Recent visits: A solo visit and with a friend
In June, I visited my brother twice. It felt like a tiny turning point.
Last month, I went to see my brother two weekends in a row. I was visiting my folks for a few weeks, so I figured why not.
On the first visit, I went alone and the vibe between us felt… relaxed.
My brother kept me waiting longer than usual and I kept asking the correctional officer what was going on. I suspect the COs do the bare minimum to look for him if he’s not in his cell.
I asked multiple times if my bro was on his way and they assured me he was walking over.
The waiting game
Without a cell phone to stare into, I strolled over to the vending machines and bought my brother a Coke, Almond Joy, and a bag of Sun Chips. I checked to see what kind of artery-corroding microwave food they had stocked in the other vending machines. Submarine sandwiches, once-frozen Mama Celeste Pizzas, chicken wings, and burritos. I walked back to my assigned table.
I watched as the guys in blue prison uniforms came out, one by one. They wrapped their tattooed arms around a girlfriend or wife, followed by a long smooch. They hoisted up and gave kisses to their giggly little ones.
The room was filled with young families. After settling in, they played card games like Uno, drew pictures together, and ate snacks from the vending machine. When they got tired of sitting, they walked the perimeter of the visitation room, holding hands and smiling.
By this point, I was the only visitor sitting alone. I kept checking my watch.
After nearly an hour, my brother walked into the room and I noticed his hair was wet. I gave him a look that said OMG. He thought I was coming later in the afternoon so he decided to take a shower.
I reminded myself that for future visits, I need to text him that I’m on the way so he doesn’t wander off.
1:1 time
During my solo visit, my bro and I had a comfortable conversation. I felt like he was relieved not to see my parents. When I come with my folks, we tend to team up and go into lecture mode. It’s not like we plan to do this, it just ends up happening. I feel bad, but I can’t help it—read the books I sent you, take a class, when are you going to do better?
But on this visit, we just talked about random stuff—of course, the weather. Although that day wasn’t too bad, the Central California heat in June can be unbearable. He told me last week it was 110. According to him, the air conditioning in his building is “random,” sometimes it’s on and other times it feels like a fan, just circulating hot air and causing him to sweat even more.
I told him that upstairs, it was freezing. Instantly, I felt bad for saying that and wondered if he ever thought about other parts of the prison he will never have access to—like the lobby upstairs where they blast the AC, the visitor parking lot, or the main office in the front.
While we talked, he asked about existential questions about where humans came from—God? Apes? Molecules? I asked what prompted him to think about that and he said he reads a science magazine on his tablet. I was glad to hear he was reading.
He said he just got his quarterly care package and ordered 100 Snickers bars, but didn’t think about his cell turning into an oven over the summer months. I told him to put them in a plastic bag and stick them in his toilet since the water is colder than the air—something I learned from reading a book about prison. It’s how prisoners keep their hooch, or homemade booze, cool. He smiled and said that wasn’t a bad idea.
The second visit
The following visit, I came with an old friend who knew my brother from the time he was a baby. I submitted Dave’s visitation paperwork months ago, and it was approved quickly.
When I told my brother about it I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was excited. A non-family member visit would be a nice change of pace.
Maybe it would make him feel like someone else cares enough to come. Perhaps Dave’s advice and their conversation would somehow help to boost my brother’s morale.
The moment my brother stepped into the visiting room and laid eyes on Dave, I saw him trying to contain his joy. Like, if he smiled too big, it would give away all of his darkest secrets. He was trying to keep it cool, but to me, he looked like a five-year-old who wanted so badly to latch on to a big brother.
I felt a flood of emotions—both happy and sad… how I wished my brother had more mentors and strong male role models in his life. All it takes is one person to make a difference in someone’s life. I think about my life and the people who influence and support me. I don’t have a ton of close friends, but the few I have are like family.
For my brother, a mentor could’ve helped him build his self-esteem as a kid. He struggled with Tourette’s Syndrome, ADHD, his ticks.
Dave and my brother did the handshake-then-lean-into-a-hug move. They seemed genuinely happy to see each other.
We sat down and I took their vending machine orders. Sun Chips, Cokes, Twix, and shortbread cookies.
Our conversation flowed freely. We talked about the past, and when my brother and Dave last saw each other—at a bar in Koreatown.
In between all the talking, there were moments of silence. I wondered what my brother was thinking—did he feel like a loser in front of Dave, a successful guy with lots of friends, a nice house, a fancy car?
I tried not to dwell on negative thoughts. I focused on what was good about that day—connecting them and giving my brother a chance to feel “normal” again and to reminisce and laugh. It’s so simple but powerful.
The visit came to an end, and my brother asked if he could call Dave every now and then to say what’s up. Dave said yes.
Stories about my family
Recently, I began documenting my family’s story—anyone who has a loved one in prison has been through some shit. Regardless, all families have their version of turmoil.
This desire to record conversations with my family came about when I started writing my memoir. Nearly a year into writing, I began recording my parents to find out more about the past—about the time our store burned in the L.A. Riots, when they first met and married (it was arranged), and how they felt about immigrating to the U.S. from Korea in 1977 (my mom did not want to come).
I told my brother about the recordings with my parents and he said he expressed his interest. In a way, I want these recordings to be my legacy to him. It’s hard to imagine, but one day, he’ll get out of prison. I want him to listen and know my parents as humans, not just as Mom and Dad who would drop everything for him.
I spoke to him on the phone the other day and told him about the first recording I made. It was about the time my parents owned a store in Compton in the early ‘90s. I talked to them about the string of robberies and the L.A. Riots. I turned it into a podcast. Here it is.
I told my brother I could play it for him from my computer, over the phone and he can listen in 15-minute increments, the limit for prison calls. He seemed genuinely interested in the podcast and told me he wanted to hear it on our next call, which made me feel good.
The last two visits with my brother broke down a few walls between us.
I don’t want to lecture him. I just want him to trust me and feel supported. I want him to see that I’m here to help, but that I’m not his pseudo-mother either. Those days are over.
It takes time to build relationships and the last two visits felt like a tiny turning point for us, and hopefully, he felt it too.
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