Dallas Finally Meets His Dad

Dallas and I flew to Memphis with only three carved-in-stone plans; a. Bingo night with Grandpa (he ended up being too sick to play); b. Spend 2 ½ days in Missouri with Jodee and her family; and c. Celebrate Fat Tuesday on Beale Street with Uncle Tim.

Dallas made it clear all along that he really didn’t have any desire to see his birth father. He was pretty sure that if he did see Terry he’d want to tell him off. After Wayne passed, Dallas was especially grateful for the planned outing to Missouri, as he knew a funeral wasn’t the place for a father/son confrontation.

I gently encouraged my son to not let the opportunity to meet Terry go by. I didn’t want him to have any regrets. I wrote about the “daddy place” a couple of posts back, and I knew my child wanted to have some questions answered—needed some closure.

Monday afternoon we got ready to leave Jodee’s home and head back to Wayne’s house in Mississippi. Carm prepared a fabulous lunch for us. The pasta and shrimp was crazy good. As we were sitting at the bar in the kitchen, Dallas got a text message. “I’d like to take you and your mom out to dinner before you leave town.”

Dallas was still not sure he wanted to see Terry at all. “We’re having with lunch with Carm and Jodee right now. I’ll be back at Grandpa’s tonight.” Dallas told Terry he’d contact him when we got back to Mississippi. It was 20 minutes before the confirmation text came, “K”.

During the five-hour drive back “home” I again nudged Dallas toward seeing his dad. He agreed with me about not wanting to have any regrets, so he sent Terry a text message telling him he had homework in the morning, but would be free at 2 or 3. Terry said that sounded great.

The schoolwork took a bit longer than Dallas had anticipated, but Dallas kept in touch with Terry. At 3:30 my son sent a text message; “I’m all done and we’re heading into Memphis.” He told him we were free till 6:00. Terry responded, “Have fun.” Dallas laughed. “Well, I guess we’re NOT meeting him after all.” Are you kidding me? Terry was going to blow Dallas off? Unbelievable.

Dallas and I wanted to eat at the original Neely’s location. We love watching The Food Network and we didn’t want to be in Memphis and not have some authentic BBQ. Neely’s did not disappoint—it was delicious. We walked in the rain, took pictures down by the river, and just kicked around.

A few minutes after 6:00 we headed to Uncle Tim’s house, where we met his wife and little daughter, Mattie for the first time. Mattie is just three years old and she’s the youngest of Dallas’s cousins on that side of the family.

While visiting with Tim and his family Dallas was texting wildly. I felt like the mommy of a 10 year old. I wanted to say, “put that phone down right now.” My son looked at me and rolled his eyes.

At around 7:30, Tim, Dallas and I walked out to my rental car. “Apparently”, Dallas said, “We’re meeting Terry on Beale Street at 9:00.” The wild texting was going on between Dallas, Terry, and Terry’s mom – who lives in Michigan! She was mad at Dallas for not making time for his dad, and Terry was saying we were only going to give him an hour (or something like that). Hmmmm…3:30-6:00 is 2 ½ hours! Whatever. Drama!

Dallas knows that his uncle doesn’t get along real well with Terry, so he gave Tim the option of staying home. No, we’d planned to spend Mardi gras together, and he’d been looking forward to it – as did Dallas and I.

Down on Beale Street there was no one around! Fat Tuesday on Beale Street in Memphis, and there’s not a soul in sight. Crazy! We had The Hard Rock Café to ourselves, so we chatted with the waiter, drank a beer, ate onion rings, and settled the bill. We walked up the street to meet Terry.

Dallas was not even crawling when his dad left, and now Terry was shaking his grown son’s hand. He hugged me. He was accompanied by his fiancé, who is lovely and kind. Dallas talked about his music, his plans for the future, and the classes he was taking. Terry chitchatted about this and that.

