My Criminal Past (Continued)
My first brush with the "Law"
I came home one evening from football practice, and my mother was standing there with a bunch of her friends for some type of gathering at our house. I obviously didn’t know what the hell was going on by the look on my face. She asked me where the hell I had been. Well, judging by my uniform I was wearing, wasn’t that a hint? I told her I was going to go take a shower and I would be down in a minute. As I turned, I felt a blow to the back of my head. I toppled forward and went face first into the steps. I was dazed for a moment, but I started to gain my composure. “That’s what you get for talking back to me!” she screamed as I gathered myself together. I didn’t even say anything, so I had no idea why she said that. I turned around and her friends looked shocked. My “mother” was not a small woman mind you, and a blow like that would hurt the average man. I told her I didn’t say anything, and she came at me again. Her fists flailing at me, I put up my hands to defend myself. I told her to stop and she kept coming. I basically ran to my room because I would never hit my own mom. She screamed out a few expletives and I thought that was the end of it. I showered, went to bed, and waited for the morning to come.
The next morning, my mom didn’t say a word, and even had the nerve to tell me I should have a good day and remain positive. Are you fucking serious? I left to go to school. Little did I know, my life would change forever and set me on a course of no return.
I came home at the usual time after practice and just went to my room. Around 9 PM. I heard the doorbell ring. Mind you, these were the days when NO ONE called your house past 8 PM, and no one dared come to your house at that time of night, especially on a weeknight. A few minutes later, my mom told me to come downstairs. I did as I was told, and when I came down to the living room, my sister was staring at me like something was wrong. I gave a quizzical look, and then it happened…
A police officer came out of the kitchen with my Mom and another one actually came out of our coat closet (crafty little fuck). I just stood there wondering what the hell was going on, but it was too late. The cop out of the closet grabbed me forcefully and spun me around. For the first time in my life, I had handcuffs placed on me. I told the cop to get the fuck of me and I found myself on the floor. My sister screamed for him to leave me alone and he told her to shut up.
What was my crime you ask? I was charged as a juvenile for “insubordination” (had no idea that was actually a charge, but it was), and for “assault” on my mother. I never laid a hand on her, but because I had a bruise on the side of my face from her attack, she told them that she was just defending herself from my assaultive actions on her.
I was placed in a cop car and hauled off to a juvenile detention center. The cops threatened me the whole time, but I feel they were just trying to scare me straight. I will spare you the details of my stay at the facility, but let’s just say it changed my life forever. I actually didn’t do anything wrong, but to have your own family place you in a place like that… well, it was fucked up (pardon by French).
This was my first, but not last encounter with the police. As I grew older, I hated authority especially the police. I had no respect for my so-called parents. I would continue my life of crime and frankly, I didn’t give a fuck. It is scary looking back at who I was back then. My life spiraled out of control after that brief brush with the law. (I got sent to a group home for 6 months if you are wondering for my “insubordination”). I was angry, depressed and alone. We wonder why we have problems with our youth today. Better catch the warning signs early.
The rest of my high school years were horrendous. I had no stable home life and no real direction. The only real positive people in my life were my grandparents. They both passed when I was in my teens. I was angry at the world (whatever that consisted of) and it showed in my actions. I started to drink with my "friends" and dabbled a bit with weed. I hated myself and had no self-esteem. I was going to get payback and I didn’t care who got hurt in the process. I stepped up my “game” in my criminal activity. I needed bigger scores, and I knew just what I was going to do.
I broke into my first house at the age of 16. My next-door neighbors were the victims. I hung out with their son (against their wishes), and I knew the layout of the house. Granted, I had nothing against these people, but as a thief, I didn’t care. Opportunity was opportunity. I knew they had a lot of nice stuff, and I was just waiting for my time to break in.
Breaking into someone’s house is NOT a rush. I used to hear criminals say they did crimes for the “rush”. Really? You get amped up while committing a crime? I guess we know who the real criminals are don’t we? I never got that rush. Maybe an upset stomach or maybe I felt like I was going to shit in my pants, but not some type of euphoric feeling. Well, maybe… it was called fear. I was ready make my first real criminal move in my life. No more petty thefts for me. No sir, I was going to the top (idiot). I had my plan in place, and I was just waiting for the right time. Things were going to get better for me. I just knew it. The more I had, the more my life would change. That is not the way my life turned out as you will learn over time.
PS Give an ex-con a tip... thanks!!!!