Youth Radio - Topic: Family

Reality check

rgee — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 18:57:57 -0600

This story was originally published on L.A. Youth.

By P.S.

When I ran away from my dad’s house I was 14 and wanted to be a rapper. I thought I was going to get signed by a record label and get a lot of money. I thought I’d be famous by now. It hasn’t worked out that way. I didn’t make it as a rapper but I don’t regret running away. It got me into the foster care system. The system helped me get back in school and learn how to be an adult. Without foster care I’d probably be a dropout or homeless right now.

My dad and mom were teenagers when I was born. They weren’t ready to be parents so my grandmother raised me. When I was in seventh grade, we started having problems. If I heard the word “no,” I talked back. When I was in ninth grade, my grandmother drove me to my dad’s house for good. She was tired of my behavior.

My dad doesn’t have a job. He drinks every day and hangs with his homies. When I first came he and his girlfriend sat me down. He said, “You’re almost grown. I ain’t got no rules for you. I don’t know how to be a dad. I don’t want you to go out on the streets to drink. If you’re going to drink, you drink in this house.” He was talking to me like I was a roommate. It was cool with me because I didn’t like rules.

I didn’t go to school because I knew my dad didn’t care. I hardly did anything besides get on the computer and drink hard alcohol like brandy. I was really into writing lyrics and making music. Some of my dad’s friends were rappers and I saw them work with the software. Eminem and 50 Cent rapped about where they came from and that’s what I wanted to do. I’d record rap and hip-hop songs about making it big and being in “the hood.” I had a music page on MySpace with three songs that had more than 1,000 listens. When I finished a song I would think, “If this has a little more work on it, it will definitely be a hit.”

But not everything was good. My dad and his girlfriend would always fight about stupid stuff. One time I tried to break up a fight and my dad’s girlfriend kicked me out in the middle of the night when she was drunk. My dad’s friend gave me a ride to another family member’s house.

After I’d been there a couple months I was fed up with everything. I asked my grandmother if I could come home but she said no.

I wanted to run away. I called a runaway hotline and told them I wasn’t getting along with my parents. I said I was going to leave but that I had nowhere to go. They said there were beds at a shelter in Hollywood and that I could go there any time.

I’d had enough of the fighting

I waited a month to see if things got better. But they didn’t get better, they got worse. After I got into another fight with my dad’s girlfriend, I went in my room and packed. I wasn’t scared because I had everything I needed. I had all my notebooks full of rap music. I thought, “I’m going to Hollywood, which is the center of the music and acting industry. You can’t go wrong in that city.”

I left the next morning at 5 a.m., when my dad and his girlfriend were asleep. I had my bags and $15 in my pocket. I knew I was serious about leaving after I set my house keys on the dresser before locking the door. My heart began beating quickly. I kept glancing at the door as I headed out the front gate because I was paranoid that they’d notice I was gone. It was dark out. When I arrived at the bus stop, I hid myself in my coat. It took me two hours to get to Hollywood.

When I arrived at the shelter everyone was my age. There were people playing Xbox and some kids asked me if I smoked and I said yeah. I felt right at home. In the morning they had school at the shelter but I left before they made me take classes. I didn’t want to mess with school. I wanted to chill with the other kids. We went out at night and rapped for people on Hollywood Boulevard. When we made $5 we’d get weed or food.

When people asked me where I was from I’d say, “I’m from L.A. I’m here to be a rapper and I’m going to make it big.” One day I went to Columbia Records and I tried to go inside. A security guard said, “Oh no, you can’t come in here. You have to have an appointment.” It hit me that it’s not as easy as I thought. I need exposure for them to represent me. I realized it takes years to get recognized. That’s too much work. I stopped writing as much music and I stopped bragging about it. The more I thought about it, the sillier I thought it was.

The shelter staff lectured us that education was the only way to get to our dreams, so I started going to the shelter school. After I told a counselor at the shelter about my problems at home, they put me in the foster care system and I was assigned a social worker. I moved to a foster home for a month, then with my grandmother. She wanted me to come back. She felt I should be at home instead of in a stranger’s house.

