Fringe benefits of disaster

This is not sour grapes; these are sweet enough for me.

It would be nice, I suppose, when strangers ask me where my son graduated from, to say U Penn instead of the penitentiary. But do not overlook the fringe benefits of disaster; you probably have some in your own life:

My two boys, seven years apart in age, never had relationship, which was a constant grief for me. I don't know if the younger one even knew what his brother's handwriting looked like; only the back of his hand now and then. What freedom couldn't do captivity achieved, and they have become penpals over the past two years.

I heard someone ask my son, before his incarceration, what he likes to read. He, in his dismissive manner, "Reading makes my head hurt." Once in prison he read everything he could get his hands on, and was pleased when transferred to a prison that was reputed to have the best library in the system.

And if he had gone to U Penn, I just wonder if I would have received the letter from him that I got on February 27, 2007, from solitary confinement, that began, "Dear Mom, I thought you'd like to know that I asked Jesus to be my Savior last night."