Prison is Full of Deadbeat, Dysfunctional Dads

My dad was a good dad. 

That's a difficult thing for me to say, but it's true. He was by no means perfect, and I held resentment towards my dad for many years. I felt abandoned by him growing up, and as an adult, I still felt like I was not important to my father. He died a few years ago, and our relationship was, sadly, still strained. I missed his funeral and was excluded from it in every way. I don't even know where he's buried.

But my dad was a good dad. And not many prisoners can say that about their fathers. 

My dad provided for our family and was a hard worker. My entire childhood, my dad had a decent job. He never shied away from his responsibility of providing for his family. We didn't have a lot when I was growing up, but we had enough. And my dad is the reason. 

We didn't have fancy cars, expensive vacations, or big houses. But I have fond memories of camping together, roller skating together, fishing together. I even remember when he defended me in my first neighborhood fist fight. I still smile when I hear him say, "Get up, both of you! Okay, now it's a fair fight. Continue." I'm not sure if that was the right way to parent, but it filled me with courage that my dad believed in me. I chased that bully all the way out of our neighborhood. 

My dad never abused me. He was a kind man who hated to even spank us kids. He was emotionally sensitive, and I used to think his quickness to cry was a weakness. But I see now that it was a strength. He had a heart for people, even if at times I wished he noticed me like he did others. 

My dad taught me to love The Three Stooges. He let me watch baseball games on WGN Saturdays in the garage. I'm a big Cubs fan today because of him even though I don't think he was a Cubs fan. 

Dad wasn't a materialistic guy. I never learned from him that things defined me. He was content with simple things, and I credit him for teaching me the same. I also credit him for teaching me to serve others. Mom taught me that, too, but Dad would drop everything to help a neighbor. 

Dad had his flaws, for sure. He didn't like conflict (neither do I), so he taught me to avoid it by leaving. I've had to unlearn that. He also had trouble connecting with people in deep ways. I inherited that from him, too, but I've now discovered that authentic living helps me connect more easily with others. I wish Dad had learned that, too. Maybe he did late in life. 

So many emotions flood me when I think of my Dad. Longing, loss, regret, sadness, gratefulness, happiness. When I hear the horror stories of terrible dads from other prisoners, I'm so grateful that my Dad was a good dad. But I'm also overwhelmed with sadness and regret that I failed to be the dad I always longed to be. 

A lot of prisoners are dads who are filled with regret and pain over their failures as dads. I'm constantly overwhelmed with the pain I feel over my failures. I wish I could talk to my dad about what I'm feeling. He probably wouldn't know what to say, but I know he'd listen. He'd probably cry, too, and I'd not get any answers--he wasn't a fixer like me. I'm pretty sure, though, that I'd feel better having talked to him. 

I wish I had been a good dad, too, like my dad. 

Prison's Epidemic of Dishonesty Among Prisoners and Staff

 The other day, I was talking with another prisoner about how often we hear people lying around us in prison. It's definitely at epidemic proportions. And most of it is absolutely unnecessary. 

I've always viewed honesty as an extremely important character quality. Of course, that didn't stop me from living a lie and holding a double standard about lying. Looking back, I don't know how I justified to myself holding honesty in such high regard while I practiced exactly the opposite. It makes no sense to me. 

I'm sure my own disgust at my prior dishonesty has only served to reinforce my view that honesty is critically important. Yet, I'm surrounded by lies. 

Many prisoners lie about everything. They lie about their conviction, about their "innocence," about money they owe to other prisoners, about their substance use in prison, and even about their past "successes" prior to prison. I've heard prisoners lying on the phone to their loved ones, usually about other relationships, money, and their activities in prison. 

The friend I was talking with about lies in prison said he even recently heard another prisoner tell someone on the phone that he found a rat's head in his food. The prisoner was trying to secure money, purportedly for food so he didn't have to eat in the chow hall. What he really needed the money for was more likely drug debts. 

