The Man Next Door
The man next door was a strange one. He was quiet and on the outside appeared to be the same as you and me. Yet there were signs that he was different.
When I talked to him he never looked me in the eye. Instead, he kept looking all around him, checking out everything that was going on.
I wondered about this man with the guarded look and some sadness in his eyes. We went out to eat one time. He was almost rude in making sure he sat with his back to a wall where he could see all entryways.
As I grew to know and understand this man I couldn’t help but think, “He sure acts strange, yet he seems to be so nice!” He was gentle with children and animals. With grown-ups he was sometimes short, gruff.
Then one day I found out why this man was the way he was.
He told me some things about his work and I thought, “How can he go into that place every day and do his job? How can anyone do that job?”
He was the first Prison Officer I had ever met. He told me that even women worked in there around killers and rapists. I wondered, “How can they do that and remain human?”
That day I knew then that I had met a unique person. Not some fake who brags about having a dangerous job, but one who did his job with no fanfare or glory. And it made me proud to call that Corrections Officer my friend.
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