The Median Sib

My father was a Methodist Minister.  From the time I was in fourth grade through seventh grade, he was the minister at a wonderful church in a mountain town in North Georgia - Watkins Memorial Methodist Church in Ellijay, GA.  Sometimes he would visit a prison to provide a Sunday afternoon service for the inmates.  It was out in the country, and it seems it was more like a work camp than a typical prison.  Since I could play the piano a bit, I occasionally went with him and played the piano to accompany the singing.  Although my memories of that time are a little fuzzy, I remember eating dinner with the prisoners after the service - sitting in the prison cafeteria next to my father while he talked with the men.  The plates were metal rectangles with sections for different foods.  I also remember feeling perfectly safe and at ease.  The piano at the prison was out of tune and some of the keys stuck, but I was able to do all right.  My father made sure we only sang the songs I knew how to play.  The men there apparently had classes where they did various crafts because one very vague memory is that I was given a leather wallet that one of the prisoners had made. 

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