People have been telling me to write a book ever since I stared speaking. I didn’t know what to write about, and what do I have that I can give to the reader? I was thinking to myself what make me accredited enough to write a book? I pushed it off the book for a year and a half but deep down in my conscience I always wanted to do it. My best friends Brice told me about people my age writing books and how successful they were. In those conversations he planned a seed in me to write a book and pulse my competitive nature started to seamier. A lady named Ms. Michelle Jones told me to write about my birth. She said “explore you memories. When I hear you speak I feel that you’re not go as deep as you can go.” So I did and what came out of me was this book. It hit me who I was writing to. First it was for me because it was therapeutic. As I was getting deeper and deeper I found that the pain of having a physical defect, being in Special education and have had a mental illness could be just what someone else need to get through their life. The same trouble I have someone else has. The topics I’m writing on don’t go away but we have to live with it every day. Many people just don’t understand the burden we bare. The honest to God truth for me was I was scared to open up about everything that happened in my life. I was afraid that I could not express my thoughts though writing because of my learning disabilities. In school I was always beneath my grade level in reading and writing. Literature was my hardest subject because I couldn’t spell and write. For a long time I would not try to read or write because it would make me feel inadequate to my friends, family, coworkers, and everyone else in the world. I have find in this book I can put all my shame, failures, depression, and angry in to it. Though the darkness that is my life you will find hope in your own life and find inspiration to not let life circumstances deter you from your God Given purpose. This book is my soul written down. Now you have a piece of me that I hope will forever live on in your spirit.

On October/5/1993 I was born in Georgia at Grady hospital. I was a 10 pound baby. The doctor and nurses were having trouble delivering me. The OB-GYN decides to pull me out my mother womb by my left arm sipping my left shoulder muscles. The consequence of that I was born with Brachial plexus. Brachial plexus “is a network of nerves, running from the spine, formed by the anterior rami of the lower four cervical nerves and first thoracic nerve. The brachial plexus passes through the cervicoaxillary canal in the neck, over the first rib, and into the axilla, where it innervates the upper limbs and some neck and shoulder muscles” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brachial_plexus). Less said I can’t lift my left arm above my head. It feels like there is muscle there but I just don’t have the strength to left my arm. When I try there is a strain in my deltoid, biceps, triceps, but the most of the stain is in my terse. If you look at my left arm when it’s flexing you can see a deformed muscle sitting right on the top of my deltoid. My left arm is about an inch shorter then my right arm. I don’t know why babies cry when coming out the womb but the reason why I cried was because I know at that moment my life would be hard.

The earliest memory I had as toddler was being in per-K and having it be MLK (Martin Luther King) Day. Everyone would go crazy because it was MLK day. I would sit there and wonder what made him so special that they would make a holiday for him. Every across the newspapers, radio, television, and internet was Dr. Kings face. Blacks and white would worship what he did like he was a messiah. At the time I didn’t understand the piece he paid for blacks to have equal rights and equity for all. I remember that day going home and saying to my mom I’m the next Martin Luther King. I remember the way she looked at me. She looked at me like get real. Do you know how much he had to go through? In other word, “my son couldn’t have that big of influence on the world. I’m just a regular God fearing women who trying to stay afloat. How can my son have these big dreams?” Little did she know I meant every word I said? I know at an early age of 6 that “Darkens cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” (Martin Luther King Jr.)

I was destined to be a great follower and leader because of my meek beginning. To understand the effect of my childbirth defect or blessing (in my eyes now) you have to understand my childhood. After my birth I put in a case. I was sent to extreme therapy. I was just a baby and they cause so much pain to me all in the hope I’ll have a regular life. I think because of the trauma I suffered I didn’t start speaking till I was 3 year old. When I got a little older the doctors would tell me to left a cane of soup to build my muscle in my left arm and they also would tell me to stretch every day with a broom stick to make my arm flex suable. I remember running and not having no control of my left arm. It was so stiff that kid would watch me as I ran and say “why does your arm move”. Now, I’m a little darker than amber brown, if you could see me at that moment my faces was as red as a fire truck. When kids asked me that question I would always smooth talk my way out of it. I remember the times I looked in the mirror and hatting my body. One side of my body was deformed and the other side was perfectly fine. After I took a shower or bath I would come into tear as I would try to lift my arm. I would tell myself “you fucking little shit work. Work dame it!!!

I dreamed of being a professional basketball player like almost every young African American boy. It meant something special to me because I would think of Chis Paul and how he had mastery of both of his hands to dribble to anywhere on the floor. As I’m watching highlight on YouTube as a boy, I would say “I wish I could do that.” I always dreamed of being a point guard just like him. Every shoot and layup I scored made me feel like I could be a basketball player, but as I started to dribble I couldn’t do the same moves as CP3. I spent 3–4 hours a day trying to prefect dribbling with my left hand and but with great disappointment the most I could get from it is 2 (out of control) weak dribbles. My dreams were shoot out of the sky every night I would lay in bed exhausted after spending all day trying to be some else who I was not. I joined SCYBA (South Cobb Youth Basketball Association) team. I remember at Floyd Middle school basketball gym everyone was doing left hand layup but I had to do two hand layups. The couch stops the practices and would ask me in front of the whole team, why aren’t you doing left hand layups like everyone else with scolding in his voice. I always said with a defend attitude and tone in my voice, “I can’t because I can’t left my arm above my head.” Speechless, he looked at me with pity and said, “Try your best”. What he didn’t know I was trying my best to fit in, to be normal. If you’re feeling sad hold in the tears there is a lot more. When I think about this thing that has happen to me I close my eyes because of all the pain that comes up and all the times I isolated myself from other. A lot of people at the time didn’t understand but there were a couple of people who over look my physical defect.

