This holiday season, PJP editors asked formerly incarcerated writers how the holidays have changed for them since they left prison. Read the other perspectives here.
For the two Thanksgivings I was behind bars, my dorm came together as a community, donated food and cooked a feast for all to enjoy, whether one contributed or not.
Holidays never meant much to me. I never understood the hype. But in prison it felt nice to do something for others, especially at a time when it was difficult to pass the time. Watching everyone get a plate, sit around the dayroom and enjoy food made me realize that helping others enjoy the holidays was my calling.
Now, I live in a residential halfway house. I have been here since May, and I was hoping to see my family for the holidays. I haven’t seen my grandmother, the woman who raised me, since before I started my sentence in August 2022.
That won’t happen this year because the parole board denied my “family reunification pass sponsor” — a 70-year-old uncle — due to his criminal history, most of which took place before I was even born. Ride-sharing and taxis are forbidden, so I am unable to visit my family at their houses until the end of my sentence, in March.
The holidays this year will be unconventional, to say the least. But aside from not seeing my family, it won’t be terrible. For Thanksgiving, a couple of guys at the house cooked turkey, stuffing and pies for everyone. My boss at Wendy’s, who knows my situation, shared with me some leftovers from the dinner her family cooked.
Though I won’t be around my friends and family this year, there’s no lack of arms around me. That’s something I am grateful for.