A Conversation With My Father: Talking About His Time in Prison For The First Time.

Edited by Halima Jibril / Photo from: Safar Magazine Issue 5

Right now we’re in the middle of another civil rights movement where black people are still fighting for their liberation. The conversations brought up are not only in the case of police brutality but all the systems that oppress black people and non-black people of color. The police system, the prison system, the education system, the healthcare system, the criminal justice system, and capitalism - systems that to this day are used to oppress. 

As an abolitionist, I believe that prisons are not only used to disproportionately punish black/brown people and the poor, but are merely a capitalist ploy to make money using slave labor. I want to abolish them along with the police system. The more I read the works of Black abolitionists, the more I think about my childhood. 

When I was a kid, my dad was sent to prison. And after he served his sentence, he was deported to Mexico where he is to this day. His prison sentence was something that we acknowledged throughout the years but have never talked about in-depth. Until now. 

Blanca: Hi Dad. 

Dad: Hi mija. How are you? 

B: I’m good. Thank you for talking to me about this. But with everything going on with the protests, I figured it would be a good time to talk about this. The only thing you’ve told me is how you would make the best cornbread. 

D: Yeah, mija. Prisoners - white, Black, Hispanic- would tell me when I was the prison cook, all the inmates would wait for my shift because of my cornbread. It was nice to know they were excited to eat it. 

B: So it made you feel good?

D: They made me feel good because it made me feel like I was doing something. Making the cornbread and different cakes, working in the kitchen made time go quicker. 

B: Did you like working in the kitchen? 

D: Yes ma’am, I did. I did work out in the field - digging holes and cutting the grass. I made it look good for the garden where they grew carrots and vegetables. I lasted 3 months in the field. Then a prison guard got me the job in the kitchen and I worked there until I got out. I was the cook for 2 years and 3 months until May 22, 2005.

*FYI: he was not paid.*

B: Okay so, I know I’ve asked you a lot when I was younger but why were you sent to prison? You would tell me and I would forget. I don’t know why. 

D: You don’t remember because it was bad. Well, it was because of continuous DUI’s but the main reason was I had a weapon on me without a permit. An unlawful weapon, a handgun. It got me 5 years. 

B: Do you remember how it felt when they told you you were getting 5 years? 

D: I had a court date, I think, for a traffic violation. My probation was revoked and I was arrested at my court date and sent to county. 

B: Do you remember how old I was? 

D: 9 or 10. You were just a baby. 

*He got me confused with my sister. My sister was 9/10. I was 4 or 5 years old.*

B: I would always say that you were gone for my childhood. 

D: It’s exactly what it was. It’s hard for everyone who goes to prison leaving family behind. It’s not a good place to think about what you’ve done. We had to change the way we thought. 

B: During your time in prison, did you know a rude prison guard? 

D: No, mija. Where I was, normally all guards were cool. It depends on how you talk to a guard, obviously. I behaved as much as I could to get out. They were nice to me because I was nice. Some prisoners were rebel assholes to the guards so they would pin you down and kick you once or twice to remind you prison is not the place to be. 

B: Did you have access to education? 

D: Yes, it’s up to you. You can go to school. There were classes for you to become a lawyer, learn your rights, and teach other people. There were opportunities if you chose to. Especially if you’re in for a long time. If you had a short sentence, they would tell you not to take the classes because it would take a long time. Classes were only 30 minutes to an hour depending on how many people showed up. You should be a lawyer, mija. 

B: I feel like I would be a great lawyer. 

D: It depends on you and working hard for your studies. Find a lawyer and work for them so they can help you. 

B: All the lawyers here are probably racist, old, white men. 

D: There were so many corrupt lawyers back in my time. So many racist lawyers who would not work hard for Black or Hispanic people. But if you were white, hell yeah they would get you out. It was all about money. They would make you pay more so they could pay off the judge. 

B: *gasps* No way!

D: Yeah! White people think Jesus is white. He was brown like us Mexicanos. They think the U.S is the greatest nation. Just because they put “God we trust,” - it doesn’t mean shit! If it did they wouldn’t be rude to Mexicans or immigrants. Americans came from England! Columbus was full of shit. He discovered land full of Native Americans.

*we go on a rant about how hypocritical white racists are for a while* 

B: Ok, I was gonna ask you. Were you ever in solitary confinement?

D: Solitary confinement? No. We called it isolation. But you were only sent there if you were a gang member who fought another gang member. You were there for a looooong time. 

B: What did you do to keep yourself busy? 

D: I would go to the yard to play basketball, read the Bible, go to church. I would go to bible studies class where I got 7 or 8 certificates. 

B: You got certificates? I didn’t know that. 

D: Yeah, mija. 

B: I know our family, you know grandma and grandpa, I know they’re really religious. Were you religious before you went to prison? 

D: Way before meeting your mom, we went to church. But now I don’t believe in religion. I think religion is used to do bad things, so I just believe in God. 

B: Were you ever depressed while you were in there?

D: Every prisoner has their ups and downs. My downs were when we would get letters in the mail and I wouldn’t get anything. I felt like no one cared about me and how I was feeling. My ups were when I found out I was only serving 3 years instead of 5 years. 

B: So, I know you ended up getting deported. How did that happen? How did you find out you were getting deported? 

D: It was rough that I did my time and thought I would be able to stay in Texas just to find out I was getting deported. I lived in Texas for 26 years. I didn’t know Mexico. But I had to fight to survive. 

B: Are you grateful for your time in prison? 

D: I feel grateful because I put my hands on the Bible. That I was there to know there’s a God, and that I need to be better and be a better person. And to not judge other people. There’s no time for regret. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. 

B: If you could go back in time and change something, would you? And what would it be?

D: In my life, it would be my actions that brought me to where I went - prison. So I could’ve been with you to see y’all grow up. 

I was 7 years old when my dad got out of prison. If he hadn’t gotten deported, he still would’ve had the chance to see me grow up. Maybe he would’ve been a protective dad who confronted the parents of my middle school bullies. Maybe he would’ve helped me step out of my comfort zone in high school. Maybe he would’ve taught me how to driveway sooner. Maybe he would’ve taken me camping for the first time like he promised in his letters. 

There’s no way of knowing how things would’ve turned out for me, if he hadn’t been taken from me. If he was just given the help he needed with his alcoholism. He always blames himself for not being there during my childhood but I hope he comes to realize that he was the one who was let down by the system. He could’ve been helped without being forced to be separated from his 3 children. Because of DUI’s and unlawful gun possession, he’s in Mexico while his parents, brothers and daughters are in the United States. In the end, not only are we still separated from each other but just like he felt in prison, he has doubts that we love him or even think about him. He always tells me, “I love you, mija. Don’t you ever forget it.” 

Well, Dad - I love you. Don’t you ever forget it.

By Blanca Reyes

Twitter: @blanca__star

(she/her)

Edited by Halima Jibril