Walking into Camp Agape is wonderful. I’m greeted with smiles and cheers of “the storyteller’s here!” People might think kids who have a parent or caregiver or two under supervision of the Vermont Correctional Department might be nothing but trouble. Will kids with troubled backgrounds stay still and listen to folk and fairy tales?
Tag: children of prison inmates
Last night, CLiF staff, board members, past grantees and volunteers joined more than 50 folks from the Monadnock region of New Hampshire at the Mariposa Museum & World Cultures Center in Peterborough, NH to celebrate literacy and learn more about CLiF’s work promoting a love of reading and writing across the region.
My favorite part of CLiF events is always helping kids choose their own books to take home. But the CLiF event I went to last week was a little different. There were no kids. It wasn’t in a school, daycare center, or library.
Recently, while scrolling Facebook, I found myself stopping to watch a video comparing prisons in Norway to those in the United States. Before clicking on the video, my heart had already sunk to the bottom of my chest – I knew exactly what was coming next, but I still wanted to know more.
At CLiF, much of our work occurs behind the scenes. We spend many hours scheduling events, organizing logistics, communicating with coordinators who are on the ground in various communities throughout Vermont and New Hampshire. While we love what we do, nothing compares to hanging up the phone, logging off our email, and stepping out from behind our desks to get face-to-face with the communities, families, and children we serve.
Define “the best.”
Here are three possible answers: Indie bookstores, the people who support them, and the people who run them.
This year, the generous patrons of five bookstores donated 789 books to the low-income, at-risk, and rural kids CLiF serves.
We are thrilled to have a guest post today from Deb Nelson, CLiF board member and AP English teacher at Lebanon High School.
This past Friday I was picked up in the misty gray morning by my fellow board member, Jess Eakin, for our drive south to Concord where we spent the day in prison.
When an officer behind the tinted bulletproof glass pressed a button, the second heavy steel door closed with a reverberating clang. Deb and I descended a wide metal grill stairway and entered the New Hampshire State Prison for Men (NHSPM), home to 1,600 inmates.