Dear Josiah,
This will be a first of many letters I write. Truth is, I’ve always thought of writing a book of letters to you, and even recently my best friend, who is your Aunt Katie, advised me to write letters to you and send them to her and she’d keep them until you were ready to read them. So years ago and recently I’ve tried, it’s no great excuse but I’d get too emotional somehow, and my hand would tighten and start shaking. I couldn’t write a sentence! Here is where technology plays in, I guess it’s easier to type away, ironically the thing that keeps people at distance is what I’m using to hopefully bring you close again. Even now it’s hard, I finally got pictures of you after all these years…and my head screamed the same thing yours would if you saw me…”Who are you?!” I last remember a baby I used to feed, change, nap and shower with, a baby I watched born at 8lbs 5.8oz (which is incredible on my part because your father is hardcore yet squeamish) and now you are tall and grown, taking selfies in the mirror looking every bit like your mom. I can’t even see myself in you, I don’t know if it’s shame or guilt that blinds me and refuses to let me see myself in you. After all, it’s been your mother that’s been there the whole time. I lost myself and flew down the drain quickly after her and I split, I didn’t deal with my hurt well and it made me into a bad guy for awhile. You are my greatest regret from my greatest moment once upon a time at your birth. I want to tell you how much I love you, but what would that mean to you right now? I want to tell you that I am really a good man although I admitted that I became bad at one time, but how can you even fathom any good? I heard a quote and I asked the question with a twist, “if a man can become a monster, can that monster become a man again?” For so long I couldn’t see how or believe it, but often we are our own worst enemy and critic. I want to say that you got your athleticism and intellect from me, but you wouldn’t know that either? I see your mother’s smile, that smile that use to drive me crazy. How do I say when, where and why things went wrong? I can say it’s my fault. But what would sorry mean to you if you have a whole life without my presence, you don’t even know if you really are missing anything. I will say that there is so much to say, and this is the start of a series. I’m going to open up and tell you everything about me and my every mistake, your mom was perfect, and as for the blame, I will bear, without regret, on my shoulders…your dad is beasty strong too. What I will tell you is that you have a younger brother that doesn’t know about you yet, but one day when the timing is right, (I wish that was now because I shouldn’t be another reason for anything withheld in your life). He’s a ball of fire, and I know he’d look up to you because the young man I’ve heard about is nothing short of amazing. Baseball is all you, I never played it but your little brother Treyvan just started. He is 6. What I will tell you is I have fought to become a better man and I will succeed because you deserve a great father once I am able to come back into your life. I feel I don’t deserve a chance, but I will fight in every way that you can’t see now, but that will manifest one day within you. I won’t just be a father that’s been to prison, I will be a great example, a patient, humble, encouraging and loving father able to provide from doing what I love, because no matter the mistake, if you believe, and have the right people in your corner, you can do anything. So with that said, you have an Aunt to meet that has been in my corner and helped me want more and see myself beyond my past and as she knew me to be. But that’s in another chapter. I’m not a traditional type of person, I write as I feel although I’m organized, so I hope you take this rollercoaster ride with me. I’m tough but I’m a sucker for a love story, so I got this idea from the notebook. You are the love that I hope against all odds comes back to me one day, if not for love right away, then for answers. Finally…I can breathe, though my chest is tight and I may still tear up looking at your pics. I could go on but I’m going to restrain myself and do this step by step. I’ve given you one goodbye that lasted so many years, but never again, I will say goodbye many times because I’ll be coming right back many more. Goodbye Josiah, I love you
Sincerely,
Your Father
Russell H. Wardlow
p.s. I hope you don’t mind if I share my letters to you, it’s how I heal and stay open and honest. I’ve hid long enough, truth is for the light son.
Inside
Prose: Love story
Everyone wants love, or the illusion of it. Most like a good love story! Even convicts. One of my favorite movies is “The Notebook” I realized it this year though I saw it before I came, you really can find yourself in the strangest places. The last two days I’ve seen convicts glued to the common area tv watching The Notebook! Through out all this toughness and misery, a good love story is captivating, an emotional respite. I’ll slow down for a sec and watch a good chick flick/love story and I’m not the only one! Love don’t have to make sense, but it’ll always make you change!
“I can’t wait to be a person again”
I swear! Every day at my job by 11:05 I say, ‘J 1 D 19-Lower, 78756, Wardlow’ like I’m rapping! Repetition blinds the animals for slaughter. Like damn, all this robotics is designed to dehumanize me and yet send me back to society to full function while being programmed. To hold a people captive, you do not try to empower them, because if they become smarter, then your power will be less effective. They rather us subservient and docile. I heard a quote saying never expect powerful people to teach powerless people how to gain power. Prison breeds mules and sheep, not shepherds. Compliant by repetition, which reconditions, brainwashes and desensitizes our view of self when NAME becomes INMATE NUMBER, Bunk and Location. We are stripped externally and even more internally. I am more item and subject, then person and object. We herd into lines or move in masses back and forth by scheduled prompts like mindless animals. I can’t wait to be a person again.