I kept moving from place to place

For the next two years, I never stayed put for longer than three months. It wasn’t long before my grandmother got fed up with my behavior again. I was sent to my mother in Victorville, 90 minutes from L.A., where I got tired of my mother and the foster care system. I didn’t feel in control of my life, with a social worker checking on me every week, asking how I felt and controlling who I saw. After saving up money I took the Greyhound bus to Las Vegas and moved in with a friend. I didn’t stay there long, about two to three months, which wasn’t a surprise. I returned to the shelter in Hollywood but when they contacted my social worker, I left because I didn’t want to be in foster care.

I tried staying at my dad’s house but he told me he could get in trouble for keeping me when I’m supposed to be in the system. I realized my only option was to go back to the system or be homeless. I was tired of moving around so I went back to foster care. On April 8, 2010, the day before my 17th birthday, I was placed in a foster home. That day I found out the woman was my aunt on my dad’s side. I was a little more comfortable because her family was my family. But I was still being disrespectful. I ditched school to hang out and didn’t bother doing work when I did attend. Some nights when I was partying I stayed out until the next day. I got kicked out of school for cussing my teacher out.

I got in a few fights with the three other foster girls in the house. One time I was joking around with my roommate about how she looked. She said, “B**** I will beat your a**” and that’s all it took to make me snap. I cussed and hit the girl. My foster mom requested a seven-day notice, which gives the system seven days to move you out of a house.

They placed me in a group home, which is a home where foster youth live with adult staff. The place was nasty. The first night I saw a bug crawling on my bed. The girls walked around cussing and demanding things. They didn’t allow us to go anywhere or do anything. We had to earn freedom, which took weeks or months. We had to eat according to a schedule and weren’t allowed to go in the kitchen. I felt like I was in prison. I called my social worker and complained.

Two days later, I was moved back to my aunt’s temporarily. She was very ill in the hospital. I didn’t want to get kicked out again and go to another group home so I was on my best behavior. A few nights later as my aunt lay in the hospital bed, she said she had decided to give me a second chance. I was happy. That was a wake-up call. I sat down and thought about my future. I told myself, “Don’t go back to your old ways.”

Since I had gotten kicked out of my last school, my only option was a continuation school in Long Beach. My first day the teacher asked me, “What’s your favorite subject?” I said English and he started me on it. He asked me, “Why are you here?” I told him I cussed a teacher out. He made a joke, “I’m a nice guy so you won’t want to cuss me out.” I laughed. And that’s how it started. I sat down and did some work.

I became a good student

I continued doing all the right things for the next couple weeks. When my aunt came out of the hospital she saw that I was doing good. I got my first report card in a long time without Ds and Fs and it only got better. I liked the school. There were no cliques or gossiping and we got to work at our own pace. When I got a lot of work done my teacher, Mr. Napoltes, would tell me I did the most assignments for the day for a week straight. He said if I kept it up I would graduate before I knew it. It kept me going.

I also began the Independent Living Program, which are classes the foster care system offers to prepare you to become an adult and live on your own, like how to write a check, pay your bills and grocery shop. I had thought that as long as you worked, you would have everything you needed.

We budgeted how much housing, food and clothing cost in a year. Then we compared a job at a fast-food restaurant to one you need a college degree to get, like business or nursing. With the fast-food job we couldn’t get half the stuff we needed. Our ILP teachers said the system can help pay for college. They said that if you go to college, you’ll have a better future. But if you sit around it’s going to be harder. I realized I’m not going to make it without an education.

I never missed an ILP class and I was always on time. At the end of the six-week program, I got a certificate that called me Most Persistent. I knew I was being more serious. I said, “If I can go through this class, I can go through school and college.”

I realized that no matter where you go, there will be rules and you have to follow them. I want to go to college and become successful. For once in my life I want to stay put and focus. I don’t want to run anymore.

So far, life is great. I have all As. I want to go into the Navy, take college classes and be a journalist. I’ve realized success is a process, it happens slowly as you push toward it. I’m determined to be successful.

Family Ties And Mom's New Baby

rgee — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 11:52:16 -0600

This story was originally published on WABE-FM, Atlanta.

By Deborah Harris

Adobe Flash Player is not installed. Please download and install it to listen to audio.

