To Sammy:

I am not perfect, just forgiven.

Beneath a mask of empathy, compassion, and
understanding I kneel; suffocating from the vile stench of
society hell bent on decay, rage, and pity. A distorted smile
fixed upon the surface and frustration convolves the vision
that once appeased these seductive chestnut eyes as
worthy. Worthy of transcendence beyond the dry rot of
generational ignorance and the affliction of cyclical
dysfunction; worthy of unconditional peace,
transformational love and genuine devotion. Shallow
interpretations of every word I speak, every step I take, every
sign of life I give. silence, concealment, solitude. Both arms
extended, one towards my son and the other toward the
sky; grasping for air, gazing up towards the heavens above
awaiting spiritual enlightenment as a final utterance
escapes my lips…Entendons Nous
Introduction
Wisdom, Courage
and Faith
I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling.
My message and my preaching were not with wise and
persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the
spirits power, so that your faith might not rest on human
wisdom, but on God’s power.

1 Corinthians 2:3-5

In a time when our personal worth is equated to the

benefit we have for others, it is difficult to tap into your
inner reserves of confidence and truly realize the gold
that lies within. As kids we are taught the precedents
that last a lifetime, and if our leaders are not careful
those precedents may just dampen your ability to
decipher who you are and who you are expected to be.
Many times children rely on relationships outside of the
home to escape the constant belittlement they
experience when their views don’t align with the
expectations of parents and guardians; exposure to
destructive images or ideals, drug use, or alienation are
results of “runaway” children and teens who find solace
and comfort in anybody but those who truly have their
best intentions at heart, the parents, because
communication comes in the form of arguments or
dismissal of unfamiliar norms. That alienation from
family begins young and if not attended to, will cause
distant children to become damaged adults. Other
factors such as physical and sexual abuse will damage
a child’s mind and diminish their sense of personal
worth as they grow. Sex work, Gang culture, and many
other forms of criminal activity that compromise the
morals of a healthy adult usually stem from a childhood
experience that has damaged one’s perception of
themselves. I never understood why females stay in
abusive relations, utilize their bodies as their only
means of income, or why young men commit to a gang
culture that leads them to an early grave or diminishes
the lives of those around them until I met their families
and listened to the horror stories of their past. When
parents bring children into the world with vindictive
intentions, nobody loses expect for the child; Young
men who are subjected to abusive parents will become
aggressive as they grow, as will females that are abused
sexually or exposed to sexual images as children will
grow up with the idea that their body is their best asset.

When we set aside traditional methodology, we are

better able to see the true fruit in those around us,
especially the unhindered light that lies within our
children. Knowing your worth is a quality that many do
not possess, yet as we grow, we can no longer utilize our
childhood as a reason for that lack of awareness and
our inability to discover true value. Understanding your
worth does not mean placing yourself upon a self-
proclaimed pedestal either, for there is a fine line
between self-awareness and arrogance. Self-worth is
an internal measurement of how you value yourself no
matter who or what is in your presence. I’ve progressed
past the notion that money, cars, or fashion determine
the worth of a man. A society grows great when old men
plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit
in, for when a man’s value is no longer measured by
what he does, by his finances or social standing, how
does he determine his worth?

My value lies in the health and safety of my son, and the

growth and development of those around me. Through
trials and tribulation, you will come to learn that many
things that our society values (money, fame, and
fashion) are only superficial blinders to true wealth.
Fame only goes as far as your ability to benefit your
followers and money will drive you to do unfathomable
things for its attainment if you have no clear valuation of
self. Uplifting, inspiring, educating, and nurturing our
children should be valued among all other things
because they will be the ones carrying future
generations, it is our responsibility to equipped them
with the tools and wisdom to overcome the traumas we
were ill equipped to handle growing up. We’ve read this
book of life and know how the story ends in many cases,
it is on us as leaders to make sure we guide our future
kings and queens through each chapter with diligence
to assure their comprehension of the dangers that lurk
behind every poor decision. By uplifting our community,
you will be strengthening the village that will be
responsible for molding your youth when they are not in
your presence and fostering a sense of unity among
those who are often left out.

As children you have very little choice in the people you

are around, for they are usually parents or family
members put in charge of your care when at home and
trusted teachers and professionals instructed to
educate and foster growth and development at school.
As teenagers you are granted more freedom, yet your
actions will still be monitored to a degree as you finish
high school and begin to earn your own fruit through
employment or internship opportunities. As you grow,
I’ve learned that many people will refuse to see you as
the transformed individual you worked so hard to
become. When people know you from your childhood
days it is usually difficult for them to perceive your
enhanced dialect or interpret the way your mind
functions in comparison to when you were a child. In
families, envy can set in when a sibling begins to
achieve more or attain more than those they are
around. With friends it is difficult to perceive how the
person you used to take the bus with is now driving past
you in a brand-new car. While we grow, we must be
conscious of those that we allow in our inner circles.
Young men are swayed easily by their immediate friend
group and females once they get a whiff of their first
bought with freedom.

Junior year of high school I discovered the magical

affects that marijuana had on any difficulty you may be
dealing with. It turns out, marijuana only provides a
temporary solution to a lifelong struggle and once you
begin to come down from your high everything you were
attempting to run away from begins to reveal itself with
an overwhelming intensity that makes you wish you
were back under the influence of the desired
substance. My addiction to marijuana began in high
school but severely enhanced when I went away to
college and felt my first true sense of freedom. I
graduated high school with a 3.2 gpa, warranting me an
opportunity to receive a merit scholarship from the
university of New Haven located in West Haven
Connecticut; with a sports management degree, I
intended to pursue my passion for sports and become a
facility manager within my own recreation center that
would incorporate basketball, physical fitness, and
community outreach in low-income neighborhoods. It
was a blessing to have an opportunity to get out of state
and experience life on my own for once, yet with great
power comes great responsibility, a responsibility I was
truly not prepared to handle. I begged and pleaded with
my mother to let me be a man, exclaiming that I didn’t
need her assistance, nor did I want the females on
campus to perceive me as weak as she helped me
move in; thinking back, college for me was much more
of an escape than an academic desire, it was my
opportunity to do all the things I wasn’t allowed to do
back home with the constant denial of teenage
pleasures. At the time I didn’t understand the sacrifice it
took to cover the additional portion of tuition including
room and board and campus dining fees. The university
of New Haven served as my stomping ground of
perceived masculinity, but also aided my immature
mind to self-sabotage an opportunity many people
don’t have the chance to experience in their lifetime.

Campus life is a beautiful illusion when drugs and

alcohol are involved but can become detrimental when
you become too inebriated to attend classes or
complete work assignments. Many of my classes were
scheduled in the morning between 8 am and 12 pm
which would leave the rest of the day to workout, shop
at the local mall, or catchup with “friends” I’d meet in
the dormitories and dining halls. The first week in
college is usually spent getting to know new people and
exploring the area, but I chose to move alone, unsure of
how to effectively communicate with anyone outside of
my high school teammates, my family, and girlfriend
who was attending a college in upstate New York. I was
rarely allowed to go to parties on the weekend or hang
out late after school because my mother believed highly
in the dangers that lurked in the night; I viewed it as a
punishment before I had the chance to gain
understanding of her reasoning through first-hand
experience. One thing about going to school out of state
is that anything you need is within arm’s reach, for you’ll
have multiple places to get drugs from, everyone is
seeking that sense of freedom so alcohol is not difficult
to get, and if you are someone who possess them both
people will automatically gravitate towards you. It was
easier to find those looking for a substance to make
their days more enjoyable than it was to find a freshman
willing to encourage you to go to class. Unfortunately,
my insistence on fulfilling my worldly desires led me to
dwell in the company of those who had no intentions of
true friendship, they simply wanted what I was able to
offer at the time.

As the semester began and classes started, I was

unaware of what to expect. In high school the
coursework was a breeze and even if you missed an
assignment, many teachers would grant you an
extension; college presented new battles, attending
classes was simple, yet comprehending the lectures
enough to complete the assigned coursework without
assistance proved to be difficult while intoxicated. As
those around me saw the extent I was willing to go for
their attention and admiration, they utilized my
weaknesses as a manipulative tool; no matter what
one’s intellectual capacity, once you discover their
vices you are well equipped to control the narrative to
obtain favorable benefits that may diminish their level of
coherence and obliterate their sense of self-respect.

Two of my greatest vices were alcohol and marijuana,

often both at the same time; Before each party there
would be a ceremonial “pre-game” which consisted of
consuming all the substances that were not allowing in
the clubs for those under the legal age beforehand, so
that upon arrival you were “Lit” enough to enjoy the
occasion. One night while filling plastic cups with liquor
and rolling blunts as music played in the background,
two of my female cohorts called me into their room to
try a new bottle of cherry Pauly’s they’d been gifted by a
few seniors. I complied, Id gotten drunk and high with
them before without any complications, so I had no
apprehension. Pauly’s had a smooth taste but had one
of those “sneak-up on you” affects that had the ability
of knocking you over if you happened to

underestimate its consumption. This time it tasted a bit

different, the first sip had a smooth essence, but it hit a
bit harder and much quicker than usual; dizziness
immediately took hold of me, and consciousness
became difficult to maintain. I couldn’t tell if the
previous high hadn’t worn off, or if the conjunction of
weed and alcohol was finally taking its toll on me, so I
proceeded with that night’s festivities.

If you didn’t have a car on campus, you had the option

of catching the campus shuttle bus that took you to the
mall to complete any necessary shopping, and
downtown to quench your weekly thirst to party. As my
cohorts and I staggered our way to the bus, I could
sense that something wasn’t right; it became
exceedingly difficult to stand upright and my vision
became contorted requiring me to lean on a friend as
we struggled our way up the shuttle steps. It’s weird, I
remember the process of getting onto the bus, but
everything else is as clear as a cloud of smoke. It is
terrifying to survive an entire night and not remember a
thing, who you spoke to, where you went, or how you
made it back safely into your dormitory and tucked into
your own bed. Nothing feared me more than not being in
control of myself and my surroundings yet waking up
the next morning with a shard of glass in my eye and a
pillow saturated with blood had suppressed those fears
momentarily. Without knowing what led glass to
protrude out of my eye lid, or how I survived the incident
without any recollection is a mystery that still haunts
me till this day; dazed as I rolled out of bed with dry
blood in place of the usual crust, I stared in the mirror
thankful to have made it through the night.
As I mustered up the courage to head down to the
dining hall, I began to question the two females that
handed me the cup of alcohol that nearly led to my
demise. They joked about the occurrence and admitted
to placing a bar of Xanax into the cup before handing it
to me for consumption expecting me to be open to
trying something new. Id given those around me the
idea that I was open to whatever it took to have a good
time, by drinking and smoking each day and spending
more time in dorm rooms than in classrooms, I’d
diminished my own level of self-respect and those
around me knew it. Life is competitive, especially in
college when you are grouped with those who’ve
received scholarships to attend; my utter ignorance to
the levity of my situation and the true blessing it was to
be on that campus led others to view me as less than
what I truly was. While I blamed them for placing a pill
into my drink without my knowledge, I couldn’t bring
myself to blame them for the lack of self-esteem that
led to my daily habits; people will only treat you as well
as you treat yourself and will only have the power to
destroy you if you equip them with the necessary tools. I
now knew that change was necessary, no longer did I
seek the approval of those around me or value the
excitement of parties or the feeling of a high; requiring
the influence of a substance to assure a good time was
no longer effective, I found myself hypervigilant of those
I allowed around me. I learned to respect myself to turn
down opportunities to “turn-up” and immediately
changed my circle of influence. If college didn’t teach
me anything at all, it truly instilled knowledge of self, as
well as the ill effects that alcohol had on my mind and
body; while I still smoked marijuana heavily, I now
refused to get high around others, finding myself unable
to tell who had my best interest at heart. Ultimately, set
your own standards of the respect you require from
others and never accept anything less; your valuation of
self will lead you to make conscious decisions no
matter what environment you are in or who is in your
presence. Due to my lack of focus and my inability to
prioritize responsibility over desire, I only remained at
The University of New Haven for one semester; attaining
a 1.7 GPA solidified the decision to utilize the funds
allocated for my education elsewhere. It pained me at
first to have to return home to the confines of rules and
order, yet I came to understand that it was the right
thing to do for my family’s finances, as well as my
physical health and mental stability. I had lost all sight
of the reason I was there and had disrespected those
that granted me an opportunity. When it was all said
and done, I had to take responsibility for my demise and
admit my utter negligence. There was nobody to blame
anymore, I had run out of fingers to point.

Upon arriving home, I was granted an opportunity to

redeem myself through a personal training certification
program at Focus Personal Training Institute located in
Midtown Manhattan. This was an eight-week intensive
course that taught the theory and application of training
as well as providing a concise understanding of the
business aspect of physical fitness. It was a beautiful
opportunity to learn hands on from some of the top
trainers in New York and have access to industry leading
equipment to hone my passion for sports and fitness.
Through the program I was able to gain a deeper
understanding of anatomy and physiology, fitness
programming, sport injury prevention techniques, and
marketing analysis to increase my value as a new
trainer.

This was my chance to make something of myself and

elevate beyond the confines of my past mistakes. Every
morning I’d wake up early to catch a dollar van that ran
down Merrick Blvd and dropped you off on Jamaica
Avenue where you can get to any borough by bus or
train. Jamaica avenue serves as the epicenter of
Queens, providing shopping, culture, and provides a
connection to transportation hubs throughout the tri-
state area. It was an adventure each day as I caught the
E train to Midtown Manhattan, dodging anxious riders as
they pushed, shoved and flew their way onto packed
subway cars. If you were lucky, you would be blessed
with a matinee performance of New York’s finest
subway performers showcasing their dancing, singing,
and poetically acrobatic talents to earn a few dollars
and displaying their talents on the world’s most elusive
stage; awe inspiring feats that defied gravity and gave
you a true appreciation to witness it all. The train rides
would always wake me up and served as a gauge to how
the rest of my day would go.

From Jamaica avenue, I’d take the E train to 28th street

and seventh avenue, better known as the fashion
district of New York touting the Fashion Institute of New
York where young innovators would display astounding
art pieces, sensational seasonal garments, and foster
communal support through daily sidewalk
presentations. The atmosphere was vivid as I traveled
two blocks to FPTI which sat between 6th and 7th
avenues. From the live performances to the vibrant art
and fashion I was empowered with an overflow of
intrinsic energy before I even stepped through the
school’s doors. For eight months I woke up early,
experienced the beauty and cataclysmic impact of New
York’s culture and took advantage of the opportunity to
step into a new realm of success through something I
was truly passionate about. Upon graduation from the
program, I was granted an opportunity to become a full-
time trainer at Crunch Gym in Tribeca, New York; an
area known for its wealth and plethora of affluent
residents. I’d been granted something that many
seventeen-year-olds fought for, thus I viewed it as a true
blessing to have an opportunity to escape my day-to-
day toils and be exposed to the “Greener Grass” on the
other side.

As a personal trainer in a corporate gym, your income is

derived from your client list and the level of
membership they commit to; a far cry from people
screaming to gain your fitness expertise, you find
yourself approaching strangers who know more about
fitness through YouTube videos and books than by your
hands-on expertise. I barely knew what to say or how to
interact with many of the gym goers; insecurity allowed
my fears to overshadow my talents and a beautiful
opportunity became a painful crutch as I stepped
through the doors each morning. During my tenure I was
able to solidify a single client, a 76-year-old retired
banker whose main goal was to acquire daily interaction
with someone who could keep him in touch with his
younger self; while I made no true financial gains
through my first professional training opportunity, I
gained clarity of the societal divide of wealth;
understanding that affluence doesn’t place some on a
forsaken pedestal and discard the rest. Through his
humble lessons, that one client taught me that true
wealth lies within, for beauty fades and money can’t
keep you warm when its your time to depart this god
forsaken world. I could tell that he’d been through a lot
through his transparent humility; he taught me that no
matter where you are, or who you are in the presence
off, you are the prize no matter what. I’d been stressing
about how I measured up with the other trainers and
what I lack in comparison to the other gym goers, that I
failed to realize that I was the key to their success
through my knowledge, my ambition, and my tenacity; I
was the prize that others were attempting to win, all it
took was to dig deep and take the reins of the fears and
insecurities that led my childish actions, the stage was
much bigger now and the stakes could change my life.

As teens it is often difficult to truly understand how

powerful you truly are, taking the time to work on self
through conscious evaluation and remaining receptive
to wise words of guidance you will reach a level to
confidence that will serve as an armor of humble
strength in environments you may feel out of place in
and around crowds you don’t belong. You are a king, but
you must first do the painstaking work that many
neglects along their path to success; you must study,
revise, and apply yourself fully to self-improvement and
gain a sense of your own worth before stepping into the
lion’s den, for they will the devour the faint heart, the
feeble mind, and undisciplined soul.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.

Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your
stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is
not with the flesh and blood, but against the rulers,
against the authorities, against the powers of this dark
world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the
heavenly realms. Ephesians 6:10-12

Holistic wellness is often overlooked in our society, we

invest all our energy into being aesthetically pleasing
while failing to understand the impact mental and
emotional health plays on our daily lives. Mental health
is described as behaviors and functions dealing with
the mind and brain. It’s how we process and store
information, our cognitive thinking patterns, and paying
attention; fueled by various hormones and
neurotransmitters and can sometimes go awry, which
happens when there is an imbalance in these
chemicals due to genetics and family history or
because of the misuse of mind-altering substances like
drugs. It is estimated that at least one in five people in
the united states suffers from mental illness. This
includes conditions like depression, bipolar disorders,
anxiety, schizophrenia, eating disorders, post-traumatic
stress disorder, and attention deficit hyperactivity
disorder (ADHD) Mental health disorders can also be
triggered and worsened by chronic stress which can
have an impact on other health conditions like high
blood pressure, irritable bowel syndrome, and chronic
inflammatory conditions. When we don’t learn how to
deal with stress appropriately, we can become trapped
in a never-ending loop of physical and mental health
issues.

My battle with mental health began very young but was

enhanced as I grew older and lost my father in May of
2015. His death played a major role in my mood, my
perception of life, and my acknowledgement of those
around me. While my parents weren’t living together at
the time, my father was my confidant, my rock, the sole
individual I could go to for safety or resources when
needed; after his death I turned to substance abuse
through marijuana for guidance and mental clarity and
relinquished all trust in others unable to decipher fact
from fiction. This inability to consciously live life led me
to homelessness moving from neighborhood to
neighborhood unsure of who I could truly trust, and
theft when I found myself hungry and too prideful to ask
for help. I began stealing cell phones and selling them
for the cash, robbing small shops in Queens and
Midtown Manhattan for the cash in their registers or
simply exchanging stolen items them for the goods that
I needed; I ultimately ended up wasting most of the
proceeds to buy the marijuana that would numb my
reality and “allow” me to get through each day. There is
no justification for my actions or methodology, yet here
is my truth; through it all there were countless attempts
to end my own life out of the sheer exhaustion of hiding
behind a smile to assure others that everything was ok
but, I had lost all meaning of life, all of my hopes and
ambition lied within my father and had yet to be
released before his early demise. I hadn’t taken the time
to learn how to live on my own, with my own goals and
dreams; the atmosphere with my mother growing up
usually led me to my father’s house for consolation.

On March 5th, 2017 I decided to take life into my own

hands; Hillside Avenue and 168th street there stood a
Metro PCS phone store, just blocks away from the 103rd
precinct. I decided that I was going to hold up the store
at gunpoint in hopes an officer would take my life, for I
couldn’t build up the courage to do it on my own. The
store sat directly next to a subway station entrance that
allowed you to cross the busy Hillside avenue
underground as a means of escape. Being just three
blocks away from the precinct I was sure that the police
would be there before I even had a chance to turn
around and flee, yet things didn’t go as planned I was a
but quicker than I thought playing roulette with my life.
As I entered the store dressed in an all-black Nike sweat
suit, I walked directly to the counter without a mask or
gloves and placed a Target store bag on the counter
demanding the cash in the register and the iphones
being stored underneath; the employee hesitated and
so did I, instead of complying he ran to the back of the
store and closed the door leaving both the register and
the phones available for my choosing. While rummaging
through the cabinets looking for iPhones and
attempting to get the cash register open, I was unaware
of what the store clerk was doing behind that door.
Within seconds the police sirens began to blare in our
direction; this wasn’t a part of the plan, he wasn’t
supposed to be able to call the police until after the job
was done yet my inability to control the situation, and
my lack of awareness allowed the script to be flipped,
and now he and the police were in control of the rodeo. I
suddenly panicked and began shoving phones into the
target bag fleeing without even worrying about the cash
in the register. I entered the situation ready to die, yet as
the adrenalin began to pump my intentions quickly
changed to find the most effective means of escape; I
was no longer in control of the narrative. The sirens
could now be I bolted out of the door and turned down
into the subway station. Stumbling down the steps I
ended up dropping two of the iPhone and barely making
it up the steps on the other side as my knees buckled
and I struggled to stand upright. Successfully reaching
the other side was an achievement in itself; Cops
galore, the response to an armed robbery involving a
weapon warranted the response they gave; the blaring
lights rushed towards the phone store as I exited the
subway station and walked close to the buildings to
blend into the shadows. A feeling of power took over me
as I walked casually down the street as multiple police
cruisers whizzed by seeking to apprehend the very
person staring right back at them. I quickly turned into a
nearby backyard and removed my top layer of clothes,
revealing a grey crewneck sweatshirt and a pair of grey
sweatpants to throw the dogs off my scent; with a
helicopter now in the sky beaming a light searching for
the alleged robber I proceeded to Jamaica avenue to
purchase a new outfit with the funds I had recently
acquired and to get rid of the remaining phones I had in
my possession. All seemed well, I had gotten away
momentarily, yet without wearing a mask or gloves, and
dropping phones that now had my prints on the in the
subway station, it was only a matter of time before I’d
be identified, and the search would truly begin. That
night I took a cab to the outback steakhouse on Queens
boulevard for one last hearty meal before heading out to
Long Island to lay low and await my capture.

PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is a mental

health condition that is triggered by a terrifying event
either experiencing it or witnessing it. Symptoms may
include flashbacks, nightmares and severe anxiety, as
well as uncontrollable thoughts about the event. Most
people who go through traumatic events may have
temporary difficulty adjusting and coping, but with time
and good self-care, they usually get better. If the
symptoms get worse and begin to interfere with your
day-to-day functioning, you may have PTSD.
“I wish you would give me a reason to shoot you” was
the farewell I received from an African American police
officer in Nassau County as he was accompanied by
two Caucasian colleagues; while one officer dug his
knee into my back, and the other pined my legs to the
ground to subdue me and secure my wrists into
handcuffs I contemplated if that would be the last
breath that I took. Having been my first time to the
county jail I was unaware of the power struggles and
complexes that accompany an embroiled badge and a
pressed uniform; I suspected that being placed in
charge of those who break the law was sufficient, yet I
quickly learned that there was an incessant need to
prove masculinity and superiority. A strong mind is the
most dangerous weapon in the eyes of your captors, I
learned that stark lesson within the first week of being
processed into the jails intake system. Before
incarceration I was prescribed to take 75 mg of Zoloft,
an anti-anxiety medication used to assist with the
overwhelming effects of depression. One night after
returning from a brief court appearance, officers led me
into a designated inspection area where I was
instructed to remove all my clothing to ensure that I had
no contraband or weapons hidden within the crevices of
my manhood. With a deep breath and a sigh of
surrender I complied and proceeded to request a nurse
to administer a dose of my prescribed medication to
quell the unbearable levels of anxiety rising as I spread
my cheeks and coughed Infront of a grown man toting a
flashlight and a devilish grin. As the body search
concluded I was instructed to inform the officer on duty
within my assigned cell block as soon as we returned,
and a nurse would come down to administer
medication to the entire cell block at once; it made
sense to act efficiently in such an environment, so I sat
patiently with an understanding that my needs were no
more important than the plethora of other inmates
currently experiencing the same hardships.

As day turned to night and more people pleaded for

their medication as well, you could hear the moaning of
drug addicts suffering from withdrawal symptoms,
heads banging on the walls, people laughing at
Juvenalian satire, and jailhouse musicians holding their
mixtape release parties to uplift the spirits of their
fellow listeners. I began to grow impatient as day turned
to night, and other inmates began to grow impatient, as
others complained I chose to speak. As an officer
completed his nightly rounds, I requested to see the
nurse once again, for it had now been six hours since
returning from court and not one nurse had been called.
Surprisingly, the officer complied and proceeded to
instruct me to turn toward the back of the cell so he
could secure my hands into cuffs and escort me to the
nurse himself. Unbeknownst to me, the officer removed
me from the cell not to escort me to the infirmary, but to
remove me from the other inmates who were now
growing irate as well. As I was led out into the main
hallway with handcuffs around my wrists, I was
instructed to sit on a black milk crate positioned upright
against the wall to await an additional officer. Officer
Blackney, I remember his name as well as I remember
hitting the ground. As thirty minutes passed, I sat in wait
for the additional officer; growing impatient, my mind
began to race so I requested to see the nurse again.
Rather than complying with my rightful request, officer
Blackney decided to smack me off the milk crate to
solidify his rightful role of superior to display his
dominance. As I lay there with my hands shackled
behind my back, I felt hopeless, enveloped in defeat
with no means of defense. There was no medication for
the entire cell block that night; within the first week I
had been labeled a problem, was assaulted while
cuffed, and thrown right back into the hole I came out
of. Welcome to jail.

The first instance spread amongst the officers, placing

me on their list of troubled inmates that did not know
their place. In Nassau County jail you are usually
housed in the reception unit for two to three weeks
before you are transferred into the general population to
observe your interaction with other inmates and access
your adaptation. On the day of my transfer from the
reception unit to the general population I was instructed
to step out of my cell, place my hands behind my back,
and follow the escort officer into the main hallway to
complete pat & frisk search to assure no weapons or
contraband were being smuggled into the new unit. In
the middle of the hallway, I was instructed to place my
palms on the wall as the officer guided my feet back in
preparation for the search, told that if my hands came
off of the wall for any reason it would be perceived as a
threat and I’d be dealt with accordingly. There Infront of
passing inmates and multiple officers, the search
began. Officer Derosa began to administer the search
as he frisked my arms and torso he proceeded to my
lower body as expected. As he frisked my lower body, I
began to feel my pants come down exposing myself to a
hallway full of grown men; there without hesitation I
removed my left hand from the wall to lift my pants back
up as my bare bottom was now on display despite the
prior instructions and what consequences would
follow. I refused to allow another man to embarrass me
no matter what position or rank he held; as soon as my
fingertips left that wall, officer Derosa proceeded to lift
me up and body slam me to the ground instructing one
officer to put his boot to my face, and another to stand
on my ankles to subdue me and prevent any further
movement while his 250-pound knee was dug into my
back. I knew there were consequences to my actions,
yet I felt that search was provoked, no man in his right
mind would allow himself to be stripped Infront of other
men, and I wasn’t going to be the first. As the officers
drew my face into the cold tile floors, they proceed to
lift me up, one holding each limb with my face towards
the ground as the led me the BMU unit (behavioral
management unit) or the “box” in most jails.

Within a month of incarceration, I now realized modern

day slavery, how your actions can produce unfavorable
reactions, and how those placed in charge of your
rehabilitation can abuse their authority and acquire a
lethal superiority complex that overrides all rational and
humane thinking. The Behavioral Management unit had
two tiers with cells numbered from one to twenty-two; I
was placed in cell number twelve that consisted of a
metal cot with no mattress, a steel toilet accompanied
by a sink and a roll of toilet tissue; the lights were
controlled by the officers in a central vestibule, also
known as “the bubble”. Being confined in a unit meant
for those who assault other inmates or staff members,
for simply pulling up my pants to prevent the showing of
my bare genitals in a hallway full of men seemed
ridiculous to me, yet I had no choice but to bite the
bullet and settle in. I understood the consequences for
the actions that led to my arrest, yet this was a new
level of enslavement I never believed id have to fathom;
I refused to give in to the ignorance that led me to the
that cage, being poked and prodded by officers, being
fed food through a slot 3 times a day if the officer on
duty felt generous enough to serve you, to take showers
with handcuffs on in a Plexiglass cage being overlooked
by twenty two other men, and being granted visitation
privileges that required me to be handcuffed and placed
behind a glass as I mustered up the energy to smile at
my mother’s face anytime she came to share words of
encouragement. For 45 days I remained in that unit
refusing to shower, refusing to eat anything but the
bread from each tray slid though my slop slot, and
refusing to allow the officers to see me break; each
morning I’d wake up and workout, tearing the sleeves off
the orange county tops, and cutting the pants to create
shorts doing a set of push-ups each time an officer
made their rounds.

I was introduced to philosophy as my mother blessed

me with Human All too Human, written by Friedrich
Nietzsche through a package after one of her visits. It
gave me a different perspective of my situation, the
environment I was in, and the individuals I was
surrounded by.

“Do not talk about giftedness, inborn talents! One can

name great men of all kinds who were very little gifted.
They acquired greatness, became ‘geniuses’, through
qualities the lack of which no one who knew what they
were would boast of: they all possessed that
seriousness of the efficient workman which first learns
to construct the parts properly before it ventures to
fashion the great whole; they allowed themselves time
for it, because they took more pleasure in making the
little, secondary things well than in the effect of a
dazzling whole”– Friedrich Nietzsche, Human All Too
Human: A book for free spirits.

That was my first experience utilizing literature to

dissect my current situation, instilling confidence with
the knowledge that I was only as enslaved as my mind
allowed me to be, reading became my escape. As time
progressed, I began to stick to a daily regimen of
working out, reading, and writing; observing those
around me became a daily hobby, especially Ortiz. Ortiz
was brought to the unit after he slid his hands out of a
pair of handcuffs and assaulted a white shirt Captain
during a visit with his family; nobody knows what led
him to punch that officer, nor what the officer said to
provoke that reaction, I’ve learned through my own
experience that many occurrences are never one sided.
Ortiz would shadow box each day as the officers refuse
to give him food for an entire week after his initial
admittance; he quickly became irate, yet his response
was astounding. About two weeks after being in the
Behavioral Management Unit, Ortiz requested to take a
shower, at first the officers refused until the warden was
called and the area officers were forced to give him an
opportunity to clean himself. As the officers
approached the cell he calmly walked to the back of his
cell and placed his hands behind his back in-wait for
the officers to cuff him and lead him to the showers.
Once in the shower he stripped and simply sat there
without turning on the water even gesturing to take a
shower as intended,

this man was taking his stand; for two weeks officers
refused to give him food, or an opportunity to take a
shower, his visitation privileges were denied, and he
was denied his medication. As he sat in the shower the
time came for him to come out, yet he refused, and the
same officers that would provoke him daily now had no
idea what he had in mind; they watched as he shadow-
boxed each night in his cell and listened nearby as he
screamed ferociously. AS more officers surrounded the
shower, Ortiz stood up bare naked and began shadow
boxing in the shower inviting the officers to come and
get him…He was truly ready to go toe to toe with his
abusers, till this day I don’t know if it was courage or
stupidity that led him, yet I commend him either way. As
he punched the plexiglass cage and screamed, officers
began to become inpatient and called in a group of
heavily armed officers toting helmets, massive
protective gear, tear gas, and wooden batons as things
took a drastic change, I began to question the lengths
one man would go to dehumanize the next. The officers
proceeded to open the slot in the shower door and
tossed in tear gas to smoke Ortiz out and sprayed him
with bear mace to make sure he couldn’t fight back.
Unable to breathe, the entire unit watched in awe as he
crawled out of the shower gasping for air bare naked, as
the officers proceeded to beat him with their batons. A
naked man being chocked to death with gas and beaten
by a group of officers Infront of 21 other inmates will
change anyone’s perception of authority; it certainly
changes mine, as I sat there watching a grown man be
emasculated for the entertainment of those put in
charge of his recovery. I do admit that Ortiz was in the
wrong for the way he carried out his message, yet the
officers went above and beyond the call of duty to make
sure they made an example out of him at the expense
on the mental strain it had on his onlookers.

PTSD can be derived from many things, but this was a

major cause of my distrust in authority for a while,
because I now understood the power of a badge. I plead
with you, GUNS, DRUGS, KILLING, and the acquisition
of MONEY through illegal means DO NOT MAKE YOU
TOUGH, because when it is all said and done and you
end up behind that wall, the people you see as weak on
the street can take your life and make your body
disappear, without your family knowing a thing, and all
that street cred you’ve acquired will become a folktale
told to the next generation of knuckleheads ready to fill
your shoes. I didn’t believe there was such
dehumanization occurring underneath the nose of our
society, yet through my own ill deeds I experienced
treachery firsthand. After completing my time in Nassau
County Jail, I was immediately taken into custody by
Queens detectives from the 109thprecinct robbery
division. They transported me in a red Jeep grand
Cherokee as two similar jeeps followed behind to
assure no foul play along the route; I noticed than how
the darndest things can be hidden in plain sight and the
average citizen would have no idea what they were
surrounded by, it was intriguing to be a part of it all even
while I was in custody, I was most inspired by my
current observations and the eye-opening reality of our
criminal justice system. Life itself is not what it seems,
behind every corner and beneath every crack lies in wait
someone’s deepest fear, and all it takes is a chance
occurrence for it all to unravel into a powerless struggle
of life and death, freedom or bondage.

As we approached the precinct in Flushing Queens, I

took a sigh of relief to be out of the grasp of Nassau

Counties slave handlers, yet in the hands of my new

captors I didn’t truly know what to expect. The officers
put me in a line up with 4 other individuals that looked
nothing like me, as the alleged victim of the phone store
stood on the other side of the one-way glass that
separated us; officers instructed us to recite a scripted
line one by one to distinguish our voices, I could hear
the victim assure it was me who had robbed their store
with the upmost confidence. I was ready to take
responsibility for my actions there truly was no other
choice, yet it was astounding to observe the process.
Once I was identified as the alleged perpetrator, officers
led me to get my fingerprints, and mug shot completed
in preparation to take me to Queens County Jail for a
night court hearing that would determine my fate. Time
began to move slower, my mind began to race; as reality
began to set in I even attempted to fake a medical
emergency to delay my arrival, but the officers were
keen the charade and proceeded to the intended route.

This jail was located underneath Queens County court

on Queens Blvd and 125th street; through all the years
of living in the area I had no idea what lied behind those
walls. We entered the back of the building through the
high barbed-wire fence, into an encaged area where
corrections transit busses parked to escort inmates.
Through a large steel door, we were confronted by
another officer who took possession of me as I was
signed away into their custody; with a pat on the back
the officers who escorted me wished me luck in this
new jungle and bid me farewell. The cells were bleak,
cold, and covered in the names of those who occupied
it prior to my arrival etched into the walls and metal
benches. As I sat in the company of seven other
inmates awaiting their opportunity to be seen by the
judge, I quickly learned that behind every smile lies pain
and distress that can cause the average man or woman
to take life into their own hands, many times we may
feel as if our backs are against the walls, yet the way we
carry out those feelings will determine the fate of
humanity.

I expected to be seen by the judge and simply go home,

yet I was unaware of the severity of my prior actions and
the consequences that they truly held. As I stepped into
the court room a rush of anguish took over me, not
knowing what the judge would say I simply masked my
insecurities with a smile and exuded a false aura of
confidence to combat the raging fear inside. There
standing in front of that judge I quickly learned that
there is no sympathy for thieves who utilize weapons or
threaten the lives of innocent civilians. My hopes of
going home to fight another day fell to the wayside when
the judge ordered me to be transferred to Rikers Island
to await sentencing; disdain overcame my false sense
of bravado when I than discovered that the bus would
be leaving that night and I wouldn’t have another
chance to walk the streets free until my undetermined
release.
The walk from the court room back to the holding cell
seemed longer the second time, consumed by the
overwhelming feeling that I had failed; What if I had just
pointed the weapon towards the police during the
robbery, I wouldn’t be there in cuffs and shackles being
loaded onto a bus full of alleged criminals, instead I’d
be in peace overlooking the ruination of my community
from the comfort of the heavens above. As emotions
over, I fought to keep tears back; bravado mixed with
adrenaline led me to prolong my life, yet no amount of
bravado could release me from the cold steel shackles
around my ankles.

Emotional health is your ability to cope with both

positive and negative emotions, which includes your
awareness of them. Emotions play a strong role in well-
being. Studies have shown a connection between
regulated mental health and physical health. People
who experience great amounts of stress and negative
emotions will sometimes develop other health
conditions. These problems are not caused directly by
negative feelings, but by behaviors that negative
emotions can influence due to a lack of emotional
regulation. Emotional health has more to do with
emotional regulation, awareness, and coping skills, and
these strategies can be used by people with or without
mental illness.
I struggled to regulate my emotions as officers gestured
me to put my hands up against the wall and lift each
foot one by one as they fastened shackles around my
ankles and placed chains around my waist to lock my
wrists to my body and prevent any extended movement.
As they led me onto the white Corrections bus, I noticed
the grates on the windows but was unaware of the
cages that resided within; the bus alone was daunting,
yet to be shackled and placed within a locked cage on a
moving bus was new to my devious eyes. The bus
traveled down Grand Central parkway along past
LaGuardia airport and into what looked like a shipyard
that contained the boat I’d call home for the next few
months. It seemed like a twilight zone, through the
grates on the windows all I could see was distorted
images illuminated by bright yellow lights and distant
steel birds that resembled the planes passing overhead.
When I heard stories of Rikers Island I was unaware of
“The Boat” Or the Vernon C. Bain Center, VCBC for
short. This was a literal ship utilized as an intake center
for all inmates from Queens, Brooklyn, Staten Island,
the Bronx, and Manhattan.

In thinking of America, I sometimes find myself admiring

her bright blue sky – her grand old woods- her fertile
fields- her beautiful rivers- her mighty lakes, and star-
crowned mountains. But my rapture turned to
mourning. When I remember that all is cursed with the
infernal actions of slave holding, robbery and
wrongdoing. When I remember that with the waters of
her noblest rivers, the tears of my brethren are borne to
the ocean, disregarded and forgotten, and that her most
fertile fields drink daily of the warm blood of my
outraged brothers, I am filled with unutterable loathing. -
Frederick Douglas: Selected Speeches and writings

Nassau county jail represented oppression of the body,

yet this new environment represented oppression of the
mind. As we were unloaded from the bus, we were led
up a steel ramp onto what could be described as a slave
ship; the shackles could be heard clanging against the
pavement and waves splashed up against the
starboard. Once inside you could hear screams, painful
agony, sirens and alarms, and the cries of inmates
packed 24 in a cell begging to be separated from
hostility and blood. The first cell I was placed in
consisted of 16 other men from different boroughs,
different gangs, and varying charges, fear wasn’t the
word. When you witness multiple people get cut and
assaulted within steps of you in the first two hours while
you’re all locked in the same cell your state of
awareness will be altered; you find yourself more
worried about a stranger’s blood getting onto you than
the act of violence itself because you learn that it is just
a daily occurrence. There was a bright red siren that
would go off to alert the authorities of a ‘Red Dot” (a
slashing, fight, or any other form of assault within the
facility); on our night of arrival there were a continuous
number of alarms, at least 12 in the first 2 hours alone.
That was the first time I watched life leave a man’s body
simply because officers refused to tend to our cell. The
gentleman suffered from type 2 diabetes and alerted
officers upon our arrival that he would need insulin,
officers refused. As his condition worsened the inmates
within our cell began to advocate for him as he began
having trouble speaking on his own and his body began
to convulse, he began vomiting, and slowly lost
consciousness as well all screamed to alert officers of
what was going on. There in front of us all, this man was
no longer conscious, white and yellow foam replaced
the vomit coming out of his mouth and life as we knew it
was over for him. It took officers an extra 40 minutes to
attend his cell and remove this man’s body as they
attempted to revive him as if their efforts would reap
any results. Aside from the disregard by officers, that
was the first time I watched as grown men threw urine
and feces at each other in adjacent cells. Grown men
residing in this intake facility for breaking the law just
like me were at war with each other and chose their
body fluid as the best means of attack; one cell even
went as far as putting up a white sheet to block the
attacks of their enemies as if it were a scheduled
bought between two rival teams. I sat in disgust that I
allowed myself to be put in this situation; while I took
full responsibility for my actions, I honestly didn’t know
how to perceive all that was happening in front of me
with no means of escape or reproach, I was stuck within
the confines of a cell surrounded by grown men who
chose to stab, fight, and throw feces at each other. I sat
at the back of the cell with my hands folded simply
observing all that was around me, being approached by
old heads commending me on my ability to stay calm
while chaos ensued around us.

The group of men I came to VCBC with stayed in the

same cell together for two weeks before being
transferred upstairs to be housed in a dorm. The events
that occurred within those 14 days molded my mind
much more than the 45 days I spent in the behavioral
management unit in Nassau County jail. In Nassau
County it was oppression based on race, yet here in the
city it was blacks oppressing blacks, and Latinos
oppressing anyone who went against them; it was
nothing to stab, slash, or decapitate another man for
simple things like not enough food on a tray, or simply
taking up too much space in a cell full of multiple other
men, it was ridiculous to see the ignorance first hand
and have no way of speaking up or getting away, you
either fended for yourself or you became that lone
statistic of yet another causality in the war against
crime.
The dormitories were a breeze compared to intake,
rather than cells, we were housed in an open area that
consisted of a full kitchen, bathroom, showers, a tv
area, and rows of cots that held up to 50 inmates at any
given time. It was spread out, yet with men carrying
different charges you could never let your guard down
unaware of who was watching you and what their true
intentions were; I rapidly learn adaptation. On May 9th,
2017 while a group of men from my dorm were
scheduled to buy food and snacks from the commissary
a major riot ensued; across the hall sat the prison
barbershop ran by inmates but watched by officers. As
more houses came down to shop at the commissary,
gang members walked past the barber shop and
spotted their rivals which lead to an uncontrollable
Malay resulting in one person being stabbed severely
and multiple others injured including an officer; the
entire boat was on lockdown for the next 4 hours as we
sat stuck in the commissary area watching as inmates
mopped blood from the floor and officers attempted to
regain control. These things happen daily, yet the fact
that it was deem “normal” really bothered me; killing
each other is not normal, harming each other is not
normal, and when that mentality is seen out here in
society when you have the option to walk away there is
no excused that makes ignorance acceptable. We were
enslaved, cuffed, chained, and locked behind bars with
no choice but to fend for ourselves; as young men you
can choose your reaction to adversity and the
unfortunate part is while we had handmade weapons,
you all have guns within your reach that have the ability
to end another man’s life at the blink of an eye. I could
write an entire book alone on the occurrences of
abuses against myself as well as all those around me,
yet the purpose of this is to share the lessons learned,
the mental and emotional toll that imprisonment takes
on you, and the effect after release.

Franklin County Correctional facility was my third stop

after Rikers Island; located just ten miles from the
Canadian border, Franklin County represented a mix
between the racism found in Nassau County and the
inclusiveness of inmates from various neighborhoods
along the east coast. Rather than being in a cell, in
Franklin you were awarded the opportunity to walk the
campus to attend the library, work assignments,
Workout in the yard, or attend educational programs.
Much like my time spent in the behavioral management
unit in Nassau I utilized literature heavily to analyze my
environment and rehabilitate myself in an otherwise
unfavorable condition. It amazed me the persistence of
my family during this time; my mother, sister, and
younger brother made it a point to take that 8-hour trip
from New York City at least twice every month to visit
and bring packages that got me through each day, their
sacrifice is still appreciated till this day because they
surely never turned their back when they had every right
to leave in me wallowing in my own sorrow. Majority of
my incarceration was spent in the library and in the
weight shack; during blizzards and heavy rain I’d be the
only knucklehead dressed and ready to go once the
area officer called for Rec, often sporting multiple layers
to combat against the inclement weather. There were
nights when I’d forgotten my gloves and the weights
would stick to my skin peeling off the top layer because
of the frigid cold temperatures, yet I persisted because
it was my only means of escape, the only way besides
books to clear my mind and stay focused on something
other than the anger and resentment building inside.

