My Dad Went to Prison When I Was 5. Now I Write About Families Like Mine
Growing up with a father who was incarcerated didn’t define me. But it certainly taught me to challenge stereotypes and ask better questions.
In 1986, in Oakland, California, my father was convicted of second-degree murder. At 29, he began serving 16 years to life in prison. I was 5 years old.
From the moment my tiny beige hand touched the scratched glass partition, my father’s hand covering mine from the other side, the separation was real. Like the millions of kids who would come after me, I leaned my face into the receiver and whispered, “When you coming home?” My brothers, tucked in the booth with me, waited for the answer. “I don’t know baby. As soon as I can.” My eldest brother, as usual, wailed uncontrollably. He was the only one old enough to understand that this separation could
