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 is in a reflective mood

November 6, 2011

Dear Jan,

Whew! If I could just slowdown time for a moment…well…nah…better not do that. Gotta be careful what I wish for. Slowing down time in prison isn’t such a great idea.

Great to talk to you and Joe! You guys are really family! I look forward to the warm and welcoming voice. You are the best. Since you’ve come into and stayed in my life, I’ve become a lot less cynical. I almost expect good in people, at least I look for it. Ah, the power of love.

How crazy is it that now, instead of looking for drugs to calm my nerves, I reach for a hot cup of tea. I feel so civilized. Actually, my mom would give me tea before bed. Bigelow offered so many flavors that I actually looked forward to my bedtime mug of tea.

I know I said I’d get a blog to you, but I ended up getting a visit from my uncle and I don’t want to visit that place I need to go to write that one. Surely you understand the emotional investment I put into my writing. I can’t go to a bitter or dark place half-heartedly. I become that mood.

Needless to say that the visit was good. He was so tired, I felt bad that he’d taken time to come see me instead of resting. I was touched, though, and told him so. I mean, he has his own kids and has been more of a father to me that anyone ever has. Hell, Joe too. Amazing thing…compassion.

You are so busy! It pays the bills, though, and you seem to enjoy rising to the occasion.

What you said to me a few weekends back has stuck in my head and my heart. Admitting that I need someone used to be an impossible task for me, yet now I do it without shame. Glad that I can fill the void and blessed that you kindly fill mine. True, I long to thrive in society on my own two feet, but love is something that we all need. Sometimes life moves so fast that we forget to express ourselves sincerely. It’s good to be able to reciprocate some of all the goodness you give.

Everyday shows me that we are mirrors. At work, I reflect the attitude in front of me. You’d be amazed at how it gets my point across. I’ll be short and curt with people who are curt with me and polite to the person right next to them.

Anyhow, not trying to blab on about me right now. I’m in more of a reflective mood. You know that when the dam burst though…

Have you ever thought of writing a book? Just curious. I think you’d write the perfect children’s books. You have that “motherly” quality that can’t be taught. You are a natural nurturer.

Animals! I love animals! My problem is that I want to know so much about them once interested. Whenever I get pictures of wildlife from you guys, my mind races, I “picture” myself there, smell the smells, and breathe the air.

Speaking of animals, I just fed my spider a juicy beetle!

Well, now I’m rambling. I’ll get some rest and prepare for this long week ahead of me. The Unit is being audited by its parent agency and it’s going to be madness. However, I will, no doubt, find the mood I need to write that blog. This place won’t allow for prolonged joy or even peace of mind.

 Good thing I can count on your hugs by the bundle on a regular basis!

Love,

Woe! Two days later and I’m cleaning up, I find your letter that I thought I’d mailed. Sorry. Guess I’m moving way too fast. On my way out in the morning, I’ll drop this for sure.

BLOG -  Love or Nothing

She hated me…and I thought that she loved me.  How could I not see that she hated me?  The abuse, the lack of affection, the distance…it definitely was not love.  Perhaps once upon a time it was, but in the end there was nothing there but pure hatred.

The strength of that vile emotion would still hurt to this day if I were still able to feel anything for her.  Maybe I hate her too?  But my hatred is not a violent, ugly, thrashing thing, it’s tamer, more subtle, probably not hate at all but numbness.  Yes, that’s what it is.  I’m not capable of hatred, no one can ever have that sort of power over me again in either direction, love or hate.

It’s also possible that some people cannot reciprocate kindness and tenderness…they need, thrive, feed off of neglect, disrespect and abuse.  Maybe she would have continued to love me if I beat her, kicks and punches instead of hugs and kisses?  I’ll never know.  Those are needs beyond my scope.  She needed to fight to love, all I needed was love.

So how can two people so wrong for each other seem (at one point in time) so right?  Together, in lust disguised as love, we created two gorgeous, intelligent children and a fair share of pleasant memories.  But, the destruction of the storm is what I remember most, what makes me weary of other women, suspicious of hidden hatred, malicious intent, evil in the eyes and venom in her words.  Although I know that I’ve never been the type to be alone, I fear a serious relationship with a woman who may turn out to be crazy and ignorant, and marriage is completely out of the question.  So am I destined for loneliness, or is there a woman out there who appreciates kindness and sincerity?  One can only hope.  I’ll flee from any abuse without understanding or regret, yet I will run to compassion and respect.  What I will not do is ever mistake hatred for love.  Miserable people deserve each other, I won’t be misery’s companion.  Not again.  Never again.  Love or nothing, and right now, nothing doesn’t sound so bad.

