A FATHER'S LOVE

A powerful story of a father's love took me deep into my thoughts, making me remember some emotional times with my father. This was when I was a child, thinking I was a man.

In my heyday of early mass incarceration, I didn't have control over my emotions. So, when I became upset, I reacted violently. Sad, but that's my shameful past. That's why when my mother shared with me that my father was upset with my being incarcerated, I became enraged. I didn't ask my mother why he was mad at me. All I thought about was him being an absentee father, so I escaped the day room's phone and my demeanor showed I was ready to destroy the world. A friend of mine saw my face and stepped up to me. I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to share my feelings. But my friend kept pressing me to go into my cell and just calm down. I didn't. Instead, I marched out of the housing unit as my friend was on me to go to my cell. I told him I'm mad, then smashed a glass window with my fist. All over my father being upset with me being in prison...

This was in my head as I reflected on the story of a father loving his son after taking the life of his mother. I thought about how his father didn't cut ties with him; instead, he pulled him in closer. That blew my mind, and that's why I continued reflecting on my absentee father.

My emotions took over, and all I could do was become angry. I thought about how my father left my sister and me with a stepfather who traumatized us by physically harming our mother. My father, a tenth-degree black belt in multiple karate disciplines. This carried my rage meter to the skyline, and that was when I was to have a contact visit with him--ten years into my incarceration.

The day arrived and all I'm thinking about are memories that left me sour, especially with multiple life sentences to do. I stormed into the visiting room, feeling like I was a man.

All I'm thinking is that I've been in so many fights that saved me from being sexually assaulted. I'm thinking I was strong because I survived being on two supermax penitentiaries. I'm a man now, and my father couldn't come to me with his apologies for not being there for me when I needed him most.

When I saw him, I bypassed him for my mother. We embraced and I said I loved her, then I gave him an awkward hug. He began asking me questions, but I only replied with one-word responses. This lasted for a few minutes, then he opened up and asked what was wrong with me. I lashed out at him. I spewed all the venom I could muster, and...and he verbally attacked me.

My father wasn't the man I adore today, nor was I a competent young man then. We had to get things off our chest. It was needed for both of us because we needed to get the pain out. Him feeling like a father who let his son down, and I, an angry kid trying to grasp life inside without him. We took a photo that showed I couldn't comprehend what he was attempting to do; it was an awkward pose of two men trying to be a father and son in a prison visitation room.

That night, I was in my housing unit, smoking weed with my crew. They asked about my visit, and I shared what happened. The shocked looks I received, even in an inebriated state, affected me. Some of them didn't have parents in their lives at all; the street raised them. Now, I, a New Yorker in a Virginia prison, having mine show up, it registered that I'm blessed.

I lay on my bunk alone, thinking all night about my father. I thought about his life. The one where he was adopted, and his birth mother handed him some money and walked away forever. How he survived Vietnam. How he didn't have it all together, but he was trying.

The good times came flooding back, too. Like when he would always hug me and kiss the crown of my head when I left his side. I thought about how he made God a priority in our lives. I even remembered how we slept in a homeless shelter when he lost his job. My father...he sat up all night, watching over me as I slept. He protected me.

The next day arrived, and I prepared myself for the second visit with my parents. I strolled into that visitation room, smiling as I bear hugged my father. We chopped it up like the prior day never occurred. He was smiling and shoving me around like the little kid he saw me as. It was magical, and the best part was that before we departed, he told me he loved me, and I smiled, saying the same thing to him.

My father is my hero. I love him so much because he never stopped loving me, even when I let him and our family down. The story of the father and his son came crashing through my emotions, and what I'm seeing is that love conquers all.

It's Father's Day in June and what I want my father to know is that I'm grateful for his growth as a man in my life. He showed me that he struggled through many obstacles, but he did his best for me. His best...for me. I love him so much. Me, his son. No matter what.

I love you, Dad. I love you so much.