I send Dad money once a month and lately he's been ever grateful for it. The prison was in lockdown for a while which means sack lunches. His cravings built up as did my money in his trust fund. So when lockdown ends, he'll have cash for sweets (he's a big fan of strawberry ice cream and Little Debbie snack cakes) and plans on buying a watch priced at $10.85. "It look cool," he said.
In two separate letters sent to me together in one envelope, he gushes thanks no less than three separate times. I like that I can give him a little happiness on the Inside. But my reasons are selfish. When his spirits are up, his letters are fun to read. He isn't demanding, angry and filled with self pity. He doesn't ask me to do a million tasks for him like researching laws, making copies of his legal documents, mass mailing government officials and what not. So for just pennies a day, I can help someone in need. Myself!
In one part he writes, "Kambri, I saw $$ on your letter and I love you that it was good to be kind and love to me. Big smile! Oh, I would like you to send me a picture of you in comedy magazines of you wear sunglasses & cap and you hold protest sign at Comix Bldg. What did you talking about Free and Weed? Ha."
Ah, of course Dad would like my pot humor. Back when "The Marijuanalogues" was staged at Comix, the comedy nightclub I do PR for in NYC, I devised a little marketing ploy. I stuffed thousands of baggies with fake weed which was a blend of parsley, oregano and coriander seeds. (It's the seeds that are the clincher to make it look real.) I threw together some signs that said, "FREE bags of WEED," hired some cute girls and then hit the streets of NYC.
I was profiled in a magazine and they included the picture of me barking my free weed chant on the street. Needless to say, the promotion was a huge success. New Yorkers like pot. Who knew? Heh.