Every week, I sit in a small counseling room at Bright Horizons in Baltimore. The session starts the same way—introductions, a quick check-in, and then straight into the work. Ms. Wilson, my counselor, never lets me hide behind excuses. She asks direct questions about accountability, grief, and the habits that led me to this point. This time has become the most helpful part of my week. They remind me that change only sticks when someone challenges you to explain your next step.
That same principle drives my volunteer work with Michael Santos and Justin Paperny at Prison Professors. Before I report to federal prison, I worked on a masterclass that discussed business basics, job readiness, and credibility. The modules stream on Edovo tablets in more than a thousand facilities. It’s built on completing tasks. I built the curriculum the way I learned to work because abstract promises never helped me; specific tasks did.
Helping men and women re-enter society is not a side project; it’s something very important to me. It will be my full-time purpose when I am released. I know how heavy the first months at home can feel: no job, few contacts, and a thick file of labels that say “felon” and “risk.” If my thirty-plus years in aluminum, farming, and small-plant operations can open one door for someone else, I must push.
Why Bright Horizons Matters
Bright Horizons is best known for its national counseling and employee-assistance programs, but many courts refer clients to it as a condition of supervision. That makes the organization a natural partner for any group focused on re-entry. I have already spoken with Ms.Wilson about connecting her Baltimore roster with some of the non-profit organizations. I want to connect to as many groups that help one another as I can.
I want to help make everyone stronger. That’s my goal. That is what I can do to help.
