it is a sad thing to know it and not be able to change and go in the right direction (Proverbs 3:5). Although I knew that my life was not right and that I wasn’t who I pretended to be, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to change and go into the right direction. I just knew deep down inside that I was not the person I made known to everyone else.
Looking back, all I can say is what was I thinking or was I even thinking at all. Now it seems foolish for me to have followed people who were in a place in their life that they didn’t want to be: always complaining, bitter, lacking peace, broke, stubborn, jealous, full of pride, disobedient, lacking their own identity and driven by twisted desires. There was no way that I could see. I had to be blind. Not to mention, I was living in the so-called lime light which could have been blinding me!
In the World’s eyes, I was living the life! From my childhood on up, I never lacked much. I had the girls, the cars, the popularity, the game on and off the basketball court, the looks and the gear. I was cool! The girls loved me, the guys respected me and my old neighborhood was counting on me to be one of the first ones to make it out of the hood into a rich neighborhood. I really liked who I thought I was and the life I thought I was living.
As a kid, I played baseball, football and basketball, but basketball was my favorite; I loved to play some ball. If it snowed, I would shovel the snow up. If it rained, I would put on a rain coat and if it was hot, I would take my shirt off to play basketball. No matter how the weather was, I was determined to play basketball. I played basketball in elementary school, middle school and high school. I played basketball more than I did almost anything else growing up, which kept me out of a lot of trouble.
I never considered myself as a thug in my younger years. Although when I got older, I hung around some people who actually took people’s lives and were involved with some big time drug dealers at one point. Sometimes I drove in cars with AK’s in the trunk and pistols under the seat. But for the neighborhood I grew up in, this was nothing bad at all; it was normal for us. Drive-by shootings, selling drugs and people getting robbed was not out of the ordinary at all.
It was what I saw and what I heard growing up that made me the person I became. In the streets, at school and on TV, I saw the guy that everybody else looked up to, everybody admired, all the girls wanted and all the guys followed, and I wanted to be that guy. I was hearing that to be successful, you needed a lot of money, being a player was cool, to get high and drunk was what’s up and to do what you wanted to do was it. I began to believe in what I saw and what I heard and that made me the way I was. I did whatever was necessary for me to do to become that guy. I bought the best clothes I could afford, best shoes, the hottest chains, the coolest watches, the sweetest rides. I had the nicest cut from my barber, James, in order to get the attention, the popularity, the girls, the fame and that name. Therefore, I did stuff just to be seen, just to be doing it and to be known. In high school, I was making scenes and acting wild everywhere I went so that I would be recognized so that people would be talking about me. Even on the basketball court, I would show off and try to make people fall and score thirty points on people. I would embarrass people and talk junk all through the game to let them know that they didn’t have a chance at beating me or my team. So that when we got back home all my boys, D-Man, Tone, Rob & Larry would be telling everybody, “man Eric’s cold; did you see how he made Marlowe fall on his face today?” What I wanted to be was not who I was; it was somebody else; an image the World made up for young men to follow in order to influence young men to be something other than who they really are.
When I was growing up around thirteen years old, I remember talking to my uncle Butch as he was sitting on my grandmother’s porch. I was walking the basketball up and down the street dribbling between my legs. We were talking about girls and I remember him saying, “boy, you’re still wet behind your ears, you haven’t had none yet.” I replied, “man whatever,” wanting to be grown and pretending like I had already started having sex. But it was not much longer after that when I was around sixteen years old that I first had sex. The people I grew up around made sex seem like you had to have it or you would die. Now isn’t that something, because you can have sex and catch a disease and die for real.
The truth is that it is better to wait ‘til after you are married to have sex.
My mother was not home often because she worked long hours at an insurance company when I was growing up. So after school, I would normally go over to my grandmother’s house to play with my cousins and wait until my mother would get off work. Then I would go home which was one house down from my grandmother’s house. This is where my mother stayed with me and my little sister and brother, Carnita and Andre. Growing up was fun; however, I always desired to have a home where both of my parents were married and we all stayed together. My mother spoiled me so much that I was convinced growing up that there was nothing that I could not have. When I went to look for my first car, I was really upset because my mother would not buy me a brand new dodge Durango. I was in the 10th grade and I was literally talking back to my moms, cursing out loud and just out of control because I was so used to getting my way. I didn’t know how to act when I didn’t get my way. I was a momma’s boy. My mother, Elsie, told me that she didn’t remember me ever crawling because she would always have me in her arms. The next thing she knew, I was “on the floor running, not walking but running.” I don’t recall any time that my mother hit me, but I know she had to when I was younger at least once, but I don’t remember it. However, I remember getting a whipping once by my grandmother, Emma, when my cousin Jamar convinced me to steal some G. I. Joe toys from the store with him. We both were caught, and when we made it home, my grandmother took out a belt and beat both of us. That was the first and last time I recall taking anything from a store growing up.
The one thing I wanted growing up and I did not have was a father figure that I could talk to. There were no older male figures in my life that I could look to and see or hear something other than what I had always seen and heard. There were no Apostle Coleman, Elder Sheards, Elder Brown, Elder Hughes or Elder Radolph (my Pastor and elders from my church) that I could turn to in order to see and hear something that wasn’t said in the World or to encourage me in my journey of life. The men in my life growing up were scarce. I do not recall any of them really taking me by the hand to show me that there is more to life than what I had been living. I needed that, a father figure in my life to show me that he cared about the decisions I made, to encourage me and to speak blessings into my life. A father figure would have caused me to be a better person and that would have pushed me to give my best in life in everything I did. I know my mother cared and my family cared, but I really needed a father figure with a loving and humble spirit to show me something other than what I had saw and heard, both by his example and by speaking good things about me. I remember playing basketball for Denby High School, and I wanted my Dad to come and see me play, but I don’t ever recall him coming to any of my games. It means the world for a young man to see his father sitting and watching him play ball in the stands. It means a lot to hear him cheering and saying, “number 15, that’s my son.” I never had that. I needed that and I believe every young man needs that. It is important for someone to show him that they are interested in his life and that he cares about the decisions that he makes, someone to encourage him and not put him down, someone to open up to them and love them for who they are. I never really talk much about my childhood because much of it, I don’t remember, and it is mainly because that part of my life was missing. That man to be there for me when I needed him, that man that I knew cared, and that man that encouraged me and I knew loved me for me.
Two weeks before high school graduation, my daddy died. We didn’t have the closest relationship, although he did come around on my birthdays and on Christmas to bring me gifts and to see my family. For some reason, I would act really good when he came around and I showed him a lot of respect, even more than my mother. I used to think that it was cool to talk back to my mom and to curse and swear in front of her, I don’t ever recall cursing at my mother but I had a bad habit of talking back to her and cursing in front of her. While I was at my father’s funeral, tears begin to flow vigorously down my face,
