My name is not important. I am a man.
I am a son. A brother. A husband.
A father. AND. I am a prisoner. If you are honest with yourself, that last
statement changed your perception of the first four. If you can legitimately claim that the word prisoner
didn’t conjure certain ideas, then I would like to attend the ceremony
commemorating your sainthood. We all
know the story of the American Prisoner.
Son of an unwed, most likely teenaged, mother and
absent/abusive/neglectful father. Brother
of siblings fathered by different men, all living together so Mom can collect
more welfare. Husband who runs
around on his wife, stepping out with the Boys.
Father who will most likely not be around, be abusive, or end up
in Prison. The thing is, I am not going
to tell you, at least for now, the truth.
I am not defined by being a Prisoner.
I am not defined by any one of those roles. I want you to read this blog and see me as
you or anyone else wants to be seen: As
a Human Being. A man with hopes, desires,
dreams. A man with good days and bad
days. A man trying to get through every
day the best he can. A man deserving of
dignity and respect. Hopefully you can
have an open mind, hearing what I have to say.
If not, then just write me off as another tragic example of “The
American Prisoner,” because that will make it easier for you to sleep at night.
Note: This is not a novel. I am not a professional writer. I am not a journalist going on
assignment. I am just a guy sharing his
thoughts and feelings. I hope you like
it or hate it, laugh or cry, or all of the above.
No comments:
Post a Comment