Happy Deadbeat Dad Day in Prison

 This morning after breakfast, I returned to the housing unit and checked my email as I often do. An email from my girlfriend wishing me a Happy Father's Day reminded me what day it is. I was aware that the day was approaching, but I often try to forget the day because it's it's just a painful reminder of my worst failures in life. 

As I stood up from checking my email, I realized that nobody was standing in the phone line. Yes, it was six-thirty in the morning, but on Mother's Day a dozen people would already be waiting in line to call their moms. 

Someone walked past me and said, "Happy Father's Day, Bryan!" I thanked him (trying to be gracious), and wished him the same. A young man on the phone asked me, "Is today Father's Day?" It's sad, but there are several reasons why Father's Day isn't normally a happy or significant day for us in prison. 

The vast majority of prisoners either do not know who their fathers are or had no meaningful relationship with him. A few of us were fortunate to have good dads (thanks, Dad!), but like me, many have lost theirs while in prison. Either way, we're burdened with a sadness over what we've lost or over what we never had. An even smaller group of men in prison are very close to their dads, yet prison dampens that relationship. 

The other stark reality is that most of us men in prison were not very good dads. In fact, I'd argue that none of us were, since we were separated from our families by our selfish choices. Obviously, there are some exceptions, but they are few and far between. 

When someone wishes me a Happy Father's Day, I know they mean well. I know they are acknowledging that I have children, but I don't feel like much of a dad. Instead, I feel like a fraud. Prison has a way of waking us up to what's important in life, and nothing I have done or ever will do will compare to being a dad. It was my greatest joy in life. I only wish I had been the kind of dad I had always dreamt of being. 

Every dad in prison is in some way, a deadbeat dad. Some are fathers as best they can be from prison, but to be a good dad, you've gotta be emotionally and physically present in your children's lives. I could have, and should have, done much, much better. 

Frankly, I'd like a do over, a mulligan. But it doesn't work like that. I don't get to pick up the ball and try again. The damage is done. The bell can't be un-rung. I'll have to carry around for the rest of my life the knowledge that I failed as a father. The only thing I can do is pray for forgiveness and healing--something I pray for nearly every day. 

It's not much of a consolation, because nobody can replace my own children in my heart, but I've been pretty fortunate to be able to be a father figure to a few young men in prison. It's nothing I've sought, and I feel reluctant even stepping into this role. Yet, I count it a privilege any time I've been able to give fatherly advice to a young prisoner who had no father to guide him. 

If at this point in my life I have any wisdom to share with young prisoners, it's only wisdom that has come at a tragically steep cost. But nothing compares to the price I'd pay for a second chance to be the kind of father my children (and every child) really deserved.

The Anxiety-Filled Journey Towards Getting a Parole in Michigan

Last week I came back to my cell after being outside for a while, and some unknown papers were sitting on my bed. I live in a very small 6' x 9' cell, and I'm fairly neat, so I immediately notice things that are out of place. I was curious at first, but it looked official, so my mind started racing.

After unlocking the old high school spinner style lock on my cell door, I grabbed the papers to see what they were. My heart joined my mind and began racing because the papers were my first official step towards a parole. 

Every Michigan prisoner who has an out date goes through a process that starts around 10 months before their first parole eligibility date. 

First, and this is the step I did last week, each prisoners' unit "counselor" (a misnomer because they actually do very little counseling) gives the prisoner a packet of papers to update. This packet is called a "Parole Eligibility Report," or PER for short. I, and other prisoners, must fill out primarily three pieces of information: first and second choices for housing upon parole, planned employment information, and a list of classes or other programs we have voluntarily taken in prison. Additionally, we must verify that the rest of the information listed is correct. 

I had a few small corrections to the listed information, and I provided the required information. The counselor informed me that I was well prepared, and he seemed positive about my parole chances. I'm fortunate to have family who will house me and give me a job. Many prisoners have to simply list "community placement" for their housing, and finding a job has to wait until after leaving prison. 

The second step in the process occurs about 30 days before a prisoner's parole date. Each prisoner will receive a "30 day notice," noting the prisoner's expected parole date, their parole probability (low, medium, of high) based off of a number of factors, and which parole board member the prisoner is assigned to see. 

The third step is the prisoner's actual parole hearing. This occurs via a video conference between the prisoner and a single parole board member. The prisoner is interviewed, though often the decision on a parole (or not) is already made. The interview is primarily a way for the parole board member to confirm their plan. It's up to the prisoner to not talk themselves out of a parole. Sometimes, the prisoner actually talks himself into one, if the member had planned on voting against the parole. Either way, the prisoner doesn't know the pending decision. Sometimes the parole board member will inform the interviewee what their vote will be. 

After the interview, the parole board member votes on the parole and send their report to two other parole board members. These members almost always follow the recommendation of the interviewing member. 

Finally, within as few as a couple of days and as many as two months later, the prisoner is informed about his parole decision. It's a nail-biting time for most prisoners who are unbearably anxious to know the decision. 

Occasionally, a few fortunate prisoners receive a parole "under the door." This is a parole decision without an interview. Either way, receiving a parole always comes with an asterisk. I know of several prisoners who have lost their parole because of bad behavior. It's up to the prisoner to avoid getting into trouble after their decision. 

My next post will focus on different types of parole and some of the programs Michigan offers its paroling prisoners.