3.

It wasn't until I was soaking in the cooled off waters of my 30 year federal prison sentence did I realize, who I wanted to be, who I had been raised to be, and who, while soaking in the cooled waters, I would come to find out I was brought-forth in this world to be, were all, at one time, claiming their own stance, envious of one another. Different in shape but exact in measurement, they stood with their backs to one another. It wasn't until they'd realized their allotted space represented a viable trinity, and if not simultaneously, movement not forward, nor backward, right nor left was allowed. There was no one without the other. So the decision was made, they'd stay in close proximity, using their peripheral vision to assure the safety of the triangle. So I am!

 

You'll understand more as I go on with this tale. Just stay with me. We're only in the beginning.

 

For many reasons, mostly for experiencing different realities and the emotion associated with them, being governed by the rule of three different women, knowing the warmth of different pillows, absorbing the energies of different households would turn out to be a very important lesson in my life. For with this, I would come to understand not only myself, but a great deal of behaviors of other people which in turn shows the behaviors of life. Something I'd need to know in the life I later choose.

 

And for the record, landing inside the home where myself, father, and the cat tussled for sleeping space on the couch was the better of the three hands dealt to me.

 

Before I go on, for the sake of you fully grasping this splintered tale, it's important that I mention two things.

 

First, I have a very strong memory which allows me to reach back into the early child-hood years of my life. There is much I cannot see because it isn't a smooth flow, but a series of scenes in which my memory has taken hold off. But I see them as if they were painted in my head for the purpose of this task alone.

 

Second, from each one of the scenes in which I am about to describe, I took from them something that would manipulate my vision, effecting how I would push ahead in life.

 

Here we go.

 

I can still see my grandmother's (father's mother) first floor apartment in building 340 (king building) of the Mott Haven housing projects where it all began for me, but I can not see her. She passed before the hands of my powerful memory were able to take hold of her and place her somewhere safe. Her absence would have an effect on me that I wouldn't acknowledge or understand until much later in life when I was going over my thoughts preparing to write them down. However, while living under that roof, there are a number of other memories I have that I'd like to share, memories of experiences where I believe I first begun to practice traits that would lead me to weakness.

 

I am not sure how old we were when me and my cousin Ieema (who is only a year older than me but never lets me forget it) set out on this task, but I am sure we were very young. I don't believe I had stared school yet, but if I did it was Mott Haven Head start which was held in the Mott Haven Community Center located right across the street from most of the building in the projects. This was like a pre-kindergarten. Anyway, one day while in the apartment, Iemma and I were left alone to watch television in the room we shared and somehow, some way her dark brown medicine bottle became the focus of my attention. (Now that I look back on it, I'm sure the bottle grabbed at me because I was almost always around when she was being spoon fed it and I simply longed to know its flavor) We talked it over as best our child words could. I found the taste I sought. Then I found the hospital. Whether it was for days or weeks, I'm not sure, but I can still see the lonely nights spent there.

 

As I am able to look back on this with the mind I've found, I can see this is where I first begun to give into blind curiosity. Some may argue I was just being a child. That is true, but the age has nothing to do with the practice. And do to the fact, that very practice went un-checked, I would give into it for the next 20-something years of my life, and multiple prison sentences would be its result.

 

The next memory while under grandma's roof, is one I have to laugh at or soak in the embarrassment of. I, still very young in age, if not the same age I took the sip of the bottle, was outside in front of the building on the Alexander side of the projects playing in the front yard which was more concrete than grass, swinging on the Monkey-bars, knowing (feeling) I had to use the bathroom. But using the bathroom wasn't important enough to trump the enjoyment I had swinging from bar to bar. So I kept silent about it. It was on that day did I find out, if one disregards the body's calling long enough it will decide and act without you. Luckily I lived on the first floor and my escorted travel to the bathroom wasn't that far out. I can still see my small boy frame standing on the toilet seat, crying I was sorry, that I was as big boy and shouldn't have done that, as my Aunt Patty, (who is Ieema's mother and not longer with us) cleaned me up. (And if you are wondering, no I'm not talking about number 1.) Hey, what do you want from me? I'm just being honest.

 

The point of that memory is, it was then, when I first remembered placing want over need. It, too, when un-checked, practiced clandestinely. The result, I'm writing this from a prison library.

 

These are two faults, so soon at such a tender age when the mind knew not the reason to do away with them. And growing up where I did, as I did, these faults guarantee only one future.

