Prison Only Exists in The Mind: Meeting My Father For The First Time.


I looked at the reflection of my 24-year old face in the hand mirror. I was in a barbershop in downtown Oakland analyzing my fresh cut, as I told the gentlemen in the room of my upcoming journey.

It had been about 18 years since I had seen my ole man.

He and my mother had been separated for over 19 years.

A recent arrest left him incarcerated in Alabama, facing up to 20 years.

I hopped out of the barber’s chair and it was confirmed: my hair was indeed thinning at the corners. Another one of God’s clever jokes: give the bighead kid a receding hairline.

That was the final line. I had to have my question answered: Is my biological father where I got my bighead? Is he as short as I am? Is he charming and good looking, like myself?

I bounced out that barber’s chair and setout on a journey.

A 4-hour flight from San Francisco to Chicago, a 12-hour road trip with a friend, from Chicago to Alabama, just to speak to my father for 90 minutes in an Alabaman prison.

We crossed the Blue River, the Red river, and the White River as we drove through America’s heartland. Our trek lead us through the flatlands of Indiana and the Mountainous terrain of Tennessee.

The drive from Chicago to Alabama on Good Friday was a breeze.

There’s truth to the Billie Holiday song, “Stars Fell on Alabama”, the southern night sky proved it. It had been 18 years since I had seen my ole man, and the billions of stars overhead became meek in comparison to the zillions of thoughts running through my mind as I sat in a hotel parking lot in Birmingham the night before the meeting with him.

My mother and father separated when I was three. I visited Alabama as kid, but from the time I was six until the time I was about 23, I had spoken to him only a handful of times; and not seen him since that last visit to the South. Most recently, I had gotten in contact with him through his brother, my uncle Erick, who I met via facebook in 2011. My father and I exchanged phone calls and letters; the last of which resulted in the words: “please don’t write back” written boldly on a piece of paper addressed from him to me.


… this is what I was thinking as I looked at the stars…

The following morning I continued to think about all of this as I waited to meet up with my uncle in a Winn-Dixie parking lot. I drove behind him as we made our way to the State Facility just outside of Montgomery, AL on the Saturday prior to Easter.

I wanted to take pictures, but the guards at the jail informed me that nothing but my ID and car keys were allowed inside the jail; and that I would have to change my shirt: my white-T was too similar to the ones the prisoners wore.

Upon entering the small meeting room, I shook my fathers hand. There was no glass to separate us like on the movies. I sat adjacent to him. He wore glasses when we initially shook hands, and took them off as we delved into our meeting. It was history lessons, light humor, and talks of spiritual growth; it felt like a nonprofit board meeting. It was a stiff room. We we’re two Black men from the hood- and Cancers at that, which means no emotions shall be shown, no matter the circumstance.

“I don’t think I can cry- my tear ducts don’t work.” He literally said that as he described the conditions inside the prison. He said he had seen a man get stabbed just last week. He was solemn, calm, and very centered as he spoke about the incident.

He had been incarcerated for a number of months; it was his second time being in prison. He hadn’t yet been sentenced, but given his charge, he could be facing up to 20 years behind bars.

He was forced to face the window, in plain sight of the officer overseeing our conversation as we sat in that small blandly colored room. We talked about life: His life. My life. The meaning of life.

He showed me his only tattoo, a prison tat on his chest which read “Isaiah 10:13”. We recapped his childhood and his turbulent teens. We discussed the breakup between he and my mom, and how is addiction to crack cocaine pushed her further away. We talked about regrets and what could have been. We mentioned the future, and what will be if we choose to work towards it. We laughed about the origins and the ironies of our shared first name “Pendarvis”. We conversed for an hour and a half. But it seemed more like half an hour. The meeting concluded, and I was escorted out the prison.

The image of him remains with me. His rigid mannerisms- stiff moving, like he just worked out. His height, he is 4 inches taller than I. His hair, he had waves and salt-and-pepper sprinkles of grey… I have waves too- but I’d much rather have grey hairs than this receding hairline.

His skin tone was brown with a hint of red; kind of like the Alabama clay in the morning sun. He had high cheek bones- like my sister. He had an aura of centeredness, calmness, and spoke with eloquence. That reminded me of myself.

I left out of the jail and took one photo of the outside of the facility. The correctional officers barked at me for doing it, and asked me to leave the primacies.


I left abruptly. I had regrets about questions I didn’t ask and words I didn’t say. I wanted to continue the conversation with my father, but I didn’t want to spend another minute in jail.

… Aside from my reflections of his image, six simple words stuck with me: “Prison only exists in the mind.”

He nonchalantly stated this profound sentiment, and subsequently admitted that he has now become a poet.

“Prison only exists in the mind.” A sentiment I had heard before, but it resonated much more, coming from someone on this side of the fence.

He expressed that he would’ve loved to have been with my sister and I during our upbringing; but I could tell the deepest regret was losing the love of his life, my mother.

Four days later I was back at my mother’s house in California, a letter from that jail cell in Alabama was waiting for me. He wrote me the day I left. In the letter he thanked me for traveling to see him, congratulated me on my accomplishments, and asked that I never come to see him in prison again- he stated that being seen in a prison is not the only memory he’d like for me to have of him.

He told me that prison only exists in the mind. Although those profound words came from a man physically sitting behind bars, I don’t believe it.

If nothing else, this experience has shown me that prison is not just a place where you do time or something confining you within your mind. No… Prison also exists in the heart. And the deepest darkest prison a man can be confined to: The regret of a love lost.

