Print your name, and then sign.
If you visit the prison, you cannot wear jeans. You can wear Dickies or khakis, but no denim, nothing resembling denim. You have to button every button, zip things all the way up, wear purple or pink, but no orange and no blue. Blue is theirs.
You will wonder every single day if you’re doing this for the right reasons, if such reasons exist. You will help them spell words for birthday cards, make gifts for their kids - they have kids, like anyone has kids - and really see them.
You will wonder how men can become monsters who become men again - what it means, if it can last. You’re as white as a ghost, a female who could never understand. You break your heart trying to make things right, trying to tip the scales.
But if you visit Pixar, there’s a room reserved for sugary cereal. Offices are built to reflect the personalities of the people, the films. And if you ask a woman who’s been working there for 19 years if she still eats the cereal, she will say, “Once a week, I treat myself to a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.” That will feel like enough.
