Lived Through This

I was in elementary school when my mother told me my father was in prison. I remember a handful of calls and conversations with him that made me feel proud, but I can’t remember how many of those calls were made collect. My mom never let me answer the phone. He’d call and tell me stories about my nana. He’d tell me about her growing up in Belize City; he told me we were special because we had her blood.

I didn’t know how, but I knew he wasn’t in prison because he did something wrong. I knew it wasn’t…