Visiting My Parents in Jail | Fuyao Li

I would only see them twice a year, once in winter and once in summer. After the final exams, I reported to them how I did in school. The wait to see our relatives was always so long. The prison guards would line up as visitors. We continued another long wait until the guards reported all the prisoners had arrived. Next, we were taken upstairs. I would look through the glass door to try and find where my mom was in the line. A glass divider attached to the wall was extended all the way up to the ceiling to prevent any physical contact between the people on the two sides. We could only talk via phones. The first thing I would say was mom when I picked up the receiver, then dad. I didn't have the opportunity to speak to my mom and dad for very long. I couldn't help but ask my mom, where are you coming home? My mom would always smile and say, very soon. I'll go home very soon. I knew she was trying to cheer me up. She didn't want me to feel so bad, but I felt bad anyway. I would think my mom would come home soon. I would vent my feelings about how I didn't like being in a relative's home. I felt like a second class citizen. I could share very little of my true thoughts with my relatives. Then, later I realized that such venting made my parents sad. My mom often looked like she was about to cry. Slowly, over the years, there have been so many years, I realized that I should stop venting. I started to share with them more upbeat, positive things to cheer them up. They were having enough hard times in prison. Little by little, I realized that I must adjust myself. Things were really difficult for them, much more than how things were for me. At least I was outside, but they were locked in and monitored constantly by other inmates.