by BrianUnlimited
“What is Prison?” is the fifth story in the Project Unlimited series titled: “Why do people wind up in prison?” Each story is written by an inmate at Tomoka Correctional Institution, not to justify or excuse behaviors, but for the purpose of educating and increasing awareness. You’re welcomed and encouraged to send questions for consideration for the Unlimited men to answer throughout this series. To learn more about Project Unlimited click here.
Intro by Debby
This is a story about discrimination, a topic that in my white world, wears on many. How do we move past deep-seated afflictions that others in our race have committed? How?
I feel led to set up this story with a brief backstory of my own, given I am white and this writer is black. It is our mutual intent to not harbor past wrongs (the ending is hopeful), but rather to explore them to grow from them. I understand this writer’s dilemma in trying to make sense of something that happened to him as a child, something that gripped his very being and ultimately spoke into his transformative identity. I have not walked in this black man’s shoes. I have walked in my own however, where childhood abuse wreaked havoc on my identity. I understand the need to move past the past, but I also understand how complicated that move can be.
And, I understand how helpful it is to be seen, as in the African Zulu greeting, “Sawubona.” To be heard and understood. To be witnessed. To have someone simply validate the pain and the struggle. It is my belief that it is only then, that we can truly move beyond our interior and exterior prisons.
I invite you to read the following story by my God-ordained brother in the spirit of a better self for a better world.
Please. Read on.
I don’t remember the exact year; it was probably 1978 or 1979. Yet, I vividly remember the white guidance counselor coming to my classroom of about 25 third graders and asking, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
Excitedly raising and waving my hand, I hoped no one would choose my answer, wanting mine to be unique. Most of the girls answered with teacher or nurse, while the boys said, “Fireman, policeman, doctor, soldier,” even “president.”
Finally, the last one to be acknowledged, I stood, excited and proud. “I want to be a fighter pilot or play in the NFL,” I said. No one had chosen my desired career paths.
“Really? A fighter pilot or NFL player! You’ll be in prison before that happens,” the guidance counselor said.
Everyone else got, “Good answer.”
I’d never heard of prison and turned towards my teacher sitting at her desk for some clue if “prison” was good. Although she said nothing, her horrified expression told me that it wasn’t a nice place.
“What is prison?” I asked the guidance counselor.
“You’ll know soon enough,” he said, matter-of-factly.
On the long bus ride home, I pondered if I should tell my parents what the guidance counselor said. I thought about what happened when Mom went to the school board about my school not wanting to allow me in the gifted program. It put her job as a teacher in jeopardy and upset a lot of people. I didn’t want that, so I decided to keep silent.
One in the class but not like them.
At the age of eight, I realized, for the first time, that I didn’t fit in because of the color of my skin. Over the next few years, although my parents didn’t teach inequality in my home, I began to feel that no matter my intelligence or how hard I worked, I would never be treated like my white classmates.
I had no idea of the impact those words spoken by that guidance counselor when I was only eight years old would have in shaping my future. I don’t believe it was so much about what he had said, as much as what his words created within me—how and what I thought about myself.
Introvert with low self-esteem
Though I remained on the honor roll throughout school, did not get into trouble, and was liked by my classmates, I became an introvert with low self-esteem. I lost myself in books and sports. With every new achievement, I still often wondered, Why did the white guidance counselor see prison being the course set for me?
I didn’t grow up in the projects or live in the “hood.” I grew up in a middle-class neighborhood overflowing with entrepreneurs, policemen, firemen, postal workers, factory foremen, teachers, nurses, and office managers. My dad was a branch manager for the postal service. My mom was an elementary school teacher.
I excelled both athletically and academically throughout junior and senior high. I was in the National Junior Honor and National Honor Societies, competed in baseball, football, and track. I attended a college prep school and, eventually, went to college on an academic scholarship.
After graduating high school, I attended an HBCU (Historically Black College/University) where I majored in accounting. It was the first time I’d ever been in the “majority” at school. Yet, although I was finally one, I hadn’t escaped my low self-esteem, rejection, or the feeling that I didn’t belong.
All I desired was to just fit in.
At 20, I joined a national community service organization that touted itself on brotherhood, trust, and loyalty. They sought me to be a part of them. Finally, I felt welcomed, a sense of belonging, even valued. So when one of the “brothers” had an issue with a guy, I felt obligated to support him, to have his back.
We were supposed to go “get some straightening,” some understanding. I thought worst case there may be a fight. Someone brought a gun though, and when it was all over, the three of us faced 80 felony charges, including first-degree murder.
How could this have happened—my whole life changed so quickly, so drastically? I went from being a 22-year-old college senior with a lucrative job already awaiting me, to life imprisonment, not knowing if I’d ever be free again.
One bad decision—words spoken long ago, fulfilled. The lives of so many people forever changed.
Grief, sorrow, pain caused by me.
Regret, remorse, sadness felt within me.
Almost 33 years now, and I am the only one of the three still locked up. I was the youngest, the only one with no criminal record, and the only one that didn’t talk. I wanted to remain loyal, a friend. But they made me the master mind, the ringleader to save themselves. The one who had the issue served one year in the county jail. The other was given 27 years in prison. He was released in 2015.
One of them, but not like them.
How did I end up in prison? It wasn’t because of what the white guidance counselor said or because a guy I associated with had an issue with another guy. It was simply due to me not being confident in who I was as an individual. My insecurity, seeking approval and acceptance from my peers rather than those who truly had my best interests at heart is how I wound up in prison. It was because I followed, rather than choosing to lead. I became a part of the problem as opposed to providing a solution to the problem.
Finally, one of them and just like them.
My years of incarceration have produced much reflecting, soul searching, self-educating, and growth. I’ve come to both know and have confidence in who I am regardless of what others think. I have worth and offer great value to my community and society. I know my purpose in life—a guide and mentor that helps others find their purpose, both in here and on the outside. I am no longer a part of the problem; I’m a fountain spewing forth wisdom and solutions.
A bad decision brought me to prison, and great ones will lead me home.
Like the apostles, Paul and Peter, and even first president of South Africa, Nelson Mandela, who all spent time in prison, I have found my hidden inner treasure—peace and freedom.
Finally, one of them and just like them.
***
If you missed the first stories in this series, find the links below. A whole-hearted “thank you” to Jonathan for serving as copy editor and Jacob as master typist.
- “I Didn’t Know How to Ask for Help” by JacobUnlimited
- “Edmund, a story about drinking” by MichaelUnlimited
- “I Should Have Just Been a Kid” by KennethUnlimited
- “It’s Not Hard to Wind Up in Prison” by RobertUnlimited