by JJ
It started 2002 in August, on the 8th, at 11:42pm. I was born on the same day as my grandmother on my dad’s side. Eighteen more minutes and I wouldn’t have. She was there, hoping I would be born on the same day she was. My dad was there supporting my mom.
I don’t remember too much due to the fact I was so young, but my aunt tells me I was obsessed with dimes. She said I always had one in my hand and when I didn’t I was asking for one. I’m not sure when I stopped wanting dimes but I always thought that was pretty odd.
When I turned two, I remember my dad being taken away and sent to prison. I didn’t understand what was going on or why they were taking him, but I had a weird feeling it would be a long time before I got him back. I remember he hugged me and my younger brother and he told me to step up and keep J on a right track. He told me to look after him and be the man he couldn’t be anymore.
My brother J was born November 15, 2003. I was at the hospital and he did get the privilege of our father’s presence. But like I said, shortly after J’s birth, he was taken into custody. My mom, J, and I had to move out of the condo we lived in, while our dad was in prison, to my grandparents’ house in Elk Grove.
My grandpa worked a good job at the rendering company. My grandma worked at a family owned business called The Sports Shop. My mom got into some stuff and J and I ran the house and back yard.
My grandfather used to walk me under these big trees we had in our backyard. If I was crying, he would walk me until I stopped. But he really did it to spend time with his oldest grandson. He worked at the same company for more than foprty years and is the best man I ever knew.
My dad had his best friend Ryan look after us. After a while, he and my mother got together and had another kid. I was five when my third brother was born. Same mom, different dad, but nonetheless my brother.
Ryan had two daughters with other women before being with my mom, so I ended up with two step-sisters. For the most part, we got along, but we all fought. I mean, who doesn’t fight with their siblings, especially when there are five of you in the same house. We all lived with my grandparents for about six years. Ryan had a job installing fireplaces but I guess they weren’t good at saving because we never moved out. My mom never really had a job – she cleaned houses and what not but never really got a career.
After six years, my mother and Ryan split. He moved to an apartment with my brother and his daughters while me and J stayed with our mom at our grandparents. We used to visit Ryan at his apartment to see our youngest brother. J went far more often than me. Ryan and I didn’t always get along. I never called him dad like my brothers did. I guessed I understood my real father’s predicament better than J and I never felt comfortable calling another man “dad.†I was a mama’s boy, but the true father figure I had in my life was and will always be my grandfather.
My mom had left with a dude I don’t like, leaving J and me at our grandparents for a couple years. I was ten or eleven when she left. J was nine.
I was playing football for a Pop Warner team called the Elk Grover Thundering Herd. I’d played with them since I was four, but started getting really good around eleven years old. My first year as a Pee Wee I had over two-hundred yards with an average of three touchdowns per game, and it only increased as the years went on. I remember my grandfather came to every game to watch me. I was the halfback (HB) on offence and the defensive end (DE) on defense. I was the kick returner, punter, and punt returner on special teams. I love football. My brother played since he was 4 but ended up taking some years off while I was playing those last couple years. He was good, but it ended up not being his sport.
I ended up getting into a wrong crowd of people, some of which played football with me, some I just met while running the streets. I was in middle school at the time I started screwing up. My palms always itched. I used to use football to keep me on track, but when I hit middle school I started to want and get money. I never robbed anyone. I needed a good reputation. I started to smoke which at first didn’t hinder my football skills, but after a while the weed made me not focus on football. Instead, I stopped playing and broke my grandfather’s heart. At the time, I didn’t notice, but I broke my own heart too.
I stayed on that track for about four years. My mom came back in the picture in the last two of those years. I was mad at her for leaving, so I never listened. I resented her and always thought she would do it again without hesitation, like she’d left before.
I know some kids know the feeling of resenting your family or mother and it hurts like hell. But that was the mindset I had. I always looked after my brother. He went places with me and I protected him. I loved that kid and always will.
I started to change my ways or at least trying to – after taking a trip to Oregon to see my father’s side of the family. I was working on roofs with my grandfather. When I got back, my grandfather on my mom’s side was so proud of me for doing honest work and keeping my nose clean while up there. But that same month he was cleaning the solar panels on his roof, he got done and went to sleep around eight (that evening) like he always does, but he never woke up. He was supposed to go to work the next morning. I woke up and saw his car still outside. I figured he took the day off. It was early so I went back to sleep. I was woken up by my brother telling me, “Grandpa won’t move he won’t get up and he’s cold†all while crying. I rant to his room where my grandma was shaking and crying over him. My heart dropped and all I could think was it’s a sick joke that he’s gonna wake up and tell us he’s fine. Instead, the ambulance came and took him away.
My grandmother took all the money he had on his person and in his desk and went to the casino. She lost it all. She said it was her way of grieving, but it made me resent her and it made me hate her. For a while I thought she did it. I thought she killed him, but the police came back and said he died from heat stroke or something like that. But the way my grandma acted after he died hurt me even more.
They weren’t together for the last year or so of his life. She had a boyfriend who she’s still with. I fought him a couple times. He’s a d-bag. He makes my grandma feel younger I guess. She turned greedy after my grandpa died. She’d always been that way but it was worse after. I never saw much of her; I’d just run into her here and there around town, mostly at bars.
After my grandpa died, while I was still sixteen, Ryan came back into the picture. He and my mom got together and after we sold my grandpa’s house we moved in with him. We couldn’t keep up with the payments and had to sell my childhood home.
I messed up big time and ended up in Kiefer (Sacramento County Juvenile Hall) a couple months after moving in with Ryan. I know it’s the last time I’ll end up here, but I’m just waiting on that second chance to prove myself. I got a good flooring job that makes good money. I talked to my boss and I’m not fired. My family sees me daily and they truly care about me. This time in Kiefer gave me time to clear my mind and get on a better track. I can now get my high school diploma and focus on my future.
 I turned seventeen years old behind bars and I don’t have much time to fix my thought process before I’m an adult, but I will live a better and more productive life once I’m free and it all starts right now.