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The Day My Father Went to Jail
How my father’s sex crimes destroyed the meaning of family
It was a warm spring day when my father sat the family down and told us he had been arrested that afternoon. The family computer and iPad were seized. Despite being sixteen, the story was rehashed in vague terms: “They found inappropriate photos” and “People might be calling your father a ‘pervert’ at school,” the last one said between uncharacteristic whimpers.
Dressed in the workout gear I’d put on just before, I tried to absorb this as I lifted weights downstairs. Recently, there was someone caught exchanging nude photos with a minor at school. Was that him? I shared my assumption with my friends, who tried to be supportive with what little information I had.
I was a teenager, but my younger sisters were in elementary and middle school, respectively — too young to understand. For them, it was yet another piece of family drama that would blow over by the end of the weekend. To me, it blasted the foundation of my family apart, leaving me on the outside looking in after the explosion.
I grappled with whether to reveal names or identifying features throughout this article. Much as my father deserves more than a temporary listing on the sex offender registry, I will not cast my siblings into the limelight by doing so…