During this time, I read heavily, favoring philosophy,

sociology, and African American Literature to mold my
perspective and approach to life. W.E.B Du Bois, Booker
T Washington, Frederick Douglas, Frederich Nietsche,
Marcus Aurilius, and Micheal Eric Dyson became the
leaders of my rehabilitation. After reading The Souls of
Black Folk written by W.E.B Du Bois, I gained mental
proclivity and began maneuvering with an unfamiliar
sense of pride in who I was, walking with my head held
high no matter the circumstance, officers hated it.

One ever feels his twoness, an American, a negro; two

souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two
warring ideals in one dark body, whose strength alone
keeps it from being torn asunder.

-W.E.B Du Bois, The Souls of Black Folk

My twoness resided in the confliction between inmate

and man; as an inmate officers saw me as a slave, as a
number, as nothing. Within my soul I had for once saw
myself as a man, battling the ideals being perpetrated
upon me because of my past actions and current
environment. I refused to allow anyone to diminish my
spirit nor conquer my mind as I resided on the New York
State funded plantation designed as a revolving door for
those who never wake up to reality. The prison system is
not meant to rehabilitate, for if you heal a man, you will
no longer reap the benefits of his demise, and if you
elevate his mind you will no longer be his puppeteer.
Once a man gains a sense of who he is and from whom
he’s come from, he will no longer accept anything less
than that which he feels in his soul. You can lock a man
away, but you can never obliterate his mind.

I was incarcerated for two years, enough time for me to

gain experiences that changed me as an individual, no
longer did I respect a badge, a uniform, or a man’s
status before I respected his mind and heart. Too many
times we place individuals upon a pedestal in society
without truly knowing their intentions at heart; placing
our mental and emotional health in the hands of a
tyrant masked as our savior placed in a position of
power to lead us through a storm, yet when we end up
drowning in the puddles of our own misery while they
live in the hills, we blame each other, we kill each other,
and we ridicule the voice of truth. We must begin to
respect all people no matter sexual preference, race,
height, or social status because truth lies in the
transcendence of mental strain, and beauty lies in the
pursuit of truth.

No matter how much weight you can lift, or how much

bulking you do there is no substitute for a sound mind
and an efficient level of emotional intelligence. Utilizing
weightlifting to override your insecurities will only
exemplify your flaws. I came home unable to interact
with the average person, allowing the anger I had
towards officers to become my form of communication.
Many times, my temper led me to tarnish beautiful
opportunities and damage innocent souls; looking over
my shoulder in wait of the impending danger I assumed
was meant for me at all times. See, though my darkest
days I began to understand why the lion is the mightiest
in the jungle. A lion may not be the largest animal, for
that would be the elephant, nor is he the fastest, for that
would be the cheetah; a lion is known for his bravery, his
persistent tenacity, and his ability to stand toe to toe
with his adversaries for what he believes in. Elevate your
mind through literature, observation, and conscious
conversation with the wise not the folly; utilize your
innate gifts and the superficial layers of vanity will
quicky reveal themselves as diminishers of light. You
are a king, but you must first believe it in your mind and
accept it in your soul.

If you want a thing bad enough

To go out and fight for it,

Give up your time and your peace

And you sleep for it

If only desire of it

It makes you quite mad enough

Never tire of it,

Makes you hold all other things tawdry

And cheap for it

If life seems empty and useless without it

And all that you scheme, and you dream is about it

If gladly you’ll sweat for it,

Fret for it

Plan for it,

Lose all your terror of God or man for it

If you simply go after that thing that you want

With all your capacity,

Strength and sagacity

Faith, Hope and confidence, stern pertinacity

If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,

Nor sickness nor pain

Of body or brain

Can turn you away from the thing you want,

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,

You’ll get it

- Les Brown

The acquisition of money is a feat that many achieve in

their lifetime, but true wealth seems to be a secretive
artform only the elite have access to. Growing up I
always questioned my mother’s instance of working
long, hard hours to gain a minimal check at the end of
each week, yet I now understand the inadvertent lesson
of Rich vs wealthy. Assuming that the amount of money
you possess at any given time defines the value you
hold within your family and community, I’ve done
unfathomable things for its attainment to later find out
that it all meant nothing without efficient utilization and
justifiable means. True wealth lies within, withing your
soul, within your family, and is exemplified by the
contribution you make to those less fortunate than you.
According to Robert Kyosaki, being rich is quantified in
money whereas wealth is measured in time.

I’ve never had a great relationship with money, spending

more than I had or stealing to make up the difference; it
is safe to say I was one who lived beyond my means.
With aspirations of one day becoming wealthy enough
to supply peace for my family and produce generational
wealth Id invest my last into grand schemes that had no
proven validity, yet because my mind worked quicker
than reality, I often found myself hitting rock bottom
before it was time to harvest the seeds that I’d sown.
With $24,000 I made a vow to myself that I’d do
everything for my family that I wasn’t able to in the past,
because I was always willing, but I was now able. I
deposited a fraudulent check for $2,500 before she
gave birth to solidify a stable home for our family, yet
upon discovery of my misdeed, the owner of the
restaurant demanded that I pay it back. Within a week
his balance was clear, but we still didn’t have a place of
our own. I was desperate to uphold my perceived role
as a man for my family and began belittling myself for
my inability to provide. I had given up a well-paying job
with benefits that would assure my families health and
safety yet decided that being by my wife’s side was
more important. Without regretting my decision, I found
other ways of destroying my morale and diminishing the
level of respect others held towards me; lets face it, no
rational woman wants a weak man that can’t control his
emotions and hides behind a veil of insecurity in the
midst of her own toil with child birth.

The worth of an abundance of money diminishes if it is

not allocated correctly, money is a tool not a toy. As I
waited up late at night for the deposit to hit my account,
I couldn’t help but plan how I was going to escape the
confines of our childhood and create a utopia for our
newborn son; everything that was ever denied due to
lack of funds would be within our hearts reach. I cared
less about the money itself and more about the things
I’d be able to provide; the material, superficial objects
that constitute wealth in the eyes of a poor man. When
morning struck, I quietly eased my way out of our
apartment door in route to the bank to make my first
withdraw, we’d taken out a loan to secure our home and
I felt that it was a primary obligation to be paid back
before all festivities could begin.
As I walked up to the teller, I possessed an arrogant aur,
walking past the security guard giving directions and
disregarding the other customers in the bank; the look
on the tellers face was priceless, triple checking my
information to assure she wasn’t being bamboozled. I
anxiously waited, constantly watching the bank
employee’s movements to make sure the blessing was
legit; even with knowledge of its origin I still felt inclined
to question its validity. Without committing a unlawful
act, this was my first time possessing a five figure bank
account. The teller received approval from the branch
manager to release my withdraw; with a devilish grin
upon her face, I could tell she sensed that I was fool
who had acquired a pot of gold with no true valuation of
its worth.

Without a plan, money is nothing more than a

decorated bill of uninhibited promises; intentionally
driven to create a home for my family, yet unaware of
what a “home” truly consisted of. It was always a dream
of mine to have family movie nights with a theatre
system to intensify the suspense and allure, so my first
purchase before paying back our lender was a Samsung
QLED 4k Television with a sound system that made your
skin crawl; despite the price tag I envisioned living room
camping with forts, smores, popcorn, and our son
gleaming as PJ Masks played on the screen. We feel
emboldened by the amount of funds in our bank
account, often placing ourselves on a self-proclaimed
pedestal of wealth that only exists within our own
minds. I now had two things that people spend their
entire lives to attain, money and a healthy child; the
former provided riches, yet the latter made me wealthy.

As the weeks progressed, I continued to spend

frivolously, not on the average forms of vanity but on
wagons full of groceries and various accessories that I
imagined would make our house a home. Dinners were
prepped, cooked, and plated like a 5-star restaurant
each night, breakfast consisted of exotic fruits and
dishes served in bed, and our apartment became an
oasis of “at-will” pleasures. Through strategic
investments, I shelled funds into multiple projects that
produced very little fruit; Mentally drained, and
financially dwindling, I began to learn the value of a
dollar. Vanity comes in many forms, for me it was an
inflated sense of pride in my ability to provide; overtime,
the realization that materialistic items only take up
space and real home lies within the individuals who
reside. Vanity will leave you broke, struggling to
understand where it all went in such a short time,
whether positive or negative, vanity is a sure path to
destruction. Spend wisely when you’re blessed with
riches and keep the amount to yourself, envy tends to
run deep in those who believe you don’t deserve all you
have.
How do you view life?

Peter, you have been casting your nets out here and
catching fish. You have been teaching other fisherman
how to catch fish. I’m getting ready to make you fishers
of men. The results will be different. But the process is
still the same. You’re still going to be teaching other
people. You’re still going to be bringing in the drought.
But instead of catching fish, you’re going to catch souls.
Your future is in some way kin to your past.

-TD Jakes 2015 sermon: Destiny from the perspective of

focus

After successfully cooking 25 homemade meals,

assembling personal hygiene care packages on
thanksgiving and distributing them to those sleeping on
subway cars, in city parks, and within the shadows of
our community, I was determined to do more. As I
began to devote more time and energy into providing
light to the world, the lights in my own home grew dim. I
struggled to convey the impact that uplifting the lives of
others would have on the future health and
development on our child to both my family and my
girlfriend, yet without immediate financial
compensation for the time and effort they sacrificed I
began to receive incessant ridicule for devoting myself
to a “Not for Profit” endeavor when there were much
more important things to worry about. I fought with the
idea of giving up my purpose to suffice those around
me, yet I persisted in seeing the bigger picture. I
envisioned a mentally, emotionally, and physically
functional society devoid of all toxicity that plagues the
minds and taints the hearts of modern-day men and
women alike. By creating programs that would
encourage holistic wellness, orchestrating community
outreach events to serve those dwelling beneath the
cracks of society, and by becoming the change I sought
in others, I harnessed a deep sense of obligation to
show appreciation for the blessing God was preparing
for my life.

On December 1oth, 2020, a six-alarm blaze burned

through a string of residential buildings in Richmond
Hill, Queens. According to FDNY assistant Chief John
Hodgens. The fire was initiated by an unattended candle
left lit inside a barber shop on the first floor of 109-25
Jamaica Ave around 1 a.m. and quickly spread to the
apartments above before consuming five other
buildings. Businesses were left ravished, and 40
residents became homeless; losing all your belongings,
watching your families home burn to ashes, and having
to resort to drop-in shelters and public assistance to
gain your footing in life can be a daunting task for
anyone. This I felt was a call from above, guiding me to
fulfill Gods intended purpose for my life. Through a
project named LIGHTHOUSE, my mission was as
follows:

Mission:

As the smoke clears, the dark veil enshrouding our

community poses a threat to the mental and emotional
health of its residents. We will serve as the light of
solace through community outreach events and social
service resources.

Collect Connect Provide

Winter coats local businesses Clean coats/clothes

Clothes Community enrichment organizations Home

cooked meals

Shoes Media Outlets Grocery gift cards

Children's books Social Media Marketing Social

Services
By connecting with local businesses, promoting
awareness on social media, and contacting family and
friends for support, we were able to orchestrate a Drive-
up coat drive on December 13th in light of the social
distancing requirements enforced by the CDC, and
distribute all donations at a community “Giving Day”
event for the residents of Richmond Hill on Sunday,
December 20th.

Step 1: Create a project proposal to give local dry

cleaners, and grocery stores a visual representation of

our plans.

Step 2: Acquire lightly worn and brand-new winter

coats, clothes, and shoes through community
donations, designated drop boxes, and local
businesses.

Step 3: Acquire personal hygiene products to create

care packages, including (washcloth, towel, soap,
cocoa
butter, hand sanitizer, and face masks).

Step 4: Wash and sort coats, and clothes by gender and

size.

Step 5: Distribute all donations and care packages in

Richmond Hill, Queens on December 2020th.

I ventured out with 5 copies of our project proposal to

gain support from the dry cleaners in my area and came
up extremely successful. Withing 48 hours, I gained the
support of both Jim Dandy dry cleaners, and Divas dry
cleaners in Elmont, Long island. We were also able to
acquire massive support from the Western Beef
supermarket in St. Albans, Queens; With increased
community support we were immediately blessed with
47 winter coats as the date of the coat drive
approached.

Game Day

Anxious about building onto the success of our

Thanksgiving outreach event and the impact it had on
the community, I was up promptly at 7 A.M. to begin
preparing for the coat drive scheduled at 11. Being only
our second event and having very few contacts, I
wanted to draw the community in by placing red and
white balloons along the entrance of Laurelton
Playground, as well as position poster boards labeled
“Coat Drive” in bright red ink around the perimeter of
the park to provide direction. To further inform all
donors, we printed brochures containing Dolor
abattoirs mission, our upcoming events, as well as
photo documentation of the meals we cooked for
thanksgiving. The event fostered engagement and
opened the eyes of many to the struggles hidden within
their own communities, thus gaining greater support for
allowing introspection to set in and affirmative action to
be taken. Through an email list we were able to send
personalized appreciation letters to all donors, thanking
them for the role they all played in the acquisition of 162
winter coats, various woman and children’s clothes, as
well as the men’s suits that were collected, washed,
and sorted in preparation for our next step.

Still radiating with pride that a mere idea was able to

manifest into something so great, I failed to gain the
financial resources to buy groceries or fund gift cards
for an entire community. I desperately contacted the
local Red Cross and numerous community outreach
organizations within our area to gain assistance in
finding out where displaced residents were being
housed, yet to avail we were left without sufficient
information or adequate resources to move forward.
Failure began to taint the lens of my perspective, and I
gradually lost sight of my ability to uplift the lives of
others alone; I had tried everything, called every
organization within 50 miles of Richmond hill, even
walked through Richmond Hill myself to gain support
from local businesses. On the brink of collapse, I got in
touch with Jeanette Lugo, head of Agape Food Rescue,
a non-profit charity located in Brooklyn, New York. I
explained the mission of Dolor Abattoir, the recent Coat
Drive success, as well as our need of additional
resources for Project Lighthouse the following weekend.

Releasing my worries though the phone had lifted a

massive weight from my shoulders, for the stress alone
had made it difficult to eat, sleep, or truly grasp the
impact my next move would have on the future of our
son. After about 15 minutes of conversation, Jeannete
humbly invited me to partner with her organization at
the Brooklyn Museums annual toy drive scheduled on
the same day as project lighthouse. She informed me
that with the support of her community she would be
distributing bags of groceries and had additional
organizations that would be in attendance as well. It
was an opportunity I saw as a true blessing; when we
had nowhere to turn, a door had opened that now
allowed for the initial plan to be successful. Id gained
the support of a reputable organization but lost the
support of those closest to me. In preparation for the big
event, I became overly demanding for the necessary
requirements I felt would make us most successful but
failed to account for the toll it was taking on both my
mother, and my than pregnant girlfriend. We had
adopted conflicting motives, on the day of the coat
drive my family decided that they were no longer on
board, leaving me with no way to transport the care
packages and containers of coats from long Island to
Brooklyn. I was expected to arrive at Brooklyn Museum
at 10 am to reserve the tables for both Dolor and Agape
food rescue and begin setting up for the event
scheduled to commence at 12pm; with the sudden
change in devotion from my loved ones, I arrived at the
museum at 11:15, unable to secure adequate space for
both organizations, and found myself still setting up as
the event began. Consumed with disappointment and
perceived betrayal, I failed to see the blessing before
me.

Here I stood in the middle of Brooklyn Museum

underneath the massive Kaws statue distributing Winter

coats and personal hygiene packages alongside other

organizations giving out toys, bags of groceries,
children’s books, watches, and school bags to an entire
community in need. Faith had delivered us to the grand
stage, but emotions would not allow me to attain its full
glory. The turnout was so successful, we were able to
bless 98 people with winter coats, and numerous others
with personal hygiene care packages as the mother of
my child and I watched, hand in hand as families filled
their bags with more than I could ever imagine
providing. The event was coming to an end when the
entire room grew silent; a local rapper by the name of
Rowdy Rebel was released from prison days prior to the
toy drive and was making an appearance to support the
organizations responsible for uplifting his hometown.
As he maneuvered through the room, I felt my purpose
truly being fulfilled; we had just orchestrated yet
another successful event on an even larger stage, and
now would gain additional notoriety from a successful
hip hop recording artist. For the second time, I
witnessed an idea manifest from the words on a piece
of paper to a pillar of light that shined hope and
guidance to an entire community. Despite the backlash
from my family, I now knew I could accomplish anything
I put my mind to if it was in the direction of becoming
the change I sought to instill into others. God had been
speaking to me the entire time, placing obstacles along
my path to make sure I was strong enough to endure the
storm ahead and genuinely dedicated to the betterment
of his people.
Unable to grasp the brevity of the opportunity before us I
began blaming family for not maximizing the potential

of Dolor Abattoir on such a grand stage, yet as a leader I

failed to take responsibility for my role in our
organization’s dysfunction. My desire to be the light for
others derived from days spent sleeping on the
sidewalk with a knapsack covering my face to prevent
the snow from piling up, the months spent behind bars
belittled and abused by officers, and the times those
closest to me chose to laugh at my struggle rather than
extend their hand. Dolor Abattoir was bred through my
struggle, my pain, and my growth; its mission was
inspired by my innate obligation to provide the
programs, the guidance, and the resources necessary
to enhance the mental wealth and stability of the village
responsible for raising our son.

By altering my perspective and retracting the blame I

had placed onto others, I was able to take inventory on
my own strengths and weaknesses. Often when I get an
idea, there is nothing that will diminish its completion;
one of my greatest weaknesses was not being able to
fluently communicate the pace and trajectory of project
outcomes and task completion. Working alone allowed
me to limit any discrepancies in the preparation and
production of projects but was approach was leading
my team further away from our initial mission. I failed to
be receptive to any personal concerns or new ideas and
lacked the courage to take personal accountability for
Dolors dormancy. I was viewing the needs of others
through their eyes rather than asking what was needed,
finding myself overcompensating and providing
abundance to those who desired very little. By creating
an environment that allows others to openly express
themselves for the betterment of the entire organization
increased our productivity and allowed for future growth
without the emotional barriers.

Do not give what is holy to the dogs; nor cast your pearls
before swine, lest they trample them under their feet,
and turn and tear you in pieces. - Matthew 7:6

When I found out I was going to be a father I was

ecstatic, feeling honored to be raising a child with the
same woman I planned to make my wife and build a life
with, instantly I made a vow to be by her side every step
of the way, every doctors appointment, every
ultrasound, every Braxton hick; I wanted to relieve her of
all of the stress the females in my family had to endure
bearing a child alone, with nobody but themselves to
instill confidence, strength, and reassurance during a
time of insecurity and uncertainty. I was working at NYU
Langone hospital in Mineola as a cook at the time,
serving puree vegetables and unseasoned mashed
potatoes to patients and staff at the height of the
coronavirus pandemic for a little over a month before
my promise would be put to the test. Despite the allure
of being deemed an “essential worker” and reaping the
benefits of shorter checkout lines and free food, I
cherished the promise I made to my family over my role
in the kitchen at NYU.

On the day of her first ultra-sound appointment, I was

scheduled to work my normal 9 am – 5 pm shift. I
usually utilized my hour lunch break to catch up on rest
or shop at the local mall, yet that day I felt emboldened
to uphold my responsibility first, as a man for my future
wife and second, as a father for my unborn son. I
planned to leave work at 1 to make the appointment at
1:30 and be back by 2 in time to put the rice in the
steamer. While a brilliant plan in a perfect world, we live
in a world of boundless possibilities, and painstaking
“oh shit” moments that make you reevaluate your
capacity to make rational decisions. As the clock hit
12:58 I was in my jeep pulling up directions to the
Advantage care medical center in Jamaica Estates,
Queens. Without communicating my plans to the
supervisor on duty or utilizing the biometric timeclock
to clock out, I sped to the viewing of my first son; getting
from Mineola, Long Island to Jamaica estates, Queens
in a record 12 minutes, two decisions that would later
decide my fate. I arrived at the doctor’s office at 1:13
with a powerful sense of pride that I beat my then
girlfriend to the office and was ultimately stamping my
name in history as an all-time great father. When she
arrived at 1:47 the joy that radiated throughout my soul
must have destabilized all functionality because while
my brilliant plan was deteriorating before my eyes, I
stood strong, proud, jubilant with a bright smile and an
anxious heart.

Not only did the ultrasound begin 25 minutes late but

she was also scheduled to draw blood immediately
after. There was no hesitation, I felt as though my back
was against the wall with no choice in whether to
jeopardize the fish that would provide both healthcare
and financial benefits for my entire family in exchange
for the brief satisfaction of quelling my girlfriends
attitude and being the knight in stained chef jacket as
she squirmed and moaned in agony as needles were
inserted into her arm for examination. I had released all
responsibility and blame to God as I consciously
negated the fact that 571 infirmed patients and
deserving staff would go without an essential portion of
their lunch due to my selfish desires masked with the
vow I had made when I signed my name on the dotted
line of fatherhood. I decided to let faith take grasp of my
life when I was terminated the next day for job
abandonment, and again 9 months later when faced
with the emasculating thought of the mother of my child
working throughout her entire pregnancy, carrying our
child, and going through spine cracking labor while I sat
reminiscing on the moment when I chose pride over
responsibility.

I had faith that my decision to choose family over a

dollar would provide true wealth to our growing unit, by
being present in every moment and utilizing any spare
time to educate myself and formulate the steps I would
need to take in order to build generational wealth for my
son’s grandchildren rather than settling for the
temporary band-aid that a 9-5 job offers. Providing for
my son what I didn’t have growing up. Within those 9
months I planned and orchestrated five community
outreach events through a non-profit organization I
funded out of pocket named Dolor Abattoir -The
Slaughterhouse of Mental suffrage- a vehicle intended
to uplift, inspire, educate, and strengthen the lives of
those sleeping on the streets and in subway stations
throughout the city. With the help of my mother and
girlfriend we collected and distributed 162 winter coats,
socks, and winter accessories, provided sanitary care
packages to keep those on the street safe from the
impending coronavirus, as well as cooking homemade
meals on thanksgiving, Christmas, and new year’s eve
in my mother’s kitchen. Until you find yourself mixing,
baking, cutting, and packaging 200 squares of
cornbread alone and seeing the appreciation on the
faces of the forgotten souls you serve, you truly
understand the impact of walking in faith and providing
value to the world despite the lack of financial means to
justify the time and energy invested. Given my inability
to produce financially and the insistence on making
Dolor a revenue producing entity rather than a
community outreach organization, I was beyond
understanding when it was decided that our son would
remain with his mother at her parents’ house until we
could afford to get a home of our own.

January 27, 2021, at 4:38 pm Samuel Allen Brantley-

Hart was born at Forest Hills Hospital in Rego Park,
Queens. As I sat in the room with my girlfriend it almost
felt surreal, having lost my father, not even
remembering one time when he and my mother
occupied the same space without allowing their pain to
spew onto me, not one time when they were both
planning to better the lives of our unit as a whole
together and not as broken individuals, or a time when
they simply had a smile on their faces at the same time.
This was my opportunity to break a cycle of
redistributing pain onto the lives of innocent children or
using kids as artillery to detonate the destruction of a
partner’s life once one elevates and pain keeps the
other stagnant. With “Rise up” by Ledsi playing in the
background, I held her legs, fed her ice chips, and
watched in awe as Samuel shimmied his way into
Dr.Chais hands; confident and bold, as though he knew
what his purpose on the this earth was 5 seconds into
life. As I held him and gazed into his slanted eyes, I
could tell God had blessed the world with the light that
would bring his grace into the hearts of non-believers.
He possessed a godly aura with his tongue stuck out,
and his right eye giving a wink of reassurance; there was
no greater feeling than standing hand in hand with the
mother of my child on the front lines to welcome our
son into the world together, united, strong, and building
the family that neither one of us grew up with.

For all 16 hours I felt closer than ever to the mother of

my child, we were finally taking the next steps along our
journey to eternity, or so I thought. The very next
morning I received a phone call from my girlfriend’s
sister calmy informing me that my first-born son was
back at the hospital because he began to turn purple
and had trouble breathing… It hit me like a ton of bricks,
I had invested all trust in the mother my child and her
parents to care for the health and safety of Samuel and
adapt to a newborn being in their home. It was
explained to me that her parents were smoking weed as
he slept in an adjacent room subsequently lowering the
quality of air and causing my son to nearly draw his last
breath without understanding what breath was. I was
livid, distraught, I felt as though I had failed my son
already by bringing him into the world with a female who
considered smoking weed with a newborn was
conducive to his health and argued the validity of her
parent’s actions because it was their house, so she had
to follow their rules. I decided to act in the best interest
for Samuel and moved both him and my girlfriend into
my mother’s smoke-free, “ignorant proof” house.

Still working on finding funding for Dolor Abattoir I was

cash strapped, sleeping on my mother’s couch with my
newborn son and girlfriend in my arms; I was defeated. I
Prayed with the tenacity of a cancer patient who
discovers they have 8 days to live that God bless me
with a financial breakthrough, an opportunity to provide
a Home for my son, and take grasp of my life yet again. I
prayed, and prayed, and begged for a breakthrough and
God delivered. We stayed with my mother for all of 17
days until an apartment listing in Lefrak city caught my
attention. Near shopping, food, and family, it felt as
though everything was falling into place. We moved in
on February 14th with nothing but our clothes, a couch,
and my girlfriend’s old tv. When I think back to the time
frame in which everything occurred, I truly bestow all
grace and praise to God for making a way; by simply
walking through faith, fighting for what I believed in, and
remaining pure at heart I was blessed beyond measure.
On February 17th, $24,000 made its way to my bank
account, enabling me to fully furnish our new
apartment, put a portion away as savings for my son,
and invest a portion into assets that would produce
revenue while I stayed alert for the blue stripe on our
sons’ diaper, and cook dinner for my girlfriend on our
new stove. It felt good to be able to provide for my family
the way I initially intended to. I become super-dad
overnight cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner, offering
to pay for my girlfriends’ education or back her
financially for any business venture of her choice, caring
for our son, pay the bills, even going as far as filling a
royal blue wagon with both of our clothes and pulling it
around the corner each time the hampers began to
overflow.

I felt obligated to break this cycle of Post Traumatic

Slave Syndrome (PTSS) so deeply embedded in the
psyche of our society’s youth; a disorder many like
myself have inherited through the redistribution of
unhealed generational wounds; one that justifies
domestic abuse, child abandonment, and spousal
neglect. I stood strong by the vow I made, investing a
thousand percent of myself into Samuel and Ashley,
utilizing our blessing to assure the health and financial
longevity of our growing unit. I remained optimistic for
all of ninety days, all the time it took to watch a $4,000
investment go to waste as it sat untouched, books
intended to uplift her spirits went unread, exercise
equipment collected dust, intimacy was nonexistent,
and trips across town became more frequent and
longer in duration. After 10 months of struggling to see
the light at the end of the tunnel, I had gone from the
has-been that could barely scrape two nickels together
for my family, to the father who provided a fully
furnished smoke free apartment, along with the
resources, skills, and motivation to uplift my queen.
Through faith my family could now sleep in peace with
investments that would not only benefit our unit but
would also fund Dolor abattoirs non-profit endeavors
and uplift the lives of others as well. Through Faith I
gained strength, vitality, and purpose, yet the realization
that my “Queen” lacked goals, vision, and utilized the
belittlement of others to bandage her insecurities made
me question if I had tarnished Gods blessing by casting
his pearls among swine.

A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a

time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a
time to keep silence, and a time to speak. -Ecclesiastes
3:6

Id prayed for everything before my very eyes, yet it felt

incomplete without the genuine reciprocation from the
partner I sought to grow old with. Unlike many first-time
parents I view being a husband and a father as a
blessing, accepting all the sacrifices and responsibility
that come with it. For nine years I prayed, risked my
freedom, neglected my own family, and lost myself in
the idea of being a perfect man and transcending the
mundane and distracting forces that keep many men in
bondage. I did everything in my power to eliminate the
stigma of “dead-beat” fathers and heal my girlfriend’s
emotional wounds through genuine love and council,
yet to no avail her constant resistance depleted my
mental and emotional reserves. I began to question my
faith each day as the blessing I’d prayed for became the
curse that dismantled the pedestal I once put my queen
upon. I could not understand where I’d gone wrong;
being raised by a single mother, having female friends
that have been physically, mentally, and emotionally
abused, and witnessing firsthand the abuse my
girlfriend experienced in her own home, I made it my
life’s duty to save her from the impending doom I saw
around us. Here I was attempting to save an entire
generation through my noble deed yet was deemed
inadequate by a troubled soul that refused to confront
her own demons. It hurt me because no matter how
much I tried to overcompensate my worth by fulfilling
her every need, the Lord’s voice spoke loud and clear.
He began to rattle our nest, alerting me that it was time
to stop living through the emotions of others, time to
truly utilize the gifts he’s blessed me with for good not
evil and elevate beyond the stagnancy my environment
permitted. Samuel remained the sole focus of my
prayers as I sat in silence reciting Psalms 23:1-6.

The lord is my Shepard; I shall not want

He maketh me lie down in green pastures; he leadeth

me beside the still waters.

He restoreth my soul; He leadeth me in the path of

righteousness for his name’s sake

Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of

death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and
thy staff comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of

mine enemies; thou annointest my head with oil; my
cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days

of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the lord forever.
Shoot for the stars, Aim for the
moon

As difficult as it is to briefly be away from my son,

I felt compelled to create the environment I envisioned
for him away from the chaos and commotion. Instilling
my light into the hearts of those too afraid to ask for
help by completing this book and utilizing my voice to
reach the souls of the unknown. Through Gods divine
guidance, I write to you underneath the majestic
cypress trees in Savannah Georgia, surveying real
estate, schools, churches, and local attractions;
interacting with residents to determine the
compatibility of raising a child, and gauging how the
local culture will affect my son’s overall perspective on
life. I aim to present my book to Tyler Perry, Bishop T.D
Jakes, Kevin Hart, Steve Harvey, And Nas; all of whom
have had the greatest impact on my life, blessing me
with their light on my darkest days and a level head on
my greatest. I aim high, dream big, and walk in faith
along this journey of fatherhood. Relishing how far I
have come, no longer do my emotional wounds,
insecurities, or fears fuel my decision making, nor do
they possess the power to diminish my spirit. As a
father, my greatest accomplishment will be leaving my
truth and wisdom for my son and future generations to
read; a timeless work of literature that has been
completed through sheer faith that my voice will uplift
the souls of men.

CREATE YOUR PEACE

As we prepared for the birth of our first-born son I

influenced my girlfriend to create vision boards to gauge
how our individual goals coincided with the overall
success of our family. A vision board is a collage of
images and words that spark your motivation and
remind you of your values, goals, or dreams. On my
board I emphasized family growth, financial longevity,
travel, and ease of stress; the key components that
drive my daily habits.

As we venture through life, we often keep our heads

down in a vial attempt to avoid looking at the calamity
that envelopes our daily endeavors in the eye. Each step
that we take, someone is taking their last; each breath
we take is a blessing we could never quantify
monetarily. Life itself is filled with thrills and sprawls of
our greatest desires, yet it is easy to become trapped in
incessant greed and vanity. There are limits to
consumption and distribution in all aspects of our lives.
How much do you give in comparison to how much you
take?

While in Savannah, I frequently checked in on Sammy,

eager to get him down to Georgia and finally provide him
with safety and health in a fresh environment that would
elevate the trajectory of his development. Gaining
understanding from my partner about the relocation
proved to be a challenge. The most damaging words I
heard a mother speak to their daughter was that she
must experience their pain and struggle to understand
why certain decisions were made during her childhood.
Recreating dysfunction is both counterproductive and
counter intuitive. When you speak destruction to the
wrong individual, you will reap the benefits of cyclical
wounds that have yet to be healed and force your
children to learn the lessons you as a leader neglected
to adhere to. As leaders, our responsibility is embracing
the sacrifices, suffering the wounds, and utilizing the
challenges we will face along our path as wisdom to be
shared with those we lead. As leaders our goal is not to
recreate dysfunction, but to provide enlightenment and
guidance to those we lead. Our journey is proof, through
literature and conscious conversation we have the
ability to educate our children how to maneuver through
the calamity of life without intentionally succumbing to
each pitfall.
Attempts to get Sammy to Georgia were unsuccessful;
Offering to pay for round trip flight tickets were denied,
and communication was limited to facetime calls and
nightly viewings of our son as he slept through a
Bluetooth camera I had connected to my phone. I grew
impatient, missing our sons embrace and the fatherly
duties I aspired to uphold. After three months in
Georgia, I chose to take a trip back to New York to speak
to my partner in person, in hopes that my actions would
provide the validity that words over the phone couldn’t.

Eager to get back to the city, I drove straight through the

entire trip, only stopping periodically for gas. As I
approached the New Jersey Turnpike and saw the large
notice signaling towards the Lincoln Tunnel a feeling of
euphoria encapsulated my body. Still unsure how the
conversation with my partner would go due to the lack
of communication the past few weeks, I began to
envision the smile on our son’s face and the innocence
in his eyes as I held him close; praying that the
circumstances were not diminishing the light instilled
within.

Upon my arrival in New York, my first call was to my

partner to see if anything was needed for the house.
Unfortunately, there was no reply, so I decided to do
some shopping on my own. Our apartment was in
Lefrak city on Horace Harding Expressway, directly next
to the Long Island Expressway. The area provided
convenience, just blocks away from Queens Center
Mall, Costco, Restaurants, and major highways for
transportation. I stopped by Costco to grab some
groceries; always buying more than our fridge could fit
yet satisfied that our family would be fed for the next
two weeks. As I unloaded the groceries from the car I
felt accomplished, being able to spend time with my
son after being away for three months and having the
opportunity to cook a beautiful dinner in hopes the
ambiance would coax my partner into allowing our son
to travel. Packing the load into a large brown shipping
box to easily transport everything at once and avoid
taking multiple trips. Walking through the halls you
could gain a sense of the cultures that resided within
each apartment by the pungent aroma each cuisine
produced; radiating through the air as the doors of the
elevator opened to the sixteenth floor.

With a bright smile and an anxious heart, I slid the box

of groceries across the hall and began to knock. Slowly
at first, as a courtesy in case our son was sleeping, yet
there was no reply. I began to knock harder assuming
my partner was in the back room sleeping, in the
shower, or on the phone. Ten minutes passed and I’m
waiting patiently at the door alternating between
knocking and dialing my partners number to see where
they were. After multiple failed attempts I chose to
leave the box outside of the apartment door so shed be
greeted by it upon her arrival home, and I ventured back
downstairs to my car.

Something felt off, I had been calling for three days no

without an answer, my son could no longer be seen as I
logged into the cameras at night to see him as he slept,
and now there was no answer as I knocked on the door.
I was compelled to figure out what went wrong, yet I
chose to wait. I didn’t want to go too far in case she
called, so I got a room at a hotel a few blocks away to
wait out the night. Placing my phone on the highest
volume to be alerted of my son’s arrival, I settled in,
opened the Souls of Black Folk, and spent the evening
reading as W.E.B Du Bois shed his wisdom on the plight
and daily toil of our culture.
That a system logically so complete was historically
impossible, it needs but a little thought to prove.
Progress in human affairs is more often a pull than a
push, a surging forward of the exceptional man, and the
lifting of his duller brethren slowly and painfully to his
vantage ground

-W.E.B Du Bois

Progress in human affairs is more often a pull

than a push indeed. I struggle with complacency,
always striving for higher heights and fixed on instilling
confidence in those around me to do the same. When
blessed with the resources and opportunity to elevate
beyond the confines of your environment, take
advantage. Utilize each moment to maximize the
potential of your family’s prosperity through your
actions. At times you may see more in others than they
see in themselves, striving to obtain a height of success
that is unknown to the souls of those you lead. Make
your vision clear enough for others to duplicate the
steps you take as you lead by example with integrity and
humility. Our society tends to give up hope on those
who do not immediately embrace the natural evolution
and growth of our daily lives, yet by abandoning them in
a vulnerable position we are justifying the demise that is
prone to follow. Despite our lack of communication, our
difference in perspective, and the values we sought to
establish, I still felt inclined to rescue my partner from
the ideals that have been passed down through
generations; the cookie cutter mentality of reproducing
our elder’s strife. Times are different, there is much
more information and resources available now than
there was thirty years ago. At some point we must step
out of our shells of obscurity and grasp the beauty that
life has to offer. We are not responsible for the pain
that’s been inflicted in the past, we are not responsible
for the wounds that have yet to be healed. We are
practitioners of faith and acknowledge the steps that
need to be taken for the enlightenment of future
generations yet refuse to be held captive by trauma we
did not incite.

Despite my efforts, it became evident that I had lost the

tug of war and my partner had settled with the comfort
that the status quo provides. I failed to get her to see her
potential from my vantage point, as a mother, as a
woman, and as a spouse. We have all been taught that
actions are louder than words, maybe my actions had
caused the chaos that ensued.
Life treads on life, and heart on heart; We press too
close in church and mart to keep a dream or grave apart
– Elizabeth Browning

When I woke up the next morning, I still had not

received a response to the numerous calls I made the
day before. The day seemed bleak, enveloped with
gloom. Hours went by without an answer, yet with no
other reason to be in the city, I decided to remain in the
area. I drove around taking care of errands for the
majority of the day, yet as the sun began to go down, I
pulled over on Queens Blvd and 70th road and decided
to attempt another call. There I sat, in an all-black
Infiniti G37 with 5% tints, black rims and an all-black
leather interior. It wasn’t anything fancy, just something
to maneuver beneath the radar with; I always wanted a
blacked-out car. With the phone pressed against my
face, dialing my partner’s number, the car violently
jerked forward. All I remember after the initial collision
was opening the door and rolling out, gradually
regaining consciousness as I made my way up off the
ground. Looking back to see if any oncoming traffic was
coming my way, I noticed the entire rear end and the left
passenger door impaled. Further up the road sat the car
who attempted to take off and ran into two other parked
cars in front of me. Still unsure of what occurred, I
couldn’t help but think this collision was no
coincidence.
Adrenaline pumping, I approached the driver’s window
and noticed he was wearing pads, refusing to roll his
window down protecting himself from any serious
damage. The two cars that were parked were vacant; I
was the only driver that was injured in the crash. The
day unraveled into a life altering event, stemming from
my insistence on relocating our son to a new state. It
felt like all cards were heavily stacked against me; I had
separated myself from all remnants of my past, and
now had no means of transportation to get back to work
in Georgia. I was stuck. As the adrenaline wore off and
the police arrived, I had no explanation of the events
that occurred. Sitting in a parked car as someone
attempted to end my existence polluted my mind with
vile thoughts of where the attack came from. The Infiniti
was totaled, I could barely stand yet propped myself up
against a scaffolding nearby surveying the scene. My
phone screen was still on my partner’s contact, so I
tried one more time. This time there was an answer, our
son wasn’t with her, but she was in the area and was
able to pick me up as the tow truck hauled my car away.
As she approached, I could see a look of disbelief on
her face, unsure if it was the site of a mangled car or the
existence of someone who was meant to be in the back
of an ambulance gasping for air.
As we lose ourselves in the details of our vision, we tend
to neglect the status of the human condition of the
masses. So sure, that we can change the lives of those
we lead, instill hope in those who may seem lost, and
ignite the spark that will illuminate the minds of our
community. Like many thought leaders, they come in
strong, persistent, eloquent, and stern. Yet as they’re
teaching, their visions, and their selfless acts begin to
impact the masses, and they begin to experience
unfathomable adversity. Change is intimidating to those
who remain complacent, getting by each day with no
thoughts of longevity; content on profiting off of the
demise of others, and willing to eliminate anything that
impedes their ability to make revenue.

Each unit in the mass is a throbbing human soul relying

on a savior to provide for them what they refuse to work
for themselves. Healing is replaced with substance
abuse, education is replaced with gossip forums, love is
replaced with lustful envy, and truth is silenced. How
does a society grow great when it is functioning from a
skewed perspective of the sorrow of the past, unable to
see the beauty that lies ahead. Blinded by vanity,
enamored with greed, and averse to truth. Our empathy
can be the enablement of a wounded soul who is not
yet ready to rise above the fray; our insistence to elevate
the minds of others can lead to the degradation of our
own. A solemn demise for a noble soul.
We reached our apartment after a silent car ride home.
The box of groceries sat outside the door, in the same
spot I left it the day before. Filled with steak, chicken,
produce, milk, and frozen foods; I couldn’t tell what
wreaked more, the spoiled food or the scent of my
wounded soul limping into an apartment that no longer
felt like home, dreams deferred, love lost. Our son was
my reason for coming back into the city, yet my empathy
for his mom fueled my every action. I couldn’t imagine
her being a single mother, struggling to provide for our
son, falling victim to the cycle I fought to break. Yet the
road was taken by choice, despite my actions, my
words, my sacrifice, the lifestyle that existed before our
son took precedence over the family we were currently
building. Our son hadn’t been in her care for a few days,
the groceries that were bought were spoiled and tossed
in the trash, and my arrival to the city was known once I
dropped the box of groceries to our apartment door. I
wasn’t meant to make it out of that crash. Finding out
where the attack came from took the greatest toll. You
cannot silence truth, you cannot diminish a soul that
operates on faith, and you cannot deter a father that is
fighting for the future of his child. My actions screamed
elevation, my empathy sought to lift those around me
around me to my vantage ground, yet my ignorance led
to my demise. As a leader, your greatest foe may be the
closest person to you, be vigilant, be wise, and do not
allow empathy to outweigh intuition.
If those who command are necessarily better men than
those who obey; and if strength of body or of mind,
wisdom or virtue are always to be found in individuals, in
the same proportion with power, or riches: a question,
fit perhaps to be discussed by slaves in the hearing of
their masters, but unbecoming free and reasonable
beings in their quest of truth.

- Jean-Jacques Rousseau

December 23rd. Barely able to move, I sat in the

apartment as the night’s events cinematically
unraveled. I yearned nothing more than the presence of
my son. Restless, unsure of who to trust, yet
appreciative of my partners accommodation. Before
leaving to Georgia I created a small library for us all to
utilize; a full shelf dedicated to Sammy for night time
stories and daytime adventures, and a shelf for
empowerment, guidance, and faith his mom and I. I
surveyed the collection and Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s
Discourse on the origin of inequality among men best fit
my mood. Literature had become the only tangible thing
I had left to quell the rage that consumed me. Mentally
exhausted, physically incapacitated, and emotionally
distraught; leaning back onto the couch struggling to
find comfort, I elevated my legs, leaned back with silent
groans, and began to read. The pages turned as I sought
clarity and solace; losing track of time yet gaining
perspective on how to approach the upcoming days.
The sun rose and presented a new day, a fresh start, and
an answered prayer. Sammy arrived early the next
morning with a vibrant smile and a blue stripe on his
diaper. Unable to form fluent words, his gurgles and
laughs served as the antidote to my disdain.

His presence served as confirmation of my existence.

The amount of power he possessed without being able
to speak a single word. The force of his influence as he
crawled to greet me, and the protrusion of light though
his soul, grabbing my legs as he stood tall looking up
into my eyes. He waited anxiously for my embrace, yet
unable to bend down to pick him up, I took hold of his
hand and gave praise for the moment. If those who
command are necessarily better men as those who
obey; and if strength of body or of mind, wisdom or
virtue are always to be found in individuals, why do we
continue to blindly commit to disastrous ideals?

Why do we accept mediocrity as our new normal?

When we are all born to be extraordinary, not just
nominal
Why do we accept gun violence as something to be
expected
When our children are dying searching for a cure but
unable to detect it
Why do we value vanity over education?
When knowledge is power and the key to elevation
Why is it impossible to find people who remain true to
themselves?
Constantly consumed by societies compelling shelves
Why must we conform to societies ideas and trends?
When we are all made unique not just to blend
Why must we surrender to man and not God?
When his teachings provide guidance and not just fraud
We need to question the things that are causing us
harm
We must seek the answers to the questions we ask
Refuse the lore of mediocrities deceptive mask
Let us value education and invest in our youth
For they are the future, the purest form of truth
Let us remain true to ourselves and follow our heart
Destined to thrive but first me must start

We often follow blindly without questioning the motives

of our leaders. Willing to exchange the lives of fathers
for the acquisition of a dollar; deteriorating the lives of
children who will one day grow to learn the truth. What
is the price of life, of a soul, of a child’s smile? What
price do you equate to a father embracing his son,
raising him to defy the odds?

