VOX Press‘ book, Prison Narratives, features personal stories written by prisoners at Parchman Farm. Here a couple stories from the book by Vincent Young. The book can be bought here.
Vincent Young was raised on a farm in New Albany, Mississippi. His father was an airplane mechanic and sometimes bare knuckles fighter. He is serving a life sentence for armed robbery and aggravated assault.
XI. Funeral
I sat fidgeting in my clothes on the day of my daddy’s funeral. Everything seemed so tight, even my socks. I wanted badly to take off my suit. I saw Uncle John drive up in his truck with his wife, Aunt Mary. Everyone came out of the house when we were ready to leave, even Legs. I thought she would be headed to the barn, but I was wrong. Mommy said, “Don’t be rubbing her ears, because she’s going with us.” Mommy told me to put Legs on the truck, which I was happy to do. I got the walk-board out of the back of the truck and walked Legs up into the truck. Instead of riding in the car to the funeral home, I rode in the back of the truck with Legs.
Once we got to the funeral home, we all loaded into the car for the longest, slowest, and most painful ride of my life. I could feel the water building up behind my eyes like it was looking for a small crack to be released down my face.
When we arrived at the church, there were people everywhere, and they all looked so sad. What truly shocked me was that there were white people there. I didn’t know that my Daddy had so many white friends. So why did it seem to me that he’d hated white people? But here they were, standing out in front of the church, greeting Mommy and nodding to her. It looked to be about 500 people there, about 150 of them were white. Legs had to stay outside under the shade tree. As the service started so did the water pressure behind my eyes. I couldn’t hold it back as the service continued, and I broke down in front of all these people, which I didn’t care about because I was only twelve years old. My crying started my Mommy’s and sister’s crying too.
All I could think about was why did God need my daddy? He could have got Mr. Richard or any other daddy.
There was a lot of noise at the back of the church, and I knew what it was as I turned to look back. There was Legs running down the aisle in the middle of the church. The preacher didn’t say a words as he watched Legs come to my Mommy’s side. Mommy rubbed her head and said, “Lay down.” To my surprise, Legs did what Mommy said, and here I’d thought that Legs only did what me and my sister told her to do. She didn’t make a sound throughout the rest of the service. I noticed that her eyes were moist like she was crying too. As we got up to follow the casket out of the church, Mommy led the way, followed by my sister, Legs, and then myself.
The hurting part was watching them lower my daddy’s casket into the ground. I knew then I’d never see my Daddy again because I remember when Truck was being lowered into the ground.
The last thing I could remember my Daddy telling me the day he got killed was, “Always take care of your sister and Mommy.”
After the funeral was over, we piled back into the car and headed home, where the yard was full of people and the kitchen was full of food. You just name it and you probably would’ve found it in the kitchen that day.
Mommy came out and sat on the porch and talked to just about everyone. She brought out a few slices of pie and cake for Legs, because Legs was right by my Mommy’s side.
I wonder, “Does Legs understand what’s happened? Does she know that Daddy is dead?”
I would motion for Legs to come to me, and she would, but she wouldn’t come off the porch because she wanted to stay around Mommy. I wondered to myself that night what it would be like now. Would I wake up and listen for Daddy to be walking around the house? I cried off and on all night, especially after Mommy told us everything, like why so many white people came to Daddy’s funeral. Daddy had many friends, black and white, and through this fighting career he met and talked to thousands of people. She also told me that she always worried about my Daddy when he flew airplanes, but she never thought that he would die in a car wreck.
I’ll never understand the wreck. They say that Daddy was sitting at a red light, when out of nowhere a car came up from behind and hit Daddy’s car, pushing him out into traffic where he was hit on the driver’s side by another car, which killed him.
The next morning the house was so quiet. I laid there and listened to it. All I could hear was Legs grunting every now and then. I got up and got dressed. Now I must do what daddy did every morning, which was feed the chickens and pigs. I went to the living room and my mommy sat there crying. I put my arm around her and cried too.
She asked me, “What are you doing up?”
I told her, “Me and Legs are going to feed the pigs and chickens.”
She smiled and said, “You and Legs hurry up. I’m fixing to cook breakfast.”
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