Life in Prison gets Jason Down

May 16, 2001 10:07 p.m.

 

Oh, Prison Life indeed!  How are you?  Good, I hope. I was avoiding writing you because I didn’t want to infect you with my funky mood.  But I couldn’t continue to not write you, so here I am.

So much nothing has happened.  Can’t lie, I was disappointed to learn that the book is not selling, because you did so much work, and it makes me feel lonely, like a failure. I thought for sure that my family would have bought copies at least.  That’s so very discouraging and I don’t want you guys to feel like you’ve wasted time and resources.

More bad news, I’ve not received the books.  The mailroom has been on some stupid stuff lately about invoices, so I don’t know what’s going on. I think if you report them to the main office they’ll leave us alone. They denied another guy’s paper for the same reason, but that’s bull, nothing is shipped from those stores without an invoice, you know?

And they get away with so much because people don’t listen. This is probably one of the most corrupt industries in our country. Oh, this guy will probably write, please don’t think that I just go around handing out your address, but people ask about me and the book, and you, and the back-story, and everyone has a story. I try to be discerning…but this guy’s tales of mistreatment are unreal, and I don’t see him enough to have relayed the story. He’s probably going to die in here from malpractice, so he’s no threat, but I figured you’d want to at least hear his story.

More Bad, we went on lockdown this morning for only God and Warden Scott know how long! They found a knife over here last week.  Came back today with the professional search squad and found like 13 more, one that looked like a sword!  So we are locked down.  I knew it was coming, but I thought I’d have moved by now.  Just my luck, I’ll miss out on the library job because I’m on lockdown.

The good news is, I’ve got a little food stored up and I’ll have plenty of time to write.

Sleepy now, much more to say but it’s been a long, stupid, day! Sat in the gym for hours in my boxers being cursed out and freezing. Then I come back (9am to 5pm) to find my mat gone along with my sheets and blanket. My leg hurts, I missed my doctor’s appointment…Tomorrow has to be better! And worst of all, I don’t have, want, or need a knife. I’m tired of paying coward’s debts.

Love,

P.S. Oh yeah, college started today.  I missed that.  But my uncle asked about the book. Still haven’t received my property.

 May 22, 2011 8:59 p.m.

One of those days! Naw, nothing fouler than the norm, but it’s been a doozie.

Finally drug out of bed at noon and made myself workout, but I haven’t done much else besides lay around. Crazy too, because I made a “to do” list and kinda just loafed around. I was supposed to write you, (I’m on that now), edit those blogs, write more of the book out and write more of the short story I’m working on. I did write more of the short story, but I do better at writing horror late at night when it’s quiet and my imagination can be delightfully wicked.

That’s what happened last night.  I was writing and I kept seeing a jeep full of teenagers cut off an old Ford on a country road.  I couldn’t shake the image, so I started writing. It’s coming along. That’s how most of my short stories develop, I see the characters and they won’t let me rest. Crystal, Rochelle, Chris, and Brennan kept me up until almost four in the morning, but I got a lot of very good writing done. Plus, when I get back to the book, it’ll flow.

Good and bad news on that.  Good news:  I came up with the remainder of the book and wrote it out (summarized). Bad news:  it’s going to take a lot of writing. I’ve got 89 completed now, pre-edit. I’m guessing I’m looking at 300 plus pages. I’ve done it before, though, and I can’t cheat the story. I just can’t.

I keep stressing about stamps.  I’ve got some, and I probably won’t need to write anyone else but you, but there’s no telling how long this stupid lockdown will last.  They told us 30 days.  Could be shorter, could be longer, depends on if they find any more knives. Hopefully they won’t and we’ll be up by the next Monday, but I can’t underestimate the stupidity of my fellow inmates. They are pretty damn stupid.

The humidity is likely a factor in my laziness. Friday and today it was super sticky and thick. I was so tired after working out!  This stuff is like a blanket, draining your energy. Chilly at night, hot and muggy during the day.  Ick!

My celly is all right.  He’s not an idiot and that helps. He pretty much stays in his bunk so he’s out of my way.  I’m four times more active that he is.

Right, I can only have “money” in my trust fund.  No, no checks or paper money.  We call commissary items “money.”  Like if someone owes me $3.00, they might give me three strawberry sodas – 35 cents each ($1.05), an apple pie – 65 cents and five chili soups – 25 cents each.  All together that's $2.95. You see? However, there is paper money in here, but it is illegal. Doesn’t matter if you get caught with $200.00 or $2.00 green money, you’re out of here.