13 thoughts on “Prison Only Exists in The Mind: Meeting My Father For The First Time.

  1. Pendarvis

    As I began reading it, the first thing I thought of was how ‘handsome’ your father is…
    just like you. I also thought…’another Brother’ behind bars. But this time, this Black
    Man, is Special (although I’m certain that all family members of those Men incarcerated feel
    the same). This Black Man is the Father of someone I know (though haven’t physically met)…
    and this article is ‘Special’.

    I’m glad that you made that trip to visit him. I can tell it was something that you had probably
    wanted to do for a long time. Not necessarily the ‘setting’ of the Prison Industrial Complex, but
    the ‘Visit’ itself. To look into his eyes, to speak to him, because I’m sure you have always ‘Loved’
    him as your Father, even if the years have passed, since seeing him last. One thing I feel sure of is
    that ‘all children’ have a ‘Love’ for their Mothers and Fathers, that last into Manhood and Womanhood.
    I believe that is natural.

    One thing, I bet, is that you may not have seen ‘tears’ being shed from him, but you can believe he was ‘crying’ inside the day
    of your visit, before your visit and long after you left. I’m sure he can’t help but think of you, your sister and your Mother,
    all of the time. Yes…I’m sure there are ‘Strong Regrets’. He has lost a lot…words can not describe. I feel you are correct
    regarding ‘Prison Existing in One’s Mind’ only….I, too, feel that it ‘Exists in the Heart’.

    Well…I’m sure you probably know how I feel….a Sadness…Anger…Frustration…that so Many Black Men (and Women),
    especially being Fathers, are not in their children’s lives. Not only do the children ‘Need Them’…but Men ‘Need’ their
    children…and sometimes they don’t even realize it.

    I also feel that ‘The Crack’ Epidemic that has struck our communities throughout the land, was so ‘Detrimental’ to us as
    a people, as a Family, a Community…particularly to the Individual engaged in that addiction. It never should have been.
    We are still reeling from that ‘Monster’.

    I feel you have experienced ‘Pain and a Void’ from not having your Father in your life, like so many…too many…other children
    do, but you have begun the process of ‘Healing Thyself’ through this recent visit with your Father. This experience will
    add to you being the ‘Man’ that you have become…and will become.

    You are Strong and Unselfish to have shared your personal life with others. Thank You…..

  2. Your words are so deeply felt, you make me so very proud. I know this has been a difficult journey for you (one that started long before you left for Alabama) and I’m glad you’ve reached a point where you are in touch with your father and your feelings. You’ve lightened my load be enlightening yourself and your father….makes me proud to call you Sun!

  3. Pen you have a talent and a glow about you that needs to be shared with the world… A true KING!!… wonderful words!!

  4. How beautifully expressed. This journey of yours is one many of us have to take. Longing to connect with those who are separated from us. Cuz, this is so painfully brave. I am so proud of you, you are incredibly talented and we are all enriched by your words. Much much MUCH love.

  5. This is great Pen! I’m so proud of you and granted, the circumstances weren’t the best…this experience was one that makes for a better Pen.

    You are beautiful, King!

  6. Thank you for sharing this, Penn. Although I don’t have a story identical to the one you illustrated, it resonates with me. There’s so much to walk away with from this, and I’m sure it means something different to everyone. I am very proud to call you are my friend.

  7. After reading your story I was pleasantly surprised, touched, and inspired. My son and I have been working very hard in our efforts to re-connect after long years of separation. I think it very ironic that we both live in Columbus, Ohio and for twenty plus years I lived in Oakland,Ca. I want to first commend you for reaching out to your father and it is my sincere wish that you will continue corresponding with each other and begin to work through the pain, anger, disappointment, bitterness that exists between the two of you. There are all kind of obstacles to prevent the two of you from re-connecting and reaching that place where the two of you actually love and respect each other. My son and I are still working on this, it is a never ending battle. Perserverance is the key. Congratulations for a great first step, open up your heart, learn to forgive and ask God to continue to guide your steps. My son and I have written a book soon to be published that addresses our journey and how we were able to re-connect. Best wishes.

    Richard Lundy

  8. Penn, you really are nothing short of amazing… This entire piece sent my mind in a billion directions. Your journeys will be known for years to come. You sir, are building more than a legacy. You are becoming a legend.

    Love ya OG!

  9. It is a pleasure and privalege to go along with you on this journey. Painful as it was to see your dad in that place, you have to appreciate the brief time you talking with him man to man. It is an opportunity not many young African American men have with their fathers, regardless of where the son or father reside. II think you got the message. You have a message from him that’s worthy of sharing with your blood family so they see the consequeces of one man raised in a supportive home …he tried to do the same with yoy mom, sister and youl yeah the coke him away or was it the other way around;.You’re blessed to see where the tancity and artisic talent lie: Your dad was intelligent and creative and a dispositiont fo work well with people. And that they see how you’ve been able to defy statiscs by not following his footstepls.he world. You are his alter ego. That had to make him happy. On the creative side of you, I’m sure you can produce a new media piece for NPR or PBS that’ll get you to do a longer conversation. And to talk with some more OGs. Good story. Thanks for sharing

  10. I’ve only met you once and spoke to you briefly, but reading this shows me true beauty. This story speaks to many people and you write with such eloquence it’s hard not to be felt in one way or another. The disconnect between two people who love each other in any relationship is a powerful and dangerous emotion — you have shown that there is real life hope to beat it and reconnect.


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