The first time I drove there, the red brick building with the white steeple and belfry looked like a 19th century private school, but, upon closer inspection, the barbed wire and barred windows revealed more of its true nature:  a New York State Correctional Facility.  

I was a 21-year old teaching assistant about to embark on a life changing experience, discovering more about myself than I could have ever taught my ‘students’ --  inmates from whom I learned that, while two groups may appear superficially different, it is usually a matter of context and privilege, and the space between our lives is, in reality, hair-thin.