Wait, let me back track. You were referring to the celly I had that owed money?  Oh, him.  No, sometimes dudes will have someone on the outside deposit money in another inmate’s account for one reason or another.  In this instance, the dude who put money in my old celly’s account probably wanted to buy more than his allowed $85.  So he put $60 in the other guys account with the intention of paying the guy $15 to buy him $45 worth of commissary. But my old celly only bought his $15 and didn’t pay the guy his $45.he left it in his account.  That’s a no win situation though.  It’s all against the rules.

When no one sends money, my account stays empty.  The money I make from cakes is really how I survive since family is so off and on.  The major drawback is that the cake income is mostly stuff I don’t use so I have to trade it out, which is a hassle. I pray for the day that I can support myself. I could do well on $50 a month along with my hustle, and live great for $100.  I won’t give up hope though.  If I can get my uncle to get me a subscription to Writer’s Digest I’m going to consider some of those contests.  Entry fees, though.  Soon.

Kats get drugs from guards mostly. Sometimes from people that come to visit, but mainly the guards bring it in.  They get paid extreme amounts of money for it because it sells so high.  Like when I left, from 5 to 7 ½ grams of regular weed cost $10.  In here, 7 ½ grams will bring you $75 to $100.

Oh, thanks for the encouragement, but I’m pretty good about sticking to my guns.  Getting high becomes less and less appealing. That chapter in my life is over.  I had a lot of fun but I accomplished nothing.  Now I have to work twice as hard.  I won’t smoke my future.

Speaking of bugs, when there’s time, could you look up some information about daddy long legs (something with illustrations if possible). I want to know more about my pet and the related species. Is it a “true” spider?”  Is it true that they are highly poisonous? Female and male characteristics?

Think I told you that I 4.0’d again last term. Unfortunately, this term is screwed already Psychology will have to wait, it seems. Stupid lockdown.

Well, better wrap it up. My next letter will be a long one. Till then, oodles of joyous thoughts of you!

Love,

P.S. Joe’s blogs are awesome.

Blog - Lord Knows

“Lord Knows.”  More than just words in a Tupac song, the truth.  The Lord does know, and if you think that he doesn’t…

For so long, too long, I thought that I could hide from God, sneak around Him, do things my way, and live my life the way I wanted to. But as I lost more and more, as my life fell into shambles around me, the realization became blindingly clear that without God I am truly a lost lamb wandering, blundering and stumbling into the devil’s traps and snares.

It’s funny because we sing songs about Santa Claus knowing about being naughty or nice, but we don’t mention that the Lord knows.  Well, I know that He knows and it’s changed my life tremendously.

I can’t explain it, I’ll try though.  It’s like, when you know you’re doing wrong, that feeling of guilt or shame that hovers over your head…yeah, I got more than enough of that and decided to change my ways. Period.

The streets welcomed me at the tender age of 11, and I didn’t run the streets, I sprinted through them.  By the age of 17 I could pinpoint the headlights of any Crown Victoria, Caprice, 5.0, Camaro, and Impala through the rearview mirror.  Any car that a law enforcement officer might drive, I knew it front and back, headlights to taillights, daylight or night time. And that was something I was pretty proud of, felt like I was one step in front of the law.  Maybe I was. However, I wasn’t smarter than God.  Lord knows.

There comes a point in life when you get tired of running, tired of looking in the rearview mirror, looking over your shoulder, or at least I did.  I got tired of running from the law, running from my responsibilities, running from my potential, and running from God.  Even after my incarceration, I continued to drink, smoke, steal from the kitchen, running from reality, running. Run long enough, you get tired.  You can run yourself to death, collapse on the side of the road, or stop, get your bearings and begin to walk toward your goals, because you can’t outrun God.  Lord knows.

My former cellmate was a complete loser, in every sense of the word.  He was unclean, unkept, unmotivated, and uninspired.  He lied for no good reason, refused to get up and go to work, or shower, always hopping up at the last minute, running around the cell in a collared shirt and boxer shorts (not cool anywhere, definitely not in prison) like a chicken with his head cut off.  He’d gamble obsessively with money that didn’t exist on teams he didn’t know anything about.  Then he’d talk about his “Christian brothers” and how he just strayed a “little” from his “walk.”  He played dangerous games, and kept playing until his life was in danger then caught out (left under the protection of a Sargent) owing nearly $80 unpaid.  I’m glad I didn’t have to live with him anymore, but it’s sad that he thinks he’s out run his problems, that he’s gotten away.  He’s too foolish to realize that the Lord knows.

The Lord always knows, and knowing that he knows, I no longer carry the shame and guilt from doing wrong but instead, catch myself smiling up at the heavens as I recognize my blessings. It’s easier to do the right thing, so I do, and I glow, because I know that the Lord knows.