where hugging ain't cool

I LOOKED around the room at the 32 men in the Tuesday night meeting, watching them as they listened to the "guest" speaker. A lump formed in my throat as my eyes started to burn, just slightly. I thought of the first meeting we'd had at a correctional facility, some six years before. I remembered how scared I was as I walked up the stairs into the prison. The overactive imagination I'd had as a kid hadn't disappeared entirely. I had wondered what the likelihood of a riot, or, at the least, a hostage situation, was.