When I met Jodee I told her she had Terry’s teeth, and now, as I sat across the table from my ex-husband and listened to him talk, I thought, “yep, Jodee certainly DOES have his teeth.” And, by the way, she has her grandma’s eyes. Dallas shares many of the same mannerisms as his dad, his uncle, and his grandfather. After an hour or so, my son looked at me and said, “I’m ready to go.”

No pictures were taken that night—Dallas wasn’t comfortable with that idea. He said he didn't want to hurt his dad (Tom). Terry’s girlfriend graciously understood. Terry hugged Dallas goodbye, kissed me on the cheek, thanked me for bringing Dallas to visit, and we were gone.

Within a few minutes, the drama began. Terry made phone calls and accused me of “ambushing” him. Dallas wasn’t to be blamed because I had “brainwashed him”. The claim was made that Terry’s mom and my own mother both agreed that I “kept Dallas hidden from Terry”. Oh, My Gosh! And I thought things had gone so well too. Sheesh.

Both mother’s denied ever saying such a thing – or even thinking anything like that. I was so angry. None of them walked the streets with me when I searched for my meth-addicted son. None of them cried their eyes out during the days and weeks when we didn’t know if Dallas was even alive out there. None of them went to County jail every weekend to visit my son, nor did they drive 100 miles to the State Prison to see him. If it weren’t for Tom and I (and God’s grace) Dallas wouldn’t be here—healthy and whole.

I’m sorry there are people who believe Terry’s lies. But you know, I think my son finally found closure. I think the questions have finally been answered.

Uncle Tim, Mattie Grace, Dallas

We'll Never Give Up!

These are tough economic times and people need jobs!

Okay…that isn’t exactly a shocker of a statement. We’re all living in this world, and the downturn has affected every one of us.

My mom has a friend who is proud to brag about the fact that she’s been unaffected by the financial meltdown. Several months ago Mom talked to her friend on the phone for the first time in a couple of years and the first words out of the friend’s mouth were, “I still have all my money!”

It sounds like money is a top priority in that woman’s life. Well…good for her.

But I digress. MOST people are struggling and many people need jobs!

My son Dallas is 25 years old and he (like all of us) has made a few mistakes. Many of us were never caught. Not only was he caught, but he also took personal responsibility and never, ever ran from the consequences. I’m proud of my son.

Unfortunately, he is having an extremely difficult time finding a job. I wish somebody would give this guy a break—a chance.

When my son was released from prison it was clear that he would need financial, emotional, physical, and spiritual support. Tom and I have stood by him, as has most of the family, and Dallas is so very appreciative.

There are agencies in and around our town whose mission it is to help men and women just out of prison. They teach life skills, help them get an education, and aid in the job search. Hope Now For Youth, and Teen Challenge are two organizations that have a particularly good reputation and success record. Sadly, however, they wouldn’t help Dallas.

If Dallas had been a gang member or a murderer he would’ve had agencies clamoring to get him into their program so they could turn him into one of their success stories. Dallas’s crime was too severe for some agencies to give him a hand, and not nearly bad enough for other organizations to invest the time in him.

My son has been off parole for 5 months, but his record will follow him for the rest of his life (although there is hope that it will be expunged someday). This is what I want you to know—if Dallas had never been arrested, he probably would have died from a drug overdose. He’s meant to be here.

I write this post not just for Dallas, but also for all the men and women with criminal records who can’t get a job. We complain about the revolving doors on prisons and county jails. It seems that “the system” isn’t incapable of turning men and women around.

What do we expect? Society won’t accept them and won’t give them a job. Many newly released prisoners have nowhere to go. Their families have long ago given up on them, the privately run programs refuse to help them, and the government has run out of money. People need food in their belly and shelter from the cold. Jail looks pretty good if you have nothing else.

Dallas WILL thrive and he’ll be stronger, better, and more talented because he’ll have to work harder than most. I know he can’t do it alone, however, so we’ll never give up on him.

That’s how we roll.

Happy Birthday Dallas!

