The Village

I have often heard it said that it takes a village to raise a child. I find that in my case, it took a village to form a man. Like many others, this village consisted of my parents, grandparents, siblings, extended family, teachers, and neighbors. However, unlike most villages, it also included adversaries, backstabbers, police officers, social workers and rival gang members.

My village saw seasons of abundance and seasons of famine. There were seasons of joy, laughter, sadness, worry, and despair. You see, just as the caring words and support from loved ones had a big impact on my life, the backstabbing, lies, blows, and bullets aimed at me also helped shape who I grew up to be. These events sculpted my way of thinking and acting. Their influence caused me to build walls and cages around my heart and soul. It closed me off to the world. Now, I wonder how I got here. How did I get to this place where I am willingly telling my story.

I have always been a very private person. In grade school, I was the guy who sat back and observed. I liked to see what people were about before deciding if I should trust them or not. Actually, I’m still that guy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the creepy weirdo who just stares at you from the back of the class with a blank expression on his face. You know the one I’m talking about. The guy who would be voted most likely to become a serial killer. That guy gave me the heebie-jeebies too.

I was never unapproachable. I did engage and participate in class, but I was never fast to call someone a friend. You see, where and how I grew up you couldn’t afford to pick the wrong “friends.” I had to be selective. It took heart and loyalty for me to even consider them, and what better way to show it than through confrontation. It’s funny but some of my best friends were people I bumped heads with. Today, I still have very few people I call friends. Even these friends don’t know a lot about me, yet here I am on this platform, ready to let you (whoever you may be) in.

So how did I get here? I grew up on streets where you guarded as much of yourself as possible. You didn’t give anyone anything they could use against you and never, under any circumstances, would you let anyone break you. Those streets were catacombs housing the dreams of indoctrinated children. Children who were told they were statistically unlikely to see a twenty-second birthday. As a result, many grew up with an “I don’t give a fuck” mentality. They felt like they had to live and grow up fast. After all, according to “expert” statistics, they only had a few years left.

We had many teachers as early as kindergarten telling us we shouldn’t be one of the statistics. They thought they were motivating us, but in reality they were providing us with an excuse. It was a reason to give up. I heard it repeated many times in my life. “I wasn’t supposed to make it past twenty-one ‘ey, so the fact that I’m alive - means I beat the system.” This was the quitter’s anthem being sung around me. It created an entire generation of quitters.

While suburban young men were celebrating college success, these men were satisfied with being alive. Some never had a chance and are passing the same poisonous message down to their children. It’s the gift that keeps on giving. This is what many of the villagers around me were like, so as you can imagine, I had an interesting upbringing and this is my story...

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Writing and music have always been a big part of my life and an outlet for me. All things considered, it was probably inevitable that I’d end up here writing this piece. Storytelling is not what I usually do. I normally write poetry and song lyrics in my journal. Now as I sit here, I’m trying to figure out where this series of writings will take us. I’m trying to work out what form and shape it will take. Will it be in the form or a typical blog, or take a life and shape of its own like a potpourri of stories, poems, song lyrics, and artwork? It’s hard to say.

I prefer not to think about where this will end up. I tell myself it's for the creative challenge but deep down I know it's to avoid getting cold feet. I have always been told I have a way with words and that I should consider writing for an audience. I hope you enjoy this journey we are about to take. The writings will be comprised of true event unless otherwise noted. Of course, I will be changing the names, places and dates of events to protect the privacy of the parties involved.