The disillusionment of gang culture has penetrated

society for decades. Preying on vulnerability to amass
gains for cowardly souls. Afraid to speak, consumed by
despair, and lacking the education to dissect reality;
society feeds off the crumbs of its own destruction.
Risking their lives for a slice of the pie. Courage is
scarce, yet ignorance is abundant in a deprived mind
feigning for a seat at the table eager to receive their
rations.

I cherished the moments spent with Sammy that

evening; a failed mission led to the greatest moment
I’ve experienced as a father. Consumed by the hustle,
on the road for three months, relocating to a new state,
and building the infrastructure for my family’s future, I
began to lose sight of what was truly important. The
crash that was initiated by man to destroy me was
divinely orchestrated by God to forcefully sit me down
and appreciate the blessings that he has bestowed. The
car was a material item, a source of vanity that satiated
my childish desire to own a bat mobile; the injuries
would heal with time and effort. Yet the absence of a
father by choice is inexcusable despite the intentions
we may have. It is easy to get caught up in our pride as
we venture to provide more for our families, refusing to
be content with the blessings in our hand.

With Christmas approaching the next day, his grace was

the greatest gift I’d ever received. The apartment itself
was silent, illuminated by Sammys laughs and gurgles,
otherwise silent, an air of contempt. My partner and I
exchanged very few words, neither one of us truly
trusted the other; with a functional vehicle, I would have
left as soon as Sammy got home and headed back to
Georgia. Everything happens for a reason that we may
not see clearly, or even accept once revealed. Viewing
my son on a Bluetooth camera 1000 miles from home
wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as him sleeping on my chest
that night. His weight keeping me grounded, preventing
my anger from casting me away. I was doing things my
way, but as the age old saying goes; the steps of a good
man are ordered by the Lord.

What price would you pay to sacrifice your family, your

soul, your life? To allow your environment to dictate the
decisions you make. All of your worry, your anger, your
pride can be healed. What's the price of a child's life,
their guidance, their education, their future? As we
consciously dismantle our community, that price goes
up. Can you afford it? I have a job for you. This mission
doesn’t involve destruction, belittlement, or death. It
consists of upliftment, education, and Faith. What's
your Price?
We ought to consider not only that our life is daily
wasting away and a smaller part of it is left but another
thing also must be taken into account; that if a man
should live longer, it is quite uncertain whether the
comprehension will still continue sufficient for the
knowledge of the divine and the human. For if he shall
begin to fall into dotage, perspiration and nutrition,
imagination and appetite, and whatever else there is of
the kind, will not fail; but the power of making use of
ourselves, and filling up the measure of our duty, clearly
separating all appearances, considering whether a man
should now depart from life, and whatever else of the
kind absolutely requires a disciplined reason. All this is
already extinguished. We must make haste, not only
because we are daily nearer to death, but also because
the conception of things and the understanding of them
cease first.

-Marcus Aurilius

My efforts weren’t Gods plan, they were a culmination

of my own understand of our circumstances and my
desire to elevate beyond the fray. I refused to relive
someone else’s struggle, grief, or regret. Financially we
were in a position to settle down, in our own home,
creating our own memories, raising our son, and
investing in longevity for us both. Separating from New
York wasn’t to duck and hide, it was the realization that
the strings commanding my partner’s actions were
being pulled by a puppeteer who had yet to heal from
their past transgressions. The monetary benefit of her
presence held precedence over our growing unit.
Moving to the other side of Queens only allowed my
partner to fall deeper into despair that she didn’t create,
yet as adults our actions become conscious choices,
despite who the choices are made for and what benefit
you receive. When faced with choices, be clear in your
intentions; playing both sides of the fence to reap the
benefits of two waring ideals will lead to calamity,
deprivation, and chaos.

I needed to look my partner in the eyes and gain an

understanding of what was going on, where we were
headed as a unit; ultimately, I needed permission to
travel to Georgia with Sammy. I am an advocate for
transparency, conversations instead of arguments and
vulnerability instead of pent-up animosity. As Sammy
slept, I suggested we utilize the time to talk, there was a
lot to unpack on both ends. As a mother she had
reservations about Sammy being away from her, not
being able to protect her first child from impending
danger, not being able to see him each day, or hold him
close. I had to understand her perspective, yet I also
knew what was going on behind the scenes, I just
needed to hear it out of her mouth. My intention was
never to separate mother and son, that is a bond that
should never be intentionally broken. I vowed to keep
our communication open, and exclaimed that my
motive was to secure a healthy environment for our son
to grow up in.

New York no longer felt like home; my father and

grandmother passed away months apart in the same
hospital I was born in, I nearly lost my life attempting to
separate my partner from a lifestyle that directly
affected our family, and finding out that my partner was
sharing my every move elsewhere didn’t sit too well in
my heart. I took full responsibility for it all, when you
tolerate the actions of others you cannot hold them
accountable for your demise; I allowed the chaos to
unfold fixated on the bigger picture of breaking a
generational curse yet neglecting to pay attention to the
lethal pixels that lurked in the shadows. I had done the
leg work; I secured a home in Savannah, interviewed
with daycares for Sammy, attended animal hospitals
throughout Georgia to secure employment
opportunities for his mom, and built the framework for
an event catering service and non-profit that was able
to be managed without my presence.

Time was my greatest asset, not having to compromise

raising our son for a job was a blessing I sought to share
with his mom. At the time she was an animal lab
technician; a passion for animals was something she
cherished since the day we met. I commended her
career and didn’t intend to demean her efforts by
insisting that we could accomplish much more. I had to
view our lives through her perspective to understand the
decisions being made. God sat me down for two years;
able to escape the rat race, reflect and revise my
actions, form a clear vision of my goals and the steps
that needed to be taken to achieve them. Each second
was utilized efficiently, though I had no choice, that
time provided me with the foundation necessary for this
exact moment.

I was firm in my decision to build a passive business,

focus on investments instead of employment, and build
generational wealth for those around me. Each aspect
of my vision board was brought to fruition, and I was
ready to execute. My partner wasn’t graced with that
time. Each day posed a different challenge of survival,
her priorities were different, and the need to formulate a
vision beyond the day-to-day wasn’t as essential. The
safety and routine that she sought was the very thing I
fought to escape. Be sure to be concise with your words
when discussing conflicting views; your genuine words
may be perceived as a personal attack to the listener,
constructing a wall of defiance instead of a safe
channel of communication.
God has placed purpose in you, in seed form. You grow
that seed through an intentional pursuit of him. Your
purpose will be revealed to you only as you get to know
God more fully. When you learn his ways, like an athlete
learns plays, desires, and instincts of a coach. You will
align yourself with all that is needed to maximize your
potential. Once you realize God has already chosen you
for success – He has given you your own number- you
can take confidence in the assurance of his carrying it
out. He has situated you to live victoriously. Your Efforts
involves aligning yourself within his grid and with his
design. You don’t need to force it, manipulate it, or
obsessively work towards it. God will do it himself.

My steps were order prior to our son being born; I paid

to price, I sacrificed, and I endured the consequences
of my actions. I was destined to lead our family through
Gods will that’s been bestowed in my heart, yet I
refused to elevate alone. I found myself reaching back
to pull others along the path that God had already
paved, unaware that not all were meant to be a part of
the journey.

As we spoke, many of her concerns possessed

solutions, yet the insistence to remain in the city posed
concerns of her true intentions. I began to question if it
was truly a job that was keeping her tethered, or
something more sinister. While in Savannah, I found her
a position paying nearly twice what she made in the city,
while obtaining more responsibility and access to the
animals she loved. After the crash, the hidden remnants
began to make their way to the surface and a lot of the
missing pieces began to fall into place; no longer was I
confused about what was going on, yet unwilling to
argue any further, I sat silent listening to a soul that I
sought to save. Be transparent with your partner, those
who truly love you will diligently sift through the debris
of your lies; you body language, your speech, your
intent. What’s hidden by man will always be seen in the
spirit.

Sammy rose from his nap peeking his head out of his
crib with an infectious smile, raising his arms waiting for
one of us to tend to him. I picked him up to check his
diaper, lowering him down to the ground as I saw the
stripe was still yellow. He wouldn’t stop smiling, staring
up at me as he made his way to his feet, holding onto
the rails of his crib at first, but suddenly he let go.
Unstable, he fell back down but reached up to try again.
This time he stood up proudly on his own still smiling as
if he was walking in his dreams and it was just his way of
showing us what he already knew he could do. I’ve
never been as proud as I was at that moment, watching
him find his balance eventually taking three steps
forward before falling back down to the ground. His
persistence, his joy, and his growth. These are the
things I valued. I turned to sit back down on the couch
as the patter of Sammys feet followed, making his way
across the room on his own. This was the price we paid
to understand where true value resided. In our bought
with darkness, Sammys light prevailed. Despite our
different perspectives we sat as our son gleamed with
joy, witnessing the steps of a prince that I would have
missed if I left for Georgia on my own. Our perception
and our reality can cause severe entropy; see I
perceived each loss as the ruination of my soul, yet in
reality, my cup overflowed with abounding blessings

that flowed gracefully through each aspect of my life.

The price may be steep, but the reward
The General who advances without coveting fame and
retreating without fearing disgrace, whose only thought
is to protect his country and do good service for his
sovereign, is the jewel of the kingdom.

-Sun Tzu

Sammys perseverance was admirable, the perfect

wingman as I healed from the crash. His ability to regain
vitality inspired me each day, aside from physical
therapy he was my physician each morning as he
yanked my shorts urging me to rise and begin our day,
following him to the kitchen to cook breakfast, each
afternoon as he grabbed his paintbrushes and led me to
the canvas to guide him along his artistic exploration
before he began eating the paint, and each night as he
walked to the bookshelf and chose a book for story
time. The physical therapy office sent a car to pick us up
each day and drop us off after each appointment, yet
the convenience they provided stood no match to the
value of having another human being relying on me to
overcome your infirmities to ensure their survival.

Figuring out how to maneuver throughout the city with

Sammy was the only therapy I needed to regain full
range mobility. Contemplating how I was going to
maintain my responsibilities in Georgia yet refusing to
leave him behind this time. He accompanied me to
kitchens I’d rent out to prepare meals for catering
events, to workout sessions at Fresh Meadows Park,
and to each meeting with non-profit organizations in the
area to gain partnerships and plan fundraising events. I
despised being stuck in the city, awaiting a call from the
insurance company to determine payment, yet the
month I spent in New York provided me with the
groundwork that would ensure future success in the
upcoming stages of our journey. Patience, persistence,
and accountability.

I disregarded much of the animosity from my partner,

understanding where it all stemmed from. I accepted
the reality that having a child does not guarantee a
package deal with your partner; you two may grow
apart, adopt conflicting views, of lose trust in each
other all together. No matter what challenges the two of
you are facing, you both must understand that the
mutual responsibility you share overrides your
afflictions. A child is not a possession to be owned,
traded, or hidden. The enmity within our home led to
avoidance, silence, and unnecessary tension. The
tension quietly surmounted to rage when simply
pleasures were denied.
To determine the true intentions of your partner,
disengage all forms of intimacy, sex, cuddling, hugs and
kisses, the subtle distractions that are used to
circumvent meaningful communication. I outgrew lust
and sought a partner to build with, grow with, and learn
with. Sex can be found anywhere, but true
companionship is rare; mental, emotional, and spiritual
enrichment fortifies the infrastructure necessary for
longevity.

Our impatience being to take its toll, one evening as my

partner returned home, she walked directly to Sammys
crib, lifted him up and walked out. Without getting him
dressed, without grabbing his car seat, and most
importantly, without communicating where he was
headed. If this was her response to me taking Sammy to
the hospital without telling her, it was the wrong form of
recompense. Hours went by without hearing a word. I
valued nothing more than the health and safety of our
son; everything else had been taken, destroyed, and
attacked. He was my source of life, of hope, and faith in
body and of mind. Indignation formed as the phone rang
4 hours later, informing me that she was on her way
back to the apartment to pickup Sammys car seat, yet
refusing to tell me where he was. With persistence, her
hesitation subsided, and she explained that she left him
at her parent’s house and was headed back without
him.
My partner and I had known each other for eleven years
at this point, not once have we raised our voices at each
other, not once have I raised my hand against her, or
even had the inclination to take my anger out on her in
any way. Yet this moment presented an unfamiliar
emotion. One that I hadn’t trained for; I’ve only heard
about this through the stories of others, chastising them
for their lack of patience, yet I was now able to
understand the point they went wrong. My goal was
never to separate our son from others, he was our first
child and the first grandchild for both of our parents.
Blood is thicker than water, yet that blood will choke you
if you allow it to. I sat in front of her parents the week
after Sammy returned home from the hospital after
experiencing smoke inhalation and spoke to them about
the importance of respecting our sons health if he was
to be allowed in their home.

Met with hostility, I was told Fuck my son and fuck his
health, it was their home and we all would abide by their
rules whether a child was present or not. From that day I
lost all respect, and refused to allow our son to spend
time alone there until they woke up to the reality of his
existence. Disrespecting me can be absolved, but
disrespecting my son is a sin that won’t be forgiven. My
partner knew this, she sat next to me while her parents
cursed our child, but she also sat with them as they
rolled up a blanket and shoved it beneath the bedroom
door as they smoked across the hall from our son. The
family you build and the family you are born into are two
individual entities, they balanced off each other, but
they are separate. The dysfunction of one should not
bleed into the functionality of the other. With the
incorporation of a child, failure to decipher between the
two may cause confusion, anger, and violence.

My partners attempt to hide our son in the environment

I fought to get him out of proved the disparities of our
devotion. Family is essential, but if your family does not
respect you or your child it is your obligation to separate
yourself to assure the well-being of your child. It may
hurt, you may go without the benefits you had as a
child, the bond between you all may never be the same,
but as a parent those are that spoils of war you will
experience as you transition from being responsible for
yourself to being responsible for a child, you may have
to leave some people, places, and things behind. A
father’s role is not to covet fame for taking care of our
children, nor should we shy away disgrace as we fight
for their safety and health. You may face alienation,
betrayal, or confrontation; stand your ground, stand
firm in faith, and stand firm on your word.
Waiting for my partner to arrive back to the apartment
felt like eternity, wondering who and what was around
Sammy, was there smoke in the air, was he even at her
parent’s house or did she just say that because it was
the safest answer. Apart of separating Sammy from New
York was separating from any person, place, or thing
that posed a risk to his safety; houses full of smoke,
houses and cars with drugs present, and any individual
who valued a dollar over the health of a child. It has
become normalized in our community, justified by our
insistence to provide for our family. I don’t judge those
who find a way to survive, yet when you are dealing with
children you must understand the impact your actions
have on their development. Children observe
everything, they inhale everything, and they tend to
touch and taste everything out of curiosity. Be
conscious of your responsibility as a parent, respect
your child enough to evolve and leave destructive
behavior behind. Your children depend on you. Don’t let
them down.

She entered the apartment in haste, determined

to avoid an explanation of where our son was and why
she disappeared with him that evening. A mother has all
rights to take her child, yet when you share a roof with
the other parent, communication is necessary. I refused
to let her leave without gaining an understanding of the
events that occurred. Refusing to raise my hand against
a female, I felt myself on the verge of blacking out;
refusing to retrieve our child was the gust of wind that
nearly sent me over the edge, to the point of no return.
Growing up in a household full of females and having
most female associates, I have never been physically
abusive, and this wasn’t going to be the first time. My
rage presented itself in my voice, furiously picking up
her keys and hurling them towards the door gesturing
her that it was time to go.

When you play with someone’s child, expect to

experience a side of them you didn’t know existed, I’m
sure its new to them too. Her demeanor was one of
provocation not solution, she sought a reaction out of
me that I refused to deliver. While upstate She was in a
relationship with a male who was physically abusive,
choking her out of her sleep, kicking her down steps,
giving her black eyes; what was described to me
motivated to never place her in a situation where she
feared for her life. I sought to heal the wounds that were
inflicted without knowledge of the root cause. I could
now see what provokes many men from disregarding
their moral responsibility to protect woman, when the
woman their protecting chooses to uphold a masculine
role and bait the abuse.
The look of fear in her eyes is a sight I regret; standing
over her demanding we go get our son as she sunk into
the couch expecting the blow she’s encountered in the
past. If I could change one thing, it would be the way I
handled that moment. Despite her insistence on
provoking a reaction, I lacked self-control and the idea
of my son lying in a hospital bed again for his mother’s
negligence dissipated all thoughts of constraint. My
mother ended up picking Sammy up the next morning
and bringing him to me to prevent any regrettable
actions from transpiring. I thank her for that, many men
are tricked out of their role as fathers; others devote
time into figuring out their triggers and antagonize them
until the eventually snap, no matter how much you
attempt to control your emotions, we all have limits.

All love was lost at this point, utilizing a child as a pawn

deems you a threat whether you’re a parent, a family
member, or a stranger. Jeopardizing a child’s life results
in that threat being handled accordingly. Approaching
this situation physically would result in imprisonment, a
place I vowed I’d never return. Approaching it
emotionally and leaving my son behind to clear my
head, would result in abandonment; a cycle I fought to
break. I chose to wash my hands of the city and all
those involved, unwilling to sacrifice my son for the
appeasement of others. Fear was non-existent, my sole
purpose was to get Sammy to safety and anything that
stood in the way posed no significance. I didn’t concern
myself with being the jewel of the kingdom, I took the
conscious steps to be the father my son needed.

Despite what we go through as parents, our frustrations

should never be taken out on our children. As men we
have to break this idea that placing our hands on
woman is justified, no matter the circumstance; Your
child is watching your every move, absorbing the tone of
your voice, and redistributing the pain you inflict as they
grow. Walk away from anybody, including your spouse,
who intentionally provokes you to anger. You freedom is
not worth the gratification of your response. We must
take accountability for our own actions, and ultimately
hold others accountable for theirs as well.

Sitting on the couch with Sammy reading him a book, I

gave praise for his return. It felt like someone had taken
him for ransom, giving me an ultimatum to deal with
their ignorance or extinguish my right to be a father. We
don’t have to be perfect; when we pray righteously, God
will answer for the sake of his children. Sammys mom
walks into the room standing over us both attempting to
alleviate her actions by requesting a hug. Childishly I
refused, ignoring her and continuing to read to Sammy
as he struggled to pay attention. A hug wasn’t going to
change my mind about her character. After multiple
requests, she chose to take matters into her own hands.
Sitting on my lap wrapping over my shoulder desiring
affection I no longer possessed. Insisting that she get
off my lap, and my constant denials drove her beyond
her limit. Her arms moved from my shoulders to around
my neck, interlocking them both into a vice grip as she
leaned back cutting off all circulation;

Sammy nearly fell off the couch as I struggled to make

my way to the door with him in my arms. As men it is
commonly our word against woman and the courts,
getting to the door to gain the neighbors attention my
form of insurance. With his mom clinging to me as I
carried Sammy to the door, I couldn’t imagine us ever
getting to this point. Our lack of communication placed
Sammys safety at risk for the third time. The neighbors
ignored the knocks, so I handed Sammy to his mom and
grabbed some clothes to get him dressed. The lack of
accountability enabled her to believe her actions were
justified. She had become accustomed to abuse,
belittlement, and survival; despite my attempts to
create a safe space for us all, that was an aspect of hers
that had yet to heal.

Her actions led her to being arrested for child

endangerment and assault. The last resort anyone must
take, yet as men the odds are naturally stacked against
us; mere accusations of abuse place us behind bars
before we have a chance to explain ourselves. When a
female repeatedly places their hands on a male, in the
presence of a child the lesson must be taught without
jeopardizing the safety of your family. As men we pride
ourselves in not involving ourselves with law
enforcement, but when speaking of domestic incidents,
that precedence needs to be abolished. If the lesson is
never learned, the abuser will continue until they meet
their unfortunate fate at the hands of someone who
doesn’t care about them as much as you do; this
applies to both male and female. Respecting your
partner’s body, mind, and soul is a sign of true love. We
all have limits, none of us are perfect, boundaries may
get crossed; through fluid communication we can work
through each trial. Our freedom is at stake and our
children suffer the fate of our incompetence.

Shortly after her arrest I sat down with the assistant DA

of Queens and advocated on her behalf, so she wasn’t
subjected to jail time; instead, I suggested mandated
counseling and anger management to work through
whatever she was working through. I’ve learned first-
hand that incarceration doesn’t heal an individual
unless they themselves are ready to change. My
intention wasn’t to destroy her, or to impede her
relationship with Sammy; but to stop her before she
met her own demise. She had grown accustomed to
being verbally abused by family and physically abused
in her past relationships; gradually diminishing her
sense of worth, adopting a masculine demeanor to
compensate for her pain and protect herself from all
perceived threats. I understood her pain, but her fear of
vulnerability pushed her over the edge each time I drew
close.

Upon release the next day, the court initiated an order of

protection effective until her next appearance in April
and granted me temporary custody of our son.
Accountability comes in many forms, rather than
placing blame on my partner I upheld responsibility for
the role I played. While my intentions to save my partner
from her trauma and create a safe space to build our
family were pure, I didn’t take the time to understand
what she truly wanted. I was operating through the
vision I had for us all instead of taking the time to learn
the changes she was going through each day as a first-
time mother. My adamance pushed her deeper into the
pit I thought I was pulling her out of.

I contacted the Long Island Fatherhood Initiative for

guidance; my words caused destruction instead of
unity. I needed to release my idea of what a partner was,
and truly learn my role as a father, as a spouse, and as a
man for my community. The program consisted of
virtual meetings twice a week with a mentor named
Stan, as well as an impactful workbook that explained
in depth many of the situations I was experiencing. It
was a blessing speaking to other fathers and releasing
the burden of shame for my failure as a father; I was
now a statistic of the cycle I sought to break. We cannot
control the actions, emotions, or desires of others; our
insistence to change our partners instead of patiently
growing with them will only draw them back to their
comfort, relapsing and regressing to self-destructive
behaviors and toxic environments.

Stans wisdom was impactful throughout each step of

the transition with Sammy; offering words of
encouragement, an entire team dedicated to our
success, as well as travel expenses and gift cards when
I was offered a Chef Assistant role at Disney’s Epcot
resort in Orlando. The opportunity provided Sammy with
a fresh environment, secured his safety and health, and
expose him to opportunities that would enhance his
growth and development. They offered flexible day care
on Disney’s premises, health care benefits, and a
program that provided paid housing for three months.
We were granted two grey hound bus tickets to begin
our journey and massive support throughout each
phase. Never limit Gods ability to turn your situation
around; when all feels lost, he will guide you, when you
feel depleted, he will supply provision, and when you
grow weary, he will renew your strength. Your steps have
already been ordained.
The wise man is late for a fray, but not for a feast.

-Socrates

In 1984 Steven Maier and Martin Seligman presented a

lecture at The American College of
Neuropsychopharmacology to discuss learned
helplessness in animals. They called this condition
“Inescapable Shock”. Administering painful electric
shocks to dogs who were locked in cages. After several
courses of electric shocks, the researchers opened the
doors of the cages and shocked the dogs again. A group
of control dogs who had never been shocked before
immediately ran away, but the dogs who had been
subjected to inescapable shock made no attempt to
flee, even when the doors were wide open. The mere
opportunity to escape does not necessarily make
traumatized animals, or people take the road to
freedom. Many traumatized people simply give up.
Rather than experimenting with new options, they stay
stuck in the fear that they know.

Thirty-six hours on the greyhound bus was Sammys first

true adventure. Rest stops allotted an hour to explore
each state, the sights, the people, the food. His
resilience throughout the entire trip; was admirable;
eager to run around and showcase his newly acquired
talent, yet he sat patient scribbling in his notebook,
watched movies on my phone and peered out of the
window as we journeyed through mountains, farms, and
over bridges. His cooperation unknowingly alleviated
much of the stress that plagued my mind, blessed to be
on the road yet unsure of what was to come. I struggled
keeping his milk fresh in between stops, resorting to
Enfamil protein shakes as a temporary replacement.
Despite the challenges, it was a blessing as we
approached our destination. We left New York on
Sunday and arrived in Orlando, Florida on Tuesday
morning at 2 am. From twenty-degree blizzard
conditions to eighty-degree tranquility overnight. We
weren’t dressed for the occasion; we were both wearing
sweatsuits and Timberland boots.

Settling into peace, leaving all worry behind. The long

Island Fatherhood initiatives gift cards allowed me to
buy Sammy adequate clothes and food once we
arrived. With onboarding the next day, I expected to
begin working and settle into a residence with Sammy. I
traveled to Florida on a mission fueled by faith, unaware
of the strain that my past was going to have on my ability
to provide for Sammy now.

Arriving to Disney the next morning was magical, every

child’s dream and every parent’s goal. The dream
unfolded before my eyes, walking with Sammy to the
casting center eager to embark upon this new chapter
of our lives. After speaking with a recruiter over the
phone, explaining my criminal history, and the current
circumstance with Sammy, they assured me of their
support upon hiring. AS we entered the palace, we were
greeted by two members who informed me of the
expected itinerary for the day. The first stop was
providing my ID and any documentation I had for
Sammy. Everything was smooth until I was directed to
the security department to complete a background
screening. I explained the felonies on my record over
the phone, but I was overwrought with doubt as I filled
out the necessary forms and approached the retched
question, “Have you ever been convicted of a felony”. I
checked the box with a veil of obscurity enshrouding my
soul. Timidly handing the documents to the team
members I was sure that the dream was about to
implode. They looked up with disgust as they surveyed
my answers and came across the section that alerted
them of my criminality. They looked up at me and
immediately informed me my intended start date would
be postponed as the security department initiated an
investigation to decide my fate as a Disney chef. They
needed documentation of each court case and the
nature of each charge.
We were now stuck in Orlando. No family, no friends;
just Me, Sammy, and faith. I felt defeated, traveling
thirty-six hours with Sammy assured of his safety and
health, only to be told that my past disqualified me from
creating a future for my son. I was unsure of what to do.
Each step I took was derailed by my own poor
decisions. The security officer handed Sammy a stuffed
Mickey Mouse and a few stickers as they sent us on our
way and bid me good luck as we awaited their verdict.
Mesmerized by the life-sized Disney Characters and
majestic rides, Sammy ventured through the theme
park oblivious to the levity of this setback. With family
court approaching in a month I now had no employment
or residence to provide to the judge. Despite being
granted temporary custody, the odds were not in my
favor. I had been caged my entire life, administered daily
doses of fears, trauma, and regrets of others. The cage
doors were pried open by Gods will and I followed his
steps to freedom.

Due to the courts restrictions, Sammy was able to

speak to his mother thirty minutes per week through
virtual visits supervised by a mediator. Despite her
actions, I put my pride to the side and understood the
value of a healthy relationship between parent and
child. The interactions on the screen didn’t compare to
the warm embrace of the one you love, urning to see
their smile or wipe their tears as they scream that they
miss you but can’t form the words. Sammy was fixed on
the playground outside and the sandbox he left his
footprints in each day as the sun kissed his skin.
Keeping him Infront of the screen and focused on his
mom was a task within itself, often struggling to find the
best angle to keep his attention without voiding their
time together.

Three days went by before hearing from Disney’s

security department informing me that they needed
official court documents from Queens and Nassau
County detailing the nature of each charge and the
outcome of each case before they would make a
decision. Frantically calling the court clerks, I informed
them of the urgency of the matter, and they surprisingly
complied, providing me with overnight shipping of the
necessary forms. Looking at Sammy, smiling as he
flipped the pages of his vibrant picture books intrigued
by the pop-up dinosaurs and various sounds as he
pushes the buttons on the page. I sat down next to him
with a sigh of relief. All was not yet lost; it was just
postponed temporarily. That night we prayed for
guidance, wisdom, and strength; releasing our fears to
God as we surrendered to his will. I refused to allow
Sammy to see me break, so I remained fully engaged
with him throughout the day and utilized the evening as
prayer time as he laid to rest.
The next morning, we went downtown to Lake Eola
where Sammy chased the ducks, marveled at the black
swans and counted the coy fish. My background check
caused a major delay, yet Sammy didn’t know that, he
had embarked on a never ending adventure; frequenting
the pond, the playground, and the library where they
conducted story time and activity days that allowed him
to participate in Guided songs and crafts with other
kids. Keeping him engaged with other kids was essential
during our time in Orlando; I naively ventured to Florida
without a plan B or anyone to fall back on if things fell
through. Watching Sammy emulate the hand gestures
of other kids with excitement in his eyes, following along
during Storytime, and learning how to use the slide at
the playground on his own were some of his proudest
moments aside from him taking his first steps. He
developed new skills each day o; evolving before my
eyes.

So entrenched in the memories I was creating with

Sammy, I lost track of the days as I awaited a final
decision from the security department. The position at
Disney was a blessing, but it was not pursued for the
accolades of prestige that accompanied the tittle;
Sammys health and safety in a fresh environment was
the ultimate goal. Witnessing Sammy hit each
milestone compensated for any loss I could have
endured. Everything I prayed for was bestowed upon us,
I was anxious over a position that promised what I felt I
needed, yet God gradually showed me the power of his
will and the extent of his provision.

Disney’s response came through the mail three weeks

after the initial start day; a letter informing me that the
employment offer was rescinded due to the contents
discovered on my background check. With an
opportunity to appeal their decision, I began looking for
other opportunities to secure adequate employment to
present to the courts. With the way Sammy was
flourishing in that environment I refused to allow a lost
opportunity to lead us back into the cage that we
elevated beyond. Sammy was the catalyst for my
growth as a man; my inability to overcome
complacency, insecurity, and fear would subject him to
unnecessary shocks that would alter his psyche as he
grew; shocks that I had the ability to prevent. The cage
represents the environment we were raised in.
Throughout childhood we may experience trauma, loss,
or disappointment. As we grow trauma that we fail to
confront becomes the enablement of the cage that
offers comfort and justifies the abuse inflicted upon us
as a standard of the status quo. Even as the cage doors
open, many of us remain trapped, unwilling to fully heal,
forgive, and move on. We forge the chains that enslave
us.
I wasn’t sure what our next steps would be, but I was
sure that Sammy wouldn’t have to emulate my pain.
With court approaching in less than two weeks I
accepted assistance from a female who said she
respected what I was doing with Sammy and
commended the intentions that I had. She understood
that everything was falling apart and offered to pay for
hotel rooms until we figured it out together. She had two
children of her own who hadn’t seen their father in over
a year due to their disagreements. When all feels lost,
God will provide; it is up to us to listen to his word and
surrender to his will. The transition to Orlando was a
challenge within itself, yet upholding responsibility for
two additional children presented obstacles that only
God provides the strength to endure. We all shared a
hotel room; a one-year-old, a three-year-old, and a five-
year-old. Each with distinctively different personalities,
finding their way and discovering themselves each day.
It was a blessing to see a mother sacrifice so much for
her children and still have enough grace to assist two
strangers. It felt too good to be true at first, yet as time
progressed, I began to understand that when God
answers your prayers, he will administer a series of
tests to assure your capacity to receive his blessing in
full. Many of the things I spoke to Sammys mom about
were the obstacles I encountered, yet I could not judge;
we were both on individual journeys, both fighting for
the safety of our children. We were placed along each
other’s path for a reason.
Court was conducted virtually as Sammy played with
his new friends. The questions that I feared weren’t
asked, instead I was informed that in person visitation
had been granted and Sammy needed to be back in
New York in two days; his mom was granted visitation
from Saturday at 5 pm to Monday at 8 pm each week.
From criminal charges being dropped, order of
protection being lifted, and virtual visits transitioning
into in person visitation; advocating on her behalf was
done genuinely to maintain communication between
mother and son and it worked efficiently, yet my
empathy would soon serve as my disdain. Within two
days I now needed to figure out how to get Sammy from
Orlando to New York still awaiting the check from the
insurance company to arrive to following week. I had no
money to my name, and the female I met had just
enough for a few snacks and a full tank of gas. She
offered to allow me to drive her car to New York if she
could accompany me with her kids. We planned to
leave at midnight to arrive in the city by five o’clock. In a
perfect world, our plans will always work perfectly, but
there will always be obstacles along our path; it takes
mental and emotional fortitude to reach the goals we
set. With three children, one major obstacle was waking
them each up in time to leave on schedule. Midnight
quickly turned into five am, scrambling to get them all
dressed and down to the car undeterred by the time
constraints that we had. A fifteen-hour drive now had to
xbe accomplished safely in twelve; aside from the
apparent time constraints, we also had limited
finances. Before getting onto the road, we filled up the
tank, leaving just enough money for a quarter tank at
the next fill up. We embarked on that journey with sheer
faith, refusing to stop unless it was for gas, getting out at
each station to ask strangers for gas money. I was
selfish during that trip, Sammy making it to his mother
was my primary concern, disregarding the safety of the
three other individuals in the car as I sped against time.

Pressed for time, I called Sammys mom to inform her

that we would be in the city around nine o’clock instead
of five, but Sammy would for sure make his way to her
no matter what. My greatest fear was my losing my
rights as a father for not showing up at all, no matter the
reason I used to justify his absence. By advocating on
her behalf, she was no longer deemed a threat to his
health and safety; any misstep on my part would work
against all that I had fought for. We arrived in New York
at eleven that night, walking into the precinct unsure of
what to expect. I knew Sammy missed his mother; he
hadn’t seen her in four months. As I handed him to his
mom he began crying, reaching back for my embrace; it
was painful to walk away from him as he reached for my
hand, yet I knew for the first time that were doing the
right thing. Still financially depleted, I still had three
other individuals relying on me to provide. They were
1000 miles from home, unfamiliar with the
environment.

I felt uneasy about being in the city, unaware of the

dangers that lurked in the shadows, the insecurities of
those I turned my back on, and that unhealed wounds
of those who I’ve hurt. My decision to involve law
enforcement in our domestic dispute caused my family
to turn their back on me. I still stand firm in my decision,
if the tables were turned and I didn’t contact the
authorities, I would have jeopardized my role as a father
by choice; not because it was the right thing to do but
because I was living up to an illegitimate street code
that disbars many men from their freedom for the
appeasement of inconsequential souls. Sacrificing your
relationship with your children for an unwritten code
diminishes trust within our children as they begin seeing
us less, or only seeing us in environments where we are
controlled by an unforgiving system. My choice was for
the health and safety of the family God blessed me with,
not the approval of the family I was born into.

On the brink of collapse, we often feel depleted,

exhausted, unsure of what steps to take next. Having to
return Samuel to the environment I fought to get him out
of took the greatest toll; strapping him into the car seat
of his mother’s car, kissing him on the forehead and
assuring him that I’d see him soon unaware that it
would be our last embrace. Losing the ability to uphold
my role as a father and nurture the growth and
development of my son castrated my soul. I began
giving more, serving more, and allowing faith to be my
guide; continuing to orchestrate community outreach
events in Miami, serving meals to homeless shelters,
transitional housing facilities, and to those who found
solace on the streets. My pain induced attuned touch to
be the source of my healing; shaking hands and
engaging in conversation with those who are often
overlooked, served as a mutual benefit. The light that
was hidden within their sorrow began to illuminate the
darkness that plagued my mind. Each interaction
served a purpose, learning the stories of lost souls and
instilling faith within them.

While my intentions remained pure, I began to notice

that my actions were enabling a lot of individuals and
providing a source of comfort in situations that
demanded conscious change. It was difficult to discern
those who were truly in need and those who utilized the
allotment of genuine resources as the substance of
their hustle. I refused to dilute the purpose of my
mission, yet as finances began to deplete, I needed to
find balance. By teaching viable skills to those who are
often neglected and offering them employment
opportunities, I sought to bridge the gap between those
who were ready to elevate beyond the confines of their
circumstance and those who had yet to find their way.
Teaching, serving, and collaboration filled the void of
Samuels absence.

Mentally, spiritually, and financially depleted, I found

myself at my lowest point. The responses to emails
seeking partnerships, guidance, and funding to secure
the necessary space to begin training and employment
came to a halt, art became the expression that my soul
lacked the energy to speak, and literature became the
escape my pockets couldn’t fund. I found myself in the
same position as those that I sought to help, depleting
myself in an attempt to show proof of concept to
potential investors. My back was now against the wall,
unable to show proof of stability to the courts and gain
custody of Samuel, unable to find the vision that was
instilled within my soul, and out of ideas. I prayed for
wisdom, guidance, and understanding; for a divine
encounter that would change the trajectory of the
journey that now seemed lost, and connection with a
genuine soul that would foster reciprocity, education,
and transcendence.

God used my mouth as a sharp sword and hid me within

the shadows of his hand; as I struggled to see the light,
the beauty, or the process, God was by my side listening
to each prayer and guiding each step. I found myself
sitting outside of Aventura Mall creating inventory logs
and applying for equipment grants when two beautiful
souls approached me to engage in prayer. The
encounter I prayed for was bestowed upon me in the
form of leaders from Great Grace Church led by Pastor
EJ Newton, Martha and Joana. Their presence felt
angelic, and their genuine embrace reignited the flame
that went dormant within. Joanas ability to remain true
to her morals, her confidence, and integrity reassured
me that a woman’s respect for themselves and refusal
of degradation for the attainment of vanity still existed.
Marthas love for her son, her humility and insistence to
obtain stability for herself and her family defined the
traits I’ve prayed for in an ordained spouse. As we spoke
my respect for them both grew, and my faith was
restored. They invited me to attend church service in
Wynwood, and I immediately obliged, I understood that
the greatest goals are never accomplished alone. I
needed a team who understood the power of faith and
could emulate my passion for the growth and
development of others. Pastor EJ Newtons message
confirmed the words that I uttered profusely through
prayer; eloquent, concise, and deliberately delivered
divinely at the right time.

We often toil without wisdom and lose hope without

prayer. We fight for our own idea of success and lack
understanding that we are each a servant in all that we
do. Our presence is not for the attainment of vanity,
fame, or fleshly desires; our purpose is to uplift, inspire,
educate, and strengthen the lives of others along the
path that God ordains for each one of us. In my darkest
times prayer led to deliverance and faith guided my
steps; as my mind yearned to give up, my soul grew
closer to Gods call. You are never alone despite
uncertainty and exhaustion; through faith and diligent
daily preparation you will transcend the adversity that
many falter beneath. When unspoken words are
discovered, uttered, and received, the isolation of
trauma is fundamentally healed.
Where there is no inlet there is no outlet. There is no
river without a source, no stream without a rising spring.
The fountain will not spray without the water, the ship
will not sail without the current; dead is the lamp
without the light. But linked with the source, the river
runs, the fountain sprays, the ship sails, and the wheel
turns. “The lamp giveth light unto all who are in the
house” We must be in alliance with the unseen. We
must look up, move up, reach up, and then we shall be
prepared to lift up. Having become the inlet, we shall
also become the outlet of all there is in God. Only the
uplifted becomes an uplift.

- Fenwicke L. Holmes

Discernment is the subtle voice, the

omnipresent sign, and the Gut-wrenching sensation we
receive when our spirit alerts us to raise our awareness;
something is not right. As we engage in frequent prayer
and rid ourselves of worldly desires and temptations of
the flesh, that subtle voice adorns us with clarity,
wisdom, and understanding. Discernment removes the
veil and obliterates the facades of ingenuine souls,
illegitimate ideologies, and destructive environments.

It is surreal to witness prayers manifest before

your eyes. Great Grace was introduced to me by two
beautiful souls who serve through evangelism: praying
for those in need and drawing them closer to God. In an
environment fueled by vanity, greed, and deceit, it is
often difficult to encounter faith led practitioners who
encourage your relationship with God rather than mock
his word and distort his will. Like minded individuals
convening together in prayer, praise, sharing
testimonies, and encouraging growth and prosperity.
Learning the stories of those who have traversed the
land that I am now exploring; gaining the wisdom from
the lessons they learned along their journey.

As I stood in the courtyard awaiting the commencement

of service, I engaged in a conversation with a gentleman
who was battling the transition from nature and
tranquility to the hustle of a vanity driven city. As we
spoke, I became intrigued by his occupation; managing
the investment capital for major airlines and overseeing
the protection of their assets. It’s rewarding to be
receptive to knowledge from those who have attained
levels of success that surpasses our own. His
understanding of the city as a businessman was
different from mine as a father, yet the impact of faith on
our individual journeys presented many similarities.

Upon arriving in Miami, I set boundaries to prevent a

gradual regression to the environment and mentality
and mentality the I’ve elevated beyond; no parties, no
drugs, no alcohol and no desires of the flesh without
building a firm foundation. Each action is purpose
driven and each interaction is either to learn, to share,
or to build. The gentleman asked me if I’ve noticed the
social groups that value status over substance, the
aggrandizement of vanity or the incessant materialistic
greed, and the ingenuine nature of many encounters.
Both business and personnel have revealed these
precedents. With the non-profit I struggled to gain
traction from investors and sponsors in the early stages
of development as I feared a dilution of purpose would
ensue if I began to operate for monetary gain. My pitch
to potential investors warranted concern of their lack of
recompense; I became accustomed to funding
everything out of my own pocket for the genuine
upliftment of those that I served, but through seeking
additional capital a monetary benefit needed to
accompany my charitable deeds.

I despised profiting from the demise of others,

monetizing the plight of vulnerable souls for my
personal gain. That was the problem I worked diligently
to solve; often, the organizations that are positioned to
elevate the lives of those in need fail to allocate proper
resources to the crucial areas that keep many struggling
individuals in survival mode. The process that proposes
to rehabilitate becomes a revolving door of inebriated
souls. It is difficult to solve a problem when the problem
of profitability outweighs the desire for change. I’ve
watched as clothes and money given to an individual
sleeping on the street were traded for a drug to get them
through the night or alcohol to numb the reality of their
disdain. After blessing someone financially, I began
following them to see what their next move would be;
the money given to prepare them for job interviews was
used to obtain packs of cigars and its herbal
companion. Is it possible to be a viable solution to a
problem that is not viewed as an infliction. How do you
overcome the obstacle of enablement in an
environment fueled by greed?

Investors had already pondered these questions long

before I arrived. It is not an unwillingness to help those
in need, they simply gained an understanding of what I
was now discovering. My naivety viewed the problem as
a lack of resources limiting the ability to transcend
adversity; the investors viewed it differently. They
perceived it as a lack of willpower and an influx of
influences that conditioned those struggling to prefer
comfort over a solution. By offering money, you begin to
enable destructive habits. By giving clothes, you provide
a viable remnant to trade in exchange for the destructive
habit; without conquering the source of the destruction,
the habit will continue to find a way to be fed.
Until we cleanse communities of drugs that plague the
minds and bodies of its inhabitants, we have no chance
of solving the homeless problem within our society. The
pain and struggle that leads many into homelessness is
also the catalyst that produces profit. This has become
a nationwide epidemic that does not seem to be
improving. Despite the technological advances and
innovations that have catapulted societies productivity,
we still struggle with addiction, a distortion of moral
compass in route to riches. In the Discourse on the
origin of inequality among men, Jean-Jacques Rousseau
wrote “from the moment one man began to stand in
need of another’s assistance; form the moment it
appeared an advantage for one man to possess the
quantity of provisions requisite for two. All equality
vanished; property started up; labor became necessary,
and boundless forests became smiling fields which was
found necessary to water with human sweat, and in
which slavery and misery were soon to sprout out and
grow with the fruits of the earth”

I had to reevaluate the strategy and vision for our

organization. Having the knowledge of the ills of society
with a plethora of supportive evidence, how can I
impose the greatest impact on the growth and
development of those who need it most. Speaking to
the gentleman at Great Grace granted me reassurance
of the ingenuine encounters, the value of status over
substance, and the incessant materialistic greed that
I’ve experienced along this journey. I responded to his
inquiry by emphasizing the importance of remaining
true to yourself, to your purpose, and your vision.
Without crossing the fine line between confidence and
arrogance, we must understand who we are in a society
that will aptly assign you with an identity that suits their
agenda. Without a firm understanding of your own
worth, you will be swayed in whichever direction you
can be used most; not used as a vessel by God for his
glory and not our own but used as a pawn to further the
demise of the community you seek to heal.