 

Both these experiences were in the care of my Grandmother's children. There were nine of them in all, but like my grandmother, I don't remember my uncle Austin. He passed from a bus accident before I could take hold of his face. Though, I still own a pair on bongos he left to me. It's been in my memories since the first floor apartment.

 

During both of these experiences father was still around. He had yet to take his trips. I know because I can see him coming to visit me in the hospital after Ieema and I had the meeting of the minds. But somehow, in my next set of memories, while under the same roof, all of grandma's children had either moved on, or the presence of the woman I am about to tell you about  was so strong, she dominated all others and my memory can only see her. However, I am sure when I can see her, father had taken his trip and I am left in the care of this light skinned woman who wore glasses and her hair in a jerry curl. She came with a daughter, who i still call my sister.

 

It was in her grasp where I first begun to question myself. Not in the sense of character or integrity as an adult would, mind you I was still a child, (I may have been in kindergarten) but I remember questioning my belonging. Did I belong with this woman I would ask myself. Where was the family that I was once with? Should I have been somewhere else. I wouldn't know until years later that father had taken his trip to prison, leaving me in her care.

 

It could very well be the pair of veiled eyes I'd come to find out I saw through since birth that made me feel that way I did about this woman, but I just never felt she liked me. Never! It seemed like every move I made, where she could find fault, was responded to with a strike of either her hand, belt, or worst, tongue.

 

Right or wrong, I just didn't feel like this woman loved me at all. (Years later, going over these memories in my mind, I remember questioning whether her treatment towards me was rooted from some ill she had towards my absent father) regardless, my young mind didn't like it. And it didn't like her. Sorry.

 

Now, in all fairness, I may have called on some of her discipline I received. But looking back on it from an adult mind, some of it was simply uncalled for, and nowhere near didactic.

 

If a child, that had already grown a curious mind, and already gives in to his wants over his needs, is told to he should sit on the bed and not turn around, but he does just as he is asked not to, catching naked flesh, he doesn't deserve to be slapped. And it isn't the pain the blow was supposed to deliver because that was so non-effective is stood to be ridiculed, but the act, in conjunction with an already fastidious record that is being looked at as an expression of undeserved hate. Now you have a child searching for an emotion that is reciprocal. An emotion he shouldn't, at that age know. But it's too late. The seed had been planted. Planted and feed.

 

It's fed when on night, as two children, who are supposed to be sleeping in the bed they share, are awoke playing around, and the girl, (the woman's daughter), with her effervescent smile, convinces me to kiss her somewhere on her lower body, then immediately calls out, expressing actions taken without her consent and her (one-woman response team) rushes to beat me; and I momentarily delay the action, expressing, not only is she a liar, but the cajoling tactician, and still the (justice) she sought is delivered as if my words don't matter; the hate grows! Sorry.

 

Now, if we're driving down the highway and my mind debates, then resolves to open the moving car's door, (I just wanted to see the red light on the side of the door glow) I may have warranted the car to get pulled over to the side of the highway so I could get my a*s whipped. The only thing with that is I had already convinced my mind all moves made toward me were clothed in depravity.

 

And when hands weren't at work, words were. Like the time, we, all the children of the house, (I remember Iemma in this memory for some reason) were in the kitchen as the light-skinned woman was handing out fruit and I tossed an unpeeled orange into the trash after dropping it on the floor, thinking it was dirty and I became all kinds of stupid and dumb.

 

Children of tender ages, after a while begin to believe what they are being told. If it was obvious I didn't know, even if you thought I should, why wasn't the lesson just taught? I begun to believe, from the constant treatment that there was really something wrong with me; maybe I was really stupid.

 

I swear, people charge the life of crime with all ills, but I can testify from pure experience that stereotype is far from the truth. The criminal world, if lived through and paid close attention to, can be one of the biggest self-esteem builders on earth. The bad thing about the road which one must travel to obtain such is, it is not always easy to return from. But I have, and I've returned with a profound belief in self.

 

Whether this woman was just plan mean, or if I were just plan sensitive, neither of those factors were taken into account once I resolved she hated me. And I found both anger and hate while in her care. And that is the point!

 

So now you have weakness to curiosity, wants trumping needs, and both bathing in hate and anger all in the mind of a child who has yet to enter the first grade.

 

I'm not sure, but I believe my mother, the woman who gave birth to me came and took me from the woman who I had grown to dislike. I say this because my memory jumps to being with her while father was still on his trip. I am not sure if this is really the way it went, or just the way I wanted it to, but I can see mother knocking on that apartment door, demanding her son. However, in her care, I did not belong. And when father came home, he came straight for me.

