Jason ponders his life

Trade My Blues

When I was a little boy I wanted to be a race car driver like Al Unser Jr.  I wanted to be filthy right so that I could buy a mansion with sixty rooms so all of my family could live there.  We’d have three big hotel kitchens and a huge backyard with a pool and a race track.

When I was a little bit older, I wanted to be a doctor/policeman so I could heal people, rescue kittens and lock up the bad guys.  (Never imagined that I’d be one of the bad guys.)  I’d drive a Porsche and have lots of girlfriends.  Life would be good.

As a teenager, I wanted to be an All-Pro NFL QB/HB/WR/Free Safety and a rapper.  The football was because I was good at it, the rap because I wanted to tell my story.  All of it would make me rich, but my sports cars became Cadillacs with candy paint.  I was going to show the world how we do it down South.

By my eighteenth birthday, I’d smoked away so much of my ambition, drank and squandered my hopes, dreams and scholarships, and one-night-standed my hurt into a constant state of mistrust.  Sports required too much energy, and I could rap my behind off, so well that somebody would find me and offer me a record deal.  So I kicked back, fired up blunts, slept with my gorgeous woman as I could and watched life pass me by in a cannabis saturated daze, resentment brewing below the surface, the oppressive clouds of higher expectations hanging over my head like pregnant thunderheads.  And when lightning struck, thunder cracked and the afterbirth of failure rained down on me.  I didn’t even seek cover.  I just sat there, wet and high, wishing I was somebody else, anybody but me.

Life continued like that for years, perpetual storm clouds hovering, smothering any budding hope, the floods of failure swimming around me, licking at my chin, threatening to drown me, threatening to extinguish the ever burning, ever present blunt between my lips and make me surrender to my awful reality.  Between the inside outs of jail, my inability to stay faithful to any woman in my life, my drug dependency, I would have gladly traded places with someone else because I felt that I was ruined, a lost cause.  My kids deserved better, my mom deserved better, my wife and my girlfriends deserved better and all I felt was  that I deserved to die, to be at peace.

You know, it’s sad . . . my kids are and have been the brightest thing in my life since their births, but with the exception of them, the brightest thing about me had become the orange ember flaring at the tip of my latest blunt.  I really wanted to be a chef or a zoologist, anything working with food or animals, but those people didn’t get rich and it was all about the money, wasn’t it?

After seven long years in prison, more than my fair share of trials and tribulations, ups and downs, spiritual highs and emotional catastrophes, I don’t dream the way I used to.  I still dream often, but it is the quality of my dreams that is different.  No more are the dreams of mansions, Italian cars, super stardom or any such foolishness.  I don’t ever dream of being someone else.  I tried to imagine what it would be like to be Jay-Z, the money, the status, the beautiful wife . . . but those are his dreams from his journey.  None of that moves me anymore.  Just the thought of trading my life for someone else’s seems absurd.

Now I understand what Maya Angelou meant, “Wouldn’t Give Nothin for My Journey Now:  This Is My life.”  I cannot undo the past, but I can make the most of the present and stride proudly into my future.

Even with my struggles, my circumstances, the odds against me, I do not wish for a shortcut or an easy way out, because this is my journey.  I must go through this as I climb towards greatness.  No longer am I in the shadows of hustlers, thugs and dope dealers.  No, my aspirations will leave me in the presence of the Kings, X’s, Kennedys and Lincolns.

It’s a hard journey, but now I’m wise enough to know that this journey is part of who I am to become, it strengthens the power of my fight to righteousness, it glorifies the mercy and goodness of God, it proves that God will bring you up from the lowest of the low and use you for good.  I will touch and inspire a great many people because of who I’ve become, of who I’m becoming.  I may never rush for or pass for 200 yards and score four touchdowns in front of a stadium of people, I may not ever take the checkered flag at Indy, I may never rock a sold out arena of screaming fans, but I will stand before many crowds and tell of my journey . . . sometimes I’ll cry, sometimes I’ll shout, sometimes I’ll laugh, console, hug, pray with . . . but I’ll always reach and reach and reach because only my arms can touch them.  I am God’s tool.

My journey . . . yeah, my journey is priceless, my struggles are my struggles, my stories are my stories.  No, I wouldn’t trade my blues or my simple dreams of fishing, spending time with my kids, or cutting my lawn.  I am who I am because of my journey, and I wouldn’t trade my blues.

                                                                                                                                                                     

Lesson #40

“If we wall threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab our back.”

Lesson #13

“Don’t compare your life to others.  You have no idea what their journey is all about.”

Regina Brett

Author of The Plain Dealer

Jason has hopes for the New Year 2012

January 3, 2012

Well, here I am again.  But this time I’m all the way positive, my mind is clear and I’m ready for the journey.  Yeah, the stuff I’d written before was … ah… kinda scattered and dark.  So I trashed it.  Yep.  Felt good too.  I knew you’d understand, I only want to embrace the good.  Oh I know that bad is a part of life and I’ll express that too, but those last pages of writing were not me.

So glad you enjoy your holidays!  Happy New Year!  I see you never stopped working.  I’m going to follow your lead and work my tail off this year.  I put in work in 2011, but I could and will give more.