I needed to pivot the vision of our organization. During a

visit to Bakehouse Art Complex in Wynwood, I had the
honor of speaking to a few artists that humbly shared
the inspiration behind their work and the influence they
aspire to have on their audience and grabbed a.

book on accountability from their communal library. The

true blessing of my visit came in the form of an
interaction I had on the way out. As I approached the
exit I noticed a door open on the left side of the hall. The
night prior, I studied their five-year plan, their beliefs
and principles and their devotion to the development
and prosperity of artists; I was eager to speak to
someone to pitch a partnership opportunity by engaging
with the artists to create personalized menus for clients
to allow expression through color schemes, plating
techniques, décor, and allow each artist to showcase
their upcoming work. I had a willingness to learn
through mentorship how to create volunteer
opportunities for young members and senior leaders
within local churches, community outreach
organizations, and local sports teams. Through
collaboration I envisioned inspiring integrity,
accountability, and community engagement.

When opportunity presents itself, my ambition takes

flight. I turned into the office and greeted the woman
sitting behind her desk with a smile as I share my
gratitude for the work that their organization does for
the community. She listened intently as I pitched my
partnership proposal and shared genuine feedback to
obtain maximum success and assure the impact, I
intend to have on the communities we serve. Her
humility spoke volumes, and her wisdom inspired me to
take a step above the victim mindset of lacking
resources and support, and strategically restructure the
vision of our organization to attain each milestone that
we’ve set. Bakehouses was in the process of pivoting
themselves, renovating their facility to accommodate
local and international artists through a residential
living opportunity for those who couldn’t afford the cost
of living in Miami; after covid the art community
changed drastically as many jobs began to cut hours
and lay off employees as cities nationwide
simultaneously raised the cost of living. The program
ensured artists safety, shelter, and support as long as
they remained productive and continued to provide
their art to the world. I left the office confident that I was
on the right path, yet there was intensive work that
needed to be done. The woman who humbly shared her
wisdom turned out to be Cathy Leff, the Executive
Director of organization. She didn’t brag, boast, or reject
my unscheduled appearance, instead she welcomed
me with integrity and grace. By remaining true to my
purpose, relinquishing all fear of judgement or rejection,
and allowing discernment to lead me into her office I
gained the knowledge I needed to begin structuring my
next step.

Upholding accountability for our organizations financial

position and stepping above the victim mentality
allowed me to reorganize our vision and implement an
event catering service that would offer training
programs, employment opportunities and generate the
revenue necessary to fund community outreach events.
I looked beyond the struggles of today and began
planning for the triumphs within the next five years to
align each action with the necessary milestone and
build a team to achieve the ultimate success. My desire
to uplift the lives of those in need was never for vanity or
accolades, I preferred to operate behind the scenes and
create opportunities for others. As I began to expand it
became evident that I needed to build a strong team
with a firm infrastructure to enhance our reach.

Having become the inlet, we shall also become the

outlet of all there is in God. Only the uplifted becomes
an uplift. Throughout this journey I questioned my
existence many times, have gone without and struggled
to obtain stable sources of income as I hustled each
day to educate myself and increase the value, I was
able to provide for others. Through divine encounters
and the wisdom of humble souls my purpose has been
illuminated and my devotion to be used as a vessel for
those stuck in the dark places, I’ve fought to escape has
been confirmed through God’s grace. We often avoid
ingenuine characters, vanity driven personas, and
judgmental groups, but there is a lesson in each
interaction. None of us are perfect, the healer
eventually needs to be healed, the abuser has once
been abused, and those who judge have once been
judged by others. Take heed to what you can learn from
each encounter and utilize the arsenal of wisdom you
gain along your journey to enlighten the souls of those
who have lost their way.
In the beginning was the word, and the word was with
God, and the word was God. The same in the beginning
with God. All things were made by him; and without him
was not anything made that was made. In him was life;
and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in
darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

John 1: 1-5

Drug overdoses on the rise, homicides growing in both

number and gruesome nature, suicides dismantling
families; we are suffering nationwide with a lack of
willpower, an adherence to the lure of temptation, and
degradation of true light. In August of 2019, a veteran
NYPD Elite Strategic Response Group officer allowed
the darkness to consume him as he took his own life in
his Queens home, as his young daughter sat alone in
the next room. Robert Echeverria devoted twenty-five
years to the NYPD, had a beautiful wife, a teenage son
and a young daughter. The gentleman lived across the
street from my Queens home; the love he had for his
family was admirable and his selfless authenticity
instilled integrity within al those he encountered. As a
teenager he gifted me my first car and offered to teach
me how to drive a stick shift to prevent me from blowing
its engine. Mr. Rob served the community, his family,
and held a high-ranking position within the nation’s
largest police departments. At what point does life’s
pressures outweigh its abundant blessings? I remember
getting an alert on my phone notifying me that an NYPD
officer committed suicide, I never thought it would be
him. He chose to allow a single bullet to the head to
determine his fate as his daughter sat nearby in an
adjacent room. As his body hit the floor, his daughter
ran frantically to a neighbor’s house for safety.

Fast forward to February 8th 2023. As I walked along

Brickell Avenue in Miami, Florida capturing shots of the
architecture and eclectic scenery. I began to notice an
influx of sirens cascading past me. It appeared to be a
typical Miami morning filled with suspense and allure.
Another ten minutes passed, oblivious to what was
going on; each second occupied with barring sirens
flooding the area. I grew curious and began to inquire
what was causing the commotion; a pedestrian passing
by simply pointed up to the fifty second floor of the W
hotel. A woman on the verge of ending her own life
stood on the balcony edge contemplating what to do.
Watching these events on television and movies, or
reading about it in the local paper doesn’t compare to
the magnitude of its reality. As I stood gazing up at this
woman, I began praying profusely for her healing, for her
safety, and for God to lead her off of that ledge into the
embrace of the emergency responders that awaited her
on the other side of the railing. I prayed expecting her to
somehow hear me and understand that she wasn’t
alone; for six hours I stood intently focused on her every
move; scaling the balconies from one edge of the hotel
to the other. As I prayed, others passed by unbothered;
what seemed tragic to me, appeared to be just another
day in Miami.

The oasis of tropical fantasies had become renowned

for the utilization of vanity to mask deteriorating mental
health. The residents were numb to the idea of this
woman jumping to her death, they had seen it all too
often. The disregard struck concern within me as I
discovered just how heartless individuals could be. Six
hours passed before a firefighter was able to coax the
woman to safety, lifting her over the railing into a hotel
room out of sight of onlookers.

Imagine there was a public data-base that recorded

each battle you’ve fought alone, quantified each tear
that’s been shed, each prayer that you’ve uttered;
tallied each scar that’s been inflicted upon you, and
assigned you a societal rank that allows others to
understand your journey and truly grasp how far you’ve
come. Unfortunately, it doesn’t exist beyond the
confines of the minds of those who attempt to assign
you an identity based on what they see without
educating themselves on who you are. Robert
Echeverria was a high-ranking police officer with
twenty-five years of devoted service to his community;
how many sleepless nights has he endured, how many
tears has he shed, how many silent battles has he
conquered before that fatal bullet penetrated his skull.
The crowds of people gazing up at the fifty second floor
my have perceived the woman as weak, insane and
unhinged without understanding what led her to that
ledge.

We’ve all been on that balcony ledge, looking down

contemplating how long it would take for our troubles to
disperse; have sat drenched in cold sweat with our
finger on the trigger, fantasizing about the glory of our
freedom. Darkness doesn’t discriminate against age,
ethnicity, or gender; it enshrouds nations, condemning
the lives of the strongest men and woman. We all have
our own battles to fight. A light has been bestowed
within us all, yet true light resides with those who refuse
the snare of darkness and fight their perilous wars in
silence; those who prevail with painful wounds yet
utilize the pain to illuminate the lives of others. True
light is the essence of survivors who devote their lives to
uplifting their community, their family, and the world at
large; earned through prayer, resilience, and faith when
all seems lost.
There is no man above God himself, no matter how high
he has exulted you, or high of a pedestal you have
placed yourself upon. We are all vessels for the glory of
his word and the acknowledgment of his presence, not
for the inflation of our ego and the attainment of
material possessions. We often dim the within to
purchase what we assume will diversify us from others,
the cars, the clothes and jewelry. Unknowingly, as we
replace our true light with an idol of vanity, we succumb
to the dark forces of envy, greed, and belittlement.
Hiding behind a façade of luxury as our souls are in
crisis. Beneath these facades, men appoint themselves
to positions for the inflation of their ego rather than the
upliftment of those that they serve; serving for praise
and adulation instead of the education of those that
they lead. We often see leaders flaunt material items as
trophies of their success instead of allowing the
wisdom that they impart upon their flock to speak for
itself. Those who belittle, discredit or mock you, but
replicate your work, duplicate your ideas, and emulate
your personality. Never mistake conviction with guilt;
conviction converts, guilt condemns.

As we toil through life, conviction will lead us to

education, health, wealth, innovation, and empathy.
Conviction leads to prayer, increases your faith, and
inspires perseverance. Conviction uncovers the true
light within you, burning through the facades of
ingenuine souls no matter how righteous they may
appear to be. When people find out who you truly are,
guilt will cause them to avoid you, mock you, or smear
your name as they capitalize off your genius. Stand firm
in prayer and allow faith to guide you through these
uncertain times as the light within illuminates your
path. Once you are convicted of Gods will in your life;
your speech, your behavior, and your mentality begin to
shift into alignment with the purpose that he has
ordained you to fulfill.

Character works to transform, open possibilities, and

capitalize potential. When we are leading from our
character we exude qualities of authenticity, purpose,
openness, trust, courage, congruence, and
compassion. We can transform circumstances, open
possibilities, and create lasting value for ourselves and
for others. Persona protects us and helps us get through
challenging circumstances. Persona works like a
muscle; use it at times, but if we overuse it, the muscle
will collapse. Those who lead with a persona are
concerned with their image, complacent with comfort,
are often defensive, and desire to win at all costs.
Character is the essence or core of the leader.
Character is deeper and broader than any action or
achievement; it springs from the essential nature of the
person.
While waiting for the worship service to begin at Great
Grace Miami, I engaged in conversation with a servant
leader who greeted me with a blissful smile as she
informed me of her newly acquired job. Ebulliently
adorning her with praise, we began discussing the
difference between character and persona. As a suicide
prevention counselor, she has encountered a plethora
of people who had become overwhelmed with the trials
of life; unable to confront themselves behind closed
doors. She informed me that many people are unaware
of who they truly are, shielding themselves behind a
persona that is projected to others for approval and
acceptance. Fear arose within her when she thought
about the celebration granted to those who present a
false identity to the world, questioning the worth of her
transparency.

Those who lead with persona often seek validation and

acceptance through groups; what they lack in character
is acquired by following an agenda that requires
minimal individuality. Gangs, religious cults, and many
social reform organizations profit from communities
who fight for something to believe in. The allure of a
modern-day movement for the advancement of black
communities nationwide turned out to be an eighty-
million-dollar scam that failed to solve the disparities
that they proposed. Gangs slaughter our youth, feed our
communities debilitating drugs, and instill fear in the
place of solidarity. It is painful to watch as people follow
leaders who have promised healing, unaware that true
healing begins within. Without a sense of who you are,
your likes and dislikes; without emotional intelligence
and a sober mind, you will be prone to conform to
flawed ideologies and contribute to the idolatry of man.

You are enough, you possess all that you need when you
lead with faith and persistent prayer. Allocating time to
master yourself is a task that many simply don’t
possess the courage to fulfill. Self-mastery
accompanies alienation, belittlement, and judgement
from others; it requires silence, sacrifice, and
separation. Are you truly who you say you are, or are you
who someone told you to be?

To be in a position where you are seeking guidance

externally is dangerous without having clear
boundaries; swayed in whichever direction the wind
blows, seeking solace from your pain and confusion.
Our society has masterfully monetized faith;
congregations full of struggling souls being told to
increase their prayer life by a pastor flaunting the
jewelry and designer clothes that tithes enabled them
to purchase. Ministry has become a “pay-to-play”
operation strategically positioned and cleverly crafted
to procure revenue in exchange for deliverance. Leaders
appointed to positions without the interpersonal skills,
genuine compassion, or versatility required to
authentically serve for Gods glory instead of the
aggrandizement of man. When the lights go out and the
crowds disperse, who do you serve? What do you stand
for? What is your purpose?

Character is forged in solitude, enhanced through

prayer, and established through action. God resides
within us all; you must dedicate yourself to diligently
seek him. You will be judged, you will be cast aside, your
name may even be slandered; you must embark on the
journey of self-mastery and character building without
an expectation to be liked or accepted, but with an
understanding of the power and purpose that has been
ordained within. Your words, your thoughts, and your
deeds will emulate the father that you praise; true
power lies within you, in prayer, and in service to others.
Surround yourself with those who illuminate your light
for reciprocal growth, not those that dim your light for
the protocol of their agenda.

As we remain true to ourselves and faithful in prayer, we

begin to attract purity and are blessed with discernment
to distinguish those who aren’t. Our purpose leads our
every deed and manufactures the efficiency of every
word. There is a lesson to be learned in every interaction
that you have; values do not equate to status. Leading
by example without expectation will alleviate many
difficulties when confronted with the persona of others.
Instead of assessing their purity, your actions will
influence their behavior. Independence is important to
intelligent decision making for two reasons. First, it
keeps the mistakes that people make from becoming
correlated. Errors in individual judgement won’t wreck
the group’s collective judgement if those errors aren’t
similar in nature. One of the quickest ways to make
people’s judgements biased is to make them dependent
on each other for information. Second, independent
individuals are more likely to have new information
rather than the same data everyone is already familiar
with.

The smartest groups are made up of people with diverse

perspectives who can stay independent of each other.
Independence doesn’t imply rationality or impartiality.
You can be biased and irrational, but if you’re
independent and lead with character, you won’t
diminish the group in any way. This is different from
conformity; people are not looking up to the sky
because of peer pressure or a fear of being
reprimanded. They’re looking up at the sky because
they assume that lots of people wouldn’t be gazing
upward if there weren’t something to see. That’s why the
crowd becomes more influential as it becomes bigger;
every additional person is proof that something
important is happening. When things are uncertain, the
best thing to do is just to follow along. The problem
begins when too many people adopt this strategy, it
stops being sensible and the group stops being smart.
Character breeds inclusion, purpose, balance, and
peace. When you lead with character your goal is to
make each encounter a win-win, enabling you to
transform each circumstance into a learning
opportunity for the whole. Embrace your purpose,
enhance your prayer life, and allow your character to
represent Gods presence in your life.
We are responsible for our own ignorance or, with time
and openhearted enlightenment, our own wisdom. We
are responsible for ourselves and our own deeds or
misdeeds in our time and in our own space and will be
judged accordingly by succeeding generations.

-Isabele Wilkerson

Rhythmic, tranquil, enchanting; Darren Cunninghams

performance at The Institute of Contemporary Arts First
Friday event attracted a diverse crowd to the heart of
the Design District. A true master at his craft, with a
proven ability to ignite the soul of the crowd. I’ve been
avoiding the party scene, yet this event was a
celebration of artistry that offered an opportunity to
network and gain inspiration from the genius of other
creative minds. Every day is a discovery if you allow
yourself to be open to it; detached from ego, pride, and
self-proclaimed intelligence. You will ascend to
unfathomable heights once you adopt the willingness to
enter unfamiliar environments with an understanding
that you know nothing; receptive to the knowledge and
wisdom of all those you meet.

There is a lesson to be learned in every encounter. As I

stood surveying the room, two women approached my
table and asked if they could join. As one rolled her
walker to the edge of the table, I couldn’t help but
compliment her hat; a cowgirl hat adorned with vibrant
white lights flashing around the brim. The trials and
tribulations of her life enlivened the significance of her
testimony; with a broken hip and a broken wrist, she
journeyed forward with an unshakable spirit and a
majestic soul.

We spoke for the duration of the event, intently

absorbing all the experiences that she had to share and
the lessons she had to teach. There are practices that
can assist in accessing a deeper well inside of yourself.
We don’t know how or why it works, yet when we tap
into something beyond ourselves without recognizing
the process at play, we unlock a reservoir of abundant
high-quality information to draw from that can spark
new ideas.

Her companion was an Atlanta native who served

twenty-five years in the military. Traveling to twenty
countries and obtaining culinary, fashion, and cultural
influences enabled her to become an influential leader
and mentor to all those willing to listen. The
conversation transitioned to a discussion about
literature and contrasting western culture from that of
the world; transparency, humility, and purpose
balancing my hunger for knowledge and her abundant
grace.

Isabele Wilkenson masterfully crafted an immersive

narrative about the hidden caste system in America. A
societal hierarchy passed down through families that
dictates the professions a person can work in, as well
as other crucial aspects of their lives. How could this
form of stratification predominately popular in India be
prevalent in “The land of the free and Home of the
brave”? Caste is a literary masterpiece that was later
depicted in a biographical drama film directed by Ava
Duvernay called Origin. The film was about triumph,
survival, and challenged the viewer to analyze the world
around them; what obstacles do we need to surpass
when there is no clear antagonist? Who is the villain in a
free world?

Has ideology become so ingrained within our psyche

that we have become the perpetrators of our own
limitations? Our community consists of many affluent
individuals, yet we still blame others for our
dysfunction. Money is utilized to distinguish one
another in the form of cars, homes, yachts, and private
planes, instead of healing the communities we’ve come
from. The more we obtain, the more distance we place
between ourselves and those less fortunate. Can we
blame the affluent change agents from fleeing their
hometowns, as those that they help rob, kill, and plot on
their demise? On the one hand we desire to give, yet on
the other we shield ourselves from the greed and
indecency that resides within those we desire to serve.
There is an abundance of wealth within our own
communities to allocate necessary resources to viable
aspects of our infrastructure to secure the health,
safety, and well-being of our citizens.

Greed and enmity are a global plague; Africa and Haiti

possess abundant natural resources and potential to
drive wealth into their countries, but the fight for power
and control divides the land and breeds violence,
extortion, and severe poverty. The United States may be
the land of opportunity, yet we despise, belittle, and
discredit one another as we auction our souls for a seat
at the table of proposed prosperity; seeking power in
everyone but ourselves. Urban renewal projects enforce
the removal of black residents, imposing exclusionary
zoning that limits where affordable housing can be built;
subordinating some, while lifting others up. The
dehumanization and stereotypical surveillance do
nothing more than fuel the hatred within us.

Who is the villain? Who can we blame for our

dysfunction? For our community and our homes? With
access to the information to gain the resources we need
to be successful, does it ever cease to be a “system”
and become acknowledged as a choice? When the
inherently inferior manage to rise to the level of the
dominant caste, does the commodity of skin color and
the embedded familial hierarchy begin to lose value?
We are authors of our own narrative but delegate a
ghost writer to conceal insecurities about our
penmanship and the sound of our voice.

Hone the power within yourself, distinguish the purpose

you have been ordained to fulfill and illuminate the lives
of others through your own unique lens. The goal is not
to operate out of a place of lack or absence, but to look
at what you’ve been blessed with and create the life
you've envisioned. The objective is not to mimic
greatness, but to readjust our internal meter for
greatness so we can make the choices that will
ultimately lead to the manifestation of our dreams. The
only obstacle is your mind.
Refuted Distortion
1

Intervention
Miami is known for its world-renowned lavish
lifestyle, tropical weather, and majestic beaches but much
is hidden beyond the palms. When I first arrived, I settled in
Brickell until I was able to secure stable housing. The bright
lights and nightlife were akin to New York and the access to
an array of cuisines, Brickell City Center, as well as
transportation hubs to travel throughout the city provided
comfort. I had abstained from smoking, partying, and
drinking, so much of my time was spent traveling to
Coconut Grove and Coral Gables during the day and
canvasing Downton Miami to determine how I could have
the most impact on the massive homeless population at
night. Within the vicinity of wealth, vanity, and assumed
prosperity resided those who hid in the shadows and
flooded the sunshine state during the winter to take
advantage of the weather, beaches, and public showers
where they’d find shelter. It was eye opening to see men and
women sprawled out on the sidewalk outside of the SLS
residences begging for food and money to make it through
the night; often strung out on drugs or drunk beyond
recollection.

There are many resources available to aid their

recovery, but very seldom do they truly rehabilitate those
who need it most. It’s become a revolving door from the
street to the shelters, back to the streets and syphoned into
hospitals or incarcerated. I needed to figure out what kept
them stagnant, so I headed out and began speaking to
anyone willing to share their story to gain an understanding
of the plight beyond my own judgement.

The horror stories of those who were assaulted in

shelters, attacked on the street, and discarded by family
assured me that there was no universal cure; each person
had their own story with individualized needs, addictions,
and mental instabilities. I wasn’t sure that a plate of food
would help their predicament but was led to do what I could
with all that I had at the time. Each night I’d purchase pre-
packaged sandwiches, bottles of water and snacks from
Publix supermarket and packed them into large tote bags as
I walked the streets offering food to anyone I perceived to be
in need.

Gradually, I learned that some may seem desperate

but utilize the sympathy of others to amass financial gain;
throwing on disheveled clothes, roughing up their hair, and
strategically positing themselves outside of banks and
convenient stores to collect throughout the night and return
home in the morning with a few hundred dollars. It’s difficult
to decipher between those in need and those who have
transformed a global crisis into a lucrative hustle, yet my
heart wouldn’t allow me to neglect them all based on the ill
intentions of a few. I needed a way to target those who were
ready to take the initiative and begin helping themselves. I
found myself financially invested in what seemed to be a
recuring problem. It pained me to watch as individuals lied
helpless with syringes protruding out of their arms or
surveying the ground for cigarettes and drug baggies
scattered about. I began to question if the was a problem
meant to be solved, or is the crisis was more lucrative than
its cure.

As I continued canvasing surrounding areas, I was

ventured into Overtown; a once vibrant mecca of black
owned businesses and cultural empowerment that was
destroyed with the construction of the I-95 highway that
splits the city in half. Now littered with abandoned buildings,
rampant crime, homelessness, and prostitution; cries for
help muffled by rising home prices and lack of community
engagement. There are many beautiful souls masked
underneath incessant desperation and diminishing survival.
How do you help a city destroyed by the very people who
offer incremental monthly support. Dangling a rotten carrot
behind false dreams and scarce opportunity. The money
may be available to completely meet each family’s needs
and drastically decrease the poverty levels, yet greed has
poisoned the hearts of those who can enact lasting change.

The center for Black Empowerment offers

vocational training, business funding and social services to
the community but much more is needed for the
sustainability of future generations. At what point do we
realize that the change begins within, within our homes,
within our schools, and within our own communities. As
long as we continue feeding each other drugs, outsourcing
businesses that would provide employment to our
neighbors, killing each other and destroying the remnants of
culture we have left, the solution to our problems will
remain leveraged against the innate disdain we’ve acquired
as a culture.

Nestled between Downtown and Wynwood,

Wynwood, Overtown posed unique challenges as I
conducted outreach events. The residents saw each other
as competition rather than companions fighting on the
frontlines of the same war. The enemy can no longer be
attributed to other races, in fear of lynching and mobs of
cans parading through our streets; unfortunately, the enemy
resides within. As I walked through the neighborhood, I
could sense the uncertainty of tomorrow, taunted by
skyscrapers and luxury cars. A resemblance of the wealth
an entire community has been conditioned to believe is out
of their reach.
2

Discover Your Why

Aventura, the city of excellence. I ventured through

Brickell, Downtown Miami, and the Design District pitching
Silent Knight to local outreach organizations and
commercial real estate agents seeking partnerships, fiscal
sponsorships, adequate food supply and a kitchen suitable
to begin offering culinary training and employment
opportunities. No matter how fervent I was in my attempts, I
failed to convey our organization’s mission in a way that was
profitable or financially sustainable long term. After
completing an outreach event at the Miami Rescue Mission
(Providing chicken alfredo, Caesar salad, and fruit salad to
two hundred men) I gained an understanding of how to best
serve those in need efficiently. Though I completed my goal,
preparing the food proved to be difficult without stable
kitchen space. I was able to utilize a local restaurant in
Brickell to prepare the cold food; fruit salads with
raspberries, black berries, kiwi, and strawberries served in
cored pineapple halves as bowls.
 The hot food was the challenge, preparing two
hundred plates of chicken alfredo wasn’t something that
could be prepared on a hot plate, and without refrigeration I
had no way of keeping the food fresh without risking
bacteria from forming. Pushing a luggage cart loaded with
kitchen supplies, eighty pounds of chicken breast, fresh
produce, and cheese frantically to each hotel in Brickell who
offered kitchenettes in their rooms was a hassle; refusing
the give up, I needed to show proof of concept to potential
investors. Taking the elevator up to the lobby of the AC Hotel
overlooking Brickell City Centre and the highline drenched in
sweat, with a heart set on fulfilling the promise I’d made.
The receptionist initially turned me away, but after
explaining the purpose of the event being held the next day
they extended the courtesy of reserving a room with a full
kitchen and adequate storage to assure the health and
safety of the Rescue Missions residents. I cooked through
the night on those two burners; alfredo sauce made from
scratch and sauteed chicken breast filled the room with an
aroma of success. The meals were not complex, yet the
quantity prepared in such little time presented minor
difficulties.

When it was all said and done, I completed my goal,

and now had to transport six hundred trays of food from
Brickell to Wynwood in time for an eleven o’clock deadline;
grit, determination, and a passion to serve filled the
backseat and the trunk of a yellow taxi to the roof enroute to
the Mission. Upon arrival, the shelter staff looked at the taxi
in disbelief. They were accustomed to organizations with
box trucks, hot boxes, and refrigerators, not the storage
boxes filled with four hundred plates of food and two
hundred fruit salads eager to prove I was worthy. Residents
flooded in with gratitude and smiles as they were served;
each interaction validated my efforts and confirmed the
need for further action.

The Miami Rescue Mission enhanced my

perspective of the scope and scale of Silent Knight.
Documenting its completion along with outreach event
orchestrated throughout Miami, I was confident of my ability
to guide a team through the preparation of meals, food
safety education, and kitchens regulations to assure full
scale production and expand the outreach services in areas
that needed it most. It was an honor to find my purpose and
genuinely serve the communities that welcome me. The
stress that accompanied battling in the courts to regain
custody of Sammy, securing housing and procuring
adequate funding was alleviated each time I saw the impact
of our work on the lives of those who are often overlooked.

Uplifting the lives of others filed the void created by

losing contact with Sammy. I needed to readjust my
approach, instead of forcefully proving my worth through
email newsletters and pitch decks, I needed to obtain the
wisdom of those who had proven success as non-profit
executives, business owners, and financial advisors. I
wanted to believe that I could do it all on my own but had to
realize that this mission required collaboration and the
extinction of my ego.

Wynwood, Downtown Miami and Brickell are

excellent hubs for art, design, innovation and cultural
inclusivity but there were crucial components that
ultimately made my decision to settle in Aventura. Each
neighborhood served as fertile ground to cultivate Silent
Knights mission, my primary concern was finding an
environment that was conducive to raising a family.
Wynwood and Brickell are bustling areas for nightlife, and
Downtown Miami’s renovation projects left the landscape
barren and congested.

Aventura offered a family friendly community,

access to retail and quality health food stores, as well as
renowned schools overlooking Biscayne Bay and Sunny
Isles Beach. It provided the peace of mind and security I
desired to offer Sammy, networking opportunities with
young entrepreneurs and seasoned professionals. The
performing arts center offered Sammy music lessons,
dance classes, art exhibitions, and live performances to
hone his imagination. The caveat of Aventura was the J.W
Marriot Turnbury resort, the AC hotel, and the Level Three
event space located in Aventura mall; each day there is a
business conference, network marketing event, or corporate
luncheon that I’d attend to absorb the wisdom and business
acumen necessary to flourish as a leader. Miami is not a city
that grants opportunities or information freely without a fee,
but if you have the tenacity and take initiative of your
success, you can work your way into rooms you can’t afford.
Miami may be known for its money hungry, vanity driven
culture, but is a national leader for wealth creation, art, and
innovation if your purpose outweighs the temptations
readily available for your consumption. When there is an
opportunity, there are also those who prey on youthful
ambition and amass profit from naïve minds.

Discover your why. AC hotel in Aventura hosted by

Juan Nunez and local financial advisors. While sitting in the
hotel lobby the night before, I overheard two individuals
planning their presentation and mapping out the events
logistics. Doubting my ability to fulfill Silent Knights mission
after receiving consecutive rejections from loan agents,
private investors, and partnerships; at my lowest, my
determination to provide for others depleted me financially
and began to threaten my ability to uphold my responsibility
as a father. Contemplating if I should attempt to attend the
event, tickets were sold out and my chances of admittance
were slim. My hunger to persevere coupled with an
abundance of faith were not diminished in tough times;
adversity garnered the most strength.

The event was scheduled to begin at 9:30 a.m. I

planned to arrive at seven to plead my case for admission
and explain Silent Knights’ prospective for the future. Many
networking events in the surrounding area turned out to be
money grabs that failed to offer applicable knowledge, so I
needed to assure that the events intentions were genuine
and fulfilled the claims boasted online. When I searched the
event online, it displayed a mantra similar to the words that I
utilized for Silent Knight; Uplift, Inspire, Educate. To uplift
meant investing my whole being into the health ang
longevity of anyone in need, to inspire meant leading by
example with integrity as I provide light and serve as a spark
that ignites systematic change for future generations. To
educate meant being a conduit of information and
resources to prevent them from falling into the same pitfalls
that I overcame along this journey. It’s easy to reiterate the
words of others, but to consciously implement them is the
sign of a true leader.

Are you who you say you are? I walked down to the
hotel lobby with a pair of grey dress slacks, tattered black
tennis shoes and a black T-shirt; resembling someone in
need to confirm the validity of the words Juan Nunez
preached, yet remaining respectful of the occasion. I
approached the conference rooms and recognized the
woman I’d seen the night before planning her presentation,
greeting her with a gracious good morning and a firm
handshake as I approached. Brianna, an eloquent guest
speaker, welcomed me in with open arms after explaining
my journey from New York to Orlando, losing custody of
Sammy while fighting to provide a fresh environment for his
growth and development, and struggling to gain the
necessary support to bring Silent Knight into fruition. No
matter how the event would unfold, her words of
encouragement remain dear to my heart.
 The festivities began with a meet and greet, a photo
opt to capture headshots of each attendee, and gradually
progressed into an introductory speech by Juan Nunez. He
spoke of his time as a teenager in Queens, boosting clothes
on Jamaica Avenue and utilizing U-Haul trucks to operate
his schemes; it wasn’t until he was invited to a religious
retreat by his sister that his mentality was transformed. He
described himself as a teenager that was eager to make
revenue by any means necessary; misguided immaturity
and greed. Ten minutes into his speech I felt connected to
his story; as a teenager I was trying to scheme my way to
success, escaping the confines of control and parental
constraint. My immaturity led to incarceration and failed to
fulfill my pursuit of freedom. Incarceration served as my
religious retreat, granting me the time to truly grow in faith
and obtain a relationship with God; divinely separating me
from the things that led to my destruction and clarifying my
vision to align with Gods will.

We share our stories to foster understanding in

others that self-destruction is not necessary is not
necessary to begin living a righteous life. Our words and
actions have an impact on everyone we come in contact
with whether positive or negative, and our failure to learn
life’s lessons results in the degradation of future
generations. Juans awakening moment came first as a
teenager attending a sabbatical with his sister and again as
a father for his children; Sammy provided me with purpose,
aside from community outreach, I now had another human
being looking towards me for guidance as he experienced
life’s trying moments. I could no longer peruse through life
looking for the next scheme, I needed to lead with integrity,
harmless humility, and begin building a foundation he could
stand on firmly as he grew.

The presentation continued into time management

skills and organizational planning techniques to maximize
both efficiency and productivity. It began to feel all too
familiar as we began diving into content similar to what was
written in Silent Knight, knowing your worth, discovering
your why, changing your perspective, and investing in
financial literacy. If our minds produced similar thoughts,
our family values were genuine, and our intentions to uplift
the lives of others were pure, why was I experiencing so
much failure? I sat in the back of the conference room with
the arms crossed, intently listening to the knowledge being
shared reevaluating the path I had taken in life. The
presentation ended with a direct quote from Silent Knight,
“Why is the lion the king of the jungle?”, except our
interpretations were different. Juan believed the lion only
thought he was the king of the jungle leaving a possibility for
the gorilla or the monkey to be appointed to the throne; I
understood that the lion’s mentality, his tenacity and focus,
and its relentless perseverance solidifies his position above
all others.

The event took a turn when I began to realize that

everything was being shared to sell a service, there was no
genuine desire to offer opportunity or support. While the
information was relatable, it was simply a reiteration of
others wisdom formatted to market a two thousand dollar,
four day, consultation. I already had the knowledge, it was
imparted in Silent Knights original publication, what was I
lacking? Juan confronted me near the end of the event to
see how I liked the presentation and enquired if I was
interested in his consultation. I responded with hesitancy;
while I was able to relate to the story he shared about his
childhood, I couldn’t relate to the way he transmitted his
message. Each person that attended paid hundreds of
dollars to gain viable assets to apply to their business but
received a watered-down rendition with the promise of
additional information for an additional fee. Was this
another scheme to procure revenue at the expense of young
ambitious business owners? Or was I doing something
wrong by sharing the information for free?

Attending the event didn’t make me despise those

who thought like Juan, but it did solidify within my soul that
despite the obstacles and trials I was experiencing, I was on
the right path. I was led to that event not to be the judge of
others, but to gain confirmation that the only thing I lack was
confidence. We can often become so humble that we
ultimately disappear in rooms we were ordained to
dominate, losing our way in the darkness we’ve exhausted
our light to guide others out of. Outreach had never been a
ploy to gain a monetary benefit, but maybe it was time to
incorporate a profitable entity in order to secure longevity
and prevent further depletion. Through faith I was led to the
answers that I was ardently seeking from man, when my
true salvation was adorned through Gods presence that
evening.

I left the conference that evening rejuvenated,

through man we may face limitations, but all things are
possible through Christ himself. Instead of sending
generalized mass emails, I began researching each
organization and their leaders to craft individualized
messages seeking an opportunity to contribute to the
fulfillment of their mission to hands on experience and pay
homage to the impactful work they had achieved within the
communities they served. I was a one man show serving
hundreds of people in the process building a team, reaching
out to organizations who were feeding thousands of people
daily and occupied multiple locations to maximize their
reach; what I sought to do was already being done on a
much larger scale, it was time to be innovative without
diluting the purpose.
3

Great Grace
The arena of miracles; Prophet EJ Newton was said
to have the ability to heal the sick and predict future events
in your life to receive you from worry and stress. Two
servant leaders, Johanna and Martha, saw me sitting
outside of the Aventura mall one night after closing creating
inventory logs for kitchen equipment on my laptop with my
head in my palm contemplating where I’d get the funds to
pay for it all. Visibly in distress, dressed in all black sitting at
a patio table camouflaged within the shadows. I first
noticed Marthas vibrant smile, the mysterious seduction of
her eyes that lied behind her masked in dark mascara.

Martha and I locked eyes as she noticed me gazing

at her with lustful infatuation, unsure of the impact that
she’d soon have on my life. As they walked through the
doors, Martha put her head down and Johanna peered at me
with a sly grin as though they both had been discussing the
creep lurking in the shadows staring back at them. I was
sure that I’d blown my chance with the woman of my
dreams as they began walking down the marbled steps out
of my sight forever. Something caused them to double back
after making it down no more than four steps; an energy
transfixed the evening breeze, and Gods grace led them
both to stand side by side as they introduced themselves in
unison. “We don’t mean to interrupt you, but we are servant
leaders from Great Grace church, and we’d like to pray for
you, do you have any requests. Their presence lassoed my
soul, wringing it out of depression and shame. I prayed for a
divine encounter each day for two weeks leading up to that
moment; for God’s grace, his everlasting presence in my life,
and for a supernatural miracle of his divine provision. I’d
experienced Gods grace through prayers being brought into
fruition when I was on the brink of collapse, yet somehow
God never turned his back on me. Here he was again, in the
form of two angelic souls eager to pray for me at a time
when I needed it most. I immediately began telling them
about my journey with Sammy, losing custody of him and
fighting to secure everything I needed to uphold my role as a
father in the sanctity of our own home. “I’d like to pray for to
regain custody of my son” I said with a heavy heart, unsure if
my request met the standards of these two blessings that
God sent to me. Johanna smiled “I wasn’t expecting that,
we’d love to pray for you and your son” she said humbly. “I
have a son too, he’s back in San Diego. I’m fighting to secure
a stable home for him as well. You know what? There was a
father not long ago who approached prophet EJ for
prophetic prayer and emerged successful as he
reconnected with his son. You’re in the right hands” Marthas
soothing tone reassured me that I wasn’t alone.

If this wasn’t a divine encounter, I don’t know what it

is; we locked eyes, and my heart instantly thawed. We were
on similar journeys to secure safety and health for our sons;
even though Johanna didn’t have children of her own, I
respected her choice to reserve her body for marriage in a
society that promotes promiscuity and the solicitation of
sex. I was drawn to her selfless charisma, her intellect, and
her righteous humility. I prayed for a wife of her stature and
moral compass to fulfill Gods prophesy on this earth with.
There was synergy, with a hint of lust aroused within me, as
we joined hands and began to pray. They seemed too
perfect to be true, but I didn’t want to ruin a perfect moment
by allowing my fleshly desires to unravel as I’d done one too
many times in the past, tarnishing blessings through my
blind pursuit of immediate gratification.

Instead, they handed me a green card with the

Churches address, social media information and an
invitation to join them for a worship service the following
Sunday. While I didn’t trust those who that promised to
predict my future or heal my infirmities outside of God
himself. I was intrigued to be in the presence of these two
women one more time and experience the grace that
molded them into the servants of Christ they’ve become
after surviving the brutal struggles they’ve both
experienced. I accepted their gesture of faith and embraced
them both with a long-awaited hug as I thanked God for the
miracle he’d bestowed upon my life.

Great Gracee Church was conducted in the

auditorium of Jose De Diego middle school directly across
the street from Bakehouse Art Complex; covered with vivid
murals completed by students; I was lost for words as I
approached the courtyard where servant leaders and other
members engaged in a meet and greet before the service
began. Though I cherished Martha and Johannas invitation, I
needed to gauge the authenticity of the other members that
were standing beside high black tables, smiling with
anticipation as they awaited fresh arrivals to fill-out
information cards, provide a prayer request, and share
contact information to receive updates and communicate
with the congregation. Filling out the card, I approached a
section that asked what position I’d seek like to uphold
within the ministry, but I truly sought to partner with their
staff to extend Silent Knights reach and actively fulfil the
mission of their congregation.

Appearing weak and vulnerable came to an end as I

surveyed the room and witnessed what true praise was;
hands held high to the Lord, head bowed down as prayers
filled the auditorium. The service had not started yet, but I
already felt at home, at peace and closer to God. It felt like
all my prayers had been answered and the cloak of shame
and rage had been removed. Standing with my head bowed
down, praying profusely for Sammy to understand that I
loved him and never meant to abandon him as I secured a
safe home for him. I prayed for restoration of my finances to
adequately fund an environment that Sammy could be
present and that would be passed down to future
generations. I begged for God to restore my role as a father,
as a husband, and as a servant for him. I’d recited those
prayers before, yet this time I felt a divine presence around
me as if each person in that auditorium had their hands
placed upon my head channeling the Lord’s energy into my
soul.
 In that moment, my anger was relinquished, I gained
an understanding of what it meant to be equally yoked with
someone; to look beyond what they could provide sexually
and indulge in their journey spiritually. Working through our
flaws together as we both grew closer tin Christ for his glory
and not our own.

As the praise team continued to sing, out from

behind the left curtain arose Prophet E.J Newton wearing a
flamboyant Gucci blazer with fitted black pants and Gucci
loafers; Gliding across the stage as he swayed his shoulders
from side to side in tandem with the rhythm of the music.
Prophet E.J was not much older than me, yet the praise he’d
received as he blessed the stage let me know that his
presence was valued. Would I witness a miracle at the
hands of this man?

Was this man followed for his prophetic gifts or the

wealth that he possessed? I was skeptical of modern-day
pastors after Bishop Whitehead from Brooklyn, New York
was indicted for embezzling thousands of dollars from his
congregation to fund the lavish lifestyle that he lived; Rolls
Royce cars, millions of dollars’ worth of jewelry and luxury
clothing spoke louder than the tainted sermons he crafted
each Sunday. I was never averse to people owning nice
things or living comfortable lives, yet I did despise those
who monetized the word of God for their own
aggrandizement. The amount of fraud funneled through
religious institutions was made possible by the tax
incentives that were awarded and the incessant cries of
those seeking a savior to rescue them from their struggles,
it’s no coincidence that religious leader’s prey on low-
income neighborhood and preach prosperity as they
demand twenty percent tithes and offerings…something
didn’t add up. Personally, I genuinely sought a relationship
with God through consistent prayer, faith led practices,
selfless sowing, and leading with integrity through every
word and deed. I didn’t want to ruin Martha and Johannas
gracious invitation so I kept my thoughts concealed, but the
first red flag was surely noted.

I prayed profusely for God to restore my vision to see

all that I’d been blind to and heal my soul to be fully
receptive to the blessings he bestowed upon me; rather
than leading with blind expectation, I began following Gods
lead despite the doubts that plagued my mind. If it were up
to me, I would have thanked Martha and Joana for their
compassion and explained to them that unfortunately this
wasn’t the right church for me; through faithful prayer God
led me to the courtyard of Jose De Diego middle school one
last Tuesday evening for a night of miracles.

Seven thirty, the service started seven-thirty, but I

showed up at six forty-five to assure that I was first in line to
enter the auditorium and secure an isle seat in the third row
to limit any spiritual interference by other members in the
audience; I needed full access to the stage and the ability to
step out into the aisle as the praise team serenaded the
crowd to absorb the full presence of God. When Prophet E.J
prompted us to pray, I bowed my head and fearlessly
pleaded with the Lord to fill me with his spirit, his grace, and
his mercy; admitting that I wasn’t perfect but fought each
day to be the best father, husband and servant that I could
be.

An unusual gust of air pierced my face as though a

supernatural force had blown with all their might. Afraid to
open my eyes, I reached my arm out to feel for the chair
Infront of me to assure that I was still on stable ground;
pressing just slightly enough to confirm that I was still in the
auditorium, it felt like I had been drenched in grace.
Enchanted by the pull of mysterious forces on stage. Still
bowing my head, the music came to an end; peeking again
to assure it was safe to open my eyes fully and survey the
damage that this unknown force had caused to the other
audience members; tears rolled down their faces, hands
frantically shaking, arms lifted high to the Lord, people
kneeling and lying upon the floor of the arena of
miracles…but it seemed like I was the only one, yet again, to
be completely oblivious to what was going on.

Prophet E.J called a younger pastor to the stage;

informing him that it was time for him to prophesy for
members in the audience…I was stunned. If a prophet iis a
man or woman appointed by God, could this man instruct a
mortal man to prophesy, and his words be true? Wouldn’t
that other man have to be appointed by God as well?
Otherwise, would it just be experimental theories
concocted through asking questions? The servant leader
walked onto the stage with is head hung low as if he were
sure that someone would finally catch on to the charade.
Grabbing the microphone from Prophet E.J, taking his
position in the center of the stage. He began surveying the
crowd for his first victim. Sir, may I pray for you? He looked
in my direction but there were rows of people behind me so
I assumed that it could have been anyone, anyone but me.

