Part One - An anomaly
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BRIANNA RIEUX, HOST:
Hi, I’m Brianna Rieux, and this is a podcast about growing up with parents behind bars told through the voices of those who live it—children trying to make sense of this absence and the impact of their parent’s choices on their future.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
BRIANNA RIEUX: I remember road trips my mom, sister and I used to take to see dad at the California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo. Memories of moments from those almost three hour long trips still stick with me. Uncle Kracker would be playing on the radio, singing about wanting to get lost in rock and roll. The windows would be down, the air was fresh, and the three of us were singing at the top of our lungs as we drove.
Strangely, I don’t have many memories of when he wasn’t around. But I do remember the feeling of wondering where he would go while he was living at home, or counting down the days until I could see him again. It wasn’t until much later, after years of therapy, that I started to understand why certain periods of my memories felt so blurry. Trauma, it turns out, has a funny way of distorting things. It leaves gaps in your recall, making details hard to piece together. But with time, the bigger picture became clear.
Author and her little sister, Ariel Rieux. Sent to father in prison.
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I’ve been visiting my dad in jails and prisons since I was an infant. My mom would often tell me the story of my first visit to the California Youth Authority in Sacramento. I was not even a week old at the time so my mom did not yet have my official birth certificate. So, she used the certificate of live birth from the hospital.
When I asked her about my earliest visitation, she said the guards looked at me in the stroller, shaking their heads. They told her it was a one-time deal, that next time, we’d need the “official” paperwork. But before we knew it, my dad was holding me in his arms, dressed in his blue jumpsuit.
He may not have been in the ideal place to be a parent, not by any means. But in that moment, he was doing what he could to lay a foundation for my future—even if it meant doing it from behind bars. Recently, I asked him what he was thinking while he was holding me in his arms for the first time.
MICHAEL RIEUX: I made a decision that my daughter was not. None of my children, none of them, because I had children now or ever, ever going to be where I was.
BRIANNA RIEUX: Years later, my dad told me how much those visits meant to him. This is where he really began to step into his role as a father.
MICHAEL RIEUX: I started to father you through the phone. It was crazy. I made her come see me every weekend, both days and she did. She's a great mom for doing that, bro, I can never say nothing bad about her for because look what she did. She brought you every weekend, no matter what part of California they stuck me in.
BRIANNA RIEUX: Even at my young age, my dad started teaching me how to play chess during our visits. But for him, it wasn’t just about the game itself. Chess became a way for him to prepare me for life’s challenges. Despite being trapped in a cycle that he couldn’t escape, he was doing everything he could to show me how to break free from it.
He taught me to think several moves ahead, to analyze every possible outcome, and to always be ready for what came next. It was like he was giving me the tools to navigate life — tools for a future he wasn’t sure he’d be around to see. In a way, he was trying to give me the wisdom to handle situations he could never quite figure out for himself.
MICHAEL RIEUX: Chess is a pretty simple game. If you think about it., all it is, is its choices and consequences, and some strategy. So I figured, man, if the best thing I could probably do is teach you throughout your life, dude, strategy, consequences, calculation, choices.
Author's Head Start graduation celebration with her mother, Cristina Montoya and little Ariel
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BRIANNA RIEUX: As I got older, I started to see the pieces fall into place. The instability, the constant fighting, the neglect. It all made sense. My mom was doing everything she could, working two jobs to keep us afloat. She was providing for us, but also still trying to hold things together with my dad. And every time, she'd bail him out — again and again. Only to watch him fall back into the same pattern. Back to jail. It felt inevitable.
My dad knew he wasn’t on the right track. He tried. Over and over again, he tried to be better for us. But no matter how hard he tried, it always ended the same. There were the failed businesses, the drinking, the drugs and eventually he would be back in custody. It was a cycle he couldn’t escape.
Through all his struggles, my dad always believed in something better for us. He always tried to point us in the right direction — even if he couldn’t get there himself.
He used to call me an “anomaly.” It was a word he’d throw around, saying how I was going to be different. According to research from UC Davis’ Center for Poverty and Inequality, most kids in my situation don’t end up like me. The research shows that children of parents behind bars often don’t graduate high school, they also make less money and they often end up in prison themselves. My parents pushed me to break that pattern. But they also knew how tough it would be and how easy it is to get caught in that cycle.
(SOUNDBITE OF MUSIC)
BRIANNA RIEUX: That was part one of Time Served: The Children of Parents Behind Bars. Next we’ll talk about how the odds are stacked against us. But is it possible to overcome them? Thank you for listening, I’m Brianna Rieux
