Other essays on this theme

Essay: "Childhood"

When the cell is quiet and I can hear my own heartbeat, as I lay motionless, thanking him for seeing another day. Going over my past, facing my present and hoping for a brighter and better future. Thinking over and over, will I be able to function, mentally and physically, when I get out. Hoping that I'll find that someone to make my life complete, with a woman I hope to love and that she will be faithful and loyal, while blessing me with more kids, to make me happy. As I think about that one, the other or both, of the females that I gave my heart to, images of out bodies in action, makes my body tingle and itch, for what was once passion, love and excitement. But as I fight for control over my body, I switch the image to my two kids and niece. As I think about all the birthdays, holidays, PTA's and open houses that I have missed and going to miss, I feel hot tears rolling down my face. And I beg and pray silently, that I get a chance to be with them again. Because I'm afraid that they will forget and hate me since I'm not there in their lives, to protect and be with them, like I said I always would. As the pain starts to subside and my tears come to an end, I breathe slow and deep to bring myself back in control of my emotions. As a voice tells me, "Men aren't supposed to cry. It's assign of weakness." So I get up, wash my face and rinse my mouth out. So I remind myself that men who don't cry after leaving something behind, that he misses and loves, is not a man. And with that, I lay back down with a smile on my face, going back over the past, present and forming a future. Middle of the night you ask: it's my crystal ball that shows me my past, present and hoping future.

Tim Hampton