Growing Up Around Prison

I was listening to a podcast that had a corrections officer talking about his years in jail. It got me to reflect on my time growing up around prison. Sometimes I forget about this part of my life even though it greatly impacted my childhood.

My dad was in jail several times, but he wasn’t the reason I became familiar with going in and out of jail security. A family friend, JD, was the reason I looked forward to family visit days at the prison. JD was, and still is if he’s still alive, in prison for murder. He was in jail years before I was born so I was young when I became familiar with the system. Our visits weren’t always consistent since JD did occasionally get transferred to a prison out of the state.

Hours were spent driving to the prison and getting through security just to spend the short amount of time given to us to see those we loved greatly. Walking outside of the fenced courtyard looking for your family members just waiting for what seems like forever for the gates to open up. Seeing fellow kids like me playing and just happy to be back together with family. Dreading the alarms and final calls notifying that our time with our loved ones was coming to an end once again.

Though JD was in prison, his presence in my life was heavy. He was a talented artist, so for birthdays, holidays, etc he sent us (especially me) these amazing pieces of art made from styrofoam. He sent me paintings and drawings. A lot of them were characters from Scooby-Doo, since that was my favorite. Most of them I had to part with throughout the years just because I couldn’t carry them with me. He did make me a shirt, which I still carry with me. I believe I got the shirt the last time I ever visited JD. The visit my mom and I almost didn’t go to, but I insisted that we go not knowing only months later mom would get sick and life would change forever.

JD’s story reminds me of how valuable life is and how quickly it can change drastically. He taught me how precious time can be. He taught me compassion. He taught me that family doesn’t have to be blood

Each person has a story and most of the time you won’t know it. Love graciously. Even I need to work on this. I am thankful for the little ways, such as a random podcast, I am reminded of this. You don’t know what makes someone think or act a certain way and being judgmental doesn’t help anything