Freedom Day came early for me. It always does. I arrive at Camp Tillamook just before 6 a.m., coffee thermos in hand, ready for my buddy’s first day of freedom.
He could walk out the gate for the last time at 6 a.m. sharp. But, like all the others guys I’ve had this day with, he lingers, not quite ready, not finished with his goodbyes and his last-minute errands. There’s a lot of hesitancy in the air, this first day of freedom after six years. This prison has been his home for all that time, the first time he’s had some stability, and a sense of belonging and purpose. All his friends are here, and all of the staff who’ve helped him through some tough stuff, all the normal teenaged angst, and all the reforming that a convicted sex offender does in this place. This is family, and it’s hard to say goodbye.
This is where he’s finished high school, and where he’s earned his associate’s degree, and done all of the responsible jobs he’s had in his life. Over there is the phone he’s used to call his 7-year-old son every week, the son he last saw when he was 16, and the boy was only 7 weeks old. There’s more than a few tears in the room, voices catching with emotion as they say their goodbyes.
At last, his release papers in hand, he moves towards the door. His buddies pick up his boxed-up belongings, he grabs his knapsack and duffel bag, and we head out towards the gate, towards his new life.
His face changes from a weak smile to almost a scowl. Every emotion is running through him now, and he doesn’t know what to do. The summer rain squall cuts short all of the last hugs as my car fills up with his life, and we finally move out.
“Wow, first time going somewhere without shackles,” he says quietly, as we drive away. I honk the horn in celebration, giving all of his going away group a final wave. They were quiet, too, those last minutes. Happy and sad, the enormity of the moment finally catching up with everyone.
Freedom Day. A new life. The end of prison. But, now what?
We know we are going to Bend, and the first stop is the parole office. But, we don’t know where Joseph is going to sleep tonight. It may be under a bridge, for all we know. If all else falls through, I know he’ll stay with me in my motel room. I’m not leaving him to live under a bridge. That’s my mantra for the day.
In four hours, we need to be in Salem, to have breakfast with his good friend, a guy who did this Freedom Day ride with me 15 months ago. He’s done well, got himself into a university, working hard on his bachelor’s degree. Three weeks ago, my wife and I sat next to him, seeing him inducted into the national honor society, the university honoring him for his 4.0 GPA in business. That young man had led the way for a lot of the other guys here at Camp T. If he can do that, well, maybe they can, too.
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Joseph and I drive down the road, coming to the stop sign. Left to town, maybe a bit of breakfast, or some Starbucks; left to the beach, and, after a bit, the road to Salem and Bend. Or, right, go to Portland, maybe. Whatever he wants.
It’s his choice. We’d talked about that, these last several weeks, but he didn’t have any answers, except, “Whatever you want to do. You’re the driver.”
I always take these boys to the beach on Freedom Day. They haven’t seen the beach in six or seven years, and its something they need to do, before they leave town, before they get on with the rest of their life.
Besides, the beach is a place to talk to God, to be away from people, and be immersed in the energy and the cleanness of the ocean. They need to feel the salt on their faces and hear the waves crashing on the sand, maybe see some seagulls fly by, and be alone with the enormity of the world, wild and clean.
“Where to?” I ask, and I get his standard response.
“I want to take you to the beach,” I say, quietly. “It’s pretty there, and there’s no fence.”
My little joke gets a chuckle from him, and so I know he really needs to go there, and have a bit of time to think through what we’re doing, that we’ve run away from the only home he’s had for the last six years, the only friends he has in this world.
I take the back road, so he can see some cows and green pastures, and drive along a quiet river, so we can see some herons and ducks, maybe an eagle. We drive through the forest, and then by a bay, until we get to Oceanside, so he can see the Three Arch Rocks, and the quiet, deserted beach.
We get out of the car, and I can see a bit of bounce in his step. Yeah, he needs to be here.
I nudge him down the path, telling him he’s on his own, he needs to be by himself now, and just be on the beach by himself. He nods, silently thanking me for just letting him be, to take some quiet time just for himself, and to be with God.
Travels with Joseph was written in the summer of 2014, right after Neal Lemery and Joseph took the trip together. (Lemery does not use the real names of the young men he’s mentored in his blog posts or in his book.) Today, Joseph is a junior at Oregon State University Cascades Campus in Bend and works as an assistant restaurant manager. To read “Travels with Joseph” in its entirety and to find other blog posts about Lemery’s experiences as a mentor, visit Lemery's blog.Read more about