Looking to my right, to my left, at the ground and up

towards the ceiling to discover who the lucky contestant
was. “You, yes you” the pastor said as he pointed directly at
me with stern conviction that I was the chosen sacrificial
lamb. Lord, why did you choose me? How could I
participate in something so sacred with doubt ruminating
throughout my soul? Each service id broadcasted live on
YouTube, so to ignore the alter call would not only
disrespect Martha and Johanna but would ultimately
embarrass Prophet E.J and his entire ministry; starving for
spiritual rations to cure my malnourished soul, I raised up
out of my seat with prudent hesitation and approached he
stage with a heart full of expectations. I expected a financial
miracle, I expected a prophesy that explained the process of
fight for the right to be a father in a way that I could
understand, I expected confirmation of the reconnection
between Sammy and I…I expected for man to bestow the
grace of God. My expectations demanded perfection from
someone who was prophesying for the first time, leaving no
room for error before my judgement deemed him a false
prophet.
 “Please lift your hands to the Lord as I prophesy for
you” The pastor instructed me as Prophet E.J stood in the
distance. “I see that you watch a lot of prophetic words on
YouTube seeking spiritual guidance, yet you have yet to find
a spiritual father” The pastor looked down upon me as I
looked up anxiously awaiting him to tell e I’d soon reconnect
with Sammy and secure a safe home to solidify a physical
presence in his life. I was waiting for him to tell me that the
finances needed for Silent Knight had already been released
as God supported my efforts to uplift the lives of those in
need; I was waiting to be healed of the sorrow and rage
polluting my spirit…As I looked up with childish
expectations, the pastor began to speak. “I see that you are
not from this city, maybe two cities over. Tonight, I am here
to tell you that you have come to the right place, your
spiritual father is here? The pastor pointed over to Prophet
E.J as I lowered my head in utter disappointment. Prophet
E.J grabbed the microphone and asked me if what was said
was true; ow could I lie about something so sacred? How
could I lie in Gods name? But if I told the truth and said what
was on my heart, I feared that I’d expose the bullshit that
had occurred in front of the thousands of online viewers and
the audience members that placed their faith in the
Prophet. I peered up at the Prophet with an uncertain “Yes,
sir” as they both place their hand upon my head and recited
“In Jesus name” I felt no sudden force or the Holy Spirit, I
didn’t collapse to the ground and shake profusely; in fact,
the only emotion that I felt was disdain for these gentlemen
insulting my intelligence. I turned and walked away from the
stage clapping my hands as I returned to my set to go along
with the flow of the performance; I was really beating myself
up for approaching man with Godly expectations. How
could I be so naive? Had I really reached rock bottom
spiritually to desire another man to revive me? Looking up to
another man with my hands raised as If I were praising him
and not God…I felt foolish. As I slumped down into my chair,
it took every ounce of energy to prevent me from storming
out of that auditorium but the respect that I had for Martha
and Johanna had kept me seated. My head hung low in
shame, I immediately prayed for God’s forgiveness of my
ignorance.

Those who honor me will I honor

- 1 Samuel 2:30

The most certain way to be honored by God is to be willing

to be put to shame. God may allow the wicked to obtain
worldly honors, but the dignity that he himself gives, Glory,
honor, and grace. He reserves for those who by holy
obedience take care to honor him. I will promote his glory
through my spoken testimony and by my daily obedience. I
applauded the work that Prophet E.J and his ministry
orchestrated in Lagos Nigeria, as well as creating a safe
place to worship the Lord here in Miami; but I had to be
honest with myself and step away from “The arena of
miracles” and back into the hands of God through diligent
prayer and obedient faith. There was no man on this earth
that I looked toward as a spiritual father beside God himself.
Maybe he allowed me to step into the arena of miracles to
draw me closer and bestow an understanding that one man
with God is a majority. His grace is sufficient. I am in no
position to determine who is a prophet and who isn’t, nor
would I want to degrade the impactful work Prophet E.J has
done with Great Grace ministry as well as Great Grace
music, yet my spirit confirmed that it wasn’t the right place
for me. God has yet to let me down, and though I struggled
to fund everything that I needed on my own; my trust and
faith in him will never be forsaken. I approached a God
problem with worldly expectations. My spiritual capacity
was not yet equipped to digest the fulness of his presence;
Gret Grace served as a divine intervention for my growth
and the catalyst that propelled me towards my true
devotion to Gods word.
4

Redemption

Aventura is within walking distance of the beach,

granting me the opportunity to conduct 6 am workouts each
morning listening to the waves cascading against the shore,
gripping the sand between my toes during each set and
allowing the crisp tropical air to cleanse my mind of all
frailty as I mapped out the day’s agenda. Each sunrise was a
purification of my spirit and a warm welcome to the blessing
of a fresh start; the limitations I placed upon myself
distorted my perspective of what was truly possible. I
needed to become spiritually grounded in faith again and
regain my footing as I traversed the next stage along this
journey. I was seeking the cure for spiritual depression
though man.

Securing kitchen space was first on the list. I began

receiving responses from organizations congratulating me
on the efforts and welcoming me to their facilities to speak
further about how we could best serve each other; the
Miami Kitchen Incubator, Kitchen Labs, Tru Favors
commercial, and L&P kitchen in Hallandale Beach were
among the list of potential spaces, each had similar
amenities but differed in their monthly rates. Each kitchen
was also located in different areas of Miami, requiring
various methods of transportation to be implemented for
employees and volunteers. Wynwood and Downtown
Miami had the largest homeless populations, so I needed to
factor time into the final decision.

Once a kitchen location was selected, I needed to

tackle finances once again. This time, instead of primarily
reaching out to investors, I decided that funding each step
incrementally out of pocket would serve me better than
sitting idle waiting for potential sponsors. This was a
mission I had sacrificed a lot for, if anyone was going to
invest in me it had to be me. Conducting personal training
sessions, fulfilling freelance photography gigs, and remote
work consumed my spare time when I wasn’t meeting with
vendors and visiting local markets to create inventory logs,
create menus, food safety quizzes, and all necessary
paperwork to assure the success of each employee. Each
day was a hustle, taking conscious steps to attain the
heights many said were impossible for me to reach; through
visions I say that all I desired was possible now that I’d been
blessed with the tools to make it happen.
5

Bakehouse Art Complex

It had been a year and a half since I’d last spoken to
Sammy, drowning myself in work to prevent falling into an
insufferable depression. The camera I bought to film a
YouTube channel with him was now used to capture photos
of artwork from various galleries throughout Miami to share
with him through social media, and record podcast
episodes so he could hear my voice as he grew God-forbid
anything happened to me before I was able to make it back
to him. I vowed to uphold my role as a father no matter the
circumstances that were beyond my control, my attempts
to have him visit Miami were rejected, and much like my
move to Georgia, a mothers emotions now began to dictate
the relationship between father and son. The more adamant
I was, the further away I pushed away the very thing I
earnestly honored. Art, photography, fitness, and literature
became the elixir to my disdain; interacting with local artists
to gain inspiration for future projects with Sammy and
amassing canvases adorned with oil paintings that
expressed the emotions too painful to speak. Though I
invested myself into the well-being of others, there was a
deep void within that could not be filled by anyone except
the eternal blessing that God bestowed.
 ICA, located in the Design District, offered an array
of young artists, education programs, international exhibits,
and family days each Sunday. Though Sammy wasn’t with
me, I attended each event with a Childs curiosity,
networking with other parents to learn the various ways art
has had an impact on the lives of their children and
conversing with the instructors to learn different methods of
guiding Sammy through different techniques to acuminate
his imagination and acquire alternative ways for him to
express his emotions. One evening while shooting the
museums “young arts” exhibit I noticed and employee
reading The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk,
M.D., a book that helped me overcome many tough times
through its fluid examination of depression, PTSD, and
anxiety; their origins along with experiments that explained
common triggers. Its bright blue cover and distinctive orange
spine drew me into conversation to discover how he’d
utilized this gem throughout his own journey with
depression; not only had he lost a parent, but he also
battled with anxiety expressing himself among large crowds’
people and enforced art as a medium of tranquility. He then
introduced me to the place where he was able to retrieve
the book for free in an environment that celebrated his
artistic genius and satiated his literary appetite. Bookleggers
Library located in the back of Bakehouse Art Complex.

Bakehouse is an art residency that offers gallery

space and community to both local and international
artists. Each artist has an opportunity to indulge in their
desired medium, collaborate with each other, and gain
exposure through gallery nights as well as placement in
galleries and museums nationwide. From one-on-one
basketball fundraisers with a former collegiate player, an
intimate dinner catered by an inspiring chef, or a
personalized photoshoot by a renowned photographer;
each artist is free to incorporate their passions to obtain
financial support without judgement. The executive director,
Kathy Leff, created every artist’s dream from an idea
sparked by her appreciation of art and its impact on our
daily lives. Her humility was inspiring, welcoming me into
her office one evening as I praised her dedication and
sought her wisdom on bringing an idea into fruition without
allowing inevitable challenges to derail the process; nothing
worth dong comes easy, find your purpose, master your
craft until you are able to educate others, every generation
has a spark and you ae this generations spark that will bring
communities together and entice the lives of many
generations through your persistence and selfless deeds.
Though I wasn’t able to gain any financial support, her
words of encouragement provided the motivation I needed
to continue forward and the components I’d later
incorporate into Silent Knight. In the back of Bakehouse,
past the sprawling galleries and artists crafting their next
master pieces, stood Bookleggers Library. A non-profit
whose origin began twelve years ago by a gentleman with a
passion for literature. His passion was shared amongst his
friend group, and gradually expanded into a fully functional
library, multiple mobile carts for outreach events,
community book boxes, and a podcast to further spread his
passion nationwide. Nathaniel built bookleggers library book
by book, into a literary oasis offering nearly every book
imaginable. The most impressive aspect of his operation is
the engagement with the community and collaborations
with local schools. When I first entered, I was enamored
with peace. Congratulating him on his accomplishments
and informing him that a bright blue book with an orange
spine guided me to his emporium. The wisdom of Crowds,
Moon Walking with Einstein, Leadership from the Inside
Out, as well as a step-by-step guide for grant writing and
non-profit financial management were a few gems I
faithfully utilize till tis day. One of the major caveats about
Bakerhouse and Bookleggers Library is that once you return
one book, you are allowed to take out two, and any
additional book is just two dollars.

The support garnered at Bakehouse extends

beyond free books and illustrious conversations; I’ve begun
a podcast, was inspired to write again expanded upon Silent
Knights 2021 publication. I’ve gained inspiration for a
portrait I plan to complete with Sammy, from an artist that
utilizes assorted buttons to create eclectic pieces. Aside
from offering culinary training and employment
opportunities to those on the streets through an event
catering service, I now sought to offer artists an opportunity
to showcase their work by creating custom linen, plates,
cups, floral designs, and table fixtures. To incorporate the
Miami flare, I also planned to commission various artists to
create live paintings at events. My soul was revived through
art; each time I picked a paint brush, viewed a gallery, shot
an artist’s exhibit, or recorded a podcast episode, I was
drawn closer to healing the wounds of a father’s remorse.
6

Cold Hearted

In the midst of struggling to bring Sammy to South

Florida, I began to grow impatient unable to understand how
I allowed myself to be stuck on the losing end of a custody
battle that began in my favor. Empathy led me to speak to
the assistant D.A of Queens to have Sammys mothers’
charges dropped and protect her from any legal time, yet
naively led me to believe I had a chance at all. Having fought
to obtain all the requirements to gain the courts approval
and to still be denied, opened my eyes to the challenges
that fathers have been facing experiencing for decades; it
was just my turn to face the storm. The apartment I secured
was rejected by the judge without consideration or a DCF
inspection. The judge informed his mother and I that we
could settle our differences as adults outside of the courts
fell on deaf ears. As adults, we should never allow our
emotions to dictate a Childs relationship with the other
parent. I grew up with similar conditions as a child that
Sammy was now subjected to and found it difficult not to
allow frustration to consume me. Anger had taken its toll in
the past and I never wanted to place fear in the hearts of
others again, children are sensitive to the energy we
transmit and the changes in our mood; the last thing I
wanted was for Sammy to become resentful due to my
mismanaged emotions. I could blame the courts or even
Sammys mother for lapses in our relationship, yet I had to
take ownership of my distorted perception of family.

We were raised differently; I felt the effects of my

parents separation years before their divorce was final, yet I
was able to utilize that pain as motivation to be the best
father I could be and fight for family to underneath the same
roof, no matter the sacrifices I needed to make. My
childhood served as a blueprint to didn’t want my children
to experience, so I separated myself from the emotions of
detachment early on and vowed to break the cycle. His
mother’s childhood was colored we drug abuse, sexual
abuse, verbal abuse; the separation of her parents and
dealing with a parent who was an addict. It was difficult for
her to simply detach and move on, so she became tethered
to the dysfunction that wounded her. Her lifeline was the
struggle she was bork into; what an outsider may call
bazaar, has been normalized for her since birth. We were
fighting two different wars.

She was fighting to regain the relationships she was

deprived of as a child, while I was fighting to secure a
healthy relationship with the family God blessed me with to
build. As I grew older, I searched for the truth that was
hidden from me as a child; what was discover molded me
into the man I am today. Selfless in every deed, relentless
as a father, as a husband, and as a servant for the Lord;
dedicated to ensuring Sammy never had to question my
devotion to him as a father. Refusing to acknowledge the
distortion of my perspective would lead me to become the
very thing I despised growing up at the expense of the role
God ordained me to fulfill. No matter the obstacles placed
along my path, through faith and consistent prayer, my strive
will mold Sammy into the man he is destined to become. An
unshakable force led by integrity to fulfill his role as a vessel
of light.
6

Next Five Moves

If you had to map out your next five moves to

increase your productivity and improve your life, would you
be up to the challenge? As I sat in Starbucks on South Miami
Avenue one evening reading Your Next Five Moves by Patrick
Bet David, I was approached by a gentleman not much older
than myself donned in a custom-tailored suit, polished
black dress shoes, and a wall street haircut. He recognized
Patrick Bet Davids book and first asked me if I’d found
success structuring my life using the information Patrick
provided. While planning the next five Moves of Silent
Knight, I visited Barnes and Noble to acquire assets that’d
assist me; Your Next Five moves spoke directly to my soul
as I surveyed the shelves for worthy literature.

With a sly smirk, he continued to inform me that

Patrick Bet David was his boss; Josh was an insurance
salesman from Philadelphia whose family-owned multiple
restaurants and inspired him to become an entrepreneur
from a young age. Amongst the hundreds of encounters
along this journey, this conversation sparked by a piece of
literature was divinely set to prepare me for the road ahead.
As we spoke, I sensed his ambition and the knowledge he
had acquired from years of hands-on-experience. After
explaining what led me to Miami and the work I was doing
with Silent Knight, he invited me to a zoom conference later
that evening to elaborate on what he does and how we
could assist each other most efficiently. I accepted the
invitation without expectations but sought to gain as much
wisdom as I could. Though Josh was near the same age he
had been around the culinary industry since he was a child
in his family’s restaurants and could provide guidance as I
navigated vendors, leasing property, and operational costs.

I cleared the evening and prepared for the meeting

with notes and present questions I intended to ask; visiting
Barnes and Noble to find a book that would teach me
alternative ways to operate Silent Knight and was ultimately
blessed with an interaction that provided everything I
needed. The conversation was fluid, our interests were
similar, and our combined tenacity was unstoppable.
Brickell was his stomping grounds as he grinded his way up
the ladder at BMI and mentored other business owners as a
financial advisor. Josh began sharing financial tips with me
and invited me to a master mind group at the Fortune Hotel
a few days later where he’d be breaking down the concepts,
we discussed with a team of likeminded individuals who
were just as hungry for success as I was. The night ended
triumphantly; Josh was an asset as I entered the next phase
of this journey.

The next few days seemed drawn out as I reviewed

the information we discussed, eager to learn more and
witness the validity of Josh’s words. The Fortune hotel is in
Brickell along Biscayne Bay, in between prime real estate
and world-renowned financial institutions. Its distinctive
exterior design would deceive you that it was just an
ordinary building with awkward murals, but beyond the
smoke grey shell lies luxurious conference rooms, master
suites overlooking Brickell avenue and Biscayne Bay, and
Josh’s team huddled together conducting a mastermind
exercise as I arrived. From loan officers, real estate agents,
insurance salesman and financial advisors, the roster was
stacked with the star power necessary to garner success in
an extremely litigious environment. As I entered the room to
introduce myself, I was greeted with the warm embrace of
humility; each member giving me a firm handshake or a hug,
informing me that they knew who I was and commended
the work I’d accomplished thus far in Miami. From groveling
over the loss of Sammy, to standing in a blessing that would
change the trajectory of my life that stemmed from an
ordinary evening at Starbucks.

Everyone rose in unison as Josh entered the room;

the applause of gratitude filled the room. After a brief
synopsis of the evenings agenda, he began a through
education of interest rates, balancing expenses, various
insurance entities and their individual benefits, as well as
methods of capitalizing risk analysis. This was by far better
than what any book could offer; each person in attendance
listening intently, sharing testimonies of how the information
they’ve obtained at previous meetings had assisted their
business and expressing collaborative interests in each
other’s success. It was amazing to experience matching
another persons frequency in a manner that had the
potential of breeding generation results. The meeting came
to an end with us all bidding our farewells and exchanging
contact information for future business. I walked down
Brickell Avenue elated with a keen sense of
accomplishment, ready to conquer the next step along this
journey as I headed home.

The next meeting was much different, we all met at

the Fortune hotel, but there was a surprise lurking in the
shadows. I entered the lobby eager to hear the evening’s
lesson, walked into the elevator and headed to the ninth
floor; the conference rooms were down a narrow hallway
connected to each other by a terrace overlooking the city.
Inside stood Josh and Grant Cordone standing side by side.
It was a surreal moment meeting someone that had served
as a mentor through virtual conferences, literature and
interviews; Grants mantra “10x” instilled within me the
fortitude I now possess; ten times the knowledge, ten ties
the revenue and ten times the effort. I’d applied these
principles to every aspect of my life and witnessed the
ability to take the initiative and thrive in volatile
environments beginning to flourish tremendously.

I approached Grant with a firm handshake and

gratitude for the impact he’d unknowingly had on me as a
business owner, a father and as a man. Josh had explained
Silent Knights mission, the trials I was experiencing in Miami
and warned me that it wouldn’t be easy to infiltrate a
complex problem alone; suggesting I clarify my purpose to
gain the support necessary to bring Silent Knight to life. As
more people arrived, the meeting was relocated from the
conference room to Toscano Divino, an authentic Italian
restaurant located a few blocks away in Mary Brickell
Village, for everyone to loosen up as Grant shared his
wisdom with the group. We all headed to the lobby,
gathered in a black Chevy Suburban and headed to dinner
together. It was a scene straight out of a movie, getting out
of the truck with Grant leading the pack as everyone
stopped to stare and greet him. The amount of influence he
had in South Florida was unreal, and the appreciation he
received was worth its weight in gold. The staff prepared our
section and tended to us like I’d never experienced before.
In the heart of Mary Brickell Village, we smoked cigars,
enjoyed delicious food, and gained invaluable guidance in
each of our businesses by Grant himself. Josh served as a
vessel that evening in Starbucks, leading me into the next
phase with confidence and assets that entrenched the
infrastructure of Silent Knight.
Dear Lord,

Thank you for your presence in my life. Lord, I bestow all

praise, gratitude and thanksgiving to you for the marvelous
work you’ve done in the lives of others and the miracles
you’ve released upon me during times I didn’t deserve your
grace. When I was at my lowest, you never left me to fend
for myself no matter how treacherous the storm. Lord, I
approach you in prayer to gain clarity of the purpose you’ve
ordained for my life. At times I feel lost as my efforts bear no
fruit no matter how much of myself, I invest. Lord, I don’t
want to exhaust myself from work that is not aligned with
your will or don’t glorify your name. I pray for your wisdom,
knowledge, and understanding as I traverse unfamiliar
territory and fight to regain connection with Sammy. Lord, I
take accountability for the amount of time that has been
amassed since I last spoke to him. I allowed frustration to
dictate my decisions and ultimately severed the bond I
cherished most. My attempts to provide Samuel with a
fresh environment in a new state has failed and I don’t know
what I can do. Within my own power to be the father you’ve
ordained me to be. Lord, please guide my steps, my
thoughts and my speech; at times I feel that I’ve tarnished
your blessing by my own irrational decisions. Lord you are
my rock, my savior, and the almighty above all things. Thank
you for all you’ve done and for all you have in store. I humbly
admit that I need your help more than ever. Lord, please
speak to me tonight as I lay my head to rest tonight. In Jesus
name, Amen
7

Who’s at fault?
Is it possible for two individuals to want the same
thing but have two warring ideals? I’ve grown through this
process of fatherhood to understand that Sammy’s mother
wanted him to thrive just as much as I did, but our methods
weren’t aligned. As teenagers, we reminisced about building
a life together, owning a home and raising our family
together to withstand the struggle we both experienced as
kids. Id often joke and promise her our own castle with a
moat without the restrictions imposed by our parents. I held
that dream dear to my heart as we grew older, until I faced
incarceration in 2017; the dream became a faint whisper. I
never understood the toll my poor decisions had on her until
I was released in 2019 and caught wind of what she’ been
experiencing while I was away. My love for her surpassed
anyone I’d met at that point, often turning my back on my
own family to tend to her needs.

When I heard she was being abused in the

relationship she was in, I rushed to reach out and check on
her. It broke me when she confirmed the rumors and
informed me of the brutality, she was subjected to by
another grown man who claimed to love her as much as I
once did. Being choked out of her sleep, kicked down steps,
and given black eyes in a household with small children and
two adults she was financially draining herself to take care
of.
 At first, I questioned why she would subject herself
to mediocrity with the amount of intelligence she
possessed, and not once decided to leave. I understood
that love makes us do crazy things, but I couldn’t fathom
enduring those conditions for as long as she did without
contest. With tears flowing down her face, she pleaded with
me that she didn’t know what happened to me while I was
Upstate and believed that I left her behind, so she had no
choice but to move on. No matter how I felt about what
occurred, I couldn’t argue against her perspective. In that
moment, my role wasn’t to be combative, but to be
understanding and offer her the safety that she needed.
Burning with rage within, I felt obligated to be her savior; she
had nobody else to confide in without attracting additional
harm for speaking on events that were meant to remain
hidden in the dark. From that moment, I vowed that I’d be
her peace and her protector, never raising my hand against
her as we worked together to attain the healing, we both
needed. My life immediately shifted from a boy with a
dream, to a man with a responsibility I’d die to uphold.

It didn’t occur to me how much trauma she’s

experienced until we moved into our apartment and had a
son of our own. Not much can be hidden when you share
the same roof with someone, their scars become yours and
you both embark on a journey towards healing together. In
unison you become whole, mending each other’s broken
piece as you work towards finding yourselves again. When
there is excessive trauma involved, the goal is the same, but
the journey resembles a roller coaster with unexpected
twists and turns; no conductor to strap you in or orchestrate
a safe departure. Unless you are diligent and patient in
learning how to brace its curves and dips, its speed and
capacity, you’ll find yourself dizzy, bruised, and unsure of
when to exit.

My insistence in saving her ultimately pushed her

further away; the fear of vulnerability distorted genuine
gestures of love into triggers of past abuse. Instead of having
conversations to settle our differences, rooms were
destroyed, glass shattered, and picture frames ripped from
the walls until the anger subsided. Affection became non-
existent as pride stifled her cry for help and self-conscious
denial made her question much about herself after giving
birth. I didn’t know what it meant to be a female who’d given
birth, but I did know what it meant to be a selfless partner
who’d sacrifice themselves for the wellbeing of the one they
love.

My ultimate goal was to separate her from the abuse

she described to me within her own home and in her
previous relationship, but maybe moving to the other side of
Queens wasn’t far enough. I was under the impression that I
had accomplished a noble deed as the future husband until
she began to regress back to each person, place and thing
that allegedly brought her harm. There was a room being
constructed for our son in the environment I fought to get
him out of as resources were poured into the safety of our
own home. The deranged ex that inflicted abuse upon her
remained the source feeding her drugs. What was it that I
was doing wrong? Or was my persistence and overexertion
of love unfamiliar to her damaged soul?

It becomes dangerous when you attempt to play

both sides of the fence to see which side benefits you most,
especially when a child is involved and becomes stuck in
the middle of two contentious adults. I sympathized with
her because I couldn’t imagine all she’d been through and
how she continued to persevere. We now had a child that
we were both responsible for, so I chose to do what I felt
was best for him. My separation from New York wasn’t an
abandonment of the city that raised me, it was a separation
from deceit, false narratives, regression, complacency and
irrational addictions. The city will forever be home, but I was
brought to my knees by the one person I’d give my life for,
and it was time to harness the strength to stand strong once
again.

During the process of relocation, I remained faithful

to my mission of keeping our unit together so Sammy had us
both underneath the same rook; offering to pay for plane
tickets for her to travel with Sammy and see what new
environments had to offer, filling out job applications at
animal hospitals so she had employment upon arrival,
meeting with daycare directors to the take tours of various
facilities so Sammy ad a safe space to learn and grow while
we both worked and viewing properties to assure we had a
stable place to call home. Despite my efforts, her ultimate
decision was to move back to an environment where she
was no longer held accountable and had no control of the
emotional instability or outbursts that influenced her
destructive nature. Back to a home of addicts who were
willing to disregard the presence of a child while smoke
billowed in the air and back to the very place I was told
“Fuck your son, fuck his health, this is my house I’ll do what
I want” What could I do? Who was at fault? As a father I
needed to keep my composure and remain patient in prayer
while faith did its work, yet as a man I wanted to burn it all
down and allow God to rebuild according to his will.
Discarding all unnecessary people, all unnecessary
emotions and heal the anger that had destroyed the
relationship between father and son.
Dear Lord,

I approach you in prayer this morning seeking your

guidance in these uncertain times. It feels like everything is
cascading upon me as I fight to progress forward, yet
constantly find myself in a deficit. Lord, please take hold of
my life, I don’t know what steps to take next. Lord you are
my rock, you are my savior. In Jesus name, Amen.
8

Sleepless Nights

I vowed to never regress back to New York without

making significant strides forward and securing everything I
needed to acquire a home for Sammy and create a stream
of revenue that would grant me the ability to not have to
sacrifice much time away from him. While in Miami, I’d
worked two different jobs before finally investing in myself
and obtaining assets that inevitably made me money while
enjoying the beautiful weather and exploring all the city had
to offer. By purchasing a camera, a laptop and workout
equipment, I was able to earn income without having to
compromise my morals or require me to conform to a toxic
work culture that was harmful to others. I acquired my first
job in Miami to obtain paystubs necessary to lease an
apartment in / I arrived in Miami with cash but didn’t have
documentation justifying its source to easing agents. Kush is
an historic bar and late-night hotspot located I the heart of
Brickell, with two other locations in Wynwood and Coconut
Grove.

It wasn’t what I was used to, or close to Disney’s

caliber, but it was a simple kitchen job that provided me
with what I’d needed until it was time to take my next step.
Grilling burgers, dressing salads, and frying appetizers was
as simple as it could get but my passion for culinary led me
to focus on the quality of everything I prepared before
serving guests. With a limited menu, food safety should be a
priority for those in leadership to teach their staff; burger
temperatures, cook times, cross contamination, employee
hygiene, and food allergens are crucial no matter what
cuisine you choose to serve.

My tenure at Kush lasted long enough to obtain three

pay stubs and insight into how I’d train my staff with Silent
Knight. The executive chef, Spider Harris, had been featured
in culinary magazines, online platforms and had earned
notoriety throughout South Florida for his contributions to
the local food industry. With the accolades he’d
accomplished, I couldn’t understand the culture he had
implemented within Kush for both leadership and staff.

We’d often clash about having sanitation buckets on

the line, temping burgers before serving guests and washing
produce before prepping it for consumption. These
principles were things I’d been trained to adhere to, yet they
were profusely refuted by Spider. I found myself doing line
checks before every shift, reprimanded by an executive chef
for informing coworkers about storing rags on the flattop or
grill was a major safety risk that would be alleviated with
two sanitation buckets placed on each end of the line we’re
they’d be able to access the rags at their convenience. I
never want to step on the toes of those who offer
opportunities, yet when it comes to food, I take pride in
everything I serve whether its for a paying guest in a
restaurant, on an international flight, or someone sleeping
on the street. My last straw at Kush was being told that
washing produce wasn’t a requirement in Florida; as a
means to keep me in my pace and didn’t challenge Spiders
authority, an executive chef told me that it was a New York
standard that didn’t belong in his kitchen.

My last correspondence with Kush was a written

letter to each member of their leadership team including
Spider and the brands owner informing them of my gratitude
for the opportunity they extended to me, but most
importantly of the things I’d noticed within their
establishment that could potentially cause them to fail
inspection and threaten the brand’s reputation. The Kush
name symbolized its support for marijuana legalization, but
in no way should employees be allowed to be inebriated
while on the clock or be influenced by leadership that the
quality of service isn’t as important as the ticket price of
each table. The use of sanitation buckets is mandatory
within restaurants not only to wipe down surfaces to
prevent cross contamination, but to also prevent excessive
amounts of rags stacked on appliances that could
ultimately cause a fire and threaten the safety of your
employees and guests.

The most crucial aspect of my brief missive was the

importance of washing all produce that enters the kitchen
upon delivery or before food production procedures begin,
as well as assuring the refrigeration temperatures are
maintained to prevent food borne illnesses from forming,
causing sickness or death of those you intend to serve. The
unfortunate part about restaurants is that the guests have
no idea wat occurs within the confines of the kitchen,
blindly paying for their food with faith that they’ll survive the
night. My passion for culinary was acquired through an
opportunity cooking for Saudia and Qatar airlines where
military and state inspections were daily routines. Our
attention to detail and adherence to those we served
became innate qualities of our profession.

I had all that I needed, three paystubs, a Sony

camera for photography gigs and marketing for Silent Knight,
a laptop for remote work and correspondence with local
organizations, and TRX cables and resistance bands to
conduct beach workouts throughout Miami. I promised
myself that day that I would no longer sacrifice who I am to
fit into crowds I didn’t belong. I separated from an entire
state and sacrificed the role that meant the most to me I
wasn’t going to settle for dysfunction at the hands of
insecurity and politics. My journey proceeded with a
relentless hustle and unshakable spirit. Unfamiliar territory
with a passion in my heart and void that yearned to be filled.
 Dear Lord,

Thank you for all you’ve done and for all you have in store.
Lord, I bestow all gratitude and praise to you. In Jesus name,
Amen.
9

Threshold
My wisdom is derived through prayer and by
listening to others as they share their stories through spoken
word poetry and literature. By waking up each day admitting
that I know nothing, I remain hungry for knowledge and
receptive to the needs of others. You’d be surprised how
much people desire to express themselves, but are afraid to
indulge too much, unsure of who they can trust; once they
find a genuine soul who truly listens, they become an open
book of testimonies and suppressed emotions. I met a
gentleman while working out in the Hilton Hotel gym in
Aventura who I’d seen more than once but never took the
time to introduce myself. He’d usually walk a few miles on
the treadmill, but this day he decided to grab a pair of
dumbbells and begin a set of inclined chest press on the
bench beside me. In the middle of my set, he randomly says
“Hey, don’t judge my 20 lb. dumbbells, I’ll get to your level
one day”.

It caught me off guard because I normally don’t

conversate in the gym unless I’m with a client, but I was
inclined to respond because this guy had to be twice my
age. I told him that my regimen was a result of natural
progression over years of sports and a passion for fitness as
he began another set while beginning his story of how
diabetes diminished his muscle mass but his research on
holistic remedies rather than pharmaceuticals led him back
into the gym. Daily exercise reverses insulin resistance
within those who have been diagnosed with diabetes along
with a healthy diet, and for this man, the right supplements.
He took the initiative to combat an illness that’s been
monetized by big pharma for decades, and found
alternatives that ultimately brought his diabetes into
remission. It brought a smile to my face as he shared his
triumphant accomplishment because many people wait
until they’re on their deathbed to decide that it’s time to
change their habits and improve their life. As I commended
him on the amount of courage he displayed in such a
vulnerable moment, he let me know that the information is
available to everyone, but diabetes is such a lucrative
disease that those diagnosed with it often settle for the
medication doctors prescribe and marketing schemes
plastered across major outlets.

Despite the twenty-pound dumbbells he was lifting,

the amount of strength he possessed far surpassed
anything I could fathom. The amount of fear, uncertainty,
and pain you must experience when you’re told that you
have a disease that has the potential of altering your body’s
composition for the rest of your life, is debilitating. It takes a
brave soul to stray away from the pack and take an
unorthodox approach to improve their health. We continued
to speak until he approached the end of his set and left me
with one last piece of wisdom before he left. The resources
required to improve our lives and live the lives we dream of
are readily available to us all through literature and the
internet; rarely do we take advantage of the information.
Instead of relying on someone else to save you from
misfortune, take the initiative and relinquish the fear of
sacrifice and vulnerability as you take the conscious steps
to your own recovery. We shook hands and he walked out of
the gym as I contemplated the limitations, I faced upon
myself that has caused me to lose custody of Sammy; stuck
in survival and self- pity when the solution was readily
available for my consumption. My threshold for
disappointment wasn’t as great as that gentleman’s will to
live. It was time for me to reevaluate my approach of
obtaining everything that I desired. How much can you
endure before life brings you to your knees and breaks you
into shambles?

Moments after he left, an older gentleman entered

the gym with a spry spring in his step as if wanted to do
more mentally than his physical body would allow; slow
calculated moves as he knelt to the ground to begin
stretching and growls of pain with each incremental
movement. Each time he reached the ground safely, his
phone would ring and he’d groan as he rose to retrieve the
call. The fourth time he rose with clear signs of frustration, I
couldn’t help but laugh and lighten the mood by letting him
know that he must’ve been a very lucky man. My humility
brought a smile to his face and broke the ice for genuine
conversation to begin. Verbally expressing his disdain, he
described an accident he’d suffered in the gym a few weeks
prior; a pinched nerve resulted in a significant reduction of
his range of motion during exercise, often rendering him
immobile. Contemplating whether he’d get his surgery in the
United States or in his hometown of Germany, he’d
expressed the concerns that would arise each time his
phone rang in fear of bad news concerning one of his three
sons. His son Danny was twenty-one and had recovered
from a debilitating illness that caused bacteria to eat away
at his organs from the inside out; leading to severe kidney
failure, three months of blindness, and stints of being
paralyzed which led him to have to completely learn how to
walk again.

His father worried for his son because he seemed to

have no purpose in life, going through bouts of
homelessness, stagnancy and suicidal thoughts; Danny
was a loner, he’d been to the United State but had no true
friends back in Germany. He tried everything to ignite a
spark withing Danny, from sending him to school to offering
him an opportunity to travel together as he conducted
business across the nation. Nothing seemed to work. Danny
remained distant, mute at times, and showed no initiative in
the progression of his life. After explaining the work I’d done
with Silent Knight, Dannys father asked me if I’d speak to
him on facetime to find out what the problem was. Without
hesitation, I told him to make the call and eagerly waited as
he dialed Dannys number. After a few rings, there he was,
the infamous Danny appeared on the screen with a
perplexed look on his face, wondering who I was. I began by
telling him that it was a blessing to meet him and that his
father had told me a lot about him. I didn’t want him to
become defensive and shut down, so I didn’t mention that I
knew about his illness or the suicidal thoughts he
experienced as he chose homelessness over the
opportunities that his father had offered. Instead, I asked
Danny what his purpose was. He responded by saying that
he honestly didn’t know, which wasn’t surprising because
many of us have yet to discover our true purpose, living in
survival mode dictated by the next bill that’s due. I quickly
changed the tone of the conversation to keep Danny
engaged and asked him what he was interested in. His
father let me know that he’d attended college for a brief
period, but didn’t mention any hobbies. Danny seemed to
be secluded with his own thought before saying that being
there for his family was his only concern; much like the
process of regaining a connection with Sammy, not much
mattered outside of our relationship. I utilized community as
a method of uplifting the lived of others since I couldn’t
uplift Sammy’s in the capacity that I desired.

Danny was utilizing his relationship with his family to

fill the void within himself that he’d struggled to fill after his
recovery. I understood Danny; The night before my father
passed away, I visited him in the emergency room and
promised that I’d come back the next day after I got off of
work only to get a call that he was gone before I had a
chance to make it to his side. I was distraught for years after
his death, smoking heavily to numb the pain and living each
day expecting it to be my lat. I’d yet to find my purpose at
that time, each lesson I thought I needed to learn was still
hidden within him waiting patiently for him to teach me. My
downward spiral led to incarceration where I was forced to
sit down and face the feelings that I frantically ran away
from. I began praying consistently, gained a relationship with
God and obtained a clear vision of the road ahead.

I warned Danny that going a grip on his life didn’t

require him to go to prison and offered him the tools that I
used to get back on track. I suggested that Danny first begin
writing down his prayers each night in a dedicated notebook
before reciting them out loud. The process of writing them
down would instill a sense of accountability and give him
something tangible to revisit as each prayer was brought to
fruition. Next, I told Danny that before Sammy was born I sat
down with his mother to create vision boards with old
magazines by cutting out photos of the things we sought to
acquire; the places we desired to travel to, phrases that
offered forms of inspiration and all the things we planned to
accomplish with our son. I suggested to Danny and d his
father tat they could reserve a day to create vision boards as
a family to experience the power of creating a visual
representation of their dreams as individuals and as a
family.

Our call ended with Danny smiling and agreeing to

obtain a prayer journal, and his father wiping tears out the
corner of his eyes as his son was finally engaged and
showing signs of life. As I handed the phone back to Dannys
father, he requested that I’d wait for him while he grabbed
something from his room. He returned with an expression of
gratitude as he explained to me that he hadn’t found anyone
that could get through to Danny and contemplated giving it
to one of his managers as a gift; yet felt that I was worthy.
He handed me a navy-blue gift box with gold trim and
thanked me for the conversation I had with his son. By
excepting the gift, Id attracts the wealth necessary to fund
Silent Knight and accomplish everything that I desired to do
for Sammy. I was skeptical but kept silent, not wanting him
to think that I expected anything in return. To my surprise,
inside the gift box was a genuine black leather Bugatti wallet
with pristine red stitching.

Accustomed to being the bearer of gifts for others

through genuine acts of kindness, Dannys fathers’
reciprocity served as reassurance that I had truly found my
purpose. I prayed that he and Danny worked together to
rebuild their relationship, and that Danny utilized the tools I
suggested to regain his footing along his journey. His illness
distracted him from the purpose that God ordained for his
life, and I was blessed with the honor of being divinely
placed in the gym with his father to breathe life into his
souls and uncover his true worth in the eyes of the Lord.
Dear Lord,

In times of need you have supplied me with

everything I needed; at times when I feel depleted, you have
restored my strength and blessed me with resilience to get
back on my feet. Lord I must bestow all praise and
thanksgiving to you for the work you’ve done in the lives of
others and the miracles that you have bestowed upon me.
Lord, I pray for you to take control of my life, my speech, my
thoughts and purify my soul to be aligned with your will for
my life. Lord, I have depleted myself financially, invested
myself into mindless endeavors, and have failed in every
attempt to do things my way. I ask for your forgiveness of my
immaturity, impatience and for the sins the I’ve committed
and seek your grace as I enter this next phase of my life.
Lord what do you see in me that I don’t see in myself? What
is it that I lack that has prevented me from fulfilling your
prophesy for my life? Where did I go wrong? Lord, please
heal my heart of all past iniquities so that I can be receptive
to the love that you place along my path; your love, the love
of others and my ability to love myself. Lord today I was
asked what I had on my bucket list, and all I could think of
was to take Sammy to his first day of school and to be
blessed with the honor to publish a book that we’d illustrate
together with his artwork. Lord, I pray for the ability to be his
father, the husband, and the man that you’ve ordained me to
be; truly fulfilling the role that you’ve ordained me to fulfill. I
cannot do this on my own Lord, I truly need your help in
these uncertain times. Please bless Samue with your
continued presence in his life and guide him through each
stage of his growth and development as you’ve done for me
throughout my entire life. Lord, please bless my mind with
divine ideas in order to create righteous paths of revenue to
truly provide for those who you’ve ordained me to serve.
Lord you are my savior, you are my rock, the almighty king
above all others. No matter who attempts to draw me away
from praising you, I will continue to abide by your word and
remain steadfast in faith as I trust you and follow your lead.
Lord, thank you for everything. In Jesus name, Amen.
10

Mode of communication

Separation from Sammy began to take its toll on

every aspect of my life, the suppressed anger led me into a
deep depression that caused me to disregard much of the
things I once cherished. It began to feel like a part of e had
died, and no longer had lost all home of resurrection. My
efforts were exhausted without any results, and my words
were disregarded by those who inevitably decided my fate
as a father. It was a double-edged sword; I was told to
provide proof of all the things that occurred between
Sammy’s mother and I, yet if proof was provided, I’d be
chastised by friends and family. It baffled me, the double
standard concerning a mother and when a mother is abused
in the slightest way, she garners support from family,
friends, the authorities and everyone willing to listen; when
a woman puts their hands on a man, his ability to receive
support relies on street politics.

As fathers, we must harness unsurmountable

strength that not many possess, we are wrong even if all
evidence proves we’re right. It was painful to separate from
Sammy, but there weren’t many options left once I learned
who his mother truly was. I pray Sammy remembers the
obstacles I’d fought through to be in his life to prevent him
from feeling the pain of not knowing a father’s love. Through
grace, I had to put my ego to the side and follow Gods lead
with patience.
 The courts mandated me to adhere to
supervised visits with Sammy instead of approving the
address that I’d provided or allowing him to travel to Miami.
The difficulties of getting Sammy out of state continued to
impede the progression of our relationship and began to
turn my utopian demeanor cold-hearted. I’d been battling
against emotions since 2021 when I had Sammys mother
sign a permission slip to allow him to travel with me to
Georgia. We got as far as Virginia when I received a phone
call informing me that he’d now have six doctors’
appointments that’d require him to return back to New York;
he’d been scheduled to have a circumcision in less than a
month, so I didn’t hesitate to bring our adventure to an end
and head back to the city. Upon our arrival at the first
appointment, the doctor demanded that I call Sammys
mother to explain why she hadn’t used the prescribed
cream to prepare him for his procedure. She didn’t believe it
would benefit him, so she decided to disregard the doctor’s
request. The doctor chastised me for not taking the initiative
and the appointment came to an end. The next appointment
ended less than ten minutes after I arrived. The doctor too
one look at Sammy and I, and immediately told me that
everything he needed to say could be discussed over the
phone. The next four appointments proceeded in the same
fashion, it appeared that each appointment was made the
day before we left, but neither on required our presence.

My patience was wearing thin, it felt like each step

forward was tethered to an irrational force pulling me back.
My words were no longer effective and my actions seemed
to serve no purpose. Maybe it was me who was moving with
haste while God put obstacles in the way to prevent
destruction further down the road. I continued to ignore the
signs, enveloped in anger; things weren’t going my way, I
failed to see the see the pain I was causing. I will never
know what it takes to be a first-time mother and endure the
effects of postpartum depression, or what it feels like to
have groups of people make me feel guilty for growing
beyond the limits they’d set. Sammys mother had a lot to
manage during the months after her pregnancy and my
impatience didn’t make her process any easier. To love
someone means to be patient in times when they lose their
minds and struggle to regain awareness. Love is gentle and
understanding, not abrasive or demeaning. My adamance
was fueled by the events that occurred after Sammys birth;
being admitted to the emergency room less than 24 hours
after his birth due to the actions of those responsible for his
care, him being take out of our home and hidden in the
environment that fought to get him out of, and the woman I
once loved resorting back to the people, places, and things I
sacrificed to separate her from. The love was still alive, but I
lacked the endurance to make it through to the finish line. As
a man I fell short, and as a husband I failed to meet the
needs of my partner. For three years I’d based each decision
on five months of disappointment without acknowledging
the growth of Sammys mother; we can’t control the pace in
which others grow or the direction that they go. Through
countless encounters, meditation and prayer, I began to
realize that it was me who was wrong. Despite my
intentions, my approach was abrasive and counterintuitive
to our mission. Raising a healthy child and showing him the
love we both cherished growing up.