(download mp3)

For ten years, my family has consisted of my mom, a younger sister and me. We’ve moved around a lot. From California, to Arizona, to Georgia and Florida. We’ve lived in at least seven different places in the past two years and I love it. I like the fact that I’ve gotten used to adapting quickly in different situations. So much change has made me really close to my mom and my sister.

This year, my mom delivered my youngest sister at our house. She didn’t even have a nurse or a midwife with her. Only the baby’s daddy was there with her. My mom said she planned on having more kids. I wonder how our family dynamic will change now. I love the thought of a bigger family – cheaper by the dozen, right? But I also wonder if my close-knit family will come apart.

As my mom’s first baby, she always provided me with security and love through hard times and constant change. And now, as the oldest child, I can help my mom do the same for my youngest sister. As people say, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gives you a baby, well, you love her.

Previously on WABE:

* Learning American Culture In The Fast Food Lane

* Always The New One In School: Rules For Survival

Letting Go

mjohnson — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 22:28:15 -0500

It’s hard to help someone who can no longer help themselves, especially when that person is someone you love. When you put forth all of your energy into helping them, it becomes easy to lose sight of your own personal needs. Yet, it seems so natural to worry about them, and to put their needs above your own. That was the relationship i had with my mom for many years. Her drinking had become more important to her than her own well being, and even though she had tried countless aa groups, none of them stuck for more than a month. With my brothers gone, i found myself playing the role of her crutch. In a sense i acted as her daughter as well as her mother, keeping my phone on me in case she might call, picking her up late at night, and making excuses when she failed over and over again at being a parent. As a teenager i was angry and upset. I couldn’t understand how she could continue drinking despite the strain it put on my entire family. It was so hard for me to accept the fact that no matter what i did, i couldn’t keep her from drinking. And although it pained me to see someone i loved so much lose control of their life, i couldn’t take it anymore. Being a kid i needed to worry less about my mom and more about my own mental health. I needed to stop being there for her, not because i didn’t love her, but because all i was doing was making it okay for her to drink. In a way i wasn’t allowing my mom to face the consequnces of her actions. If you truly love somebody, you have to learn to let them go. As important as they are to you, nobody’s well being should be above your own. But letting somebody go doesn’t mean that you have to stop caring about them, rather it gives them a chance to stand on their own feet. Whether they fly or fall isn’t your responsibility. The best thing i could do to help my mom, was to let her face her problems on her own. Sadly, it wasn’t until my mom hit bottom that she decided to get help for herself. I don’t love my mom any less for being an alcoholic, instead i embrace the struggles she’s been through and admire the obstacles she’s overcome to get where she is today. As hard as it was for me to let her go, it forced me to focus on my own needs and allowed her to take responsibility for her actions. I’m lucky to still have my mom with me today, but getting help and staying sober was something my mom had to do for herself.

Family Comes First

dwilliams — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 22:49:27 -0500

What is family? Is family the people you grow up with? Or is family the people that you spend countless hours with?To me family is the people that have been there for me and always will be there for me. I have two brothers, two sisters and my beautiful parents who raised us all. I am the youngest and potentially the most complex of the family. Like the majority of people, family can be special on certain occasions and family can be annoying on other occasions. As of right now I am not in the best terms with my siblings, my siblings are much older than me and I am on a completely different mindset than they are, so it’s difficult for us to understand our ideas without arguing. I am usually dependent on my family, but lately I feel like I have been standing solo, I know they will always be there to catch me when I fall, but as of right now space is necessary for us to relax and eventually come together in the future. All families seem to have similar aspects within themselves whether it’s arguing, going out together, or just messing around. Some people don’t have a family support system or at least they don’t feel like it is family, so they turn to friends, teachers, or counselors for attention or help with their problems. Family is a basic foundation of how someone grows up, the people around you sculpt you to the person that you are regardless of your neighborhood, and friends, and as you get older you begin to develop into your own person. I am very fortunate to have my family. I know that we don’t talk that much, I know I sleep in the same room as my brother and we don’t talk, I know that I see my sister everyday and we don’t talk, but I do know that one day we will all talk again and we will be reunited as the family we were once. Family is not an object, family is not to be taken advantage, family will always be there, and family is love.

