“JUST” HIS MOM

Before he was 1 years old, I recognized that he moved differently than his big sister. Not in a way that showcased physical disabilities or inconsistencies, but different nonetheless. My son’s one way ticket on the school to prison pipeline began in the daycare setting, years before I even was made aware of the term. I vividly recall an incident where he crawled into the next room, as he recognized his big sister’s cries. He went over to the kid that was in her nearest vicinity and sunk his teeth in so deep, it drew blood. He was suspended from care for 3 days, and he wasn’t even walking yet. I still have the write up, twenty-four years ago.

The shenanigans commenced and never slowed down. As his parent, the first thing I did was bring my concerns to the attention of his primary care physician. Consistently, I was ignored and blown off. It wouldn’t be until kindergarten, with the back up from his school that they would listen to me. At age 5, my son attended school daily with Therapeutic Staff Support aka TSS, a Behavioral Specialist, and a 504 Plan. These were the things I was told needed to be in place to provide him with the best care. After some time, I finally agreed to formally medicate him. But he would only take it to get thru the school day. Outside of that, I, along with his siblings would suffer in silence, on the home front. As I continued to get acclimated with the round-table discussions held at the school, I realized I was actively advocating for my child. If you don’t know what it’s like to be surrounded in a conference-like setting, with everyone pointing their finger at your baby, respectfully, just listen. It was absolutely gut-wrenching! Every meeting began had me crying and being emotional. I was just so appalled that this was our current reality. In those rooms, it was me against them, about my son. So after I wiped my own tears, I spoke up, asked questions and sought clarity. Eventually, it was evident that more was needed. But because he presented as intellectually able, I was forced to fight. And I did. Finally, I was able to get him an IEP that afforded him some mandatory protections and opened the door to other assistance and more shenanigans. 

Zahvair would be 7 yo in the second grade when I was told that if he got into another fight, he would be led out of the school in handcuffs. At this point I was forced to make an executive decision, and sent my son to live with his father in Ohio. As with most paternal understandings, his dad believed nothing was wrong with his son. That was a challenge in and of itself, as the external care was not properly adhered to. He would catch his first charges at the age of 10. To avoid juvenile detention, I brought him back home to Pennsylvania. Eventually, my son would finish his educational journey in a specialized learning environment and walked to get his high school diploma while wearing an electronic home monitoring anklet.

The countless juvenile arrests that took place, side by side with his adult arrests, were no comparison. Two of his major adult arrests, I personally witnessed. The first time, he wound up surrounded by officers with guns drawn. He was shirtless, barefoot, and bloody. Thousands of dollars invested in an attorney, for him to receive 18 months jail time. He was the youngest in the facility at the time and was placed onto the pod that housed federal adult inmates only. My baby. Less than six months post release, he would be charged again. This time, there was no way out. The morning of May 28, 2022, which was my 40th birthday, I was awakened to the news announcing he was wanted. This was in connection to a local homicide that took place several months prior. My son chose to avoid capture. When they finally caught up with him, he would choose to engage in a 6-hour police standoff. I was there. He came out alive. Yet four days later, I suffered a heart attack that required a stent to be placed into my heart.

At the writing of this article, my son was tried and convicted on third-degree homicide and sentenced to 20-40 years. Currently, he is still awaiting trial and sentencing for his other cases, in the local county jail. Yes, he hasn’t even been transferred upstate to begin his hard time.

I miss him immensely. I hate that this is our current reality. But I accept it’s the way his story was written. He has two beautiful daughters that I have a close relationship with. We miss him tremendously! He is a jokester. Knows how to make others laugh and speaks fluent sarcasm. He was helpful, loving, and all of our protector. The incarceration journey is difficult. Contrary to popular belief, I do not find comfort

knowing my child is in prison. While difficult to admit, a gravesite visit would be easier for me. But who am I’m just his mom and that decision isn’t for me to make. I just know that it would reduce the worry of my wondering everyday if he will make it out of the belly of the beast and if I’ll be alive to witness it. But, what do I know…I’m just his mom.

Yolanda L. Reynolds
Group Facilitator, Mothers of Incarcerated Children