Pro se Con-tint: Politics, Parole, People
Politics. Prison is governed by politics. We learn from politics, we emulate a structure, code, and a means of survival/order through politics. Politics are quid pro quo. There can’t be order without moralistic compromises. And so in prison, which is a place of disruption and order. If you aren’t a source of power/respect, in return you have less of a voice. We watch local and world news, because we worry about the world we are going back into. Will we fit back in? And how it affects our loved ones because it directly affects the energy inside these walls. Today I walked into a group of friends, (all black), speaking about politics in detail and with passion. One argued looking at the outside bigger picture, and the other took the stance of being the guy directly affected by these policies, stereotypes, and assumptions that result in the lack of chances given because of what others have done. Even more, the argument was centralized around whether our black senator that fights for the inmates-if he really gives a fuck. But I made the point, the thing about politics is you have to give to get your agenda through, quid pro quo. But It’s not easy here, we have a governor that is so pro capital punishment that he went in his own pockets to get a drug not cleared by FDA to start executions again in our state. We see, we hear, we feel and all we can do is think and debate because still a felon’s opinion doesn’t matter anyway. And they won’t let us forget that.
Warning: Rated M, for LSV
The parole board asked a convict, if he saw someone on his mom, would he help his mom, or go run and get/call the police. This answer was the decider on whether he’d get paroled or not. He said he’d help his mom, they sent him out briefly, clearly not liking his answer. When he came back in, he held his tongue and told them what they wanted to hear..”now that I thought on it more, I’d go call the police for help” politics…he had to play their game, and yet still didn’t get paroled after he told them what they wanted to hear…now take a moment and think about what just happened…now what would you do? And should that answer keep you in prison? The price of freedom…compromise in prison is likened to being a whore being fucked by the key holders until they’ve gotten every bit of pleasure drained from you, now go back to society with your head held down, or we’ll beat out every inclination left in you. Raw, but real.
People argue about debating in prison and an innocent debate turns into a heated or violent argument. No one wants to debate because they say it’s arguing. We debate a lot about whether debating and arguing are different…point is, connotations form the attitudes behind actions. In prison, it’s arguing..in politics, it’s debating..and peaceful disagreements and jabs don’t live here. We fight over brains with bronze..irony? Bronze can rival brains, but brains can’t rival bronze? Contradiction…aren’t most of our rationales? So how then can prison contrast from real life? When there’s no space to solve and heal differences, then there is nothing left but collisions. Ironically a cage forces the animal out of you, and space to roam- can supplement those animal traits within us all. Thoughts cultivated to instincts are people cultivated into animals.
Help A Father Out:
I called late to talk with my Son, he was already in bed, I asked him to sing to me before he went to sleep after I heard his cute lil yawn. He started singing the whole stanky leg song, we were laughing and I started singing with him, we was grooving together! But on a somber note, before that he told me he went to the zoo. He said he went with his whole family, and he started naming them..”my grandma, my aunt, my uncle, my cousin, my mom, my baby brother, but not you, awww” he sounded so sad after noticing for the first time that I wasn’t there but everyone else was. Still, that sad ‘aww’ echoes in my ear like every time he says “hi daddy!” when he gets on the phone. His name is Treyvan, he turns 6 August 15th! Sadly I also missed my other son Josiah’s birthday May 12th and he turned 9! My two favorite and saddest days. So can I ask a favor? If you happen to read this post, can you help me out for his bday and send happy bday wishes letting him know his father loves him, so he can get online and read all the attention/love?! Maybe he can feel his father’s love more that way because I can’t do much but I try, it’s the thought right? Also if y’all can shout out his Mom for even allowing me in his life, because it adds a lot more pressure on mothers. Thank you, even one is enough.
Prison Dad
Shame face. So I’m here, who am I to say what’s best for a child in the realm of speaking or reconnecting with his father that resides in prison. I do believe the role of fathers is under-valued, just the way my second son lights up at times and he’s never met me since an infant. I guess my only opinion for others is, don’t make a decision for your child that reflects more your personal feelings than their real needs. A child can’t think or put wants into words like adults. We baby them too much when we shouldn’t, and then treat them like adults with decisions they can’t fully understand. I figure I’ll love my sons best by respecting their mothers’ wishes not add pressure or confusion. My youngest son doesn’t listen to me because he is his mother’s son, but really because I was so happy to speak with him that everything he did, good or bad, was so funny to me, I unknowingly encouraged his behavior showing him I’m the nice guy, which I am! He thinks he can beat me up at times, (pssh! boy please!) he loves me, but I guess I don’t know how to show the proper amount of authority when all I feel is joy yet caution being able to experience him. I don’t want to lose him, so how do I father best? I’m still figuring that out, I’ve read books, took classes, but when you have your beautiful reflection interacting with you and you don’t have to deal with the day to day stresses, everything he does-even when he doesn’t want to talk because he is busy watching his shows (like father like son)- I still get joy from it. I can only imagine when we have our first visit! Nothing more I love and feel obligated to than fatherhood. But my sons Josiah, 9 and Treyvan, 6 don’t know each other.