I Wonder If They Know My Son Is Loved
Visiting my son in jail for the first time, I know that I cannot protect him. Although he is too young to drink, the criminal justice system regards him as an adult.
I ease into a narrow parking space at the West County Detention Center in Richmond, California, turn off the ignition and lean back in my seat. I draw three steady breaths and watch my exhaled air cloud the rearview mirror.
I jam my purse under the seat knowing that a jail parking lot packed with police cars is one of the least likely places to be the victim of a break-in.
Clutching my single car key and my California ID (the only two belongings allowed inside, per jailhouse policy), I step onto the pavement to visit with my son for the first time since he’s been incarcerated.
As I approach the gray cement building, I recall my son and I having driven past it years ago. It was a sunny summer day, and we were taking our