They're All I Have

rgee — Wed, 20 Jul 2011 17:58:21 -0500

This story was originally published on LA Youth.

Author's name withheld.

When I was 6, my brothers and sister and I went to live with my aunt because my mom used drugs. I was happy when my aunt took us all in because we could be together. There are five of us and we always took care of each other because our mom couldn’t.

At first Aunt Charlotte was nice to us all—my older brothers Tyler and Roland, my little sister Alicia, my little brother Christopher and me. For our first Christmas and birthdays with her, she bought me and my sister Barbie dolls and my brothers a basketball and all of us bikes and scooters.

But after about six months, for some reason that I still don’t know, she stopped being nice. If things didn’t go Aunt Charlotte’s way, she would yell at us and hit us. We’d get whoopings if she thought our facial expressions were disrespectful (even if we weren’t trying to be), if we didn’t eat all of our food or if we didn’t flush the toilet. She’d say, “Who didn’t flush the toilet?” None of us would say anything, but my big brother Tyler, who is three years older than me, would say, “I did it.” Even though he hadn’t, he’d take the whooping for us.

Tyler was always taking care of us. No matter whose turn it was to clean the bathroom or the kitchen, Tyler would help and most of the time he’d even clean for us.

I tried to be like Tyler and keep an eye on my younger siblings. Christopher struggled with his grades. I protected him by sometimes lying to Aunt Charlotte and telling her he was doing OK in school. This kept him from having to stand in the corner for hours by himself and getting another whooping. If Alicia got hit I would try to cheer her up by doing a silly dance in our bedroom just to make her laugh. I didn’t want her to feel sad, because whenever she was sad, I felt sad with her. I wanted her to know that she has someone who loves and cares about her.

When I was around my brothers and sisters, I could joke around without worrying about getting in trouble, but I was quiet around Aunt Charlotte to save myself from the abuse. Aunt Charlotte would call me ugly and talk about my dark skin and short hair. I was almost always scared.

She would threaten us, “If any of you tell on me they will split you all up.” She made it seem like we wouldn’t see each other again until we were grown. She told us no one would want to take in five foster kids. I believed her because raising five kids is hard work. My siblings and I were too afraid to tell anyone about the abuse.

On weekends, we got away from the abuse

But on weekends we could just be kids and have fun. We’d go to a church member’s house and we would play tag and jump rope together. One game we’d play was “Sir, yes sir!” One of my older brothers would be in charge and tell the rest of us what to do. He would say, “Give me a lap!” We’d say, “Sir, yes sir!” and run around the front yard. You weren’t allowed to laugh, and if you did, you’d get penalized with an extra lap or push-ups. It was hard not to laugh because he’d deepen his voice to try to sound older.

When I was 11 years old, our church mom wanted to take all of us in and told us to ask Aunt Charlotte if we could live with her instead. People at church knew my Aunt Charlotte was very strict, and looking back, I think our church mom suspected something was wrong. My sister and I were afraid to ask Aunt Charlotte because we knew she’d get mad and say no. But we thought that if our church mom knew about the abuse we wouldn’t need to get Aunt Charlotte’s permission to move. So a few weeks later my sister and I told our church mom about the abuse. After we finished telling her she started crying and hugged us. It felt good that there was someone who wanted us to be happy and safe.

My church mom called the Department of Children and Family Services and reported the abuse, but when the social workers asked us if Aunt Charlotte hit us, we lied and said that she didn’t. We were so scared about how Aunt Charlotte might react and that we would be separated that we couldn’t tell the truth.

One day during school a few months later, Alicia, Christopher and I were called out of class. When we got to the office our social worker was there and said, “You’re coming with me.” I was happy that we would finally be moving but I was crying because I didn’t know where I was going to go. I had no idea why our social worker came that day, but looking back, my guess is that our church mom called the foster care system again.

The social worker brought us to her office. My brother Roland had packed up clothes for all of us and the social worker brought him and Tyler to the office. We lived in a temporary foster home for three months while the system looked for family members who would let us live with them.

