What I see in my dad, a man who has both struggled and thrived in life after prison

My dad is a heavy guy. He’s not heavy in the way that he weighs down every conversation with unnecessary requirements of emotional energy, or in a way that you feel drained after talking to him. But rather, he’s heavy in the sense that his personality and his character has weight to it.

He’s heavy on the metaphors, drawing comparisons between things that makes you reconsider your perspective. He’s heavy on the truth, cutting through fallacies without a second thought, and without worry for the consequences. He’s heavy on the stories of his past, and how that affects his life, his trajectory, his family.

He’s heavy on the praise, never failing to notice when someone does something he deems to be impressive, and always recognizing people for what they are capable of even when they’ve been judged and disowned by others. He’s heavy on the critiques, too — letting you know, in his own ways, when he knows you can do better.

He’s heavy in knowledge. Somehow, he seems to know how to do almost everything I can think of. I sometimes feel as though he’s perfected the method of acquiring a year’s worth of knowledge for each week of his life.

I think all of these things about him are what make me wonder what my life would have been like if he had been around when I was young.

Would I have known myself better by now? Would I know half of the things he does? Where and who I would be had things happened differently is a little mystery that I like to play with in my head sometimes, especially in moments when I realize how impactful he is.

But I also recognize that he is who he is now because of the life events, suffering, chaos, that was endured. And I appreciate who he is, and cherish those moments when I realize that even with all of those years apart, we’ve somehow wound up with some quirky similarities.

Even through the vividness of his words, and gravity of his actions, I can still only imagine what it must be like to spend so much of your life behind prison walls, removed from your family, from your friends, from almost every shred of your former identity.

I notice sometimes, when the topic of his imprisonment comes up, he talks almost with a sense of pride. It’s not pride that he ended up in prison. I know he has a lot of shame, guilt and remorse.

It’s pride that he found a way to survive, even after he felt he didn’t deserve to. That he found a way to give back to his family and his community, even when I know he will always feel that there’s no amount of giving he can do that will be enough.

He found a way to sit isolated in a cell, day after day, for years of his life, without letting his mind rot away. Instead, he reflected on his actions, on his identity, on his pain and anguish. He reflected on his character and how he became who he was. And he learned not only how to become a better person, but how to help others become better too.

And this, is what I think Daedalus Ink is about to him. Sharing his journey, his life, his remorse and sorrow, his hope, and his dreams with others, but also and most importantly: using his experience to help others learn how to become better people themselves.

He is working hard to help those who have ended up in the same institutions as him to maintain faith that their lives can have a positive impact as well.

He is helping those who have never had that experience to recognize that not every person who has done bad things are, at their core, bad people.

He is helping those that have never been behind bars recognize that they too are sometimes imprisoned — by their own thoughts, fears, misconceptions, and traumas.

And so, I couldn’t be happier to be here with my dad for the time I am, helping him — in whatever ways I can — to help others as well. His journey, and who he has become through it, is an inspiration to me to get out of bed in the mornings and help others out.

I hope that his writing, his character, and his profound journey can inspire you to help others as well.