My oldest child turned 25 yesterday. Incredible. Every anniversary is an opportunity to look back over all that has been survived and accomplished, and to look forward with hope and optimism to what lies ahead. I am especially grateful to be here in this place - sharing the day with my 25 year-old son. Five years ago I wasn't so sure Dallas would live to see his quarter century birthday.

2004 was a particularly awful year for our family. Our 16 year-old daughter had been lost to us - stolen by a wicked addiction to methamphetamine. A miracle led me to find her living among the homeless 200 miles from home, and in October of that year we sent her to a rehabilitation program in Utah. Dallas was also battling a meth addiction and he too had been living on the streets. Since he was over 18, there was little I could do to save his life and my heart was crazy heavy. On December 9, 2004, the day after Dallas's 20th birthday, several family members had gathered at my home to celebrate the milestone, and to welcome the prodigal child home. Just as we were about to eat, there was a knock at the door. The plain-clothes officer asked for my son, and within seconds he was sitting - handcuffed - in the back of the police cruiser. I'll never forget the agony of that moment. After the car pulled away, I walked back into the house where sadness and silence filled the room like a mudslide. It was terrible. 24 hours later I was sitting in a cold reception room at the Fresno County Jail, talking with my son on the other side of the acrylic window through a dirty phone handset.

Today we celebrate not a destination, but a journey. The road so far has at times been bumpy and scary, but we are on the road together. Exactly two months from today - on February 9, 2010, Dallas will be off parole. It will be the end of one chapter, and the beginning a bright future. Today I celebrate my child. Happy birthday Dallas! I love you.

Jail Visiting Rooms

There are places most of us will never see or visit, but rather our perceptions of said places are formed by their depictions in film, television, or news clips. Those places include the county morgue, a hospital emergency room, a police interrogation room, or the visiting area of the county jail. We've all seen movies which shows the angry wife, the urgent lawyer, the partner in crime, or the frightened child walking into the jail visiting room, sitting down on the cold stainless-steel stool and picking up the phone. We've been the fly on the wall as the red jumpsuit-clad criminal enters the cold hallway on the other side of the glass, picks up his own phone receiver and the conversation begins. No matter how many times I saw that visiting room scenario played out on the big or small screen, nothing prepared me for the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me the first time it was me picking up the phone to talk to my frightened 20 year old son on the other side of that glass.

As the months wore on my weekly visits to the county jail to visit my son got easier. We often laughed, talked easily, and we shared mundane details about our daily routines. He told me about the latest book he was reading and I told him about whatever triumphs and frustrations my day at work had brought (I teach drama to elementary age kids). The weekly visits to my son, however, soon became about more than him and me. I began to watch and learn from the other visitors whose loved ones were on the other side of the glass.

I saw moms and dads hold one another's hands as they encouraged their barely 18-year old sons. I watched as young mothers held their toddlers up to the window so they could see their daddy and so young men could say "I love you" to their confused sons. I was choked with emotion when a handsome young man on the wrong side of the glass was unable to hold back the tears when his small daughter said, "I miss you Daddy" into the mouth of the black receiver. I saw a middle-aged woman, dressed in a green inmate jumpsuit put her hand on the glass and her 20-something year old daughter pressed her hand into the glass and said, "I'm here for you Mom." I have listened to the soft muffled cries of a hurting mother as she stands in the visiting room, unable to move until her son disappears from sight and the heavy door slams shut behind him. In that cold, sterile visiting room we are all the same - mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers, and friends. In that place we are all equal, despite our differences - different nationalities, religions, economic stations, and education experiences. We represent broken homes, intact families, dark secrets, happy lives, successes and failures. In that room we are all doing the same things at the same time with the same heart. We are connecting, hoping, sharing, forgetting, encouraging....loving.

I may not ever speak a word to one single person with whom I share that visiting room for 30 minutes every week, but each mom, wife, sister, son, daughter, father, brother, and friend who stands on the "right" side of the glass touches my heart. For 30 minutes a week we are all equal.