I got out of prison about a month ago and was wholly unconcerned about being invite-less for a holiday dinner. Instead, I was thinking about the people still in prison, trudging to the chow hall for their much-anticipated meal while wondering what their families were doing.
Welcome to the front lines of America’s war on crime, a battlefield littered with confused and lonely children who have lost one or both of their primary caregivers. I’ve been both a victim of this process as a child, and a perpetrator of it as an adult.
With massive construction projects planned around the state, CDCR can create a cost-effective workforce that state and private contractors can utilize.
During this period, I’m wracked by an overwhelming bitter cold sadness and a longing for home.
For me it was a chance, an opportunity to take advantage of this time to get to know myself inside and out.
Thanksgiving in prison is a thankful moment and a grateful event, but it is also a humbling and sad time filled with sorrow because we can’t be with our families.
Dislodged from our brethren in society, deficient of togetherness, devoid of love, our hearts call us to dream bold. Our collective soul cries out for more. We yearn to feel fully human again, if only for a day. We choose to commemorate these sentiments on Thanksgiving.
People say it is important to have hope and faith. I think that the same might and should apply to being thankful.
I was born on Thanksgiving. My family would gather at my grandparents’ farm. I remember Grandma in the grand kitchen cooking, baking, and fluttering around creating memorable smells. There was always a dish of olives for us to put on each finger like tentacles.
On the outside, most discussions about incarceration and sexual desire are limited to exploitative “reality” shows, violent movies and terrible jokes about homosexuality and prison rape. But like all humans, we deserve some semblance of dignity.