Let reveal some of the fucked up shit from our childhoods.

When I was elementary school aged I didn't know it wasn't normal to know the mailing address of the state prison by memory and that not everyone's dad had an inmate number. My dad was my prison penpal. I used to get letters about the daily going ons of what happened in his pod and stories about his cell mates. I was 8 years old when I received a photocopy copy of the official rules for coon hunting. One of dad's cell mates was an arsonist that burned down a medium sized amusement part in WillowGrove, PA. I received stories about making jailhouse wine in potato chip bags and how his cellmate "sparky" would make small incendiary devices out of match heads and tin foil to toss at the fags in the next cell at night when they would butt fuck. It wasn't until I was 12 years old that I realized this wasn't a normal form of father/son bonding.