when you visit a federal prison the line is long.  and there are lots of children in it.  children whose fathers are behind the tall fences covered in barbed wire.  children who catch tiny frogs and show them to you as the line moves slowly forward.

when you visit a federal prison there are a lot of rules you don't understand, so you don't even try.  no capri pants, no underwire bras, no sandals, no paper money, no watches.  you can bring a bag full of quarters.  your license.  your car keys, which could certainly do more damage than your watch.

when you visit a federal prison, there are so many hugs.  it's like baggage claim at an airport, but even more emotional.  people hugging dads and husbands and sons and friends.  big smiles everywhere.  children settle onto their dads' laps, men sit holding women's hands.  there are orders taken (prisoners can't leave their seats once they get in the room), and loved ones crowd the vending machines with their bags of quarters.  cheeseburgers and kit kat bars are purchased, chips poured out on styrofoam plates and shown to the guard to inspect before being delivered to your loved one.

when you visit a federal prison, there is an inmate who will take pictures of prisoners with their loved ones, yet he has no one there to visit him.  there is a man meeting his three month old grandson for the first time.  there are adult women crying.  there are a hundred other people bearing witness to these private moments.

when you visit a federal prison people walk in quickly and walk out slowly.