by Noel Rodriguez, Calipatria State Prison in Calipatria, CA
I grew up in Watts, South Central, Los Angeles, CA., where we were poor. I migrated from Mexico. We were homeless. We would sometimes live in a car- father, mother, brother and myself. We spent about ten years living and renting a room in some family’s home. While my father worked hard to provide for us, my mother would take us dumpster diving for aluminum or bottles (glass) to sell to the recycling company. We would use that money to eat and pay rent. It was not a lot of money but it helped somewhat.
One day, the cops arrested us for dumpster diving. They put all three (3) of us in the police car. They threatened my mother to throw her in jail and putting us kids in foster care. I was 9 years old. My brother was 6 years old. We were crying in the backseat of the police car.
They called us Wetbacks, Beaners, and other foul language. They let us go. After that incident I felt afraid of authority figures. I hated all authority figures. I also hated my family for bringing us to this country. I hated them for bringing me into existence. I wanted to die.
Life was hard as a little kid for me. Coming to this country at age four (4), I was discriminated against by other kids. They would make fun of me at school and in the neighborhood calling me Wetback, and many other beautiful names people have for people they hate.
I became very ashamed of my nationality and racial identity. A homeless lil’ boy with dirty clothing and dirty shoes. The worst part of my troubles was that I was being rejected by my own race. (What is race?) Mexican American kids would reject me because I was a border brother, not good enough for them. While they were not good enough for the White and Black kids.
Finally, at age eleven (11) I joined a gang. Mexican American kids accepted me. By age eleven, I was already psychologically damaged. I was ashamed of my true identity, and I began to work on producing a false image of my own, trying to act like a Mexican American. Trying even harder by comparing myself to the White kids. I wanted their skin and eye color. But I wanted the coolness that Black kids had with the popular Gangster Rap from NWA. I was lost in a false self-identity to please others for acceptance because I felt worthless, like my true identity did not matter.
The more I practiced and produced this false identity the more I hated my true self. The more I hated my true self, the more I acted falsely. It became a cycle of addiction to dysfunctional compulsive behavior.
The more I needed drugs, and to become the craziest gangster trying real hard to run away from my true identity.
By age fourteen, I was kicked out of my family home because of my drug addiction and criminal gang lifestyle.
Today, I’m a 45 year old man who has accepted who he really is. I’ve embraced that little scared boy who was ashamed, full of self-hatred and disappointment.
Now I wake up every day happy with my true self because no matter what others may think and feel about me, I matter to me. I don’t need to matter to those that don’t care for me.
My higher power Jesus Christ loves me and that’s all that matters to me.
I just want to say to all young kids out there, that you matter. You matter to me and to a lot of good people out there.