When I look back to reflect on my past, I learned that I had many justifications for why I did things that hindered my future. I grew up as the only son of my mom’s three children. I was the middle child, even considered myself the man of the house, which was an inside joke of my moms’.
I wasn’t what you called the silver spoon child but a ghetto kid, confused by the worst mentors. Like many million children, I grew up in a single parent home where the mother is the sole provider.
To entertain myself while I stayed in the house. (My mom tried to shelter me from the realities beyond her care by offering me all the cheap toys, the churches and food pantries would offer. But deep down, I craved freedom, a father, but that was beyond my reach.
As a child, I held anger for my father because he was never there when my mom needed him and as an adult, I learned to forgive him because I turned into him by being a product of the criminal justice system.
The life I chose to live drove my children away. I shifted from relationship to relationship, leaving me with five children in three different families. They always say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Now at least three of my adult children feel the same way about me as I feel about my father. The truth of this matter kills me still, but I intend to make a difference. All we can do is learn from our past and keep moving forward.
Being in this prison has left my mother who raised me, alone to raise my two young children. How do you break the ice with a 7-year-old boy and a 6-year-old boy who don’t know you?
It hurts me to hear my son Jr ask, “Daddy, why you in jail?” The talks last shorter than the allowed 30 minutes because this breaks my heart. My children don’t understand why I’m not there, and the revolving door continues. We don’t think of this while we age, breaking laws, to benefit only ourselves.
I made excuses thinking they would justify my action, but now I only cry silent tears. Just a few days ago, I was sitting in the day room thinking about how my life turned out when I began to cry for no reason at all. I tried to laugh off the tears, but they kept falling down my face. At that moment, I wasn’t a hardened criminal in a penal system, I was my mother’s baby boy surrounded by the violence of my own making.
Like all humans caught at their worst, I blamed my misfortunes on my circumstances, which in fact led me down the wrong path. I learned you’ve got to hold yourself accountable for your faults and change the pattern. This knowledge took me half my life and over 10 years, equalling to 4 different times in prison.
This time, the years are numbered but my biggest regret is that I may never succeed in being the person I know I am. These are my silent tears.
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