 

But, while with mother, I'm still in kindergarten at the time because I can see clear as day her putting me in a school where I played duck-duck-goose in the middle of the gym floor. We live on McCombs Rd. in the Bronx. At this time she was working in either Burger king or McDonalds.

 

I'm sure living in Mott Haven we weren't the richest, but it was with mother where I have my only memories of being poor. Being hungry in her care was the first time I ever stole form the store.

 

Mother has five children. I, the only boy and second oldest. But at the time there was only three of us. The oldest, myself, and the baby who was still in a stroller being pushed around.

 

Mother was with the baby's father. He would beat her all the time. I can still see him in action.

 

The memory I have close to me was after he'd just finished (being a man), still in rage, ran to the wall-unit she kept in her living-room, the very one I loved to visit on my own, and begun ripping up the very pictures of her and father I was there to see. I can still see the pictures. I guess it was when she and father were happy; before he caught her cheating on him. The baby's father was ripping up the pictures and tossing them out the ever-opened window. I grabbed a broom and threatened to beat him with it for what he'd just done to my mother. Me with all my duck-duck-goose strength.

He threatened to return the favor. Him with all his woman beating strength.

 

I cannot lie, fear prevented me from defending my mother's honor. And at this point in my life, I'd yet to have a man teach me how to be a man; even if I yet to reach that stage. As I look back on it, I should've done what I set out to do, and taken the beating that came with it. But his words and demeanor were too daunting. I coward out. That move still bothers me until this day. (I think this is why I now meet challenges the way I do.) (Can you see what was happening to me at such a young age?) This is also the very first reason I've never even thought of beating a woman; it's like beating my mother.

 

By the way the very man that used to beat women and rip the favorite pictures of little kids, is now in New York State Prison, beating himself up and ripping at his own manhood as he has decided to live his life as a prison woman.(I guess he found himself).

 

Father returned from his trip and I was removed from that house-hold. That really is the best thing that could have happened to me. I turned out a bit off in a home that at least tried, can you picture what I would be like had I been fully fostered under those conditions?

 

I don't have much memory with father as I am coming up at this point in my life. It may have something to do with his trips. Because as soon as I do see him, he's handing me off again. This time it was to the woman who, all of my life, had been in my visions, child and adult, as the very sun set here to aid my growth. His sister, the Eldest of the nine born to my Grandmother, Terrain Manley.

 

The vision of him taking me to her home, handing me over to her, then setting off on his second, but last trip to prison lives in my memories. I remember him taking off his chain, placing it around my neck. Why that moment is so vivid is because I'd played with that chain when father would pick me up; always wanted that very chain that bore a white gold T in the middle of a circle made of brown gold. Father's street name began with a T, with me being his Jr. Came the T.J.

 

Running in my aunt's apartment one day I fell and broke the pedant I valued some much. Not only do I have a great grasp on the visions of my memories, I can, just as strongly, also recall the emotions they bore. And the sadness that came over me when I broke my father's chain can still be recalled. It was a heavy cloak as I asked my aunt whether father would be mad at me. Not knowing of his trip, I thought he would return soon and find out.

 

While with my aunt, my memory shows mother coming but once. She took me to a football game then I didn't see her to years later. Though, It didn't matter how long it took for me to get her in my vision, I had an innate love for her that couldn't be disturbed. As life went on, whenever I saw her I got elated.

 

But neither her absence, or father's, at the time I spent with my aunt mattered. She took good care of me. We were always on the move and I didn't long for the comfort of any other. She taught New York City elementary school for 32 years and I remember her taking me to work with her. Years later when I found out it was elementary school she was teaching I was shocked. I expressed this stupefied feeling, telling her I thought it was High School because all the kids were so big. She told me they weren't big, I was just small. (As I write this on Friday, February  7th. today is her 65th birthday) Happy Birthday, Elder. I wish you many more. And I love you so so so much!

 

But time passed, and his trip had come to an end, father had come for me. He has not only a new face, but a new place for us to stay. This new home is on the other end of the projects; The Willis Ave side. Building 380 Apartment 2H. There's a whole family there. I'm not sure how I was seen when this family took me in but my mind entering their home held visions of the life before me. On my own periodic table of elements, lied hate, fear, anger, abuse, love, longing, confusion and so much more. But what they would have to offer me would help as well and push old buttons of pain. But at that time, I'm sure none of us knew.

 

Stay tuned. I'll return and pick up from here when I return.