At first it was tolerable. My son, Josh, was only four years old. All he knew was that his father was away. I didn’t explain the whole story; he didn’t seem to need it then. Once a month, Josh and I would make the three hour drive to Calipatria State Prison so that we could spend five hours at a time in a congested room with little brown tables and black plastic chairs. Josh was allowed nothing but a coloring book and six crayons as entertainment. Josh felt it was a family outing and would enjoy this time with his father. He would sit on his dad’s lap, draw pictures of his teacher, his best friend Tony, and he’d squirm when his father would tickle his ribs. Then my car broke down. His father was always so good at keeping my car running. I never worried about any of that stuff, I mean I didn’t even have to pump the gas. Now I could hear the cash register grin when I walked into the shop. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t come up with the money to fix the car so I had it towed back to the house where it sat in the yard.
Next month, come time for our family outing we couldn’t go. I told Josh, “Maybe next month, baby.” But next month turned into next year. Then his father was transferred to another prison on the northern end of California. I had to tell my son that his father had to go somewhere else for work and we wouldn’t be able to visit him. So our family visits turned into family letters. Once a month Josh would draw his father a picture and write him a letter. I took pictures of everything, birthdays, picnics, school plays, you name it. We would send a little package with all of these goodies for his father to see.
Today Josh is seven years old. Once a month, he still writes to his father. Once a month, his father calls and spends 15 minutes with his son voice to voice. Every three months, Josh and I make a trip to Avenal to where is father is now housed. We have made time for three years now and we will continue for the last two years of the sentencing. It’s not as easy as it used to be. The scene in the visiting room is tearful when it is time for us to leave. Josh cries for his father and grabs hold of his father’s waist and refuses to let go. Josh still can’t understand why he is not allowed to spend the night with his father or why those mean people will not let his father come home. The cost for hotel rooms has increased. The driving time is longer and the price of gas makes the trip down quite expensive. My friends ask me all the time why I do it. My answer is easy, I love him and so does Josh.
