“They ask why we (African Americans) mutilate each other as we do. They ask why we hold so little regard for human life. But to ask why we turned from bad to worse is to ignore from whence we came. You see, you wouldn’t ask why the rose that grew from the concrete had damaged petals; on the contrary we would all celebrate its tenacity; we would all love its will to reach the sun. Well, I am that rose, this (USA) is the concrete, and these (my experiences) are my damaged petals. Don’t ask me why, (it happened) but thank God, and ask me how (I overcame).”
(Tupac Shakur, Ghetto Poet)
The Domination of Corruption
The seemingly inherent good or evil that lies within man has been widely discussed and debated over the ages. One theory I prefer over all others is John Locke’s theory on the state of man. In his treatise Locke states, I will look back over my life and relive each step of my training in an attempt to show how my experiences and environment sent me down a road that eventually led to me getting shot and then to my transformation. This book is not meant to point a finger at or blame anyone. This story is just a look into my once innocent mind to see how it became transformed. It would be a lie to say my parents only had a negative influence on my life; in fact, they taught me a lot of positives that I still live by today. However, as far back as I can remember my training groomed me to be the opposite of not only my character, but also my true nature.
Learning of Corruption
While my mother was giving birth to my older sister Kim, ten hours into labor the doctors realized there were two babies in the womb. Doctors fought to save the life of the second child, but after eighteen hours in the operating room they emerged with only Kim. My mom sank deep into an abyss of regret, remorse, and then depression. The family was in turmoil, but my dad being the loving husband he was tried to hold things together. However, the weight of caring for three rambunctious kids and a depressed wife in addition to his responsibilities at work was too overwhelming and in the end, he succumbed to the pressures.
In a desperate plea for help, my dad drove to the hospital seeking the advice of a doctor. By sheer luck he ran into the same doctor who delivered Kim in the hallway. The doctor’s advice to my dad was: “Get her pregnant, and do it fast.” The doctor’s reasoning was the only thing that could help my mom get over the loss of her child was the birth of another child. The story told throughout the family is that for the next four months no one outside the house saw hide or hair of my mom or dad until the announcement came—“I’m pregnant.”
I was born on August 11, 1974, in San Francisco, California, and was given the name Frederick Robert Howard Jr by my mother, Marsha Howard. Unlike the stories today of single mothers and deadbeat dads, I lived with both my parents every day of my life until I ran away. I was the fourth child of the Howard family, and due to the circumstances surrounding my conception, I became my mom’s favorite. The oldest of the kids was Shawn; at 5’6” and 138 lbs., she was the shield and sword that protected us from the dangers and kids outside the house. Due to this, my dad gave her the nickname Bruiser. Shawn was a beautiful caramel-complexioned young lady and because she had long hair and a pretty face, the boys of the neighborhood was always at our house. Shawn’s beauty was only second to her bad attitude, which always kept her ready to fight.
Next in line was Richard; standing a towering 6’1” and at about 150 lbs., he was my guardian when I left the house. Where he went so did I, my mom often commanded. Richie was real smart but feared everyone, except me. I often wondered why he didn’t like to fight but never questioned him about his fear. Richie’s defining feature was his head, which was a source of torment for him in school. His head sloped in the front and was straight up in the back, which gave the appearance of a cone. His dark-skinned muscular frame was never interesting to the girls, but he didn’t mind too much: he was only interested in making money.
Then there was Kim, the third child; she was quiet and shy, and hardly ever spoke or went outside because she was afraid of the other kids. Like Richie, Kim was teased throughout school because she had an overwhelming overbite. On her skinny frame, the overbite was the first thing one would notice. Kim stood about 5’4” but weighed only 100 lbs. She was dark-skinned and had hair like wool. Although at her core she was filled with love and compassion for others, no one knew because she was so shy and withdrawn. Kim was always our lookout when we were up to mischief.
Then there was me, the baby who was the miracle child. My mom gave me the nickname Tootie at birth. It just so happened that it was also the name of a girl on the hit TV show Facts of Life. Therefore, growing up I always felt as if I had something to prove. No matter how dangerous or absurd the dare, I always took it and it always ended in a butt whipping. Like Shawn I had a caramel complexion, and unlike the rest of the family I was born with two deep dimples on either side of my face. I stood 5’ and weighed 93 lbs. but my heart and courage made me feel as if I was 10’ tall. Even at an early age, I learned quickly to watch, listen, and learn in all my surroundings and situations. Due to the fact that training started early in the Howard family and in order to avoid a butt whipping, we needed to be attentive and absorb the lessons from our surroundings, parents, and each other quickly.
My mom at 5’2” 119 lbs. was the dominate presence in the house and my dad was her backup. My mom looked a lot like Cicely Tyson, with a brown sugar complexion, slim figure, and perfectly proportioned face, which made her beautiful. When it came to my mom, the older kids had to watch every word and facial expression, because she was always looking for the slightest sign of disrespect. Shawn was the only child who challenged my mom openly. As I think back on the characters of my siblings and myself as children and the way in which my parents chose to train us, I see a direct correlation with Shawn’s anger, Richie’s lack of courage, and Kim’s fearfulness.
Shawn’s anger came from the responsibilities that my mom laid on her at an early age. Shawn had to cook, get us up and dressed for school, and make sure we cleaned the house including our rooms. She was more of a parent to us than my mom and dad in my eyes. However, Shawn was a fifteen-year-old girl who was interested in boys and her friends, and these responsibilities limited the time she could devote to her own interests, which brought about resentments. These resentments built up and spilled out in mumblings and backtalking, but my mom always brought about order with pain.
I remember one evening Shawn was in the window talking to a boy and my mom overheard her, she asked Shawn, “Did you help Kim and Tootie with their homework?”
Shawn turned to face my mom and said, “They not my kids!”
With the speed of a greyhound and the ferocity of a charging rhino, my mom attacked her and when the dust had cleared, Shawn lay on the floor with a busted lip and a bruised left eye. Shawn picked herself up and hobbled into our room to do what my mom should have been doing.
Instances like this were common in the Howard household, but we were bound to a code that kept us in the same situation. From the time we were able to speak, my mom pounded into us that what happened in the house stayed in the house. For our parents this code was a shield that protected them, but for us it meant we had to suffer in silence. Richie tried once to reveal what was going on in the home, but my mom talked her way out of it and the butt whipping he got for it put the fear of God in all of us.
Richie’s lack of courage was instilled in him through butt whippings and intimidation carried out by my mom and dad. Anytime Richie got up the nerve to challenge a rule or a command, he was swiftly and mercilessly dealt with. My mom’s authority was maintained through fear and Richie’s 6’1” frame was a silent threat to the status quo. My mom believed that if a child disrespected or was disobedient to her, the way to get them to mind was to apply pain, and if they continued a wrong course then apply more pain. My mom’s punishments were so severe that Richie came to fear the very thought of pain in all its forms. I