Stuck in my own ways, my own thoughts and my

own world; I failed to be open minded to the feelings and
ideas of others. The slightest sign of danger in Sammy’s path
caused me to immediately react rather than taking the time
to access how it would affect Sammy. My actions were
irrational, and my demands were sporadic, no matter the
amount of growth that I’ve made, some words and actions
can’t be forgiven by a simple apology without conscious
steps toward change. I had secured the bonds with those
closest to me out of fear that they were working against me,
yet their intentions were never malicious. There was a lot of
growth that I needed to do before I realized that they were
warning me about the consequences of my ignorance in
subtle was without overstepping any boundaries. I
inadvertently tarnished my role as a father through my own
actions, there was nobody I could blame. Trapped in our
own realities, we often misunderstand the intentions of
others and exaggerate minor offences. I was my own worse
enemy suffocating from poison administered into my veins
by the ignorance of my ways.
Dear Lord,

Thank you for your presence in my life and

the miracles that you’ve imparted upon Sammy, he is
thriving in so many ways. I am truly proud of his growth each
time that I had the opportunity to speak to him. He knows all
his colors and his numbers so fluently that I can’t help but
smile when he identifies his surroundings. Lord, I bestow all
praise upon you for the love you’ve placed in his heart that
emanates contagiously to everyone he encounters. Lord,
please bless me with the financial provision to provide
Samuel with a home of our own and the ability to truly raise
him side by side throughout each stage of his development.
Though I may be limited to speaking to him over the phone
temporarily, I pray for your divine reconnection to quell his
anger and introduce him to peace through faith. Lord, take
hold of my life and guide me towards the path that you’ve
ordained and the environment you need me in. With
everlasting gratitude, Lord you are my rock, my savior, and
the almighty above all. In Jesus name, Amen.
11

Uncommon Blessings

For three months I struggled to regain my

composure. I was depleted financially and had put Silent
Knight on hold because I lacked the resources to fund
community outreach events or pay for kitchen space to
safely prepare meals. I was on my own, by choice, I had
severed every tie that I had in New York in order regain the
strength I’d exhausted through my failed attempts to be the
savior of the one I loved. There was no safety net to fall back
on God forbid my plan A didn’t work out, I was all in and
refused to regress for any reason. Sleeping in hotel
conference rooms when I ran out of money to reserve a
room and sneaking into gyms to work out and take daily
showers. Each day was a struggle for survival, picking up
uber eats orders from local restaurants with no intention of
delivering them to ensure I had a meal each night.

Who knew the process would be so tough? I figure

that if I led with purpose and provided value to the lives of
others, I’d gain the support I desperately need, but I was
deceived by my own ignorance. There was no hero coming
with a blank check to fund my dreams or offer their
assistance without something in return. I began to question
all that I read on the law of reciprocity, was my selfless
deeds not enough to signal God’s grace? I prayed profusely,
abstained from all negative influences and continued to give
my last to others without hesitation. On my last legs, I began
to doubt the power of my faith, waking up each morning
refusing to beg for help, yet anxiously seeking a miracle
every step I took.

I found myself outside during a major storm in

Aventura, causing major flooding and torrential rain that
lasted consistently for thirty-six hours without remorse. WI
had my laptop and camera tucked underneath my arm,
shielded by the sleeves of my shirt to prevent getting wet;
my efforts were no match for the wrath of the storm,
appearing to pierce through my hedge of protection and
infiltrate the seams of my two lifelines. I was helpless.
Rushing to find shelter, but it seemed like each road was
flooded nearly up to my waist with murky water, leaving me
stranded out in the open as the only remaining assets were
destroyed by mother nature. Harnessing the courage to
maneuver through the unforgiving sludge, I eventually found
shelter in a nearby hotel lobby where my greatest fear
became a bleak reality; after wiping the water off the laptop
and drying off my camera, I attempted to turn them back on.
Without surprise, each screen remained as black as the
hole within my soul. I was knocked back to square one, with
no idea how I would recover from this loss.

Each book I wrote for Sammy, and all the work I’d
completed for Silent Knight was now gone without a trace. It
was only materialistic items, but the content stored on each
device was my only source of revenue for the past few
months. Four thousand dollars down the drain without a
way to recover or replace any of it. I sat distraught, staring
out into the slodded streets wondering what step to take
next. My faith was tested, and I must admit that I failed,
resorting back to schemes and devious ways to recoup
each loss. My impatience landed me back behind bars.
Without the money to replace the laptop, I decided to find a
way to get my hands on one to continue working and begin
to earn revenue again. The though process that I possessed
was immature and displayed my inability to make rational
decisions in a time of panic. No explanation will ever justify
the action or my regression back to behaviors I ‘d promised
were behind me. Even with the new laptop in my
possession, there was a blanket of shame draped over my
soul each day it was in my possession; getting heavier with
each step that I took.

Despite my ability to upload photos of artwork that I

completed for Sammy, and continue to write this current
book, I was drawn to return all that was taken. Two months
later, through prayer and obedience I approached the store
the laptop was taken from and began to search for the
gentleman responsible for asset recovery. By grace he
approached me and led me to a desk to discuss how we
could make things right. Agreeing that as long as the laptop
was returned, there wouldn’t be any charges filed. It was a
fair arrangement that I immediately consented to and began
deleting all my personal information before handing it over
to him. Due to my actions, I didn’t deserve any favors, but I
felt we’d come to a mutual understanding when three
officers approached; my heart sank to the floor. I entered
the store with the intention of taking accountability for my
actions, unfortunately these were the consequences for my
actions. I couldn’t argue or detest what the police were told
and for the first time took responsibility as I turned around
as instructed, made prayer hands and allowed the officer to
place handcuffs upon my wrists.

Five different officers all wondering why I’d return

the items two months later, each one saying that if it were
them, they would never look back .The blessing was that I
was neither one of them, I was a father who feared God
more than any punishment inflicted by man; each time I
prayed during those two months, I felt the presence of God
alerting me that something wasn’t right. Fatigued, sharp
pains shot through the back of my skull down to my lower
back, and my vision was blurred with shame. To have
handcuffs placed on my wrists after nearly five years of
freedom was not the storybook ending, I planned to tell
Sammy at bedtime, but it was a step in the right direction to
bring me back into alignment with the purpose I began to
neglect through my lack of faith.

Having just begun reading the 1619 project by

Isabelle Wilkerson, I was now placing myself in the role of a
modern-day slave, not by force but for the first time in the
story of our civilization, my bondage was inflicted by choice.

The officers led me out to their squad car, placed me

into the hardened plastic backseat and shut the door
shielding me from the free world behind five black steel bars
spread across the width of the window to prevent a climatic
escape. From walking freely through Aventura with
resistance bands and sun kissed caramel skin headed to a
workout session, to be being chauffeured to the TGK
Correctional facility in the back of a police car in less than
twelve hours. As the wind whistled through the steel bars, I
couldn’t help but immerse myself in prayer. Closing my eyes
understanding that this was a part of Gods plan; my
obedience would be worth much more than any sacrifice I’d
make along this journey.

We pulled into a row of barbed wire fences as the

officer got out to secure his firearm in a lockbox and alerted
the guards of my arrival. Slowly inching past three other
safety checkpoints, we arrived to the backdoor of TGK
correctional facility intake greeted by an officer preparing to
make a fugitive exchange; guiding me inside to complete the
required paperwork necessary to be admitted as an inmate
in Miami. The officer who transported me from Aventura
wished me luck and bid me farewell as I was led to a nurse
who took my blood pressure, jotted down my weight and
attached a wristband with a barcode and number that
would identify me from that point forward. Though it was
still early afternoon, TGK appeared to be much calmer than
any facility on Rikers Island who was infamous for constant
security alarms, fights, and splashings upon arrival. I
wouldn’t wish either of the environment on my worst
enemy, but there were surely drastic differences between
the two. I was now a number, 240150555, no longer
possessing the name printed on my birth certificate. With
my new alias I was led through a full body scan and on to a
strip search initiated by another grown man; something I will
never bring myself to get used to.

Donned in a bright orange jumpsuit with “inmate”

clearly printed across the back to assure that there was no
misconception regarding my status. Walking through the
halls of this facility felt like a scene in a movie. Solemnly my
feet with cuffs upon my wrists and my head down to
prevent the memory of it all from occupying any space in my
mind.

Who would I call? I hadn’t spoken to anybody from

New York in two years and was unsure if they had changed
their number. I chose to try anyway, dialing my mother’s
number to inform her of where I was and to have her retrieve
my property from Aventura police department before it’d be
destroyed. Three attempts without an answer, each call
declined; I ended the first night questioning my separation
had severed ties forever. My adamance to build on my own
resulted in solitude when I needed someone the most.
Often, we don’t understand the long-term ramifications of
our choices until we inevitably need the very people, places
and things for our survival. Locked in a cell once again
contemplating how’d I’d make it through this alone. Prayer
was my form of solace as I placed a sheet and blanket
across an inch thick mattress, lied down, and called it a
night.

The next morning, I awakened by the tapping on my

bunk and a loud voice yelling “Chow time fellas” as the
blinding ceiling lights burned through the towel I had
covering my face. It was five thirty in the morning, barely
conscious I reached out to retrieve my tray and thanked the
officer for the allotment of my daily rations. Hot bologna,
powered eggs and oatmeal-Ish substance served with a box
of milk and an orange juice for good measure. With a sign of
contentment, I sat at the edge of my bunk and began to
force each portion of the tray down and washed the sins
away with two percent milk; nearly five years since the last
time I’d eaten a chow tray, my body rejected the mysterious
contents I’d consumed through malicious flatulence
without shame of dispelling the crippling aroma that filled
the cell

Leaning back into the comfort of my bunk, I began to

pray as the sun rose and the day began to unfold. Seven
a.m. I was called down to speak with a nurse to assess my
mental health and assigned a classification that determined
where I’d be housed next. It was an excerpt directly from the
1619 project, owners appraising their property to determine
where they’d be able to contribute the most. Who was I to
judge the efficiency of the plantation in which I willingly
chose to participate in. My innate desire to dissect the
surroundings made me begin to analyze each aspect of its
existence.

The dayroom consisted of six phones, a television

and hardened plastic chairs for inmates to find reprieve
from the confines of their cell for a few hours out of the day.
I find peace being alone, yet I was determined to get through
to someone on the phone before I ventured back into
hibernation for the day. I slowly punched my prison id
number into the phone’s keypad followed by mother’s
number once again; expecting rejection but proceeding with
sheer faith that I’d soon hear a familiar voice. “You have a
prepaid call from an inmate at the Miami-Dade correctional
facility, to accept this call press 0, to reject this call press 9
now” There was a moment of anticipation before the call
connected and my mother’s voice ruminated through the
phone. July 4th, 2022, was the last time I spoke to her during
my hiatus of everything New York. Despite the
disagreements we’ve had throughout the years of
adolescent turmoil, there hasn’t been one time she failed to
show up when everyone else turned their backs. As she
spoke, I heard the soothing tone of a voice that was
murmurs and masterfully crafted gurgles the last time I’d
heard it; strong and confident, “good morning daddy” It was
Sammy, a blessing I’d prayed for delivered by God.

His voice was fluent, joyous, and confident; every

care in the world dissipated at once as his presence
elevated my spirit to heavenly realms. My twenty-ninth
birthday was spent behind bars, but Sammy blessed me
with a lie concert as he played his bongos and sang happy
birthday to me. Surrounded by eighty other men, he put my
mind at ease. I was honored to be a witness to his growth
yet yearned for the opportunity to see him in person. God
was reestablishing our bond, maybe not in the way I
desired, but his grace was sufficient. My way had left me
depleted and enveloped in fear unsure of which direction to
turn; each path I took seemed to lead to failure. My
obedience brought me back into alignment with the purpose
I’ve been ordained to fulfill. A trial of my faith as prayer
became the stronghold in which I found shelter in the storm.

Two years fighting to correct every flaw I saw in

others without acknowledging my own faults; my insistence
on fixing what was broken inevitably led to my own
destruction. I failed to humble myself in the presence of the
Lord, hearing all that Sammy was involved in made me
question why I allowed so much time to pass without
scaring my ego and abiding by the courts mandate; music
class, baseball games and classes at the local library
preparing him for kindergarten. He asked me to teach him
how to dribble a basketball over the phone and I drew silent;
resenting my inability to physically instruct him but honored
that he sought my guidance. “Yes Sammy, I will show you”
my mother instructed him to bounce the ball to his side and
follow it with his hand until he found his rhythm. From
baseball, to soccer, and now basketball he was beginning to
evolve as a young man, and I was missing the most precious
moments. I bestow praise and thanksgiving to my family for
not allowing him to be hidden throughout the process of
regaining visitation and providing everything I couldn’t. Love,
nourishment and unconditional affection.

Days progressed as I awaited a decision from the

courts to determine if the state would press charges or if
returning the property was sufficient to have the case
dismissed. It was difficult forming a stable routine because
things in Miami were much different than upstate. Instead of
working out twice a day, seven days a week, I was limited to
an hour a day three times a week and threatened with
disciplinary citations if I was caught exercising in the dorm.
I’d never want to become comfortable in such an
environment. Yet, it does bring peace when you’re able to
rehabilitate with a purpose, rather than sporadically without
a plan. Reading was also limited to the books shared within
a dorm of eighty men which was a far cry from the library I
was accustomed to exploring, often balancing philosophy,
psychology, autobiographies and sociology to enhance my
perspective of the life I now lived. This pen and notepad had
become the equalizer of my tranquility, expressing each
step along this journey in a manner that others can
consume at their own pace. I’ve learned that our lives are
not as significant to others as we may believe; we’re ll
suffocating from our own problems. Literature allows us to
inspire others through our experiences, lessons learned and
unique perspectives without forcing consumption. Our
audience becomes those who are invested in our journey,
relate to our stories, or benefit for the wisdom we share.

As I jot down each thought, the burden of solitude is

replaced with the motivation to leave my mark upon the
souls who were once lost like me and found healing within
the pages of a book. Literature was responsible for many
encounters here in Miami that have opened doors of
opportunity and have elevated me to heights I never
believed to be possible. With each stroke of this pen, I am
one step closer to becoming whole again as the shattered
remnants of my soul are strategically reassembled through
faith and obedience. God had never left my side.

Each time the attorney called to speak to me

virtually, a sudden jolt of anxiety would flow through my
body in anticipation for what she’d say. No matter how far I
tried to distance myself from New York, it had its way of
reeling me back in. There was a fugitive warrant issued for
me due to a case from 2021, Miami was obligated to hold
me behind bars until New York decided if they’d proceed
with extradition. The inability to contact my attorney in New
York prolonged the otherwise time sensitive transition, I
needed to accept the fact that it was out of my control and a
direct consequence of my failure to appear in court when I
had the chance. The domino effect of my past was now
catching up with an impending threat of crushing me at any
moment. I was tethered to my past decisions and only
through grace would I ever be released from its grasp.
12

Where shall he go?

Music class, kindergarten preparation classes at the

library and the emergence of a keen investigative spirit filled
with curiosity and boundless energy. Sammys pace of
development was awe inspiring. As he began to prepare for
kindergarten next year, I questioned what school he’d
attend. The courts granted his mom full custody, so I legally
had no say in the final decision she’d make. Nothing I said in
court seemed to matter despite the relevance to Sammys
well-being; with temporary custody, I was under the
impression that I had the legal right to make decisions in
Sammys best interest but taking him across state lines
without informing the courts didn’t work well in my favor. I
have very few regrets regarding this process, but one that
truly flipped the script was my decision to be honest with
Sammys mother about each move that I made with him.

It sounds a bit counter intuitive now that I think

about it, yet my intentions were to lead by example and
show her that everything I spoke to her about was possible
if we worked together; information that I shared was
forwarded to her attorney and used as fuel to reverse the
court’s initial decision. My insistence to keep our family
together resorted in malice at the palace and the ultimate
decision of father and son. Allowing the past to continue to
affect my mental stability, it would serve as a detriment to
Sammys outlook and potentially draw us further apart. No
matter how frustrating it’s been speaking life into a rock, I
needed to continue to lead with integrity and allow each
step I took, each piece of artwork I created and each book
that I’d published correlates with the principles I wanted to
instill within Sammy while he wasn’t in my presence. Many
may not understand the method of my actions, but my role
as a father will never cease to exist if I possess breath in my
body and a beating heart to spread love.

AS he prepares for kindergarten, the question has

arisen regarding what type of school he’d attend; most
importantly, where would it be located? While I desired to
have Sammy experience the blessing of diverse cultures
and be exposed to opportunities I prayed for as a child, I had
to accept the fact that my opinion was now legally obsolete.
While in Georgia, I viewed daycare centers, private schools
and homeschooling alternatives in Eagle Landing,
McDonough, College Park and East Point near Tyler Perry
studio. Here in Miami, I was infatuated with the Montessori
curriculum, and the impact it had on the strategic
development of children Sammys age. From guiding
Sammys body on the paint canvas at five months, to now
being able to create artwork on his own and expressing
interest in musical instruments. I vowed to not force him
into public school and stunt the interests that he’d
expressed. No matter the cost, I was willing to make the
necessary sacrifices to assure the prosperity of his future.
 As a child, I was blessed with exposure to traveling
basketball teams, road trips with family, museum visits and
frequent workshops ranging from music to art and literature
that has influenced my inquisitive creativity, molding a
passion for interacting with people all ethnicities. I’d gained
a unique perspective very early on and it had a major impact
on my role today as a 29-year-old father. We always want
our kids to be better than we were and have better than we
had; Sammys mother and I had to figure out how to put our
differences to the side and reach an agreement that worked
for the best interest of Sammy. Parenting is a balance of
teamwork, and it was time for us to step up.
Dear Lord,

Thank you for blessing me with another chance in

life despite my countless failures along this journey. Lord, I
pray that you see that my intentions are pure and the love I
give is genuine. Through each trial, you’ve remained
steadfast by my side guiding my steps and adorning me with
your everlasting grace without judgment. What steps do you
need me to take to uphold my role as the father you’ve
ordained me to be? I’ve failed you once again in my pursuit
of building an organization that I could operate without
sacrificing time away from Sammy; though my intentions
were to secure a home for him in a fresh environment and
assure his success God forbid anything happened to me, I
still neglected my responsibilities as I moved blindly through
each day. Lord, please restore my vision, restore my
finances and heal the heart of Ashley to enable us to work
together as we raise Sammy. Our emotions have impeded
the blessing that God bestowed upon us, and I fear that it
will affect my ability to raise Sammy as he begins school.
Lord, please bless me with a supernatural miracle and
release your dive provision to fund the purpose that you’ve
ordained me to fulfill. Continue to bless Sammy with your
presence and uplift his spirit to reassemble the light you’ve
placed within him. Lord, you are my rock, my savior, the
almighty above all. Lord, thank you for all you’ve done and
for all you have in store. I bestow all praise and thanksgiving
to you Lord. In Jesus name, Amen.
13

Saint Francis of Assisi

Francis had cast aside parties with nobility to align
himself with the poor and nobly heart. He joyfully
disregarded his medieval life of wealth and frivolity for one
of extravagant self-sacrifice. At age 20, Franci partook in a
skirmish with a rival city. His team lost, and he spent his 24th
birthday as a captive of Calle Strada after being taken as a
prison. This became his purgatory. As he grew weaker, he
became more aware of the emptiness of his life. There he
began to contemplate the eternal. His initial response was
to become a strong warrior, embracing a military career for
the sake of the Neapolitan states. But after a second illness
and two strange dreams, he was wooed toward the
spiritual. Francis exchanged philandering and frivolity for
prayer and solitude; his path to Jesus progressed as he
found himself increasingly identifying with the poor.

Much like Saint Francis, I chose to separate myself

from vanity, mundane desires and any person, place or thing
that drew me further away from faith. Seemingly overnight,
my tolerance and decision making shifted drastically as
Sammy was born; his admittance to Forest Hills hospital
less than twenty-four hours after he was born solidified my
desire to start fresh in a new state and lean solely on prayer
rather than the emotional instability of others. Physical war
led Francis to imprisonment, sickness and the inevitable
contemplation of the eternal while spiritual warfare led to
the imprisonment of my mind as I began to understand that
Sammys mother and I were unequally yoked.

Our life experiences and our individual walks in faith

ultimately drew us apart; we were unwilling to set our egos
aside and unravel the vulnerabilities of our trauma. Both
hidden behind unquestionable wounds, we drew our
defenses in fear of the other getting close enough to
discover the pain we’d attempt to keep hidden. The further
we grew apart, the more protective over Sammy we became
to prevent losing control of the only source of light we had
left. We bled on each other, not knowing the extent of the
others’ pain; aggression and combativeness replaced the
unconditional love that once flowed through our veins. Her
distance caused my sickness, growing physically ill as I
watched our home dissipate before my eyes.

A deep void grew within me, unable to reach Sammy

or provide him with the life that I knew he deserved; a void
that couldn’t be filled with drugs, sex or money. It was akin
to the umbilical cord of our souls being clipped prematurely;
the void refused to be filled with anything but warm
embrace of Gods son. The only alternative that brought me
peace was uplifting the lives of others through food, clothing
and other forms of provision that they desperately needed;
expending my last ounce of energy into the wellbeing of
anyone I perceived to be in need until I eventually depleted
myself and began the process all over again. I found peace
in giving to others and investing time into hearing their
stories. Each individual lesson was interwoven into the
universal quilt of wisdom utilized to provide warmth and
security to future generations. With each interaction, I
offered myself as a sacrifice to assure that Sammy had all
the tools, he needed to surmount each obstacle that
caused me to stumble and lose my way.

I give without remorse or fear of going without

because life has taught me that tomorrow is never
promised. Blessed at times to provide for others while Gods
grace replenished my every need. Selfless acts are done for
genuine concern of those I’ve been called to lead, not that
the accolades than many seek. As I progressed with
community outreach, I’ve learned the difference between
those who serve with pure intentions, and those who give
for an expected reward, adulation or personal gain. It pains
me to see organizations who promote community
enrichment syphon donations into their own pockets to
fund fictitious lifestyles on the backs of struggling souls;
Non-profit organizations used as fronts for drug operations
and other illegal endeavors that tore communities apart as
the poison of greed infiltrated noble acts. The boundaries
became blurred; I a church requires you to tithe thousands
of dollars to be recognized by the congregation, is it still
holy? Community leaders, religious groups, and media
personalities have mastered the act of monetizing the
vulnerability of those seeking a savior to rescue them from
poverty, sickness, and misfortune. Religion and outreach
are lifelines in poor communities while the wealthy extort
and deceive for tax write-offs and the advancement of their
agendas. I rely solely on prayer and faith as I gain clarity of
the increasingly deceptive facades and scams attached to
community affairs.

When did we lose our way? Prayer has become a

devious chant for acceptance, and compassion has been
distorted to amass personal gain. Despite the pitfalls that
have been experienced, I serve selflessly; Godwill forever
be the benefactor. He inscribes his name on faith
overcomers, we become the pillars of his temple. His civic
plight is for our lives. The honor that is due to himself is
inscribed on us.
 Dear Lord,

Thank you for your continued presence in my life,

your grace and your mercy has been the guiding light out of
confusion and despair. Lord, you are my savior, my rock, my
father and the almighty above ll. Lord, I bestow all praise
and thanksgiving to you for the miraculous works you are
doing in Sammys life as he grows healthier each day. Lord,
please bless me with the opportunity to provide Sammy
with a home of our own and the resources that have been
depleted along this journey. Lord, I need your help as I pray
for restoration as a father, as a husband, and as a servant for
you. Lord, I need your help. In Jesus name, Amen.
14

Boundaries

Our plans often coincide with emotions, betrayal or

the pursuit of person achievements. Rarely are taking
conscious steps toward the “bigger picture” for the
betterment of a collective whole. Our words may paint a
majestic mural of unity with vibrant colors and strategically
positioned symbolism yet have no true meaning to the
audience we’ve garnered through broken promises and
blind anticipation. Somehow our minds deviate from our
initial goal and the once conscious paint strokes, become
fits of rage, slashing and blotting an illustration of all that
we’ve kept hidden within. The canvas reveals the contorted
innocence we attempt to explain to others but fail to convey
through selective hearing or inflexible perspectives. We
become impatient in our attempts to get others to
understand our plight and eventually our majestic murals
become public service announcements of the impending
disaster ahead; a warning to take heed of the words and
images presented, it may be your last chance.

As a teenager, a two-parent household was a

promise I vowed to keep whenever I was blessed with a
child of my own; the allure of my son or daughter waking up
excited to greet their mother and I, with a jubilant smile on
their face as we gather around the breakfast table relishing
in the gratitude of each other’s presence. A dream that has
not been abandoned or forsaken despite the challenges I’ve
experienced with Sammy. I am not as open as I once was
when it comes to relationships as I once was, no longer are
one-night stands or empty conversations an interest of
mine. A woman’s body is no longer what entices me with
temptation to bypass crucial conversations in a mindless
pursuit of sex; I am attracted to the mind, the ambition, the
amount of respect they have for themselves and the way
they treat others. The shift in my preference from quick sex
to purposeful longevity hit me like a ton of bricks as I began
turning down encounters that my younger self would have
bragged about. The boundaries had been set, they were
Gods way of preventing me from making the same mistakes
twice; Prying open my eyes to the inconsistencies in my
own morale that had ed to disappointment and despair.

Miami offers every flavor of temptation in all shapes

and sizes; some real, some fake, nonetheless there is a
plethora of females eager to get a stamp on their Miami
passport of sin. From celebrities and adult film stars to
seductive nurses and the daily muse. Tt can be difficult to
remain focused, let alone not abandon the boundaries
we’ve set once temptation comes to you wrapped in a bow
fresh from south America. I first met Venus on South beach
during her shift as a security guard at one of the many
exclusive hotels that decorate the shore. Lying on an orange
beach towel, sweat glistening atop n even layer of coconut
oil, chest and abs still pumped from that morning’s workout,
shielding my eyes from the relentless sun with a pair of pure
gold Dita sunglasses. I appeared to be features in GQ
magazine, surrounded by my camera, laptop and a book to
pass the time. The first time she walked by, I caught her in
my peripherals squatting down a few feet in front of me as
she ran her fingers through the sand before returning to
work. Her curves were mesmerizing, hidden beneath her
navy-blue cargo pants and polo shirt tucked into a
picturesque waistline. The rays of the sun illuminating her
perfectly coiled sleek black curls flowing with the warm
ocean breeze. The words on the page began to form a pair of
prayer hands beneath an audible depiction of Gods face
uttering the words “you’re welcome”; Miami beach is
synonymous with beautiful woman, yet Venus appeared as
a gift from the heavens above.

Boundaries…boundaries, I promised myself that I’d

restrain myself from the temptation, but Lord knows it was
difficult. Quickly refocusing on the contents of the book to
distract myself from the struggle with lust. I though t the
coast was clear, and I’d passed Gods test, but there she
was again; walking passed me slowly, squatting down in the
same spot. This time my skin began to crawl with feisty love
bugs catapulting from the depths of my soul, gripping the
edges of the orange towel to brace myself for the impact of
her bliss. I didn’t know what sick game she was playing, but
she sure knew what she was doing. Just as I began to regain
consciousness, she like an angel squatting beside me
extending her hand with a business card in tow. Clear skin,
deep brown almond shaped eyes, and full supple lips
dressed in bright red lipstick. Venues was a Puerto Rican
goddess who was a full-time model and a part-time security
guard at the hotel to make ends meet; her soothing tone
entranced me as I looked around to assure that this wasn’t
some sort of prank yet honored that this gorgeous woman
was by my side on a beach full of onlookers. The camera
drew her attention as she sought a photographer for a
project she’d have in mind. Immediately, I agreed to work
with her, and we set a date for that weekend to sit down and
discuss any additional details. Though it was a professional
encounter, I assumed that the attraction was mutual; my
luminous caramel frame and the tropical Sunkissed Puerto
Rican Godsend that she was w, were the perfect match. My
boundaries were being breached by a sudden feeling that
this was the spouse that God right time, we were divinely
placed on that beach for a reason.

The sun began to set, I couldn’t help but fantasize

about the life we’d build and how different it would be
parenting a child with a grown woman who had already
established her perspective of life and was simply seeking a
partner to learn and grow with. Glancing down at the
business card, I dialed her number to confirm my desires. I
needed to make sure that we kept our interactions
professional; fearful that I’d tarnished God’s blessing by
listening to the incessant cries of my flesh. Deep in prayer
was an understatement. I feared God more than any
consequence man could inflict or the loss of any woman
that didn’t share similar views of faith. It was radical to
discuss those boundaries with someone I’d just met, but I
couldn’t risk wasting any more time with anyone whose
values didn’t align. Unfortunately, I learned that it was a sure
recipe for disaster.

Venus me around eleven that night, poolside at a

nearby hotel beaming with the essence of a saint. I
respected her for showing up and bestowed her with the
upmost gratitude as we sat down in a cabana to talk. She
was a Miami native and an avid traveler, sharing each
country she’d already crossed off her bucket list at thirty-
one-year-old. Her resume matched the heavenly aura of her
presence. As we continued speaking, the conversation
became very one-sided. I found myself speaking about
Sammy and the reason for me being there in Miami as she
sat and listened without interrupting. Being listened to felt
foreign, I was accustomed to being the listening ear and
restricting my own thoughts to a paint canvas or the
occasional journal; comforting yet hesitant, her gentle
approach felt like a trap to extract as much information s
she could.

Her calm demeanor was a trigger that led me to

question her intentions; who sent her, what was she truly
after? Nearly an hour sitting side by side in the cabana, she
began to make subtle hints that she desired much more
than conversion, yet those good ‘ole boundaries…for the
first time ever, I contemplated turning down the Puerto
Rican vixen of my dreams out of fear that somehow God
would punish me. “It’s only us up here, right? Don’t think
about it so much” She knew how to smooth talk the seams
out of my boxers, just enough to break my spirit. Quickly, I
quelled her enticing gestures by telling her I’d abstained
from sex for the past two years after my experience with
Sammys mother; without disrespecting his mom expressed
my desire to settle down with a woman seeking longevity,
sex was compelling but there were much more important
bridges to cross before we’d find ourselves panting blissfully
beneath the sheets. In a sense it felt stupid to reject the
blessing that sat beside me, but I was certain that any
woman who was willing to preserve her body and withhold
sex while demanding substance was worth the sacrifice. To
my surprise, her aura shifted immediately as she rose up
from the cabana bed and began walking towards the
elevators to head home. The younger me would consider
this miserable strike-out, yet I had grown through
experience to understand that the best lessons came with
an unpredictable dose of pain. My heart reached through my
chest, chocking me with one hand and slapping me with the
other; my dream woman walking out the door after offering
herself on poolside platter of unrestricted pleasure.

I may have missed out on the spouse that God

ordained by setting an unreasonable boundary and
expecting a grown woman to abide by it. Was I too forward?
My faith and trust in God surpassed the raging urge for
sexual pleasure building within. I learned the hard way one
too many times; drowning once in the ocean, I was content
relaxing on the shore admiring the beauty of the sunset from
afar. The atmosphere was intimate, romantic, the perfect
setting to fulfill her desires; I could see how the mural I’d
painted could appear deceiving, each stoke emulated my
fear of falling too deep instead of illustrating the love that sat
before me. An angelic muse…my loss.
Dear Lord,

Thank you for your divine presence in my life.

Through this storm you have yet to forsake me. I am not
worthy of your grace. As I approach you this evening In
urgent prayer, I ask you to take control of my life, this current
court case and my ability to regain my role as the father
you’ve ordained me to be for Sammy. Lord, I trust you, I have
faith in you, yet today in court I must admit that I was
disappointed in the state attorney’s inability to form a
decision. I know I am not in control, so I ask you sincerely to
impose your will. Lord, you are the almighty above all men
and women, through your grace Lord all is possible. There is
not much I can do right now beside pray and walk in faith
and I feel lost, defeated, losing everything that meant the
most to me. I struggled to see through the storm Lord no
matter how much I tried, Lord all I see is pain and the strain
of the limitations inflicted upon me. How do I make it
through this Lord? How do I progress with all the blessings
that I’ve tarnished? How do I continue knowing that I am
actively failing Sammy? It haunts me each night that I lay my
head to rest knowing that I am neglecting my duties as a
father. Lord, I pray for your provision, I pray for your grace
and a supernatural miracle Lord. I need your help; I can’t do
this on my own. You are my rock, my savior. In Jesus name,
Amen.
15

A lesson before dying

Lost within the cycle of calculated dysfunction

orchestrated by generations of degradation and cultural
annihilation; trapped in unhinged attempts of heroism to
restore hope to an otherwise dying breed. Single mother,
single mother, single father, single father, single mother and
I; my families roster exemplifies the detriment of group
identity and flawed perspectives of masculinity. Sammy’s
mothers’ family suffered similar dysfunction, yet it was
drugs and abuse that drew most of the men out of their
households and guilt that reeled them back in. The toxic
process of rebuilding non-existent bonds to make up for lost
time. Men were viewed as inadequate, belligerent and
useless by the woman that I’ve met in her family who openly
expressed their disdain that derived from the brutal effects
of the crack epidemic into the conception of their children.

They’d often commend me for being well spoken

and respected as if it were anomaly; sly remarks and blatant
aversion of intellect and reason seemed to be their family
creed. On my side, it felt as if everyone followed a flawed
blueprint that originated from anger and resentment; drugs
weren’t as prevalent, yet abuse knew its way around each
home. I remember visiting my great grandparents at their
Downtown Brooklyn apartment as a child, witnessing my
great grandmother stab her husband in the hand with fork as
a form of self-defense…allegedly. Aunts who have had their
hair ripped from their scalps, bloodied and bruised,
emotionally distraught at the hands of those who once
professed unconditional love, stalkers and sexual abuse
that had changed their lives forever. Trauma ran deep, yet it
was now intentionally manufactured into individual doses
that threatened the emotional immunity of each generation
that’s followed. My respect for woman originated from the
strength of the females in my family, a but my exposure to
the cyclical wounds has fueled my relentless mission to
break the cycle. Am I wrong for obeying Gods command to
leave my hometown? I never quite fit into the mold of those
who follow blindly without questioning the validity of each
step.

Shall I run far away and seek solace in an

environment that encourages the health of my mind and
invests into future generations? Or do I stay in a whirlpool of
suffocation that bleeds every once of logic, reason and
sanity from those who attempt to enact change out of fear
of being deemed selfish? I’m not too keen of fiction
literature, but A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J Gaines
spoke to my soul before I even flipped the front cover. Each
step I’ve taken during this process of regaining contact with
Sammy has been consciously made to ensure he learned
the vital lessons of life without having to endure the same
pain. A Lesson Before Dying, begins with a young man
named Jefferson who was raised on a plantation in
Louisiana with very few opportunities of transcendence
besides the “Grinding” season where he’d make a few
dollars by tending the fields and harvesting crops.

Jefferson found solace at the White Rabbit lounge, a

bar located in the town where he could grab a drink and
pass time; there wasn’t much to look forward to other than
the schoolhouse that was taught by one man with the help
of older students from each grade. One evening, Jefferson
found himself headed towards the White Rabbit lounge
when two buddies of his, Buddy and Bear, pulled up
alongside him and ushered him into their car to indulge in
the evening’s festivities together. Brother and bear were
known for mischief, Jefferson knew they were up to no good,
but he chose to get in anyway. Between the three of them,
they only had a few dollars; not nearly enough to buy liquor
or do anything meaningful. Desperation breeds chaos, it
was desperation that led them to Mr. Gropes liquor store
with no intent of paying for the bottle of apple white wine
they planned to as a courtesy that they’d repay when
“Grinding “ season came around.

Jefferson followed Brother and Bear into Mr. Gropes

store as they approached the counter and spread their
change out, pleading to have a bottle of apple white. Mr.
Grope refused to give the boys what they demanded despite
their promise to pay their debt later. As he turned to place
the bottle back on the shelf, Bear stumbled around the
counter inebriated with glossy eyes after a night of drinking.
The situation escalated quickly as Mr. Gropes begged Bear
to retreat but was ignored as Bear continued forward with a
devious grin; failed attempts to deescalate pushed Mr.
Gropes into fight or flight, approaching the cash register to
grab his revolver and started shooting toward the two off. A
shootout ensued, resulting in Bear, Brother and Mr. Grope
shot dead ying in puddles of liquor and blood. Jefferson,
stuck in a state of shock, grabs a pint of whisky off the shelf
and stuffs money from the register into his pockets. He had
nothing and there was nobody round to know it was him. He
remained frozen in his tracks surveying the scene as he
chugged the pint of whiskey unsure of how he made his way
into the store with Brother and Bear, and how the shooting
unfolded. Jefferson was an innocent bystander, yet as he
turned to leave, two white men entered the store, and his
life changed forever. No longer was he the innocent young
man who found himself at the wrong place at the wrong
time, he was now a demented murderer who planned to rob
Mr. Gropes for the bottle of while and killed him so he
couldn’t be identified. Jefferson faced a white jury, a white
judge, a white sheriff and was represented by a by a white
attorney who pleaded with the court that he should not be
held accountable for what occurred because he was far
from a man. He was akin to a hog and no hog could plan
something as intricate as what occurred. The judge and jury
found Jefferson, the hog, guilty and sentenced him to death
by execution.

Jeffersons “Nanan” Mrs. Emma accepted the

consequences of his alleged actions but refuted him being
labeled a hog by the whole courtroom who decided his fate.
She sought the assistance of the plantation teacher, Mr.
Wiggins, to teach Jefferson how to be a man before the day
of his execution; Mrs. Emma couldn’t live knowing that her
grand baby crawled to the execution chair as a hog instead
of walking confidently as the man she desired him to be. Mr.
Wiggins contested her request, stating the Jefferson was no
more than a product of the failed society they lived in on the
plantation that didn’t want a black man to stand, think, or
possess any form of humanity; their emancipation would no
longer justify their “rightful place” as slaves. Mr. Wiggins
was a teacher, it was not the career he truly wanted to
pursue, but it was the only job an educated black man in the
south could attain without threatening the masculinity of
the superior white man. Mr. Wiggins initially wanted to run
away from generations of dysfunction he felt himself
inadequate to solve through his interaction with Jefferson.

Vivian, the love of his life, encouraged him to stay

with faith that his true purpose resided with the souls of the
young children that he taught and now with Jefferson who
would be executed without knowing who he truly was. Mr.
Wiggins desire to run away was satiated as his visits with
Jefferson began to produce results and his understanding of
Jeffersons role in his life became clear. Jefferson was a
representation of all those on the plantation who would
never understand their worth under the suppression of
conditioning imposed upon them by their adversaries.
Jefferson represented the black men who were subservient
to flawed ideologies that prevented them from seeing the
possibilities that lied beyond the fields. Jefferson
represented the child within Mr. Wiggins screaming for
freedom he never knew existed.

Mr. Wiggins decided to change his approach from

speaking to Jefferson in his cell, to walking with him in the
day room; greeting him with a radio and a notepad,
educating him of his obligation to those who loved him to
not allow the white man’s perception of him to diminish who
God Blessed him to be despite his inevitable execution.
Jefferson who had never written, never formulated his own
thoughts and never owned anything worth acknowledging,
became an inspiration to the entire plantation as he walked
strong, confident and sure that he was indeed a man as he
sat down in the electrocution chair without contest and
accepted his fate.

I write for the Jeffersons of our society who have

been inflicted with the burden of generations of unhealed
trauma, systemic suppression, and the unfortunate
destruction of the black man, the black family, and
ultimately…the black community. We are fully aware of the
struggles we all face, yet we continue to choose division
over unity, ego over reality and appeasement of our
emotions over the longevity of future generations. This
journey with Sammy has felt like I’m racing against time to
impart as much wisdom as I can to those who will be
responsible for his safety and development once the
executioner shaves me bald, straps me down and initiates
the final jolts of electricity to course through my veins,
leaving behind nothing but notebooks of thoughts and radio
for Sammy to hear the sound of my voice.

“Good morning my dad” Sammy said as my mother

placed her phone on speaker. An impromptu concert
ensued, Sammy playing his musical instruments one by
one. Though I yearned to be by his side, hearing his voice
consistently reverberating through the phone gave me
something to look forward to each morning. Amid the storm,
knowing that he was safe and healthy set me at ease;
despite the environment I was ordered to leave him in. Each
aspect of his development that I actively engaged him in
was now being duplicated by those who spoke against my
intentions, art music, exploration and educational
workshops. The part of me that clings to the deception and
instability that led to the separation of a father and son
viewed these things as an attempt to replace the role of one
man with the fear and insecurity of multiple interchangeable
parts to justify the extinction of his presence. Growth
through prayer and observation, has adorned me with the
understanding that by me holding others accountable for
their actions leading up to Sammys birth and after his
conception set a precedent for anyone involved in his life.

The inevitable exposure of ill intentions inadvertently

forces those who are otherwise combative to conform to
your standards without contest. Had my words begun to
sink into the psyches of those who have grown to despise
the brutality of blunt transparency? Still harnessing hatred
and envy, yet emulating each step I took, as I lead from the
shadows with divine visions of Sammys prosperity. I hung
myself with the ideas of how I desired our new family to
flourish, frantically grasping for any remanence of the love
that once existed as my lungs gradually collapsed and the
over exertion of my heart caused it to shrivel like a raisin in
the sun. Sammys voice has been the defibrillator that has
revived my purpose and restored the clarity of my vision;
though man may attempt to dismantle and destroy, Gods
will is undefeated and his timing will forever be sufficient.

I could hear the joy in Sammys voice each time he

was able to display a new skill he learned in the
kindergarten preparation classes he attends at the local
library, and the music class that he raved about. His
curiosity is what was most intriguing as his investigative
spirit leads him along adventures of discovery; one
afternoon as I was speaking to Sammy, he randomly asked
for a live lobster he had seen in a store while shopping. At
first, it was baffling that he pronounced the word perfectly
with eloquence, but what made me most proud of him was
his ability to tell me what color they were and how many
claws they each had while he stood Infront of the tank
tracking their movement with his hands. I remember walking
around Lake Eola in Downtown Orlando as he marveled at
the coy fish, black swans, ducks twice his size; he was
barely making out full words then, but I am confident that
he’d beam with excitement if he were to visit today. It’s
amazing how prayer is brought into fruition in real time, and
you see the true power of faith unfold. I prayed profusely for
Sameul before his conception, and as he grew, my
relationship with God has been fortified as his supernatural
presence in Sammys life continued to bear wonderful fruit.

Though this journey has brought me to my knees,

depleted of strength, it has ultimately brought me into
alignment with Gods will. It’s amazing how life comes full
circle and out of the perilous storm clouds appears a vibrant
double rainbow to assure you of spiritual protection over
your life and the beauty that has been masked by despair
reveals itself. In a sea of eighty inmates sporting orange DOJ
jumpsuits, I felt enlightened after each phone call, not
needing anything else but a good book and a warm shower
because my day had been made complete.

