At 15, I took a trip from Florida to Texas to visit a prison. This wasn’t my first dance with the system — I’d seen my uncle in the feds before — but this one cut deeper. This time, I was going to visit my mother. They locked my mother away for assault and battery of a “peace officer,” a charge that still makes me let out that sharp, hollow laugh, the kind that rises just to keep the tears…
This post has been syndicated from Truthout, where it was published under this address.