My Uncle George took my three brothers in and my Auntie Tanya took me and Alicia in. It was good that we were with family but it sucked that I wasn’t going to be able see my brothers all the time. They lived in South L.A. and we lived about an hour away in North Hollywood. The system separated us because they wanted the girls to live with a woman and the boys to live with a man.

I’d see my brothers when my uncle would come and get my sister and me for the weekend. I didn’t feel as close to them seeing them only twice a month. I missed talking to them about what was going on in our lives. I missed walking to school with Christopher. I didn’t know what they were doing or if they had friends or girlfriends. Most days I didn’t even know if they were happy.

I didn’t get along with Aunt Tanya because she’s a neat freak. My sister and I shared a closet and would stack our folded clothes on the floor. That would make Aunt Tanya mad. She didn’t want to see any clothes on the floor ever. She would say, “If you guys want to stay with me you’re going to have to clean up after yourselves. I can’t live in a dirty home.” But my sister and I thought our room was clean.

I called my brothers when I needed them

When I’d get into a fight with my aunt and needed someone to cheer me up I would call Tyler or Roland. Roland would say, “Don’t talk back to her and do what she says.” I thought it was good advice because it would stop the argument.

She decided to give us up a year later because she said we were giving her a hard time. I was kind of glad to leave, but I didn’t know where Alicia and I would go. I wanted to move in with my uncle but I didn’t know if that was possible. I also worried that Alicia and I would be moved farther away and see our brothers even less.

Alicia and I moved in with Uncle George temporarily while the foster care system tried to find us another woman to live with. I was happy that I would be able to spend more time with my brothers, but sad that it wasn’t going to last long.

While we were living with Uncle George, he took us to Hawaii. It was amazing. I got on a plane for the first time. I’m scared of heights, but it was super cool to see the clouds up close. It was fun to spend time with my siblings away from everybody else. Hawaii has the clearest and bluest water and the beach is so clean. We went snorkeling. That was scary because we were in the ocean and I’m not a good swimmer. But it was fun and I felt safe because Alicia let me hold on to her and I was wearing a life jacket. We also went to a luau (a traditional Hawaiian feast on the beach). Every day we would tell Uncle George, “Thank you for taking us on this trip.”

When we got back to California my social worker found a wonderful lady, Shonda, for me and my sister to live with. Shonda lived in Watts, about a 10-minute drive from my uncle’s house, so we got to see my brothers almost every weekend.

After about nine months with Shonda, when I was 14 years old, my uncle told me and Alicia that he was getting a room ready for us to move in soon, but he didn’t know exactly when. I was so excited that I would finally get to live with my brothers again.

A couple months later when he picked us up for a weekend visit he surprised me by saying, “You’re moving in with me.” I said, “Oh my god, for real?!” I was super happy. I smiled while I packed that night and kept thinking about getting to talk with my brothers every day and finding out who they’re dating and how they’re doing in school—stuff a sister should know.

We share rap battles and road trips

Living with my uncle has been amazing. My brothers and sister and I have been able to share the important moments. When my boyfriend in eighth grade cheated on me and dumped me, my brothers said not to cry over that guy, because I would find someone better. And Christopher and I have dance and rap battles during the holidays with Alicia as judge.

My uncle likes to travel and he took us to the Grand Canyon our first summer with him. He takes us to San Diego and in 2009 we visited San Francisco when we took my brother Roland to college in northern California. Everyone tried not to be the first one to fall asleep during car rides, because whoever did would get a wet willie, which is when someone licks their finger and sticks it in your ear while you’re sleeping. Christopher got the first one on the way to San Francisco, and I got one, too. It was disgusting, but I’ll always remember those wet willies.

We also go to church and the movies and lots of family events with our uncle. My uncle’s family meets up on Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter. We all go to Aunt Lena’s house and she cooks a lot of the food. In the morning or the night before, Alicia and I help my uncle make enchiladas or sweet macaroni and cheese so we can bring it to the gathering. The family eats, plays cards and dominoes, and catches up. I’m happy because I’m around people who show my siblings and me love.