This journey had reached a point of reflection, all

that I had written and created within the past two years for
Sammy proved to be effective for his growth and
development, his curiosity and his confidence; leading with
integrity, humilities reach, and simply accountability were
much more than book titles now, they were principles that
would prepare me for our reunion. Each painting was a
depiction of events that had yet to occur and memories of
events that had served their purpose; unsure of what was to
come upon release, I began to lean heavily into prayer to
receive instructions from God on what my next steps would
be. At times I question if my separation from Sammy a
benefit or a detriment for his life; what if I was diligent and
patient in understanding the effect that pregnancy had on
his mother’s emotions instead of chastising her for not
moving at the pace I desired.
 Despite what’s been done, as a man I lacked
forgiveness, grace and empathy, the qualities of the
husband I prayed to become. Was I ready to uphold the role
of a husband in Gods eyes? I purchased the ring, wrote my
vows and planned the proposal but was I worthy of a
covenant with a woman of her caliber, her strength and
perseverance? Love may not have been enough, maybe we
both needed to grow on our own before taking a step into
the chapel of God’s Grace. Maybe once that process was
complete it was revealed that all we were meant to share
was a child together; actively pouring into his life as we
prospered along separate paths. Reflection, correction and
revelation, the steps that turned this boy into a man
upholding responsibility for his flaws and taking
accountability for his role as a father, a husband and a
leader within the community. I often spoke over my mother
to get my point across, but I remained attentive during these
conversations. Maybe time was what we all needed to allow
God to place everyone and everything into their rightful
position. I no longer disregarded her blunt approach, sly
remarks or quirky jokes; I respected her wisdom, her
patience and the sacrifices she’d made throughout my life.
She was once chasing me down as I snuck across the street
to Samuels mothers house in the middle of the night, and
now she is a pillar within the life of the beautiful son we
created. Its crazy how life comes full circle, or maybe these
are just the intrusive thoughts bleeding onto these pages
relieved to have escaped the confines of my melon
head…only God knows.
 Dear Lord,

Thank you for your revelation. Thank you for filling me

with your spirit, your grace and your presence as I struggle
to find stable ground. Lord, I pray for a supernatural miracle
of provision to secure a stable home of our own to raise
Sammy in. I know that I am far from perfect, by Lord as I
speak to Sammy on the phone and listen to him speak, it
breaks me to have spent so much time away from him and
still not have anything to show for it. Lord. Please elevate me
to be aligned with your will to fulfill my role as a father, a
husband, and a servant for you. Lor, you are my savior, you
are my rock and the almighty above all. I Jesus name, Amen.
16

Preparation

Miami served as preparation for all to come; with

Sammys growing interest in music, art and exploration, the
cultural diversity and development of creative minds was an
excellent atmosphere for him to hone his skills and express
himself freely. The music class he enrolled in back in
Queens taught him the foundation of music, providing him
with a recorder, a triangle, and a tambourine, challenging
him to develop a sense of rhythm by imitating the beat of his
favorite songs. It’s been proven to be effective by the
excitement he has each time invited me to a live concert,
displaying his melodic mastery as I listened through the
phone with a smile from ear to ear.

The ability to learn a new skill quickly has allowed

him to maximize opportunities that would catapult him
towards success as he grew. I am extremely proud of him,
not only for his talents but for his willingness to listen and
open his mind to new possibilities. He is hungry for
knowledge and fearless in his pursuit of answers to satisfy
his inquisitive mind. Is this what I’ve been missing? In my
attempts to secure a fresh environment for him, had I
abandoned him during the most crucial stage of his life? It is
an honor to know that he is surrounded by people who love
him and are fully invested in his development, yet it has
made me question if I made the right decision at the right
time. Had I moved on too soon expecting everyone else to
fall in line? Or was this all apart of Gods plan for the next
stage of our lives? I trust the process and lead with
unbreakable faith, yet at times I contemplate the validity of
my past decisions. As the phone alerted me there was thirty
seconds left on the call, I quickly let Sammy know that I
loved him how proud I was of him and that I would see him
soon. “I love you too my dad, call me back” the subtle
blessings of life.

“Rec gentleman, on the yard” Our daily recess had

begun, three days a week we were allotted an hour outside
to exercise, play basketball, or walk around in circles
aimlessly discussing dope boy fantasies with fellow
bunkies. “Bunkies” …I cringe when I hear that word and truly
access the seven-thousand-dollar bond and new charge I
would receive if another man were to call me their bunkie.
The yard wasn’t anything spectacular, it consisted of one
pull-up and dip station, two benches and two basketball
hoops; dips and pull-ups consumed every second of that
hour for me, performing continuous supersets until the
clock ran out. Dip, pushup, pushup, pull-up, dip, it became
muscle memory as my body screamed for more each time I
set foot outside.

There were no weights available, and we were only

allowed to exercise three times a week. We’d receive
threats of being written up if we were caught doing push-
ups in the dorm, so I had to adapt and push past my limits to
maintain a regiment of some sort. Survival of the fittest, I
couldn’t understand why other inmates would spend their
hour watching my get money, when the bank was open for
everyone to make a withdraw. They didn’t want it as much
as I did and were too concerned with fitting into the sea of
orange instead of taking advantage of the space and time.
This is how people operate outside these walls as well;
there are those who do the work and make the necessary
sacrifices, there are the spectators who watch those who
hustle and sacrifice, and then you have those who have no
idea what’s going on. In this cruel world, nothing Is given
without expected recompense, you only receive as much as
you’ re willing to sacrifice.

Time, energy, resources, fears, insecurities; you have

to be willing to sacrifice your time and energy, maximize the
resources you have and obliterate all fear and insecurity in
order to reach your goals. My goal was to garner the strength
necessary to keep up with my growing son who seemed to
be growing at an exponential pace. I didn’t care much about
the opinions or presence of others who stood in the way of
its attainment. Work with me and we’ll flourish, but any
attempts to sabotage will be met with the necessary
consequences…stay out their way.

The yard also served as my therapy; each time I

wanted to shove a broom stick through the temple of an
officer, I’d do an extra set or two and allow the sweat to
wash away my sins. Gruesome? I get it, you have my
deepest apologies for my transparent confessions. When I
think of a prison yard, I imagine the gangs pumping iron, the
occasional fight over cigarettes and the officers perched in
high towers with riffles ready to blow the limbs off of any
inmate that got out of line; though I’m almost positive that
they were rubber bullets, that is the picture of prison that
movies have painted in my head. The cinematic lure and
reality are on two opposite sides of the spectrum; this yard
was the land of bubblegum and lollypops, and it was up to
me to remain sucker free. I appeared to be possessed,
walking with my head down, shirt drenched with sweat,
taking off for my thirtieth set of dips while others watched in
the distance.

When it rained, I kept going; descending face first

into puddles as others huddled together beneath an awning
outside of the shed to stay dry. My approach to fitness was
my approach to life, “adapt and survive” no matter the
resources available or the environment I’m in, I will always
find a way through prayer and faith; no man will stand in the
way of my success. Throughout this journey, there have
been a few turning points that challenged my mental
fortitude, but I’ve surprised myself each time I’ve prevailed
unscathed with newly acquired strength. God plan may not
always be understood, but his grace is sufficient and if you
obey his commands, the blessings that follow are beyond
anything you could eve fathom attaining on your own.
Dear Lord,

Thank you for another day. Your grace, your mercy

and your supernatural presence in my life are more than I
deserve. Lord, thank you for not forsaking me or leaving me
stranded during times when my faith was tested. Lord, I
trust you, have faith in you and repent for any sins that have
tarnished the blessings you have bestowed. I can’t do this
without you Lord. Though I try to traverse this land on my
own, I have met unsurmountable obstacles that would not
have been possible to overcome if it weren’t for you. What is
my purpose, Lord? Have I overstayed my welcome here in
Miami? I pray for divine relocation and provision to be where
you need me to be and around those you need me to be
around to fulfill the will that you have ordained for my life. I
am blind Lord, blind to the love you place in my life, blind to
the opportunities that are presented through others, blind to
the blessings that you have bestowed and blind to my own
flaws when criticizing others. Lord, forgive me for my
incompetence and provide me with your vision to see, the
ears to hear, the heart to love, and the soul to share your
grace with others. Lord, you are my savior, my rock, my
Sheppard and my father. Please shine through today Lord
and adorn me with your presence as I endure these trying
times. I miss Sammy Lord and feel like I am abandoning him
each day that I’m away. Please bless me with the
opportunity to secure a stable home for my family and truly
raise Sammy side by side throughout each stage of his
development. I’ve missed out on so much due to my own
emotions despite the actions of others. It’s time for me to
take accountability for my actions and uphold responsibility
for my role as a father, a husband and a servant for you.
Lord, please bless me with a chance of redemption and
restoration of my finances, of love and of opportunity. Lord,
thank you for all you’ve done and for all you have in store.
Lord, I bestow all praise and gratitude to you. In Jesus name,
amen.
17

Sammy The Gentleman

Though I was led to take accountability for my
actions, I began to be awakened by vivid night terrors
informing me that I was behind these bars for much more
than my charges accounted for. This stint of incarceration
spurred from the returning of property to its rightful owner;
the initial act of taking something that didn’t belong to me
cannot be justified, yet had I not owned up to my devious
deed I wouldn’t be behind these walls. There were many
things that I’d done that weren’t caught on camera, or seen
by any witnesses, harm inflicted upon the lives of others
without them knowing from which direction the attack had
come.

While I dodged persecution by man, God was

keeping count of each infraction, allowing me to hang
myself to see if I’d humbly begin to rely on him for all that I
pursued on my own. His protection has saved my life when I
should have died at the hands of my own bravado and
petulant greed; his grace has ushered me through
strongholds and has shielded me from impending doom. I
was behind these walls for each tear that has fallen, each
drop of blood that has seeped into the crevices of pavement
and for each life that has been stolen; running from actions
here on earth led me to the judgement of the creator
himself.
 As I toss and turn on this steel bunk, God reminds
me of the pain that I’ve inflicted upon others by inflicting
discomfort upon me with nowhere to hide but in the
presence of his mercy. The attorney was able to get both
felony charges dropped down to misdemeanors, but a
fugitive warrant from New York would keep me incarcerated
until it was decided if extradition was necessary. It was now
a waiting game, will the past ever release me from the
burden of its grip, or would it track me down and castrate
me for my poor decisions? Four years from the initial start of
this case, and two years since I missed court; maybe they
were dragging this out as long as they could with no
intention of any recompense, or they could be concocting a
brutal prison sentence to thwart any future fraud. Either way
the coin falls, my life will remain confined within the DOJ
system until my dues are paid in full.

“Count time gentleman, count, count. Ne sweaters,

no shorts” Six a.m. each morning marks the daily appraisal
of the states property as the officer on duty conducts a
head count of each inmate in the dorm; after a 4:30 a.m.
breakfast feeding, each inmate is instructed to stand beside
their bunk and recite their first or last name as the officer
walks past with a stack of jail cards to verify our identity. My
smooth, tranquil, soothing tone often caused the officers to
request me to repeat myself four or five times before their
standards were met; its never a representation of my
disdain of authority, I simply don’t speak loudly…never have
and most likely never will despite the severity of threats and
the proposed consequences by officers. Honestly, I can
imagine hanging from the ceiling of a torture chamber,
beaten within an inch of my life and offered an ultimatum of
life or sudden death; recite my name in an audible tone loud
enough for my abuser to hear five feet away or suffer
immediate persecution. In that very moment, I’d clear the
blood from my throat, spit the residual phlegm into the
puddle of bodily fluid beneath my dangling feet and whisper
“Hart” as the abusers sever my head clean off my
shoulders. If I can ideologically stomach the chance of
immediate death by whisper, I don’t see myself raising my
voice at six in the morning for those who wore costumes
long after Halloween has passed. Its never personal, in each
facility that I’ve ever been in from Nassau County to Upstate
New York, I ‘d never had any issues with another
inmate…It’s always been a confrontation with an officer
who attempted to exploit my humility. Maybe “My Bondage
and My Freedom “by Frederick Douglas or Nelson Mandalas
voice in the back of my mind has molded me into the
unforgiving rebel against all those who wear a badge. I may
need to reassess the extent of my triggers next time I have a
quiet moment to myself; this can’t be healthy.

What was it that God needed me to understand

besides the ignorance of my past decisions? I was now
surrounded by those I sought to serve and employ, stripped
of all resources and any excess frills I used to provide. Was
this a test of my devotion to the livelihood of others? You
learn a lot about the needs of your flock when you reside in
the field alongside them each day and night as an active
observer swatting flies, listening to the incessant pleas of
innocence and the Hollywood crime stories of murderous
king-pin boss babies. As the aroma of chemically
engineered flatulence permeates the air tearing away the
flesh of all those within fifty yards. The rambunctious
eruptions of eighty men’s rectal cavities South Florida’s
torrential climate.

One hundred days, and the state wasn’t willing to

negotiate their offer; solemnly gazing down at the ground as
a new attorney reiterated information I’d already known. I
prayed for this charade to come to an end. This would mark
the third attorney I’d spoken to since the commencement of
the charges placed before me, each one failing to coax me
into refuting the allegations as though my initial confession
was somehow fabricated by an alter ego.

It was I whose hand was caught in the cookie jar

Massa, It was Me!!! I didn’t understand where the
miscommunication occurred, or if I was expected to give
the state a good fight and make the attorneys time
worthwhile; already admitting to each charge in vivid detail, I
pleaded to take accountability for my actions with no
intention of agreeing to a trial. My dilemma lied in the weight
each charge held if I chose to slap the had the state
extended towards me out of view and boldly recanted my
original statements; 100 hundred days in which I’d only have
to serve an additional 19 days or enter trial and face a
minimum of a year for each of the three charges. It seemed
like an illogical trap adorned with barbed wire and warning
signs affixed at each angle, It would be my utter ignorance to
ignore the blatant signs of danger ahead for the sake of
one’s pride.

“Count, Count, get ready for head count fells. No

seaters, no shorts” The officer on duty instructed an inmate
w trustee to grab the garbage can so Ny excess food and
fruits could be discarded as we recited our first or last
names. It was another day anxiously waiting for an update
from Nassau Country to determine if they’d travel to Miami
for extradition, and if so, when. I remained in limbo,
oblivious to any communication between Nassau Country
and Florida as I shoveled tuna, Doritos and ramen noodles
down my throat to meet my daily nutritional needs; growing
physically sick from the sight of other men and the smell of
unscented state soap masking the eruption of debilitating
odors that ate through the paint on the walls, I begged God
to fill me with his spirit and his mercy to remain sane in the
midst of an unfathomable fray. Time seemed to be my worst
enemy as I grew impatient and began to take matters into
my own hands, otherwise I’d be a sitting duck idly shackled
to the palms of my adversaries. For weeks I pleaded with
my mother to contact the Nassau County Court clerk to
confirm if there was truly warrant out for my arrest, but she
remained adamant to allow things to naturally unfold to
prevent any necessary actions from either side. My
persistence paid off, and as my only trusted liaison, she
bravely walked into the court clerk’s office to demand
answers.
 New York was waiting on Florida and Florida was
waiting on New York, a brutal match of tug-a-war with my
indecision stuck in the middle; failure to take care of my
responsibilities when I had the chance was the cause of this
struggle. I had to reap the rotten harvest of the tainted seeds
I had sown. As I dialed my mother’s number with blind faith
that the entire case would be dismissed, I prayed that I’d be
released from Miami instead of being stuck in New York
until I met the courts requirements. To be honest, there was
nothing left in New York for me besides Sammy; I burned
every bridge, tarnished many blessings, and the one person I
cherished most turned out to be fraudulent.

I had washed my hands of any remanence of the

city but neglected to clean the grime from beneath my
fingernails. “This is a collect call from, Brandon Hart, thank
you for using Global Tel-Link…Good morning, its good you
called, I have good news for you” my mother sounded as if
she cracked a decades old cold case. “I went to the court,
who sent me to the criminal court, who knew nothing, but
they were able to direct me to a detective who had b had
the answers I needed” tell me, tell me! I was stuck in
suspense awaiting this supposed good news. “New York
has responded to Florida; they are now waiting for your
cases in Miami to be closed before they come and get you.
They are sending two detectives and are waiting for the
approval of the hotel and flights. They say they ‘ll come
within a month of your cases being closed, you’re coming
home huh?”
 My heart sank while I prayed to take accountability
for my actions, I didn’t consider the actions of my past that I
deviously tried to escape. Back in New York? I’d have to
start over, I had no place to stay and nobody to contact. I
drew silent, starring down at the tiled floor collecting the
pieces of my shattered heart…refusing to accept my dismal
fate. Still unsure if it was a fear of the unknown or the
disappointing feeling of regression to all the I’d severed ties
with that troubled me the most, yet as I sulked in grief the
blurred window that usually displayed rays of sunlight upon
my pillow now grew dim. Lord, please guide my steps as I
enter enemy territory. I bestow all praise and thanksgiving
upon you.

The following days, I grew physically ill; all strength

had been syphoned through that small window of hope that
was now encased with steel bars. When the dorm was
called for rec in the yard, I lied helpless on my bunk with a
towel covering my face attempting to recoup the rest I’d
been deprived of the night prior. I prayed for God to fill me
with his Grace and had his wisdom, and sure enough he
responded by birthing two wisdom teeth simultaneously.
Unable to open my jaw to eat, unable to hear on the right
side as my ear swelled shut from the pain and unable to
sleep as the night terrors of all that could go wrong in New
York tormented my mind. A trial of faith or a brutal lesson
from God that that my deceptive attempts to flee
responsibility was no match for his wrath. Embracing the
pain and discomfort with faith in its purpose, I recited
Chronicles 7:14 dwelling motionless in the palm of his
grace.

If my people who are called by my name humble

themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their
wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, will forgive their
sin and will heal their land. Lord, I bow down before you in
the dust and admit my grievous ingratitude.

“Hart, Attorney Visit” the officer on duty called from

her throne perched in the front of the dorm as I wiped the
crust from the corner of my eyes and stretched in
amazement at the impact prayer had on my life. It had been
three weeks since I last heard from an attorney despite the
numerous messages, I’d Send inquiring about the progress
they’d made in my case through the dorm’s kiosk; seven
unread messages pleading for answers to the questions
burning within that ambushed my psyche at night. Strangling
me within an inch of my life without a trace; gasping for air,
my chest levitated above my bunk as if an exorcism were
performed. My patience wore thin, and my mind began to
concoct vicious scenarios to fill the voids of the unknown.
As I approached the visitation room, the attorney was
already on the screen patiently awaiting my arrival. His
presence startled me, turning back to assure me that the
officer called the correct name because this was a face I
surely didn’t recognize. Four attorneys cycled through, and
now three days before court, yet another one appeared
draped in a pink polo shirt and resembled the epitome of a
class Miami attorney with a slick “Florida Man “Comb over
hairstyle to match. Cautiously picking up the phone,
contemplating if it were truly an attorney seeking to speak to
my behalf, and an insurgent from the state determined to
castrate the remnants of my character. I relented with a sigh
of surrender to my proclaimed faith, lifted the phone off the
steel hook and greeted the gentleman with anticipation of
disaster ahead.

“Good evening Mr. Hart, My name is Carlos Martinez

and have been assigned to represent you moving forward.
How are you doing?” He spoke with compassionate
conviction absent of the condescending undertones of a
prying insurgent of the state. “Truly blessed, I can’t
complain” I replied with haste, eager to get to the true
purpose of our engagement. “That’s good to hear, I know its
rough in there. I’m calling to relay the states offer, they don’t
seem to be willing to negotiate and have flat-out rejected
our counteroffer of restitution and credit time served for the
duration of days you’ve already completed. You do not have
to accept their offer by the way; you do have the right to
request a trial. I must inform you that numerous witnesses
have been subpoenaed, but if none show up to court on
Wednesday the state is obligated to drop the case”

As if this were something I hadn’t been told by three

other promising legal minds coaxing me to leverage my
freedom on the mere chance of witnesses neglecting their
primitive desire for justice and not showing up to defend
their honor; an enticing roll of the dice indeed, that my soul
warned me was sure to crap out. The more I snapped my
fingers and slung my fate against the judicial system
ignorantly awaiting relief from the accountability I’d already
vowed to uphold. There was no chance I would agree to a
trial if the states offer guaranteed my release in twenty nine
days, considering the seventy one days I’d already served.
Mr. Martinez continued “I must also inform you of the
alternative. If we take this case to trial, you are facing the
minimum of a one-year sentence for each of the three
cases presented before you” Like rusted daggers dissecting
my rotting flesh, his words pierced my soul as the thought of
risking three more years away from Sammy solidified my
stern decision. As I began to recite the absurdity of a trial,
the screen abruptly drew black; displaying a migrating alert
that a connection had caused the disruption., What now?

I sat distraught with the phone pressing against my

face staring into the abysmal abyss as a child awaiting their
favorite Sunday morning cartoon. With no way of getting in
contact with Mr. Martinez until we stepped into the court
room on Wednesday, the gruesome massacre of my hope
grew ever more intense. Head hung low to avoid eye contact
from other inmates inquiring about the good news I was
expected to receive; my lifeless body led by Gods hand to
the frigid steel frame of my bunk, raising my right foot to the
edge as my left foot dragged into position with indignant
contempt. Lying prone with a towel shielding my face from
the blinding lights above, I expelled my final breath for the
night with faith that the disconnection was nothing more
than a test of my patience.
 Monday morning provided no answers, no call from
the attorney, mere silence in an otherwise boisterous dorm.
Sending another message through the kiosk without
expectation of receiving a response, I had no choice but to
endure the storm drenched in solemn despair with a faint
promise that this too shall pass. As Tuesday evening
approached, I fell into a deep sleep praying for grace as a
violent knock upon my bunk disrupted my rest; at the foot of
my bunk stood an inmate with an expression of concern
upon his face “Hart, your attorney says to call him right now.
He says it’s an emergency. You can use my phone slot, take
your time hope everything is alright” The officer on duty
reiterated the message with the vindication of a mother
urging their child to fight for their future” Your attorney says
its an emergency, call him now”

I jolted out of my bunk and high tailed it to the

phones, it was an emergency for Gods sake; as I sat down
on the chair in front of the phone it dawned on me on me
that I couldn’t contact my attorney through the phone in the
dorm, the number had been restricted by the correctional
facility. Yet another obstacle I was unable to surmount,
leaving the phone hanging off the hook as I headed back to
the safety of my steel abode visualizing what this
emergency could be, a death in the family? Had the police
found my fingerprints on something I’d tossed two months
prior, was I facing a new charge? Or maybe the state was
ready to drop all charges and set me free. With no way of
getting in touch with the attorney before court in the
morning, deep fear began to arrest my mind; as the call
disconnected Sunday evening, did the attorney
misinterpreted my plea for not agreeing to a trial? I feared
that he’d have to make a sensitive decision, and act in the
best interest of his pride. Consenting to test his theory of no
witnesses appearing in court. Another sleepless night,
staring up at the stained alabaster ceiling with nothing but
the vicious growls of my neighbors suffering from mad-dog
syndrome preventing my mind from collapsing off the deep
end.

3:11 a.m. Wednesday morning the horrid squeal of

the breakfast cart that I usually ignored served as an alarm
to begin preparations for the court call at six thirty. The
avalanche of drool that cascaded along the peak of my chin,
left evidence of a solemn slumber, yet the sheets mangled
around my ankles and the disheveled black sprawled in
disarray beyond the bounds of my bunk communicated the
agony of the scandalous midnight terrors. Disregarding the
oatmeal and mystery meat rations placed on my bunk by
two inmate workers, I gathered my hygiene tool kit to begin
repairs on the night’s calamity: toothbrush, toothpaste-tips,
a wash rag and petroleum jelly for shine. To all readers
concerned about my health, a thorough shower was taken
the night prior to prevent being shunned before court; all
showers were prohibited until 8 a.m. Revitalized, I stared
into the circus mirrors at my distorted image garnering the
strength to confront the battle ahead.

The dorm grew silent once the breakfast mayhem

commenced, an airy silence illuminated the imagery that
escapade the naked eye with its daily guise of chaos;
perforated vents riddled to oblivion with rust dispensing
frigid air, dust mites waltzing across the matted sound
barriers bolted to the ceiling and the lone bar of state soap
plastered to the roof bound to fall on an unsuspecting
inmate at any moment. Time progressed as the midnight
officer began tapping inmate bunks to alert them to begin
preparing for court; patiently awaiting the officers’ presence
before me, but she never arrived. As she sat down relishing
in the pride of her achievement, I approached the desk in
disbelief. “Good morning” I said calmly, “I was scheduled
for court this morning, have you forgotten to call my name?”
My voice cracked under the pressure of discontent. The
officer informed me that my physical presence wasn’t
needed, my jail card would be sent in my place.

Once the phones opened for the day, I frantically

dialed my mothers’ number in dire need of an update on the
case throughout the morning. I called earlier than usual, yet
I assumed the worst and feared that my fate would be
sealed. “It says that they’re presenting the discovery today,
why would they not bring you I to the court? Isn’t it illegal to
deprive you of that right?” My mother appeared to be as
furious as I was, yet the questions that she asked were the
few I didn’t possess an answer to. Apparently, it is
completely legal to present an inmate’s jail card in court if
the attorney doesn’t request their appearance, something I
still struggle to understand. Constantly berating my mother
for answers neither one of us had, the system began to
update each charge one by one. Each update contained
language that pertained to a trial; discovery, subpoena of
witnesses, I sat conflicted as I listened to my fears unfold.
Had the attorney really gone ahead and began trial
proceedings without me? Or was the language only used to
maintain a procedural account as the case progressed?
Maybe the sudden emergency that I failed to respond to
was the cause of my absence in court. Thoughts flooded my
mind, none of which were positive; the chain of events
didn’t leave much mental capacity left for a positive
outcome. The online court portal didn’t update for the entire
day; no matter how much I badgered my mother for
answers, I couldn’t expect her to extend herself beyond her
means. This was out of ither on of our control, and the lack
of communication between the attorney and I appeared to
affect us both. I refused to forsake my faith and trust in God,
so we prayed and vowed to remain patient without allowing
this temporary obstacle to deter the blessing I’d been
bestowed with. Though Wednesday ended in a whirlwind of
confusion, my faith was restored through prayer as I lied my
head to rest.

So, Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and
unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time
without sin unto salvation

-Hebrews 9:28

“Hart, get ready for court” The dorm officer Hollard

at 8:30 a.m.; much later than the initial court call, her shrill
voice echoed through the depths of my soul just the same.
Rising off my bunk unsure of what to expect. I grabbed my
hygiene tool kit and lowered my ashy feet to the tiled floor
littered with remnants of that morning’s feast covered with
dust and headed to the bathroom to prepare. With a mouth
full of toothpaste and an ear obstructed by wax. The officer
responsible for escorting me arrived, completely
disregarding my morning routine. Barely able to wipe the spit
from my hands, I found myself at the door placing my hands
behind my back and clinching from the cold steel cuffs
placed upon my wrists. Rather than traveling to the
courtroom, the attorney orchestrated a zoom conference for
me to appear virtually from a mobile trailer b located behind
the correctional facility, a slight courtesy before the
benediction of my sins.

Patiently waiting for the conference to connect, an

unfamiliar face appeared on the screen. A bright smile
nearly blinded me, yet the tranquil melody of a woman’s
voice set me at ease. “Good morning Mr. Hart, your attorney
is in court right now, but he sent me to update on the recent
progress concerning your case. “Her presence, though not
physical, triggered a resurgence of hope. “Ok, it’s nice to
meet you” The physical attraction was no match for the
levity of my anxiety, so I kept the response brief until an
explanation for the lapse of communication was explained.
With an exuberant grin on her face, she continued “The state
has accepted our counteroffer. They have agreed eighty
days for one charge and credit time served for the remaining
two. Today marks your seventy second day, so you would
only have to serve eight additional days to fulfill your
sentence. I will warn you; by accepting this offer you will be
pleading guilty to three misdemeanors that will appear on
your criminal record. The choice is yours, what would you
like to do?

For the first time that week, the shell of obscurity

began to crack, and I could finally see a glimpse of light.
Elated, I couldn’t let them off the hook just yet, so I inquired
about the language used on the online portal; “Discovery”
and “Subpoena of witnesses” gave me the idea that the
attorney began trial proceedings without me. After she
assured me that it was just protocol and confirmed that my
fears were irrational, I agreed to the states offer and bid her
a blessed day as I awaited the conference to transfer to the
main court session to solidify my consent with the judge.
Just like that, it was all over; those that I disregarded, truly
had my best interest at heart and were working behind the
scenes while I tossed and turned in distress at night.
Muttering obscenities under my breath. I’ve always had a
difficult time trusting others, yet along this journey there
have been pure souls whose dedication to my well-being
without the desire for recompense has brought me clarity to
an otherwise distorted perception.

Now that the Miami cases were closed, the

countdown for New York to come get me began; thirty days
…thirty more days. The judge set an extradition court hearing
in fifteen days to determine if New York would acknowledge
the fugitive warrant, and another fifteen days to confirm my
departure. Within the next week, I was called to sign a
notice to give my consent to fly and provide a next of kin
God forbid the extraction didn’t go as planned. There was
nothing to do now but wait for my name to be called and
submit to the pull of the noose around my neck.

“This is a collect call from, Brandon Hart, from the

Metro West detention center. Please do not use three way
calling during this call. To hear the cost of this call dial 9
now. To accept this call dial 0 now…Thank you for using
Global-Tel link, your call is now being connected” “Good
morning daddy” Sammys voice brought a tear of joy to my
eyes after a week of torment. “Good morning, Sammy how
are you feeling today? I asked, appreciative of his presence.
“I’m ok”. Though his response was brief, I cherished each
moment I was blessed with the opportunity to witness the
progression of his development. The week prior he seemed
unsure if he was a gentleman or not, under the assumption
that he was just a kid and nothing more. It pained me that he
didn’t understand how much of a blessing he truly was, but
it also served as the perfect time to reassure him of his
value through a poem I planned to send him in a letter so I
could read it to him as he followed along to the best of his
ability.

Sammy The Gentleman

I am proud of all you’ve become

You don’t have to be old to respect everyone
You lead with integrity no matter what your age
In the park, at home and even on stage
A gentleman is kind, be sure to help all those in need
You are the first to say “God bless you” when you hear
someone sneeze
When you walk through a door don’t forget to hold it open
just in case
They’ll all say thank you Sammy the gentleman with a bright
smile on their face
A gentleman is tough, but is never a bully
You use your strength to inspire others to be the very best
they can be
If you ever make a mess or make a mistake
Don’t try to hide or run away to escape
A gentleman takes responsibility for his actions even when
you are wrong
You clean up your mess and put everything back where it
belongs
A gentleman is smart but is always eager to learn something
new
Everyday is a chance to explore, to grow and pursue
You are a gentleman Sammy, and I want you to know
How much of a blessing you are from the top of your head to
the tip of your toes.
Don’t ever question who you are no matter who you’re
around

You are a gentleman Sammy, I can’t wait to hear your next

musical sound
 “Are you a gentleman Sammy?” I asked after
fearlessly reciting this heartfelt poem for 78 other men to
hear, void of all acknowledgment of judgement. Sammy
responded confidently “yes dad, I am a gentleman” God had
answered my prayers as I remained obedient to his
commands, blessing me with the ability to uphold my role
as the father he ordained me to be. Even if the first step was
building a foundation over a collect call, he made a way.
Sammy the gentleman, I was one step closer to the Lords
will.
18

Trauma
Popeyes, a back-alley fight club, a fifteen-year-old
gun man, a recipe for disaster. Queens New York has a
reputation for movies such as Get Rich or Die Trying, and
Belly. “QGTM” or Queens Gets the Money, is a mantra that
that has been ingrained within us from the time we were old
enough to step off the porch and walk the streets on our
own. Those we looked up to; Nas, 50 cent, LL Cool J, Run
DMC to name a few, were all Queens bred celebrities
whose success story still resonates with our youth today.
Having role models is an effective way to obtain wisdom,
guidance and inspiration to propel you towards success by
following the blueprint that has been proven to reap results
by tailoring it to fit your individual journey. The challenge is
understanding the lessons that our role models learned
through the sacrifices they’ve made to reach the level of
fame they possess today. Without replicating the lifestyle,
they fought to overcome.

Our youth sees the money, the cars, the jewelry and
attention as forms of respect without understanding that
those things often come with a hefty price, they may never
be able to afford; Desperate to prove their manhood, our
sons are killing themselves at the hands of a street code
that was never fashioned for their success. What led a
fifteen-year-old young man to participate in a fight club in an
alley behind Popeyes on a brisk autumn afternoon in a
neighborhood of hard-working middle-class families? St.
Albans may not be a perfect neighborhood; drug dens,
prostitution and gun violence have plagued the area for
years, but the residents consist of parents who saw the
suburban landscape, the trees, manicured lawns and nice
homes as an ideal place to rise their children and escape
the societal strain of the project buildings and low-income
housing in other areas. St. Albans appeared to be safe with
multiple schools and parks that provided education and
sports tournaments for our children to build camaraderie
with others their age; we failed to fully educate ourselves on
the full extent of all the dangers that lurk in the shadows.

On September 16th, 2024, a group of teenagers from

local high schools decided to engage in a fight club after
school. At around 4:50 p.m. they packed into an alley
behind a Popeyes restaurant on Farmers Blvd. and 117th
street determined to prove their masculinity by brutally
attacking each other for sport. Tensions were high and
embarrassment took its toll as a fifteen your old young man
lost his bout and chose to take matters into his own hands;
instead of squaring up and redeeming himself as a man, he
chose to draw a gun and fire into the crowd of spectators to
compensate for his bruised ego. His rash decision would
cause a domino effect that changed the lives of three
families forever. 66-year-old father three, William Alcindor
was working as a delivery driver in his Nissan SUV as he
approached the intersection of 117th avenue oblivious to the
teenagers fighting as a stray bullet pierced through his car
window, sticking him in the side of his head; William was
pronounced dead at the scene. As witness Williams lost
control of his vehicle, he veered onto the sidewalk and ran
over a 23-year-old young woman who was approaching
farmers before the car jumped the curb and pinned her to
the ground.

The teens frantically scattered, including the fifteen-

year-old gunman who had yet to understand the severity of
his actions, fortunately the entire incident was captured on
cctv cameras strategically placed in the alley to protect the
local businesses. Fifteen-year-olds, charged with two
counts of second-degree murder and possession of an
illegal firearm among slew of additional charges he’d face as
the investigation unfolds.

Its amazing how a senseless act can cause a chain

reaction of imitable chaos, yet the question resides in the
fifteen-year-olds possession of a gun and his mentality
while pulling the trigger; was it his first time? Did he fire out
of fear for his life? Or had he done this before, and planned
to open fire before arriving to the alley? Where were his
parents? Were both present, were his actions a result of
another single parent home? The burning question was how
did I expect Samuel to prevent Sammy from becoming that
scared fifteen-year-old toting a gun standing in the midst of
an afterschool fight club, when nobody was able to save me
despite the plethora of people who tried?

While discussing the incident, I suggested that the

tragedy could have been prevented if the teens had an
outlet an outlet to release their anger or someone to offer
them an alternative to back-alley fight club. Sources
revealed that the teens had frequented for several weeks
before the fatal shooting occurred; several weeks and
nobody saw anything? or felt inclined to intervene and
report the teens to authorities? The cctv cameras were able
to capture the shooting, but they weren’t enough to cause
concern for the business owners in the span of several
weeks? Roy Wilkens recreation center is located a few
blocks away from the incident. Where was the disconnect?
Had we divested from our neighborhoods enough for our
children to find solace in the grimy streets instead of the
homes their parents worked hard for? Was there a
disconnect within the homes of these children that forced
them to seek comfort in anyone but their family?

Despite my suggestions, I had to reflect on my life at

fifteen years old; as a child I was blessed with the
opportunity to attend basketball camps in different states,
had taken trips to various tournaments, had access to
individual training sessions throughout the city and had
multiple mentors work extremely hard to prevent me from
slipping away. I was the kid who would bring a shovel to the
park during a blizzard to clear the court to workout in
preparation for an upcoming game, but by fifteen my
interests were drastically different. As a rebellious teen
seething with anger, I ran from dysfunction within my own
home into the arms of those who instilled a false sense of
control within that became contagious. Disputes between
my mother and father resulted in my siblings and I being
sent to various family members when our mother needed a
reprieve instead of spending time with our father. I hated
that the lack of emotional intelligence was able to dictate
crucial decisions throughout childhood.

As we grew, our mother admitted to allowing her

anger to dictate her decisions and apologized for the role
she may have played in each of our lives; at fifteen years old
I sought any opportunity to make it on my own and separate
from the toxicity Our mother worked harder than anyone I
knew, sacrificed her last to make sure that we had
everything we needed and tried her hardest to surround me
with male role models to keep me focused. I was the
fifteen-year-old standing behind the barrel of a gun, my
finger trembling as it caressed to trigger. Confusion led to
rage and rage led to the contemplation of eliminating my
problems with one stroke as the gun fired, wincing at the
boisterous blast trying to trace the trajectory of the bullet
without understanding the totality of its force.

Eyes closed, my frail shoulder pushed back from the

recoil; stuck in a trance as I heard frantic screams, tires
screeching, the smell of burning flesh pierced my nose and
my life would change forever. I questioned if that young
man’s home life led him to a back-alley fight club that
afternoon. Had the blood of his parents’ feuds suffocated
his soul, stripping him of his childhood leaving his friends as
the viable sense of peace? Sammys mothers’ parents
played a role in in her life decisions as well; their vicious
verbal attacks, her father’s drug addiction and periodic
absence and her mother’s fear of losing it all often led her to
search for her worth in other men or through the bonds of
females her age who shared similar experiences. As an
adult, she still sought to prove herself to the two people
whose opinion meant the most to rebuild the family
dynamic that was destroyed as a child. The abuse she
experienced at home conditioned her to believe that
physical aggression and verbal abuse were viable
expressions of love, so she accepted physical abuse and
the degradation of her character in exchange for the only
thing she felt worthy enough to offer…her body. Her intellect
is awe inspiring, her beauty divinely crafted by God himself;
she possessed a magnetic soul that exudes relentless
ambition and pride, yet her distorted perception of her true
value stems from the individuals responsible for her
conception.

Questioning every step that she took, often beating

herself up about things she is well equipped to handle and
settling for less than what she’s capable of achieving. The
suppression of her interests as a child led to promiscuity as
a teenager, and the desire for parental approval as an adult.
We both sought a means of escaping from our households
in similar places and were both wounded by the decisions
of hard-working parents who I am sure had our best
interests at heart. Were the wounds inflicted upon that
fifteen-year-old young man too deep to heal through
intervention and opportunity? How would our pride, ego,
and contorted emotions affect Sammy as he grew up?
Despite the beautiful art projects he completes, the
melodic concerts he played with his instruments, or the
unconditional love his mom and I pour into him; would our
misalignment lead him to a back-alley fight club with blood
on his hands, fleeing for his freedom with second degree
murder and manslaughter looming over his head? We
needed to put our egos to the side for the sake of our son’s
future. That conversation needed to happen sooner than
later.

“He huffed and he puffed, and he blew the house

down” Samy said enthusiastically as he told me the story of
the three little pigs over the phone while I smiled and
applauded his mighty performance disregard the prying
eyes of the other inmates; the aroma of jealousy and ramen
noodles filled the dorm as Sammy the great blessing the
phone with his storytelling ability. We were beginning to
have brief conversations aside from the questions I’d ask
him periodically throughout the call, careful not to interrupt
him from his toys or his work.

Without impeding the progress that he’d already

made, I was content on just hearing his voice until he was
comfortable enough to respond and maintain a fluid
interaction no matter how long it lasted. He recited the
Three Billy Goats Gruff next, altering his voice for each
character from the grumpy troll looking beneath the bridge
to the brave Billy Goats who crossed over to the other side.
Sammys enthusiasm and ability to memorize an entire story
proved to me that he was in good spirits. Each time we
spoke, his confidence appeared to increase, and his
brilliance became more evident. In this what I’d been
missing out on for the past two years?

With my mother guiding him through an art project

he’d gotten from the local library, Sammy described each
component and the colors he planned to use. “What’s
that?” My mother asked him “A Squirrel” He ‘d respond.
“Good Job” I raved with a cheesy smile on my face, sitting
on the edge of my seat hanging on in suspense for his next
work. “What color are you going to make the squirl?” I asked
inquisitively. “Hmmm, I don’t know” Sammy said as he
pondered the options he had to choose from. Anxious to ask
him if he’d ever seen a black or white squirl before, I feared
that I’d interrupt his train of thought, so I sat silent awaiting
his decision. “Purple. I going to make my squirl purple”. I
couldn’t contain my curiosity as to why he’d chosen purple
out of all the colors in front of him. I’d seen a black squirl, a
white squirl, a beige squirl and even a brown squirl, but
never in my life had I imagined seeing a purple squirl…there
was truly a first time for everything. “Purple” I exclaimed in a
bold, playful tone to assure that I didn’t make him question
his decision or undermine his creativity; he responded with
a confident “Yes”. What more could I ask for? The master
had spoken. Venturing through Miami, I fostered bonds with
artists, gallery owners, and art directors from local
programs to secure opportunities for Sammys imagination
and creativity to thrive. Miami would only be a compliment
to the progress he’d already made.
 Sometimes we ask for divine intervention when we
no longer know what steps to take. No matter how many
times we may fall there is nothing like the first time. A silent
tear welled up in the corner of my eye when he said “Daddy,
I rode my bike” with a proud smile managing to prevent the
tear from sojourning down my face. I responded as any
proud father would “I’m proud of you Sammy, can you teach
me how to ride a bike? I wish I could go as fast as you”, “Yes
dad, I will teach you” Sammy said as if I were his curious
three-year-old son; the levee broke with jubilation, Solitary
tears descended down my raspberry hued cheeks as I
quickly faked a prolonged yawn to disguise the emotions
holding my soul for ransom. My heart was no longer cold,
while frustration lurked within. I felt at ease each time
Sammy told me he learned something new, his
accomplishments are much more important than my regret
of allowing my emotions to separate me from Gods will.
Dear Lord,

I have lost my way and have abandoned my identity

amid confusion and doubt. Lord, as I sit here contemplating
the decisions that I’ve made in the past, I realize how
incompetent I was when ignoring the repetitive signs, you
have revealed to me. I lacked understanding and failed to
lean on you for ll that I attempted to gain on my own. Lord,
had I come to you at the junction of the custody battle when
I first arrived in New York from Orlando I would have never
lost custody of Sammy or made his mother feel the way she
felt. Lord, I trust you and have faith in you, but sometimes
rage consumes me because I realize how much has been
destroyed by my ignorance and haste. Lord, I need your
help. Please speak to me tonight and fill me with your grace,
your mercy, your wisdom, your spirit. Lord, please unleash a
supernatural miracle upon my sufficient to secure a stable
home of our own and fund Sammys education. Lord, I have
tarnished many blessings, but I cannot abandon my role as a
father. Lord, you are my rock, you are my savior. In Jesus
name, Amen
19

Accension

The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul;

the judgements of the Lord are true and righteous
altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than
much fine gold, sweeter than honey and the honeycomb.
Moreover, is thy servant warned; and in keeping of them
there is great reward. Who can understand his errors?
Cleanse thou me from secret faults

Psalm 19:7-12

Anxiety disintegrated my soul, lying helplessly in

wait for the hunters to procure their bunty. New York
requested an extension due to the presidential election, and
the set day had arrived; Wednesday, November 6th, marks
the resurrection of a discarded chapter of my wretched
existence, shredded and burned in hopes of moving forward
with the tainted innocence of he who conceals the secrets
of his devious deeds. Despite my attempts to defraud the
hearts of man, I couldn’t seem to escape the judgment of
God; I’ve fed the souls of many and possessed a keen
understanding of the purpose he has ordained for my life,
yet with an unclean spirit I was not fit to bear the glory of his
name. Akin to the regenerating power of the wind, which no
human eye can see, the spirit of God creates a new being in
the image of God through its work upon the human heart.

Five thirty in the morning as the lofty palm trees

basked in the crisp Miami breeze a gentle tap upon my bunk
aroused me out of an unusually peaceful slumber. “What is
your last name?” The morning officer inquired with a
seductive whisper. “Hart” I responded as the floral oud
spritzed upon her supple milk chocolate skin drew my soul
to attention. “Pack up, your ride is here” she said; the
deceptive lust of her scent made me yearn for just three
more words, ten more seconds of her presence as she
turned to retreat to her dingy throne at the front of the dorm
and I snapped back to reality.