It's true that prison food is terrible. It's the lowest quality food I've ever eaten, and it is often cooked poorly. The potatoes are always gritty from not being cleaned properly, and what little vegetables we're fed are usually animal feed quality and overcooked. But we don't have rat's heads in our food. 

One time in fifteen years I found a maggot in my food. It was a terrible experience and made me question all the food the prison fed me. It didn't help that I was accused of planting the maggot! As if I'd know where to even find a maggot... But cases like these are relatively rare. 

Prisoners aren't the only ones who lie in prison. Prison staff routinely lie to prisoners, and the entire system lies to the public and the legislature. Other prisoners call it "spinning" when a staff member lies to them. I call it what it is: lying. And it's at epidemic proportions even among prison staff. 

Nobody really holds any of these liars accountable. Prisoners often get away with lying, though sometimes another prisoner will call the liar out on his BS. Sometimes staff attempt to hold prisoners accountable for lying, but that seems highly hypocritical, given the frequency of lies among prison staff themselves. 

For prisoners to really change their criminal thinking and behaviors, they must make a commitment to deal only with the truth. We can't expect honesty to be modeled by prison staff, but developing the character of honesty shouldn't depend on others doing likewise. 

People convicted of crimes already have a trustworthiness problem, so if we're to recover, or build for the first time, trustworthy reputations, we have to begin by committing to the truth. Sometimes the truth is difficult, but when you're honest, you don't have to worry about keeping your story straight. It's a much more comfortable way of living. Trust me, I should know.

Suffocated to Death in the Name of Justice

 A few days ago, Alabama prisoner, Kenneth Smith, was executed by the State using a new, and highly controversial method of killing. He was suffocated to death when he was forced to breathe a nitrogen gas. The nitrogen gas replaced the oxygen in Smith's lungs and cells, causing his body to die, violently, from suffocation. 

Smith's death was allegedly supposed to be quick and painless. The nitrogen was supposed to render him unconscious, and then his body would die from starvation of oxygen. But he didn't die quickly, or painlessly. Observers report that Smith was visibly conscious for several minutes while he gasped for air and his body convulsed violently. 

This state-sanctioned killing was conducted in a country who polices other countries for their human rights abuses. We chastise other countries for hanging or shooting political dissidents and other citizens who we deem unworthy of death. Meanwhile, we kill our own citizens, perhaps in more barbaric ways, because they "deserve" to die. The moral contradiction is glaring. 

I oppose the death penalty primarily on moral grounds. I think it is morally, and biblically, wrong. But I also oppose it on human rights and legal grounds. Our country has executed many innocent people because our justice system has put more weight on the finality of a judgment by a jury of peers than on evidence of one's innocence. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, and we ought to stop telling other countries how to be more moral if we don't occupy the moral high ground ourselves. 

Kenneth Smith may very well have been guilty of the crime for which he was convicted. I don't know the details of his case, or of his guilt or innocence. I'm sure if I did I would be outraged by the harms he may have caused. But in 2024, do we still believe that harms can be balanced by killing the person guilty of those harms? Is our world better because we've eliminated a threat to our "good"? 

I'm sure Iran, North Korea, China, and other countries with known human rights abuses feel justified in eliminating people who threaten their country's "good" too. We can disagree what is good for those countries, and therefore justify our outrage over their executions, but how are we any different in the end? 

Alabama is in the "Bible Belt" in America, and sadly, those who support the death penalty often use the Bible to justify their beliefs. They don't understand their Bibles, and they pick and choose what parts of the Bible to use to support their moral positions. They've elevated an ancient law of limits ("an eye for an eye") over the final word of the Law Giver, Jesus. Even Jesus refused to support the death penalty, even when Jewish law was clear. "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone," Jesus directed. Then, the only one without sin (Jesus) refused to cast the first stone. 

It's time for America to outlaw the death penalty. We cannot continue to call ourselves the world's moral police while killing our own citizens in the name of justice. Suffocating someone to death is not justice, no matter how you slice it.