Sesame Street: Visiting Dad
I can remember the first time I had gone to visit my dad in prison. I think I was about eight years old when my three brothers and I piled into our black Tahoe and drove around six hours in order to reach the walls of the prison. I remember wearing a little sundress with red and purple flowers which I loved. Even though it was the middle of August, I had to wear a cardigan over my new dress because you have to adhere to the dress code as one of the rules for visitors.
I do not think I will ever be able to forget reaching the metal chain link fence which dwarfed my frame, laced with razor sharp wire. I had only found out my father had been in prison a year before even though he was arrested when I was in kindergarten. I did not know his crimes, I could not process that my loving father belonged behind a wall surveyed by the armed guards in the watchtowers.
I kept a soft smile on my face for my brothers and my mother as we entered the doors. The next thing we did was sign in and after that we had to pass through a metal detector. I was so worried that my pretty earrings with little flowers that I had picked out to show my dad would set off the metal detector even though they were cheap nickel.
We passed through there and moved past a row of inmates behind plexiglass holding phones to their ears to hear their loved one’s voices. My dad was held in lower security so we entered what seemed to be a cafeteria type of room with eight or so circular tables, the type where you would have a PB&J at without the crusts.
The room was very white, very bright. We sat at one of the circular tables and other families did the same, mostly mothers with their children. After what seemed an eternity, men in orange jumpsuits began to percolate through the door on the other side of the room. I remember sitting with my hands anxiously twisting in my lap as I waited for the familiar smile to appear.
To pass the time, I scanned the walls. One thing I remember vividly is a poster on the bulletin board on the wall next to me. It read, “Orange, the last color you will ever wear.” I took this for fact when I saw my dad walk through the doorway in the signature orange hue. His hair seemed shaggier and his customary goatee had become indistinguishable scruff which had survived an attempted grooming.
I was ecstatic to see my dad again. He waited for the guards to remove his cuffs and we were able to hug. For not feeling his embrace for three years and change, it was good to be in my father’s arms again. He lacked his usual smell of cologne and hair gel but he was there, he was dad.
There were vending machines on one side of the room where we could purchase drinks and snacks. My dad’s favorite drink has always been Mt. Dew and we were able to buy a few and drink them together around the table. It is no family supper but it was some of the best Mt. Dew I have ever had.
I could not tell you what we talked about, probably school, moving, how we were making friends, our dog but I do not remember the specifics of the conversation. It simply felt good to be together again. It felt like I blinked and the buzzer sounded to let us know our time was up. The other thing they do not tell you is that it also signals your tear ducts to begin flowing.
There were a multitude of stifled cries, tears falling of their own accord, and “I’ll see you again soon.” We hugged one last time and it was good-bye.
We left the cafeteria which consisted solely of soda, no PB&Js here, and walked back through the hallway of telephones with windows, the metal detectors, and finally through the metal fence.
As a young child, this was a very difficult event for me to process, even harder for my younger brother who was around six years old. Today, it is still hard for me to dive back into these memories.
My mother showed me this Sesame Street video the other day that animated another child’s visit with their incarcerated father. I wish this is something I had seen when I had recently visited to show me that this was an experience for other kids as well.