by MD
I was born June 19th, 2003 in Sacramento, CA. I was raised in Meadowview, South Sacramento. At age two, I saw my mother killed by a stray bullet. I remember it like it was yesterday.
I was playing a game, while my mom was packing for our move. There was arguing outside, then a pop. The last thing I remember was my mother’s face before she died. I will remember that day forever.
After fighting for custody, I ended up living with my dad, his girlfriend, and her daughter. I guess you could say I had a normal life besides the constant arguing and fighting between my dad and girl, and the random people coming in and out of my house.
It wasn’t until around age seven that I knew my father was selling drugs. I grew up with lack of attention from my father because he was caught up in the streets. So, I was always fighting or acting up in school for attention.
My teachers used to write down everything I did to keep track.
Then, I noticed when I played sports my dad would support me, so I did that. I played basketball and football for a year until I noticed I wasn’t as good as the other kids, so I stopped.
Then, someone moved into the house next to mine and he happened to be a football coach. He taught me a lot of things about football and about life. His little cousin was the first friend I lost to gun violence – rest in peace, Poodah.
Most of the time I spent at my grandma’s house, and that’s where I started to get in the streets. My grandma’s across the street neighbor had three sons – Michael, Robert and Booder.
When me and Mikey first met, we didn’t like each other, and he challenged me to “the box” (it’s a small fighting ring). After I whooped him, him and his brothers gave me respect and they became like my brothers.
Me and Michael started running the streets early. We would watch the older cats be in music videos, have jewelry, the cars, and money, and would want to be like them. We used to glamourize murders and going to jail because that’s what everyone did. We didn’t know no better.
Mikey wanted to be like his older brother Booder, and I wanted to be like his patna, Greg. I used to look up to Greg because he used to always have money and would give us dollars every time he saw us.
I started running the streets at age twelve. By this time, gunshots and shootings were so normal for me that I wouldn’t even duck or run. Now, I look back and think no kid should think that’s normal. I used to look on the ground for shells and get excited when I found a whole bullet.
At this time, I wasn’t gang banging, just heavily affiliated. Everyone I knew was from somewhere, but I didn’t feed into it until my first time being shot. I was walking from school with my brother when we heard shots.
At first, I didn’t think nothing of it because I was used to it. Then, I saw my brother fall. Instantly, I started panicking and putting pressure on his wound, that I didn’t notice I was bleeding on my left arm.
When the ambulance arrived, they took my brother to the hospital. They wanted to take me, but I refused and had my uncle take the bullet out. He wrapped up my arm and gave me some Tylenol and sent me home.
When I got home and my dad asked what happened to my arm, I told him I fell and that was that. The next day, I went to see my brother at the hospital. The doctor said he was shot by a twenty-two caliber, but he would be okay. I gave my brother a hug and left angry, not knowing that event would change my life.
After the shooting, I went and stole my first gun and carried it everywhere I went. I felt powerful just knowing other people’s life was in my hand. I took it to school, the store, every time I left the house.
I got into an altercation at school and one day they scheduled me to see the gang counselor. When I went to see him, he searched my backpack and found my gun wrapped in my shirt.
They then took me to the office and called the cops. They came, searched me, and took me to the hall (juvenile). My first night, I thought it was going to be like prison, but it wasn’t that bad. I was released after a week on ankle and served six months. I was expelled (from school), so I had to attend a probationary school.
While going to the school, I met new people and inherited bad habits. I wasn’t officially gang banging but I was claiming. I got expelled from school and violated probation for slapping this girl who said blank Meadowview. I had to go to another (school) hearing and was put on independent studies.
When I got off ankle, I ran back to the same crowd and started robbing and dealing. I got tired of being made fun of because I wore the same clothes and had holes in my shoes. Everyone else had all the material things I wanted, so that triggered me to start breaking into houses and taking what I wanted.
One day there was a gas leak at school, so we got out early. We started walking around looking for something to do. I went and bought a Black and Mild and started smoking, walking around bored and money hungry. I ended up being arrested for home invasion and assault that day.
I ended up doing eight months and was released into my uncle’s custody, because they (the system) didn’t like the area I lived in. I was going to a regular high school for the first time and everything was cool.
When I got to the school I knew people there already, so I didn’t have trouble making friends, but there was a dude I was beefing with from the other side. We ended up fighting after school and him and his homie jumped me.
I went back to school and got into it with his homie and got suspended. After that, everything was cool, but I was skipping class and smoking a lot.
Me and uncle bumped heads a lot because of this and he ended up telling my PO that I couldn’t stay with him. That was some mark shhh to me, all he had to do was talk to me.
They put me back in the hall, then I was shipped off to a group home in Chino Hills. It was only about three kids from Sacramento there so there was a lot of new faces. It was like everywhere I went I was asked where I was from.
I got into a lot of fights and altercations at the group home, but it was cool overall. It got me ahead in credits and gave me love for cooking. They also helped me make connections in different cities if they’re ever needed.
After seven long months, I completed the program and was back home. I was sober off weed for nine months so it carried over to my return home. I was given six hundred (dollars) from the group home and spent it hella fast, so I was back at square one.
I took a couple of weeks spending time with the family before I went back to the streets. At this time, I had nice clothes and shoes, but I wanted money just to have. When I linked up with the homies, I was given an update of the hood news, like who died, who’s in jail, and who got kids.
After a while, I went back on the money hunt. I met a girl I thought I loved, but I guess it was lust. I ended up being arrested again for carjacking, robbery, and evading arrest. My closest friend blamed everything on me and the girl I thought I loved left, as soon as I was in the cop car.
Now, I’m waiting to be sentenced and now I can’t trust anyone. I think it’s time for me to make a change.