My grandmother is my mother as she adopted me when I was born. My
birth mother didn't want me so she gave me to my grandmother. When
we visit with my dad, before moving to the new prison, we went
into a cage with a table in the middle of the room. There we can
have a coke and snacks from the machines. I have the best father
and I'm proud of what he does in there.
He got his education and teaches GED classes to those who can't
read and helps the other inmates with their appeals. Everyone
loves my father because he's the best. He treats everyone with
respect and can calm down the others when they get upset.
We used to play cards and talk. When I was little, I used to
crawl up the bars, not knowing then that the state wanted to kill
my father. I thought this was normal and it wasn't until I got
older that I knew this was not normal.
I remember when I was little dad gave me his color TV that my
mother had bought him.
He told her that someone had given him another one but we found
out a few months later, that wasn't so. He wanted to give me
something and that was all he had. That's the way my father is,
always giving to others, no matter what they have done.
When a Vietnamese boy came to the row, dad bought him a
dictionary that cost over thirty dollars, so he could learn to
speak the English language.. more than he makes in a months time
working.
When I was little, we lived in the trailer park I had a good
friend and one day we gave her some of my clothes that I had
outgrown. I was bigger than she was and the clothes were all in
good condition. Her mother brought them back and said she couldn't
have anything that belonged to me because I was no good like my
dad. I was only about six years old then and it hurt. I cried for
a long time after that and that is when I first became aware that
I was "different"
When I was twelve, I had an ulcer and I hated school. The kids
used to taunt me and say awful things about my father. The
"Good" kids weren't allowed to play with me and soon I
didn't mention my dad anymore. When new kids met me, I never told
them. I wasn't ashamed of my dad, but I knew if I told, they were
not going to talk to me. When I got a little older, I began using
my adopted name instead of my fathers last name.
I began to hang around with the kids who got into trouble and I
stopped going to school when I was fourteen. I had arthritis in my
legs and for six months was in a wheel chair. Mom used to have to
wheel me to the prison, and she has heart trouble so I knew it
wasn't easy on her . I got into a few scrapes as I got older, and
I tried to get away from the kids that I was hanging out with, but
when no one but those kids want to have anything to do with you,
you just keep hanging around.
I began going with my mother on the Journey Of Hope each year
as it was two weeks of speaking out against the death penalty and
she would go to the schools and talk to the kids. I was proud of
her, but at the same time, I never told my friends about it. My
mother sold some books and began going on the talk shows to save
my dads life and I would go with her. She's the best and I know
she is doing all in her power to save his life.
It hurts that my dad has missed out on my birthdays, and
Christmas times, my first date and he won't be here when I get
married. IT hurts that the state of Tennessee wants to kill him
for something he didn't do. And it hurts when people say terrible
things about us and hate us.
My mom feels guilty because we don't live in a nice home. She
sold her new home to help dad many years ago. Now we live with my
mothers brother in law until she can make enough money to get a
home again. But because she is disabled, I don't know if she ever
will. And that doesn't matter, my dads life is all that matters.
Having money and a nice home would be nice, but not if it meant
losing my dad. I wouldn't trade my father for anyone else. I'm
proud to be his daughter and I just wish everyone would stop and
think that we have feelings too. We feel pain, and anger and we
can see the rejection on their faces. I hear my mother crying at
night when she thinks I can't hear. She tries to hide her feelings
from me, but I'm not a child any longer. I'm grown now and we live
with this day to day.
My father was killed because they wouldn't give him medical
care. I can't believe the pain I feel without him in my life. I
gave birth to his grandson a year after he was killed. I named him
after my father, Jeffrey Richard. My father would have loved his
grandson, but he never knew about him. He was already in heaven.
It's our life, the only one I've ever known...
