glossy paper. He pointed to the picture on the front. "That's me." He was holding a replica of a pirate ship. "I sold that a month before I got out of prison for $500. That seemed like a lot of money. You can't touch one of my originals for under $2000, now." He reached over and touched the street car. "This baby sells for $5000. Some of my commissions bring in over $10,000, if I promise not to make a second one for someone else. Exclusivity pays, you know."

I took the magazine and looked at it. Across the top it read, "The Chainlink Chronicle." I couldn't believe my eyes. That was the name of the paper Dad said he was going to send me. I was pretty excited until I noticed it said "Prison Magazine of Washington Correctional Institute."

"Is that the prison magazine where you were incarcerated?" I asked. "Do all prisons name their magazines "The Chainlink Chronicle?"

"Yes, it is, and no, I don't think so. As far as I know, WCI is the only prison with a paper by that name."

"Well, Popz said the prison magazine where he's at is named The Chainlink Chronicle, but he's in Rayburn Correctional Center."

"One and the same." Troy grinned. "They changed the name of the prison to RCC after I left, but the paper is still the Chainlink."

"So your Popz is at Rayburn, huh? All you need to do is give me his name, number and dorm. I already know the address. I'll shrink wrap this little baby so it'll look legit and put it in the mail on Monday." 

"Gee, thanks." I gulped, thinking about the high prices he charged for his stuff. "How much?"

"No charge. Like I said, anything for a brother."

He was looking at the P he held in his hand. "Scroll saw?" he asked.

"Yeah. I sorta inherited all of Dad's tools. That was my first attempt. I was going to write out Paul, but when I finally got a good-looking P, I quit. I figured the P by itself could stand for either Popz or Paul."

"Not bad for a first attempt." He looked up. "You live around here?"

"Yeah. A few blocks that way," I waved in a northerly direction.

"Well if you want to learn how to use the saw, come by on Saturdays and I'll give you a few pointers on mine."

"Maybe after the holidays. Momz is dragging me off to the grandparents."

"Okay, see you around." As I went out the door, he headed back over to where he'd been carving.

I couldn't believe my luck. An ex-con woodworker, who better to understand why I needed to send my gift from a retailer. I sent Unk a text, telling him about the guy and asking him to give Dad the heads up about his gift.