This was it, my final wake up call, the last time I’d
wake up to the sight of seventy other gangsters lying in fetal
position oblivious to the contradictions of their claims, and
the stench of crusted feces streaked upon the drawers of
the prideful souls of men. I’d packed my belongings the
night prior to ensure that there would be no obstructions
prolonging my departure from the putrid se of orange,
tearing the sheets of the plastic slab that had yet to achieve
the comfort standards it was created to fulfill and carried it
to a storage closet in the rear of the dorm.

Returning to my bunk one last time to retrieve my

linen and the notepads used to annotate the words upon
these pages, I looked around a the rows of growling beasts
and said one last prayer for the restoration of their live;
these were the men I sought to serve, establishing training
and employment opportunities in order to offer a genuine
outlet of rehabilitation for those who have been discarded
from society due to the nature of their past decisions.
Immersed in their language, their behavior and their triggers.
I now understand how to effectively serve decaying
communities beyond street outreach. I’d survived the lion’s
den; emerging beyond the threshold wiser, stronger,
revitalized with a glimpse of light illuminating the perilous
journey ahead, adorned with an impenetrable armor of faith
as an officer led me to a holding cell to begin the discharge
process.

I will go before thee, and make the crooked places

strait; I will break in pieces the gates of brass, and out of
sunder the bars of iron; And I will give thee treasures of
darkness, and hidden riches of secret places, that thou
mayest know that I, the Lord, which call thee by thy name,
am the God of Israel

-Isaiah 45:2-3

Cold steel pierced the threads of the polyester garments

draped upon me, enticing the nerves within my thighs to
spring up from the cells bench to pace back and forth;
impatience, hunger, and discomfort tormented my mind in
stride to develop a semblance of warmth. Three hours I sat
in wait for the gentleman assigned to carry out my
extradition to Nassau Country, unsure of what to expect;
praying that God would “Break in pieces these gates of
brass, and cut in sunder the bars of iron”; though I knew he
wouldn’t let me off that easy, I entertained the possibility a I
leaned up against the cell door drawn to the rhythmic clang
of keys approaching. A beautiful, southern-bred Nubian met
my lustful glance, verifying my name before graciously
leading me out of the cell and towards the discharge desk to
officially sign my release from the Miami Miami-Dade
correctional facility.

On the opposite side of the desk stood two gentleman who I

automatically identified as my captors by their attire and the
timidity of their demeanor; jeans and hoodies weren’t quite
suited for Miami weather, donned in the “Long Island
“starter-kit, I knew these were the guys. Directed to the
opposite side of the desk to sign out my property, I
approached the gentlemen with a firm handshake to ease
the tension that oozed from their pores; unsure if it was the
unfamiliarity of the environment or being assigned the
daunting task of transporting a fugitive over a thousand
miles by air where so much could go wrong, there was an
arid sense of fer that needed to be dissolved before we hit
the road.

“Good morning, you guys have come a long way

huh?” I said with a grin as each officer shook my hand.
Neither party knew what to expect; I never imagined being a
fugitive shackled at the wrists, in custody while boarding a
flight that I once took at leisure with Sammy. Coupled with
the disdain for law enforcement, one false move could tip
the scales at any moment. The officers weren’t much older
than me, both thirty-one, so I understood that they didn’t
have much experience in fugitive transports either: putting
my pride and ego to the side, I made a vow to lead with
integrity and break the ice to assure that their fears didn’t
lead to any rash decisions that would later be justified as
self-defense in the court of law where I am perceived as no
more than a deviant criminal with no regard for the laws of
the land.

Retrieving the property bag containing my clothes and

sneakers provided relief to the concerns that haunted me,
having to walk through the airport in a bright orange DOJ
ensemble with cuffs upon my wrist and my head hung low
in shame. I felt like a human again, throwing away the
chinclettas that have seen better days and discarded the
orange threads into a laundry bin for the next unlucky soul
trapped in this revolving door; officially released from the
reigns of Miami, I approached the two officers waiting for
me at the exit with no desire to look back. A white Jeep
Wagoneer with fresh burgundy leather seats awaited us
outside as the tropical humidity kissed my skin, enveloping
me with the embrace of a child who misses their father.
Ushered into the back seat, I said one last prayer for God
grace as the officers retrieved their firearms before revving
the engines…our journey had begun.

“You gained some weight in the past two years” One officer
said to break the silence on our way to the airport. “More
than you’d understand” I thought to myself but I promised
the Lord that I would be respectful and lead with integrity; “A
lot has changed, I’m just ready to get this over with so it’s no
longer looming over my head” I responded with a sly grin of
reassurance of how much had been accomplished in two
year span, and how much strength had been garnered
through each humbling trial. These officers were assigned to
the original case in 2020 and had been watching me ever
since. They knew more about me than I’d imagined, and
though I flew under the radar for two years they had a steady
hand on my pulse waiting for me to slip up.

Eleven children’s books, two poetry anthologies,

over a thousand meals served in the past year alone; in the
process of securing a stable kitchen space to begin offering
culinary training and employment opportunities through an
event catering service, standing 240-pounds up from the
170-pound miscreant I was two years ago. Leaning my head
back into the plush leather headrest, I took a moment to
thank God for all that he has protected and for how much
had been accomplished once I submitted myself to his
will…for his glory, not my own. As I explained Silent Knight
and the community outreach events held here in Mimi to the
two officers, their stern demeanor eased like the calming of
a roaring tide.

Once I assured them that I posed no threat to their

safety and now had much to live for, our true conversation
began. “How do you like Miami? The circumstances are
unfortunate but at least you get a brief vacation out of the
deal” I said to them both with a smile. The driver looked at
me through the rearview mirror laughing as the officer in the
passenger seat turned toward me as if they’d been anxious
to divulge the secrets of their first Florida adventure.

“Its beautiful down here, much better weather than the city,
that’s for sure” The driver said with a pompous lore as the
officer in the passenger seat immediately chimed in, “WE
definitely weren’t on duty the last two nights; we stayed
down in Brickell and explored South Beach a bit…Hey do
you remember that girl s we met at the bar?” The driver gave
the passenger a lethal glance as if they were co-defendants
and one was on the verge of incriminating them both with
loose lip; strategically changing the subject, the driver asked
if I’d been to the everglade. “Brave souls you must be, I
came down here to offer my son a fresh environment; I had
no intentions of disappearing along the way” I said with the
surety of a father who knew his limits.

Both officers laughed and reminisced about the

beauty of the Everglades but admitted to retreating after
twenty minutes due to their rational fear of being consumed
by a gator. “But we did eat gator twice since than right? The
officer in the passenger seat inquired of the driver in an
attempt to re-establish his masculinity. Like three college
teammates on a road trip, we approached the Hertz car
rental lot in Miami International airport. Before exiting the
royal chariot, both officers turned simultaneously to explain
how we’d get through the airport without drawing suspicion
and board the plane without causing concern for the other
passengers. Draping a blue hoodie over my head, the
officers cuffed my hands together within the front pouch
and we proceeded to the air train as a celebrity with a
security detail enroute to the delta terminal to check-in.

The journey had come full circle boarding the same

air train that ushered me into Miami when I first arrived,
overlooking the skyline of the city I’d call home for the past
two years; a surreal moment of reflection and appreciation
for how I’d come. Despite being escorted back to New York
cuffed at the wrists, shadowed by two detectives and facing
four felony charges upon arrival. I was grateful for the Lord’s
protection and deliverance from my conniving ways. Lord
knows I haven’t been perfect these past two years, yet he
hasn’t forsaken me throughout the transition from a “by any
means necessary” mentality to a pure – purpose driven
heart. The toughest thing for man to do is change his ways
for his family in a world that encourages his demise; prayer
became my stronghold, faith became my guide, and the
Lord as my rock served as my strength. As I submitted my
soul to Gods will, he molded me; as clay on a potter’s wheel
into the father, the husband and the servant that he
ordained me to be.

The fresh aroma of lush roses greeted us as we approached

the Delta counter to check-in adorned with vibrant
bouquets at each station. The officers displayed their IDs in
exchange for strict guidelines we had to abide by provided
by the Delta representative who stood stolid with an
apprehensive glare upon his face. A glare I understood;
murals of violence and chaos are painted in our minds when
we hear the word “Fugitive” curious of what heinous crime
was committed that would entice an individual to run from
the law…you just never know. I could see the gears turning
in the representative’s head, and the steam spewing from
his inflamed ears as I bid him farewell and proceeded to
follow the two officers to the next checkpoint where they’d
have to declare their firearms. Luckily mine were concealed
within the sleeves of the blue hoodie, restricted by
Damascus steel trigger locks fastened upon my wrists
granting me the liberty to observe all that my heart longed
for…traveling with Sammy.

Families huddled together; mother, father and child

with jubilant smiles and decorative memorabilia as they
reminisced about their well-deserved escapade in paradise.
Businessmen and women hustling through the terminal with
poise, purpose, and pertinacity. Artists, musicians and
future investors with an appetite for inspiration satiated by
none other than Miami’s cultural diversity. The beauty, the
aesthetic prominence, the muse; beyond the palm trees lay
the struggle, the ambition and the perseverance of that lone
soul just two words away from their next chapter in life.

Forty-five minutes. We were instructed to board the

plane with the first group, yet we had about forty-five
minutes until it was officially time to board; led to a row of
seats in the common waiting area to pass the time. One
officer stood watch, as the other retreated to the gift shop to
by a souvenir for his wife and three bottles of water for the
crew. “How do you feel about going back to New York?
You’ve been away for quite some time” The officer asked
while looking down upon me with one eye fixed on the
crowd “ Honestly it’s a bittersweet moment; I originally left
New York to secure a fresh environment for my son to
assure his safety and health, but over time, anger consumed
me because I was denied the right to provide him with all
that I’d worked hard to attain” the officer sat down in the
seat to my right, both eyes now focused on me as I
continued. “I haven’t seen my son face to face in two years.
Though I’ve written children’s books for him to establish a
presence in his life and tech him the characteristics of a
man, I still neglected my role as a father by allowing my
emotions to dictate my decisions.

Sometimes as men, we have to take accountability

for the role we’ve played in the dysfunction of our lives,
despite the faults of others. No matter the actions of
Sammy’s mom, I didn’t take into account her career; see, I
write, am a fitness coach and operate a community
outreach organization; I can adapt and prosper anywhere.
Self-employment became my only option due to the
limitations I set upon myself by my poor decisions in the
past. His mother had found her passion as a veterinary
technician at Mount Sinai hospital. What I felt was the best
decision for us all as a family was a selfish decision made in
haste that ultimately tore our family part. After losing
custody of Sammy, I came down to Miami with the intention
of clearing my head and relieving the rage that tormented
me, yet after seeing the urgent need for homeless outreach I
found my purpose in uplifting the lives of others; providing
for them the support I lacked, becoming the light to guide
them out of the darkness that once consumed me. While I
am excited to see my son and get this case resolved, I fer
that I will have to rebuild all that has been established in
Miami depending on the decisions made in New York” as I
wrapped up, the second officer had already sat down in the
seat to my left as they both listened intently to the
disposition of my sorrows. “You’re right, one of the hardest
things for us to do is take accountability for our actions. I’m
glad that you were able to come to that realization and learn
from it not only as a father but as a man” The officers
sincere response led to the acknowledgment of his
experience as a father of two young daughters of his own. It
turned out that we had fatherhood in common; the officer
on the right had a one-year-old son, the officer on the left
had two daughters and I’d been blessed with the amazing
Samuel Allen.

The discussion that had unfolded made me think back to

Stan from the Long Island Fatherhood Initiative, leading our
weekly group sessions imparting the wisdom of how to be
an effective father and spouse to maintain healthy
relationships within our family. We sat overlooking the
active tarmac, sharing stories of our children’s favorite
shows, the wisdom that we’ve gained, and the challenges
we’ve faced; despite the presence of a badge and an oath to
syndicate I despised, I realized that these were two men
devoted to their families just like me. Divinely placed in each
other’s presence for much more than the retrieval of a
fugitive; fatherhood stood as the universal spark that fueled
our fire within.
 Ten minutes. Mutal respect was shared amongst us
as our discussion was diverted to an acknowledgement of
the time constraints we were on the verge of breaching.
With ten minutes remaining until we boarded, we made our
way to the Delta gate. The officers handed their tickets to
the representative before being directed to enter an
illuminated vestibule…a portal to “the other side”, diamond
steel walkway, blinding fluorescent lights, a delta insignia
transplanted from a bodega storefront, silence. Greeted by
an African American woman co-pilot with a birthday pin
affixed to her blouse and two well-polished flight attendants
with plump lips graced with the vibrance of a rose glistening
in the innocence of fresh morning dew.

“Welcome to Delta, this way sir it’s a pleasure to

have you this morning” The flight attendant sang with an
angelic tone that belonged nowhere else but the righteous
gates of heaven. Wishing the copilot a happy birthday, we
proceeded to our seats in the very last row of the plane;
stationed directly outsaid of the restaurant. Instructed to sit
in the window seat, I waddled my way through the aisle s
two more flight attendants serenaded us with a humble
greeting; Each member of the flight staff was informed of
our presence as a safety protocol, yet each one showed
more respect that I’d ever experienced on any flight taken on
my own. Royal blue leather seats caressed by nature’s
redeemer embraced me as I descended into Deltas
accommodation equipped with a plush neck pillow and a
screen of my own to enjoy a matinee showing of my heart’s
desire. The officer scrolled through nineteen pages of
movies before I’d settle on the “Upside” with Brin Cranston
and Kevin Hart; Donnel (Kevin Hart) plagued with a criminal
record, struggles to maintain a relationship with his son
Anthony and discover his purpose after incarceration.

Instructed to secure “gainful employment” by his

parole officer, he stumbles upon an opportunity that
changed his family’s life forever as a life auxiliary for Brian
Cranston, Comedy, love, revelation, resurrection and the
power of fatherhood. The plane quickly filled with
unsuspecting passengers cramming their luggage into the
overhead compartments and acquainting themselves with
the restroom before takeoff. The fragrance of cured salami
and exotic must lingered in the air as we were instructed to
fasten our seatbelts before the captains voice blessed the
cabin with confidence of safe trip with clear instructions of
what to do in the event of an emergency. “I’m sorry to break
it to you” peering over at the two officers with a grim smile.
“I won’t be able to put your oxygen mask on if we go down.
Its been real, but you gentlemen are n your own” There
mischievous laughs confirmed that I’d be the first drown,
flapping in circles in an attempt to breast stroke my way to
safety. My cruel imagination was quelled by the
acknowledgment of God’s presence thus far, despite the
circumstances his grace was surely sufficient.

The plane began to move, maneuvering its way

through the tarmac into alignment with the runway. A brief
pause followed by an abrupt acceleration nestled my head
into the Delta logo stitched into the pillow conjoined to the
arch of my neck, my heart cleaving to my spine as the heels
as the wheels rose off the ground; straining; my neck to look
out the window infatuated with the Glory of God’s grace
along this journey. Brickell, Coconut Grove, Star Island and
South Beach; Turquoise waves cascading against the shore,
the picturesque aesthetic of bliss etched into my mind. The
island of Nassau bidding farewell to us before our divine
ascension into the heavens. With a blink of the eyes, and a
popping of our ears, the vast ocean transitioned into a
tranquil white bed of clous; my heart at ease and my head
released from the grip of physics. Settling into my set as the
officer reached over to uncuff my right hand, enabling me to
insert an earbud into my ear, unwrap a dark chocolate Kind
bar and press play on the movie screen as “The Upside” led
us into the next stage along our journey.

A man who desired nothing more than the

opportunity to provide his family with the life they deserved
and uphold his role as a father for his son; accepting a life
changing position as Brian Cranston’s life auxiliary proved to
serve as a mutual benefit for two men from completely
different walks of life, afflicted by self-discovery while
navigating lives imposed with obstructions. Brian Cranston’s
life was shattered after his wife passed away; paralyzed
from the neck down, though he was an accomplished
author and a man of great affluence, he struggled to express
the emotions polluting his psyche leaving the desire of
death as the only escape from the torment of inexplicable
pain. Darnells integrity, compassion and ambition were
intrinsic qualities that made him the most qualified
candidate to reintroduce Brian Cranston to the beauty of life
and embrace the love brewing beneath years of routine
restraint. A “criminal” with the heart of a saint, exposed to a
life of wealth and boundless inspiration, regained vitality
and fulfillment of his life’s purpose. Through attuned touch,
Darnell relinquished himself from the pity of his poor
choices and devoted himself to the care of others;
purchasing a home for his family, starting a manufacturing
business, repairing paralytic mobility chairs and restoring
the spark within a lost soul consumed with despair.

This journey has been blessed with divine

encounters that have changed the trajectory of my life;
resurrecting my morbid corpse from the petulance of grief.
Josh Waxman, Grant Cordone, Juan Nunez, Martha and
Johanna Grac, and the countless souls that I’ve served
throughout the streets of Miami. Only when I accepted
Christ as my savior did my life begin to shift from desolation
to abundance. A life of Christ is a life of restfulness. There
may be no ecstasy of feeling, but there is an unwavering
trust and an incorruptible peace. My hope was no longer in
myself, but in Christs presence. My weakness was united to
his strength, my ignorance to his wisdom, my frailty to his to
his enduring might. God became my life auxiliary,
positioning humble souls along my path to impart his
wisdom and bestow his grace. Through his mercy, I began to
see the upside of an otherwise deplorable circumstance.
One step closer to shaking the hands that played the
bongos over the phone, enchanted by the jubilant voice that
sang me happy birthday; one step closer to applauding the
musical genius of a flourishing maestro and honoring the
brilliance of his cadence.

Just one last obstacle before I could embrace my

son and let him know how proud of him I am of all he’s
accomplished. With no efforts to palliate my transgression, I
looked forward to resolving this case and getting back to life
without the anxiety of living on the run. As the Upside drew
to an end, an announcement saturated the airwaves
informing us that we had arrived in New York and was
scheduled to touch down at JFK Airport in less than twenty
minutes. Two hours from paradise, transplanted into the
inflamed belly of the beast I thought I’d already conquered.
Serene beaches, vibrant palm trees and floral gardens,
majestic islands and precious waters replaced with a
landscape kissed with the death of fall mauled by brown
sludge invading its shores. ‘’

There was a stark contrast as we flew over the

dilapidated inlet of Jones Beach, Malvern, Roosevelt,
Hempstead and the memorable Sunrise highway.
Descending over Rosedale, into the breast of JFK. With the
planes landing gear deployed, we braced for impact as the
wheels collided with the oil-stained runway; three jolts
brought the plane into a steady momentum as the pilot
gripped the reins and guided the wild stead into its stable
with ease. The officers and I exchanged deep sighs of relief
symbolizing the bleak acknowledgment that we had finally
made it…Home sweet Home. The officers stood up to
retrieve their backpacks from the overhead compartments;
sanding watch as the passengers cleared the plane and the
flight crew began collecting excess trash in preparation for
their next adventure. When given the nod of approval, I rose
out of the seat waddling my way into the aisle lined with
smiling flight attendants bestowing their blessing upon me
as we departed into a dimly lit vestibule leading to the
terminal. As if we’d entered a portal transporting us to a
different planet, the culture shock made my skin crawl upon
arrival. Supple beach tanned skin faces, and flawless
cosmetically engineered smiles replaced by ashy jawlines
and stress induced wrinkles, silk and line garments
replaced by coffee-stained sweatsuits and parkas lined
with wool; joyous smiles appreciative of a life of leisure
devoured by anxious souls struggling to make ends meet in
a city whose cost of living has become unrealistic as the
quality of life continues to regress. Despite my biased
observations, New York will forever be home; the energy,
the perseverance, the beauty beneath the ashes and the
relentless ambition is unmatched. We were bred differently,
blessed to be different, and appointed the role of
conquerors over all adversity. My work here was not yet
complete, God brought me back with a purpose and a
prophesy to fulfill.
20

Home Sweet Home

Stale autumn air polluted by nicotine and a society
euthanized by marijuana singed my nostrils as the curtains
of the city were drawn, revealing a sea of yellow taxi drivers
revving their engines to entice passengers and a
transportation bay where we’d meet our chauffer to the
fourth precinct in Hewlett. A black Ford with distinctive red
and blue lights adiating from its grill arrived with discretion,
driven by a gentleman who resembled detective hodges
from NCIS donned in a reflective NCPD flack jacket.

“Good afternoon” I said as I ducked my head, sliding

into the hard plastic rear seat of the squad car. “What’s up?”
I heard the voice of a native New Yorker but there was no
semblable of emotion or regard; this gentleman was there
to do his job and nothing more, despite the gracious remarks
of the two officers lamenting how pleasant the trip was. A
discerning spirit drew me to silence, observing familiar
territory, exiting the airport , verging onto the Belt Parkway in
Queens; Rockaway Blvd towards Five Towns where the only
new development was a massive Amazon warehouse
where a stone quarry once was. Memories of the five a.m.
shifts at Dnata Inflight catering on Rason Rd. that nurtured
my passion for culinary arts, the batting cages my sister and
I visited with our father when we were younger, and the Ihop
where my eyes were always much larger than my stomach;
vivid visualizations of splendor appeared with my nose
pressed against the glass as the officers boasted about their
recent arrests. Maneuvering through the skeleton of a city
whose flesh had decayed yet retained the beauty of its soul.
We turned into the fourth precinct parking lot; creeping
slowly to the read of the building to protect the dignity of the
neighbors.

The officers departed to retrieve their luggage

from the trunk before coming to open my
door, with a brief hesitation my innate
apprehension towards law enforcement
subsided as murmurings of our conversation
in the Delta terminal replayed in my head.
They were fathers upholding the vows they
made to provide for and protect their
families, sacrificing their lives to make it
home each evening just to kiss their children
goodnight. Looking beyond the badges and
“Reno 911” hairstyles, I grew to understand
that these were noble gentleman who woke
up wit a purpose each day and returned
home to the greatest blessing bestowed by
God each night. My actions were responsible
for the steel bracelets scaring my wrists and
the dysfunction of my life. I had financially
run out of fingers to point. The reflection
staring back at me in the lens of the camera
 appeared disappointed with a scowl of
shame as I posed for mugshot photos;
turning left, turning right, eyes open, then
looking down in disbelief promising myself
that this would be my last trip around the
sun. The officers responsible for the
extradition bid me farewell as their jobs were
now complete, granting me the opportunity
to order a large plate of sweat and sour
chicken over white rice from a renowned
Chinese restaurant around the corner from
the station while I awaited transport to the
county jail to be seen by the judge the
following number.

One hand chained to the steel bench beneath me,

the other hand separating golden nuggets of perfectly fried
chicken upon a bed of white rice, pouring just enough sweat
pineapple glaze coat each crisp cluster without destroying
the structural integrity of each bite; spreading a napkin upon
my knee and another across the bench to maintain the last
remnant of class that I possessed. A much-needed meal
devoured without a trace of its existence besides the white
container scrapped clean, lying bare after suffering the
eradication of each morsal of rice that once inhabited its
and; after an intense fast of bologna sandwiches and
mystery meat goulash catered by Miami’s finest, my
stomach churned a most egregious churn dispelling a fatal
hiss of flatulence silently permeating each crevice of the
cell.
 Steel chains rusting like the time lapse of a virgin
lake freezing in the dead of winter, lights beginning to flicker,
my tactical gas invaded the lamp above my head; just as I
thought I’d administer the final dose of my own execution,
an officer approached the cel door and released me from
the chamber of impending doom. I could tell that these
officers were less experienced than the previous two by the
way they fastened the cuffs backwards, yet I respected
them the same way as they led me to the car port where I’d
board their chariot in Lew of the next phase of captivity. The
glare of the streetlights upon the steel grates affixed to the
rear window frames created the illusion of holiday cheer as
Santa Claus returned Rudolf to the North Pole. The journey
had come full circle; traveling past the romantic lake
Sammys mother and I frequented as I imitated Cassanova
to engrave my love upon her hardened soul, perusing though
the town I first walked hand in hand with Sammy before our
expedition to Florida, and into a cell exactly one block away
from the role at NYU Langone that I sacrificed to attend the
very first ultra sound appointment where I solidified my
covenant as a father and where my devotion for my family
began.

The common courtesy ceased as the officers led me

into a narrow corridor of ten cells that hadn’t been
refurbished since the ‘70s’s, handing me milk and a wax
paper bag with two scoops of Bran Flakes to get me through
the night. Instructed to take my shoes off before entering the
cell, the officer shut the dungeon gates behind me. Ten
holding cells tainted with blotches of blackened mold atop
rusted faucets and graffitied steel abodes; intentionally
malnourished to deter crimes from being committed’ yet a
new batch of offenders are cycled through each night like
clockwork. The whispers of wind seething through fish wire
grates shared tales of the three generations that occupied
the bench I struggled to find comfort on; Passing a
ceremonial torch to light the journey head inscribed with an
epistle of their testimony:

Hold your head high brother, this too shall pass

As these gates will part, you’ll be free at last

Move with tact, your heart is pure

Your soul is cleansed, you are the cure

Though you’ve sinned, the Lord has pardoned your deed

Give praise and arise my brother, you have been anointed to

lead

By morning, the entire corridor was filled.

Each cell occupied by two men a piece contemplating who’
stand and who’d lie down. The whistling wind subsided,
replaced by rays of morning sun peering through the grates
upon the wall. Silence disrupted by fervent pleas of men
falsely accused, each one pleading their innocence while I
sat content with the fate of my transgression. The rattling of
steel brought the corridor to an earie whisper as four
officers entered with the roster of the prior night’s catch,
and a crate containing the shackles that would bound the
ankles of prisoners deprived of their privilege of freedom.
One by one we were called out of the cells and paired
together, adjoined by cuffs placed upon the right wrist of
each perpetrator. Led onto a white corrections bus whose
windows were replaced with steel plates, leaving the
windshield as the only source of light barely seen through a
cage behind the officers seats. Darkness, with knowledge of
the area, I envisioned the sight of Old Country Road and the
small shops long Franklin Avenue as we ventured through
Garden city to the courthouse in Hempstead.

Rustling steel and the hymns of cattle being

led to slaughter reverberated through the halls, covering the
bull pen below with praise s the shackles were released and
harmonious prayer for mercy warmed the frigid air. Public
defenders conducting a row call, providing counsel to their
assigned clients through the cell bars; guardian angles for
many, hustling their way through the ranks with humility and
compassion bearing the Lord’s armor without praise or
egregious profit. Blessed with a private attorney. I sat
patiently awaiting my name to be called in front of the judge;
listening intently to the horror stories of domestic violence
accusations that ensnared eighty five percent of the cell’s
population. Gentlemen with swollen e faces and bloodshot
eyes imprisoned because their pride wouldn’t allow them to
call 911 first; love scorned by the lack of emotional
intelligence, and fathers held captive for fighting for the right
to be in their children’s lives. While I don’t attest to the
innocent pleas of each man. Sammys mother taught the
effects of a heart polluted by vindictiveness and a mind
corrupted by rage. Of all the sacrifices I’d make, assuring
Sammys mothers’ ability to uphold her presence in his life
by advocating on her behalf to the assistant district attorney
of Queens is a decision that I don’t regret.

Despite the critical choice working against my own

relationship with Sammy, it has proven to be fruitful in her
growth as a woman and most importantly, as a mother for
our son. Sammy needs us both, despite the disagreements
we may have. Sammy reflects his mother’s love and
nourishing care; I strive to never allow the validity of my
emotions to deprive him of that affection or put her life in
danger. Though my decisions have garnered mixed
reactions, my intentions remain pure. If my devotion to the
health, safety, and longevity of my family brings me to my
knees before the Lord, so be it…my God is a mighty God, I
shall rise again.

“Hart, step forward” The cell door opened as an

officer greeted me with a pair of cuffs before we’d head
upstairs to the court room. Though my attorney served as
the liaison while I was in Miami, I had yet to speak to him in
person. Through faith, I followed the officer up a barren
stairwell with hope that the original offer would remain the
same. It’s amazing how much we expect our bad behavior
to be rewarded with grace, but as parents we punish our
children without remorse; expecting them to do “as we say”
and not “as we do” but as they grow smarter, they begin to
emulate our actions and dissect the fallacy of our speech.
We can only expect excellence from those that we lead, if
we ourselves are aligned with the standards we demand.
Hypocrisy breeds resentment, disassembling the core of
healthy relationships and discrediting the validity of our
voice in the lives of those we cherish the most.

The judge presided over a case involving fifteen

million dollars in wire fraud and accusations of sexual
assault in a cinematic teacher-student relationship as I
entered the court room.; an NYU college student
unbothered by the remarks of the prosecution as his
attorney obliterated each claim with precision. Rubbing my
palms together, I looked on with utter intrigue in the manner
that the attorney circumvented the severity of his client’s
case with poise. Sentenced to supervised release and set
free before an awe-stricken audience who’d witnessed a
master at his craft. Though I had yet to meet my attorney,
the young man’s victory gave me hope that I’d be set free in
like manner into the arms of a three-year-old beaming with
joy.

An officer gestured me to approach the stand as my

fate would be decided next; a gentleman lunged out of his
seat carrying a brief case in one, greeting me with a firm
handshake with the other. “Good afternoon Mr., Hart my
name is Scott, I have been hired to represent you” our
inability to become acquainted before standing Infront of
the judge made me uneasy as the charges filed against me
were recited by the prosecution. Leaning over to gain clarity
of where I’d been for the past two years, Scott gestured me
to be quiet before the tale of my journey had reached its
climax. The angst of being unprepared drew me to anger,
similar to studying for a test as you’re descending down into
the seat; except the failure of this test could cost me the
privilege of solidifying a physical presence in Sammys life.
There were no expressions of astonishment on the faces of
the prosecution, or goosebumps upon my skin as Scott
stood oblivious to the facts of the case Infront of a judge
who seemed eager to see me rot beneath the jail for
disrespecting a system that gave him prominence. My
decision to disregard the justice system would surely be
penalized without the ability to speak on my own behalf. I’d
fail to convey the reason behind my disappearance.

A tough pill to swallow as the judge grew impatient

with the lack luster defense after an awe-inspiring opening
act. With the slam of his Gavel, the judge ordered me to be
shipped to the county jail until a viable consequence for my
escapade to paradise was decided. So much to say, so
much to show but my time to defend myself had expired.
Head hung low, I departed from the court room toward an
officer, overly anxious to conduct a full strip search before
heading back down to the bullpens below. Defiled by the
prying eyes of four officers, until my bare frame satisfied
their desires, rewarded with a bologna sandwich and a box
of milk for conciliation. Escorted to an empty cell I’d occupy
alone until enough bodies were available to transport to the
county jail. Just as I folded the sandwich bag into a pillow to
lye my anxiety to rest, Scott appeared at the cell gate. “Mr.
Hart, it’s nice to formerly meet you” seemingly unbothered
by the dismal performance in court, he extended his hand
through the cell bars to greet me. “Now tell me, I was able to
review your case briefly and want to hear from you what
really happened”

With crossed arms, he leaned against the cell,

looking intently into my eyes as a father would his son to
access the cogency of my speech. I proceeded to tell him
that everything he’d read was true; before Sammy was born,
I deposited a fraudulent check into my account to secure an
apartment for my family. Because I forged the signature of
the owner, I was charged with forgery and identity theft. A
slight grin appeared on his face as he understood that I was
being honest, there were no attempts to justify my actions
or dodge the responsibility of their consequences. He
continued “Why Florida, why didn’t you show up in court?
With a deep sigh, I responded “I was granted temporary
custody of Sammy following his mother’s arrest for child
endangerment and assault. Shortly after, I was offered an
opportunity as a chef assistant at Disney’s Epcot resort
which appeared as a blessing as I prayed for the ability to
secure a fresh environment that would promise his safety
and health. I never intended to Separate Sammy from his
mother, so I sat down with the assistant D.A of Queens to
have the charges against her dropped by speaking on her
behalf before leaving for Orlando. Unfortunately, even
though I was granted temporary custody, I was penalized for
taking him across state lines without the court’s approval.

My intentions have remained pure, yet because the

court dates for this case were spread so far apart, I needed
to make crucial decisions for my son and I. The courts
demanded that I return Sammy back to the environment I
fought to get him out of, and the person I advocated for
failed to reciprocate the grace that I extended. My sacrifices
began to work against me. I refused to go back to the city, so
I ventured further south to Miami adamant to secure the life
that I felt my family deserved. I wanted my actions to prove
the devotion that my words failed to convey. You
understand, right?

My heart racing as the passion of my plea spewed

through my pores. Staring at Scott with conviction as I
struggled to regain the breath I’d expelled. Flustered, Scott
stood up straight, adjusted his glasses and looked upon me
with sincerity, “I see hats going on, quite frankly, there is no
reason for dick around with this case. You’re in jail now, so
my job is to get you out. You won’t be in here long, we’re
going to get you in and out back to you son” a closed fist
extended through the cell bars, Scotts assurance was as
feeble as the crust securing my bologna …I needed to see
results after our first encounter, yet through faith I allowed
him to do what he does best. Twenty-five years as a District
Attorney, I had to give him the credit he deserved and
understand that I wasn’t the biggest fish in his pond.
Relieved that I had the opportunity to impart my testimony
upon Scott as he gained an understanding of the purpose I
sought to fulfil; contrite, I placed the bologna sandwich
behind my neck, lifted my legs atop the steel bench and put
my mind at ease until my name was called one last time.
 Fifty-two inmates occupied the dorm I was
assigned to consisting of individual cells
which offered the privacy that I’d prayed for
in Miami; free to workout, read, and pray in
the sanctity of my own space for the duration
of my stay. Directed to cell 41 on the second
tier, the “master suite” as described by the
officer on duty. A corner cell with panoramic
views of the polyester ruins below. A freshly
polished steel abode, sink bolted to the
cement floor and a wooden desk with two
steel shelves. The property came fully
furnished with photos of foreign cars and
beautiful women plastered on the walls with
toothpaste, drawings on the ceiling by an
courageous aficionado, and names etched in
to the furniture by prior tenants who felt
inclined felt inclined b a perceived sense of
dominance.

Two fresh white sheets, an alabaster

washcloth, and two bath towels to match. Graced
with a King James Bible and Steps Toward Christ by
Ellen G. White; God had gone before me and
christened the cell I’d call home for forty days. Forty
days of solitude, introspection and copious amounts
of pushups to get me through the sleepless nights.
Though the light at the end of the tunnel glimmered
in the distance, the anticipation of the conversation
Samuels mother and I needed to have tormented my
 mind. As I studied the testimonies of Moses, David,
Joshua, Abraham and Job, I was sure that my
intentions were pure., but struggled to convince her
through my words and actions; despite the distance,
despite the silence, despite the difference of
opinions, I got down on my knees each night and
pleaded with God to bless her with deliverance from
the battles she fought within. Stripped bare, I’d been
humbled in the wilderness relying on my own
understanding to navigate the fray. Those that I
sought to save suffered the burdens of my sins. I
refused to forsake the Lord as my savior. No matter
how many times I’d been depleted and starved.
Serving with gratitude for the blessings of life,
breath, and health he's bestowed upon my family,
and the lives he’s blessed me with the privilege to
serve. For the miracles that he’s done within Sammy,
I submitted my life to the Lord as my savior. For the
restoration of health he’s bestowed upon my
mother’s life, I submitted my life to the Lord as my
savior. For the blessing of life he’s placed within my
sister’s womb, I submitted my life to the Lord as my
savior.

I turned my face towards the Lord for guidance,

studying his scripture for his wisdom, and engaging in
persistent prayer for strength. Reading the gospel of Stjohn
brought the miracles he’s bestowed upon my life to the light;
undeserving of his grace, he’s resurrected me from death,
protected me from the enemies’ snares, and when
enshrouded with darkness, he’s been the light upon my
soul. Through all the works the Lord has granted me the
privilege to witness, I couldn’t understand why Sammys
mother lacked the faith to step beyond the constraints of
her past; the chains were loosed, the cell door was open,
yet she sat with our son pressed against her bosom
shielding wounds that the Lord had already healed. I prayed
for God to fill her with his spirit, his grace, his mercy and his
forgiveness to reassure her of the power he’s instilled within
her. It pained me that she was subjected to the same
struggle that plagued the woman in my family, the struggles
that I fought to protect her from. The battle was not lost; I
now had the opportunity to conquer the Goliath of our lives,
threatening my ability to uphold my role as Samuels father.

Repentance, confession, consecration, faith and

acceptance. Forty days of repentance, my knees bowed
upon the concrete floor pleading with God to redeem the
defilement of my soul. As the faces of all those that I’d
mistreat flashed before my eyes, I painted my sins in the
darkest hue upon the walls of my cell before the Lord,
bearing my guilt without deception or hypocrisy, subdued by
a penitent soul seeking redemption. Phone calls with
Sammy fostered an incorruptible belief in Gods promise as
he sang “All around the Mulberry Bush”, His ability to
memorize an entire song and recite it to perfection, gave me
reason to celebrate the progression of his development and
the infinite grace upon his life. Phone calls with my sister
kept me up to date with her health as she bore her first
child, envisioning our father looking down from heaven
praising the strength she effortlessly displayed; assuring her
of his presence within the soul of her daughter.
Conversations with my mother further confirmed that I was
fighting for a noble cause as she grew more confident in
sharing her testimony through literature and audibly through
her podcast.

No longer did I perceive the decisions made as a

child through a lens of resentment, but as sacrifices that
molded me into who I am as a father, as a husband, and as a
man. Her selfless devotion to the well-being of her children
instilled a deep reverence for all women; making sacrifices
of my own to prevent any woman I encounter from
experiencing the same plight. Miscommunication between
generations,

the lack of accountability and the divestment of

emotional intelligence. When sharing our testimonies, be
sure to be transparent and share the reasons why we were
in a position to struggle and not just the sacrifices we’ve
endured. Sabotage occurs when we attempt to earn our
strips” by emulating the heroism of those we seek for
guidance without understanding of the warfare attributed to
their individual circumstance. The cycle ends with me.

When I was a child, I spoke as a child. I

understood a child. I thought as a child; but
when I became a man, I put away childish
things

-1 Corinthians 13:11)
 Forty days of revelation, relinquished of my distorted
perception as the clarity of my vision was restored. Forty
cold showers, three bars of coco butter soap, and three
sticks of “crystal breeze” scented roll-on deodorant. I’d
been cleansed of much more than the foul odor emanating
from my loins. All trials, all grief and temptations were
eradicated from my psyche. Forty days of refinement
prepared me for the battle head with the Lord as my refuge.

12

Reunited
On the fortieth day, my cell doors clanged against
the steel frame; the officers gave me a wake-up call to
inform me that it was officially time to go. Unsure of what to
expect beyond the prison walls, I prayed for God to lead my
steps and envelop me with his grace as I reentered strange
land. I was born and raised in New York, but a lot had
changed in two years; I’d changed a lot in two years. I no
longer had interest in the city beside Sammy and the well-
being of his mother. If I wasn’t sentenced to three years
probation, I would have headed straight to the airport; back
to paradise. How selfish could I have been? Sammy had
heard my voice over the phone for the past five months but
hadn’t seen my face in two years.
 Tossing my linen in a large green laundry bin and
walking through the halls towards a cell to begin the
discharge process. The officers were oddly respectful,
“Good morning, sir, this way” even acknowledging the lack
of airflow in the holding cell for the first time since I’d been
there; promising that it wouldn’t be much longer before the
process would be complete. A property bag containing my
clothes and sneakers from Miami awaited me; the weather
was much warmer; shorts and a T-shirt weren’t quite
appropriate for the forty-degree chill that patiently lurked
outside. I could feel the frigid air seeping through the cracks
each time the gates opened. Even upon release, an officer
placed cuffs around my wrist during transport to the main
building where I’d be release from; It seemed
counterintuitive, but I learned to be no more than a
conscious observer; one who knows nothing but sees
everything, constantly dissecting the behavior of others to
learn the motives of men.

We’d arrived at the main building where I’d sign my

release papers, collect any excess money from my account,
and throw away the orange jumpsuit that had begun to
irritate my skin. It was official; no hidden warrants or
officers waiting in the shadows, I was free to go. As I opened
the door, the crisp air against my face made me feel alive
again; despite having on shorts, the frigid air I’d felt while
waiting in the holding cell no longer existed. Mind over
matter I guess, because as I approached the parking lot a
gentleman approached me to offer a coat and hygiene
products under
the impression that I was homeless based on my attire. In
the same moment I heard my mother and sisters voice,
calling my name from across the lot. My sister, waddling
towards me with open arms and my mother embracing me
after two years of silence. Two years may have changed
appearances, but I’d yet to discover if others had taken
conscious steps and grown during that time. As we turned
toward the car, I noticed a tiny head peering through the
tinted windows; It surely couldn’t have been who I thought, I
imagined that moment everyday but I couldn’t seem to form
words as the passenger door opened and a jubilant voice
shouted “That’s my Dad, I found you Dad” unstrapping
himself from the car seat and hopping down to the ground.

Three feet of love ran with open arms begging for me

to pick him up and I turned him upside down to check if
there were anything within his knees that made him so tall;
those couldn’t be his knees, the last time I held him in my
arms he was barely making out words and needed
assistance in everything he now did on his own. His laugh
and the strength of his hug as he held me tight brought a tear
to my eye that I didn’t fear others seeing…two years of
prayer, sacrifice, art, writing and phone calls; I feared that he
no longer knew who I was, but I was wrong. Two years of
denial, shame, and mismanaged emotions. Life didn’t stop
because I felt disappointed in the choices others made,
allowing two years to pass waiting for approval without
taking initiative, is my responsibility. Sitting Infront of Sammy
staring into his eyes, I saw a split image of myself with much
more humility as he granted me the privilege of being in his
presence. He was fully aware of much more than I’d
imagined, yet his joy allowed the pain to temporarily
subside. I owed him more than an explanation; I owed him
the time that he deserved and the love that I’d abandoned.

God heard my pleas, saw my tears, and healed my

wounds, delivering me to Sammy, who had asked him to
find me. “My dad is lost; can you help find him?” I sat in
Miami securing a fresh environment for him, neglecting the
most important factor…Sammy. I was blind, following trails
of blood as I licked my wounds and hid behind walls of
luxury, fighting to secure a lifestyle that he may not have
enjoyed. My lack of communication desecrated my
relationship with Sammys mother and had now begun to
threaten my relationship with him. I tried so hard to be the
savior for them both, that I failed to take the time and
discover what they needed.

My words were brought into fruition, each

conversation, each piece of advice, each motive behind my
erratic behavior. The difficulties and financial limitations
surrounding Sammy were a derivative of my ignorant
decisions. I couldn’t beat my chest and say, “I told you so”
My absence forced sacrifices to be made and imposed the
very strain upon Sammys mothers’ life that I fought to
prevent. A wounded soul cannot be healed by monetary
provision, how could I ever repay her for the time I’ve
wasted? Returning home after two years on the road
brought revelation to just how important my family was to
me. It pained me to see the struggle, look into eyes
exhausted of tears, and a heart that no longer trusted
enough to love. After two years of separation, we were on
the same page regarding Sammy; his education, his health,
and his safety. She’d grown immensely as a mother and
flourished into a woman with purpose. As men, we don’t
give enough credit to the strength women possess or their
ability to adapt when life is flipped upside down. We pride
ourselves in providing for our families, seldom
understanding the fine line between pure intentions and
selfishness. I was selfish. As I sat watching Sammy paint
the cover of this book, I made a vow to never disappear
again; there was no beach, no amount of luxury or leisure
that could ever amount to the love I have for my family.

I had to respect how Sammys mother felt; the

trauma she experienced during our custody battle and the
fear of losing her child is a mother’s worst nightmare; I
needed to endure the storm and discover what she needed
to set her up for success moving forward. She deserves the
life I secured in Miami, but it was time for me to open my
ears and shut my mouth as God blessed me with the
privilege of a second chance to be the father and husband
that he ordained me to be. I needed balance, providing
opportunities to others through community outreach and
event catering, while prioritizing the needs of my family.
Humbled, tested, and delivered. This was a journey of
spiritual maturity.