Father's Day Behind Bars: Remembering Waking Up in a Cell
This year is no comparison to last year's Father's Day. I mean, if he weren't locked up last year and were blessed to be home to celebrate last year with his beautiful children, he is sitting behind a loudly slammed door wishing he were there to kiss his children on Sunday morning. If he did have an inmate number last year, this year he is plagued with the thought of not being home AGAIN...to be celebrated for the father he wants to be.
No comparison...absolutely one of the worst days for a father behind bars.
I remember waking up; Father's Day after Father's Day. I would rome the block going from cell to cell to dap my fellas up and wish them a Happy Father's Day, innocently wondering why their dap didn't feel as authentic as previous days.
The conversation changed that day. The day seemed to always be a bright one, filled with last names being called for visitation. Visiting room shirts were ironed to perfection, and the dude who could make miracles happen on the Rec. Yard with a pair of hair clippers and a brush made more cigarettes than any other weekend. I never met so many men with up and down melancholy while talking about their children.
Watching Marcus Jr. grow up before my eyes is the biggest joy I have ever felt. It means something. It means that I can see things in someone develop, piece by piece. His mind, his arms, his feet (Lord, why does this boy have such expensive feet? Sz. 11 already??), his spirit, his everything. I can know that I had something to do with that. I can have the worst day of my career and come home and hear those feet running and screaming "Daddy's Home!"
Damn, I never realized what that meant to Spida. He knew that his daughter was growing up, and there was no Flikshop back then. There was just a quiet cell on visiting day, a memory of what his Baby Girl looked like, and a hope that one Father's Day soon he would be able to stop the aching in his belly. He would be able to see his creation and be irritated by the pieces of her that are just like him. He would be able to chime in on bad decisions and mitigate disaster because he knew the "game" these bammas were running on her.
But nope, Spida just got a dap from me...no hugs, no kisses, no Thank You's for being there to raise her...just dap from me. I love my son, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to be there to see him grow. This year I'm hoping that fathers all over the country behind bars will receive more Flikshop's of their babies, no matter how old, than ever!
Happy Father's Day fellas...we understand!