Already I’ve been delinquent on the workouts, on my reading and prayer.  And it’s crazy how the milestones seem to bring about another level of noticeable clarity and maturity.  With each passing day I see myself more separate from the rest of these people.  I look at the television less and watch the people.  No one it at a standstill, they’re either progressing or regressing.  Gotta get better, anything else is madness!

What’s it been for us, three years now?  Doesn’t seem that long and what a difference you and Joe have made in my life.  Positive people planting positive seeds.  Hope you’re proud of your fruit.

It’s really quite a story, especially when you look at the friendship that developed, although you busy are more parents than friends, but still friends.  You know what I mean. 

By now, we know that I’m super extra sensitive when it comes to people I love.  And I don’t remember exactly how the exchange went, but I only implied sending the letters for Letters to My children book to my aunts because 1) they suggested that, 2) I don’t want to assume that I can just cook up some book idea and that I’m special, I’m just considering all the work ya’ll put into the first book and I just don’t want to be imposing.  My intention was not to offend or give the impression that I wish to go through someone else.  It’s just me being me.  I must be considerate of what you guys have going on.  After all, I would not be where I am now (in my writing) if not for you.  It’s important that you understand that you are appreciated and that I do not nor would I ever take you for granted.

Can you sense my excitement though?  It’s bigger than the book idea, which was excellent (I’ll have to thank my aunts).  It’s that I’ve been holding in so much concerning my kids and the idea of getting it all out, hoping that it falls into their hands and get a chance to know me and my truths…it’s very exciting.

Then, I’m sure that I’m going to go ahead and follow through on one of the novels.  No excuses this year.  I’m almost looking forward to this lockdown which should be any day now.  If I don’t call this weekend, you know we are locked down.  It’s rumored to only be two weeks instead of 30 days, but I’ll have to see that to believe it.

Anyhow, I wrote the first letter on New Year’s Eve.  That’s how I wanted to bring in my new year, reaching out to my babies.  It’s going to be cleansing and therapeutic.  I’m going to be able to say things to them that I can’t say to others and share a part of me that most people never get to see.  As serious as I am, I’m a big kid at heart. 

Well, your Broncos made it in by the skin of their teeth.  Pittsburg is going to be a challenge, but they can be beat.  My poor Texans are going to have to fight for everything, but my Saints should have a cake walk. If they can beat Green Bay, and they can, they’ll win the Super Bowl.

Okay, back to the book (can you tell I’m excited?) I can see the cover and everything!

I know you said that you’re not religious, but do you believe in angels?  Growing up I always imagined guardian angels as like fairy people hovering over us to guard us.  But now I think that people on earth can be guardian angels, servants of God sent into the lives of those in despair to guide them back to hope.  God sent me two of his best!

Ha, look at me going on and on and on!  I’ll wrap it up here and send this out.  Hope you got the card I sent, I forgot to ask on the phone.  Be good and stay warm!

Love,

P.S.  Could you make me another resolution sheet like you did last year?  My 2012 resolutions are included.

2012

Reach out to my kids!

Humble myself!

Be even more productive!

Be more positive!

Be steadfast in my faith!

Be motivated!

Be even more courteous!

Never slack off!

Persevere without and through failure!

Learn from y mistakes as well as the mistakes of others!

Never fail!

Never make mistakes!!!

Essay - ARCHITECTURE

Years ago, I noticed the title of one of Talib Kaels’ CDs “The Beautiful Struggle” and I wondered, what in the hell is so beautiful about it?

Today, I listened as two TDCJ officers talked about fighting to a younger inmate.  They were enthusiastically promoting the use of violence to solve a problem.  Usually I hold my tongue but I chose to step in.  I told them that a “man” fights mentally, that you can’t think of one place in industrialized society where grown men fight outside of the boxing ring.

Both of these men looked at me like I’d just admitted to wearing pink g-string panties.  One is a regular prison guard but the other is a Safe Prisons officer, a Sergeant.  How ironic?  I was the only “man” in the room and looked down on for rejecting ignorance.

The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I became.  How could I be frowned upon by guys who haven’t seen a percentage of the death and pain in the streets that I have?  With all the dirt and blood on my hands, those dudes would dare to look down on me.

In that moment I understood The Beautiful Struggle.  Yes, it is beautiful that a gangster can become a gentle man, that one who has taken so much can learn to give, to live, to promote life.

Their rejection of me caused something in me to wither and die, their judgment murdered a part of me…but from that death, something greater was born.  Enlightenment.  In that tragic moment, the rays of revelation shone upon me.  I realized that the world is composed of people, builders and destroyers.  Those two prison guards are destroyers, looking to further tear down a peo0ple already crippled by negativity, ignorance and self-defeat.  But I am a builder.  It is my calling to construct and reconstruct, to build and stabilize, to fortify, to support, to salvage.  No, we won’t be rebuilt overnight or in a day, and I won’t be able to do it alone, but in time, through hard work, dedication and vision, I know that we can be restored to pride, strength and dignity.

A Beautiful Struggle indeed!  I am down for the cause and up to the challenge.  What about you?  Have you come all this way to demolish or build?