I understand why the foster care system separated my brothers from me and Alicia. They were trying to place us with adult family members. But they didn’t realize that staying together was even more important to us than staying with relatives. Ever since we were young and lived with our mom, we’ve been the only ones we could count on to take care of each other. I feel blessed that I was reunited with my brothers. We’ve been living together for four years in a loving home. I finally have what I’ve always wanted.

Involvement in Gang Violence at a Young Age

lgomer — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 18:20:38 -0500

Many youth today get involved in gangs due to the want of being protected because it is said that once you’re in the gang, you are a part of the “family.” But once you do get pulled into the gang it’s hard to get out of it. Friends of mine, and even family members, have been involved in gang violence and I assure you that it was never a good feeling knowing that they’re out there, out in the city fearing or preparing for death itself. In some cases these gangs are like a “safe house” where they say that once you’re in you won’t have to be afraid of anything but in actuality what you do end up being afraid of is being shot or killed spontaneously within these streets. Many get involved in gang violence and they don’t know what to do because if you leave the gang you won’t have that protection or the feeling of belonging and accepted, but if you stay in the gang you live in constant fear and preparation of death every time you walk out the door. It’d be easier not to get involved with anything that has to do with gangs because they may be “family” but what kind of family puts you in constant danger. But it is also understandable that in some other cases many get into gangs because it’s part of their family tradition or culture. They get involved due to the gang being a generation kind of thing where your grandpa did it then your father then it having to be your responsibility after your father steps down. I also know that the feeling of being accepted in some kind of group is always there because there is always that kind of need of want for something more. For those that are vulnerable gangs offer protection and a sense of community. When you feel unwanted you seek a safer option, the gang tells you they’ll be there for you in whatever situation that arises. If I were in a position where I felt unaccepted and I hear about a group that says they’ll be there to support you no matter the situation, of course I’d likely get pulled in just knowing that fact. So it’s understandable that some may have that want of acceptance and security. In many cases today some get into gangs because of their environment. Things they see around them influence who they become. I highly encourage another way of comradely acts that will not involve or result into something dangerous.

My Family

MAledlah — Fri, 20 May 2011 19:32:05 -0500

Living in a family as the only boy with six sisters isn’t always the sweetest thing, but I love my sisters no matter what and I will always protect them. My sisters might think I’m too strict or mean, but deep down inside I love them. I’m strict because I don’t want them to make as many mistakes as I did. Two of my sisters are older and four are younger. My youngest sister was born last month. Her name is Fatimah and she is my favorite of the family. Having so many sisters comes with advantages and disadvantages. The disadvantages are that whenever my little sisters get into arguments they always come complain to me when I’m in the middle of something. Also, when I ask my older sisters for something they ignore me until I repeat myself for the tenth time. The advantages are that my big sisters are always there for me whenever I need them to do me a favor, like helping me convince my parents to let me go hang out. Another advantage is when ever imp feeling lazy I can usually ask my little sisters to give me something to drink or a small snack and they say yes most of the time, if not I have to bribe them. Last but not least, I love my baby sister but I rarely get to hold her because my mom is always holding her and she doesn’t want to let her go. I guess it’s a mother thing? Anyways I think I'm blessed to have such a great family.

The Music Dream

Chernadez — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 22:19:27 -0500

Everyone likes music right? But how many of us are willing to put our dedication and time into the music industry?

I mean it’s easy to dream but how many of us will stick to that dream like I have? I’ve seen the life of a musician and imp pretty sure we all have. I’ve seen it through TV, movies, and even in a song, over and over again.
To me it seems quite lonely, so lonely it seems pretty much unbearable. We’ve all seen it, the famous musicians such as Kurt cobia, dj am, and James Sullivan who commit suicide or overdose because of the isolation of their friends and family. But despite the possibility loneliness, I want to pursuit this dream. I’ve been interested in music since I was five and I give all thanks and love to my family. I mean, I’ve been told most of my family has either been engaged in making music or playing, like my father who’s been dj since he was seventeen. I can relate to it which makes me feel right at home when I pick up any instrument.
for someone like me who’s a bit meek and timid the first time meeting someone new, I see singing, rapping, or even playing my guitar as away escape to express myself whether someone listens or not. Unlike speaking, I sing with confidence, like most musicians who spill their heart out to the audience or the dance floor. But don’t get me wrong, I get stage fright when I know I have to perform but that’s totally fine with me because by the time I get up there and start playing I’m a whole different person. I’m more energetic and bold and I forget what’s around me, only to drown myself in music itself. My mother says that a song of Alicia keys reminds her of me every time she hears it, it’s called “cage bird” and the reason she says this is because the moral of the song is that a cage bird is trapped but finds singing as its only source of freedom, due to its incapability to fly. Once I heard the song I felt like I was singing it myself. I’m just a cage bird singing until I can fly. So I can share my songs across the world….

