A meeting was held today, the date for it set some time back. I was up and ready to go, when my son pulled his van into the drive, and we headed out. Familiar scenes faded behind the car, as mountains unfolded a beauty so quiet, it denied how strong they are.

The meeting was for a grandson's hearing, for possible parole. I couldn't resist looking it up. Parole, from the Latin, parabola, meaning speech. "The release of a prisoner whose sentence has not expired, on condition of future good behavior."

When this grandson began to get into trouble, at first the situations didn't seem so big. But they continued, and became too much to ignore.

We found the meeting place, and parked the car, and began again the process of being checked
in, and like all the times before, my metal knee replacement set off alarms.

I looked around to see if my grandson was there, and saw a sudden blur of a blue shirt, pitifully too big for him, as well as the pants he wore, and his shoes showed the effects of too many skateboard wrecks. Later I would understand the shirt was his Dad's.

The room where the hearing would be held was big enough for more than the three officials, whose faces you imagined had so much practice looking stern, they seemed to have grown that way.

Besides them, three counselors and a parole officer were there, and my son and grandson, and me, and after introductions, it began. At first some technicalities were explained, and then we got to the meat of it. I liked the way one grim looking official instructed my grandson to recount everything he had done that got him there, and what he would do different now.

All eyes and ears inside the room were pointed at him, as he gave unpolished accounts of his past few years, and took responsibility for himself. I know more than a few adults who wouldn't have done this as well as he did.

All the counselors recommended that the parole be granted, and it was. For the next six months he has to obey and cooperate with a long list of conditions, and curfews and future planning, and paying restitution, and things like that, but when he was done with where he's been for a year, it was time to set the serious stuff down. It was time for a non-institutional meal, and a surprise shopping trip.

I remembered seeing clothing and shoes for guys at a place called Ross, so we checked it out. I think he thought we'd get only a few, but I had my plans, so I got him started choosing shirts and pants, and a new belt, and when he'd done that, I headed him to socks and shoes, one pair for everyday, like for skateboarding, and a nice leather pair, and then I said, though it might be a little embarrassing, maybe he needed some underwear?

He checked out a few, then came up with some really cheap ones, saying those would cost less. But I didn't let it go at that. I told him when he's applying for jobs, to always wear more expensive, feel good undies, 'cause it will give him courage, meaning of course, some self-regard. I gave him a little grandmotherly speech, pointing out how I've shopped cheaply all my life, and have little to show for it except cheap stuff, and feeling cheap when I wear it.

"Get the better ones", I said, pushing it a little, and then I asked, if he needed anything else, and he said, could he have a basket ball, and I said, "Sure, you can, but you'll need those pants guys wear when shooting hoops", like I knew what I was talking about. I made sure he got two dress shirts too, and waited while he tried it all on.

As we gathered the packages and started to go, he gave me a hug and some genuine thanks. And I said "This is for your graduation day, since you just passed the GED so well." There's no cake and decorations, but it's still your party, so we should celebrate."

As we drove toward his Dad's, he talked of how strange this all feels, with the regimentation of being locked up stripped away, and how it might take a little time to adapt, and how people may not understand that he's stopped breaking laws. And when he feels on overload, it's alright to take things slow.

I told him to not crowd himself, to make sure he includes some approved fun, with the job hunting and checking into schooling.

Now let's see, next time I go, I'll take him a desk dictionary, and art paper and pencils.

I'm very clear what my job is for him, besides insisting on the more expensive underwear, I must pray, pray, pray, and please will you pray too. He made high scores on the GED tests, and wants to go to college, and I so want him to have a chance for his life to count.