Sunday night begins my work week. This week I have a dorm in our medium security facility. The maturity level of inmates tends to be between seven and ten years of age. So, tonight I am locked in with thirty one large and dangerous seven year olds.
They tend to be loud, and often self centered. Like seven to ten year olds. Tonight they were reasonably well behaved, until I sent them to bed. In jail parlance it is called "rack down." This refers to days past when jail cell doors were opened and closed by a mechanical racking device. Whatever the name, they went to bed just as well as you might expect thirty one seven year olds to go to bed.
So, I now have their microwave, hot water pot, tv controllers, and a number of other items locked up. They won't get them until after I go home.
One might conclude that parenting had been less than successful on this lot. Here I am, continuing that effort with little hope of any real success.
The good news? I am alive, and I go home in a few minutes. Not bad at all.
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