What I Care About

nmexico — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 12:52:42 -0500

By Bashar Jawad

I care about my parents because they are the ones who brought me to this world. They get me anything I want. They take me to my basketball games and school. They help me in everything.

I care about basketball because this is “my thing”. This is what I want to do when I grow up. This is basically what I imagine my future to be. This is my life. This is my dream. Basketball is me.

I care about my friends because they help me through everything. They help me through tough times. They make me feel better. Friends are basically why I go to school besides education.

I care about school because school is what teaches me, and will help me in the future. Education is the most important thing to ever have in your life. It’s the basis of your life.

I care about my family because they inspire me to step through my whole entire life. These are the people who I really love and they are the people who will stay in my heart forever. A family is what I like to call a “team”.

I care about Palestine because Palestine is my roots. This is where I am from. My ancestors, my grandparents, and my parents are born there. I care about it because there isn’t any freedom there and it’s not the same like America. You have to fight for justice in Palestine and that’s what makes you a true human being. There’s only one way in my opinion to feel how to be a true human, and that is by going to Palestine and feeling the pain. The pain to be ruled over. The pain to be controlled. The pain of what it’s like to fight.

I care about Generation Justice because it has inspired me to do other things I never thought I could do. It gives me opportunities that I will maybe never get to do again. It gives me the opportunity to get my voice heard. It gives me the opportunity to meet new people. It gives me the opportunity to travel to other places and see how the world really is. Generation Justice is my home.

A Child's View Of Domestic Violence

rgee — Wed, 02 Mar 2011 12:21:46 -0600

The following was originally published on Minnesota Public Radio.

By Valencia McMurray, Minnesota Public Radio.

More than a quarter of American children experience parents physically fighting each other at some time in their lives. Early researchers into family violence often considered children to be "invisible victims", but that view is changing.

MPR reporter Valencia McMurray revisits an incident that happened in her family when she was six and has kept a hold on her family 14 years later.

St. Paul, Minn. -- My story begins Sept. 30, 1997, at 652 Bush in St. Paul. I remember being inside this house. I remember my father standing right here on this porch, almost exactly where I'm standing, banging on the door. He just wanted to talk. She didn't want to listen to him but I feel like she also didn't listen to us. Because we told her, "Don't go outside mom. Please don't go outside, mom."

"I should have listened," said my mom. "But I figured, it's going to be all right. The neighbors are all outside, and I just thought we were going to be safe. But we wasn't."

I remember his eyes were red. He was not himself. He was someone else. There was no love in that man.

"We sat out there and we talked and I told him that we couldn't get back together and I think that's what made him mad," said my mom. "Because when I got up and turned my back to come in the house, that's when he stabbed me and y'all was screaming and hollering."

I remember standing beside my sister inside. The youngest of my brothers was a few feet ahead of me and then the second oldest of my siblings, Jermaine who was 15, was trying to get through the screen door.

"It just looked like he was hitting her and then I saw the streetlights glisten off the blade," said Jermaine. He had to make a split-second decision. "I'm standing in the doorway and I was going to run through the back door and come around front, but I didn't want to do that and then miss something and it'll be the last time I see my mom alive."

My dad stabbed my mom repeatedly. Thirteen times, according to the police report, but my family remembers it was 15.

"I remember feeling the knife go into my neck," said my mom.

That's the only the one she felt. The rest she described as an out-of-body experience, like she was watching from above.

"I remember giving up," she said.

The last thing she remembers is the picture of the four of us kids screaming and crying.

"I remember that I saw y'all face and I couldn't give up," she said. "I kept saying 'who's going to take care of y'all if I give up?'"

Jermaine pushed his way out onto the porch to defend our mom and my dad stabbed him in the back. My mom managed to call 911 and my dad fled.

"My mom's laying on the porch, bleeding to death," said Jermaine. "And she's trying to talk to 911 and they're asking her questions."

He couldn't stand it: "I left my little sisters and brother with the neighbor and I told the police officers, 'If you don't catch him before I do, I'm killing the bastard.'"

Jermaine said he walked around St. Paul for three days with a brick in his hand.

"And I was on my way back to his house and my aunt called, and said the police just picked him up at his house," Jermaine said.

THE AFTERMATH

My dad spent 11 years in prison for trying to kill my mom. We had no contact with him.

Meanwhile, our family's life was a blur of moving to different states. My mom was too paranoid to live in any one place. My siblings and I never talked about that night we almost lost our mom. It wasn't until I turned 18 that I dared to look back at what happened and think about how it affected me.

Reading the police and court reports about that night in 1997, my sister and brothers and I are like background figures.

From the police report:

Squad 332, Officer McPeak was leaving East Team. I was approached by a hysterical young black male, later identified as Miller Jermaine Johnson. I then arrived on scene. There were several people standing on the porch. Children were crying hysterically. I asked that the children be taken away from the scene. I kneeled down and attempted to interview her as to what happened...

I asked my mom how she remembers us.

"Nobody really ever asked me 'How are the kids doing?' she said. "And you know, I think about that all the time, 'How did that affect y'all?' Because when y'all was little and when it happened, I was trying to get you to therapy to talk to someone, wouldn't none of y'all go. Everyone was so angry, but no one ever told me how they felt about anything."

She's right. Until this interview, I hadn't talked to her about it.

I avoided those emotions and thought this was in the past.

WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?

Jeffrey Edleson, directer of the Minnesota Center against Violence and Abuse at the University of Minnesota, said this isn't unusual at all. Edleson is an expert on how domestic violence affects kids. He said it's a relatively new phenomenon to look at the long-term effects on kids.

"It's only 25 to 30 years ago that we started to even mention the kids," said Edleson. "It's only in the last 10 to 15 years that a lot of attention has been given to kids. So I think we're just at a starting point of responding to kids exposed to domestic violence."

Edleson said kids who grew up with parents physically fighting each other are two to three times more likely to use violence in their own relationships, or become victims. That was certainly true in my case.

As a kid, I got into many fights with others. I was a bully. I remember this kid, David. All I remember is my first punch. Then, I blacked out. That scared me. "I'm just like my dad," I thought. I made a decision right then, at 12 years old, to stop fighting and I haven't since.

It doesn't seem like my siblings have done the same. My mom has also noticed too.

"I guess the boys do got a lot of anger," she said. "And it upsets me that they do the things that they saw done to me. It really bothers me."

It really bothers me too. I don't want my nieces and nephews to see things I've seen, or to think violence is how you solve problems. Edleson said all men have the ability to change. The will to change will come and go depending on pressures from outside.

"It's learned, and it can be unlearned and new ways can be learned and that's the one thing I'm really optimistic about," said Edleson.

According to Edleson, education and treatment can help offenders end their violent behavior, and the entire community needs to give clear and consistent messages that violence is not OK.

"I've seen lots of people in the work that I did with men who batter. A lot of men change, and make big changes in their lives," said Edleson.

My dad walked back into my life on my 18th birthday. The courts had prevented him from contacting me until then. He called me up from his home in Wisconsin, and it was clear, the only thing that had changed was time.

I was really mad because I couldn't understand how he thought we could start talking like nothing happened and like it wasn't a big deal. He didn't seem to think about how that one night has affected my whole life up to this point and is continually affecting the way I see men.

His reply: "Well, that's the way I was raised. I was raised in violence."

This made me angrier, because if you understand how badly something has ripped holes in your heart and your life, why would you put that same burden on those you claim to love? Wouldn't you want to stop that cycle and keep your kids from that? I told him I lost him. I almost lost my mom.

And if I could give up violence, he could too.

I'm still waiting.