While my grandmother was still alive, she was a women who loved and cared for my sister and I. I don’t remember a lot about her but I remember she would let me watch all the TV I wanted. At the time we lived on Joseph club drive. My family lived right by my Uncle Fred and grandmother. My mom would go to my grandmother’s house and ask “why is he not studying” and she would say something so kind like “life is already hard for him let him rest.” She would make the most extraordinary pancakes. The pancakes would be light and fluffy with a hint of butter. The top would be golden and dark brown. The edges would be crisp and crunchy. I think what made them over the top was the love she put in it, but that was all before she got sick with throat cancer. She had to have surgery on her throat and had to get a trachea tube. After the surgery she lost her voice. When she tried to talk her voice was very raspy and low voice to the point I couldn’t make out anything. When she realized that she couldn’t talk anymore she would write everything on a piece of paper or napkin. At that time I couldn’t read nor had legible penmanship, so I would never know what she was saying to me. She would just point, like how I did as a baby. She moved in with my uncle Thomas and Auntie Pat so they could watch her and take care of her. She was slowly dying. I could do anything about it. I would try to give her hugs but she smelled like decay. I would wonder what was that smell as a young boy, but as I’m writing this book I understand what it was now. I remember one memory before she died. Grandma was sitting on the coach and having violent coughs episode. She was cough up blood into a napkin. She saw I was looking at her in horror and confusion. When she was done coughing; she wiped her mouth off. She looked up at me with a warm smile. I saw her whole life story in those brown eyes. I saw a women that was misunderstood, a women loved till it hurt, I saw a fighter, she forgive all the ones who hurt her, she loved me unconditionally and she believed in me. I could tell that she saw something in me but of course I didn’t know what it was. I think it was my spirit and that I had a kind heart just like hers. At the funeral I looked at her body. When I looked at her I didn’t see her soul. I saw just a heavily makeup face. After someone spoke my mother started to cry and so did my step dad. I said something to them but I can’t remember what I said. After the funeral, I regulate that me and my favorite cousin was play with a ball on the floor. All the adults were talking around use. They were so sad but I didn’t understand the concept of death. I just know she was in a better place.

Events in my life got even worst of me. I thought the worst thing happen to me being born but one day caused me to experience great pain and give me I think minor depression. It was on a Friday. I was in the 5th grade and there was only two more months left in the school year. At that time I didn’t know I was in special Ed but I know something was not right. I just know I would get pulled out of class for test, put in a smaller group, and get notes at the end of the day. At the end of the year around the time when kids had to take standardized test, I started to see people treated me different from the other kids. They would ask me “why do you get pulled out of class for test, is there something wrong with you”? Again, I would smooth talk my way out of the conversation by saying well it a beautiful day outside. How much time before recess? Are you going to play on the jungle Jim’s? By that time they have forgot all about the whole thing. You might find this funny but I don’t. I don’t know what to say to them. My mom came to the school for a teacher and parent conference. I was not allowed to go in the conference room because I was a child. I was waited in Ms. Shield’s classroom. I was playing and talking to my friends. My mom came to the door and called me out into the hallway. I went outside to talk to her. She was wearing a dress that day, so she bent her knees and looked me in my eyes. She told me” the teachers and I have decided to hold you back”. In that moment my heart dropped and a dispirited feeling came over me. There was a tight knot in my chest. I started to cry. A student named Nicole Owens walked passed me and looked at me with befuddled faces. When I look at her I felt the same shame as when I cried in the mirror at home. I asked my mom if I could be excused so I could go to the restroom. When I got into the restroom and locked the doors. I cried softly so no one could hear me. After 2 to 3 minutes my mom knocks on the door and say let me in. I unlocked the door. I was trying to whip away my tears. She gives me a hug and says “it for the best…”

I felt the pain of that day everyday doing the summer. Doe to that pain and finding out I suffered with a learning disorder. I had no confident at all. I was felt like a turtle that never came out of its shell. So in turn it turned me in to a shy introvert that contemplated about the world around me. I observed everything people, animals, plants, and technology. The reason why I observed everything is because I didn’t want to think about myself and I didn’t know it but I was seeking wisdom. The big question that came into my young mind was what was my purpose in life? My mom would sign me up for basketball teams and baseball teams. I never felt comfortable in my abilities as a sports player (even to this day). I talk and laughed with my teammates but I never let them know of all the things I was thinking. I would think about thing that had my family wondering why is an 11 year old thinking of these questions, like what is the meaning of life, why do people go through pain, why did God make me this way, one question I didn’t tell my family was why do I feel like a mistake and a burden? I never stopped thinking.

One thinking I would think about but didn’t understand was my body and how it worked. At that time I was a very inquisitive about sex and physical touch. My family was not a physical people. We very riley give hug, handshakes, and kiss. My love laugh as a child because of my physical defect was physical touch. I guess since I don’t love my body, when people physical embrace me I felt like I was not a freak. I was going through puberty at the time. When I was 11, my family left the house for something and I was at home alone. I didn’t know what having sexual desire was or in other words being lustful. I have never talked about this to anyone because it was unmoral, disgusting and I felt ashamed. I had an oatmeal pie in my hand. My grandmother’s dog (coco) was lying on the couch. I grabbed a blanket and put it over me and the dog. I give her the oatmeal pie in my hand. As she was eating it I was dry hopping her. As I was doing this something didn’t feel right in spirit and my mind. It was saying this was wrong. Stop it!!! It was like something slapped me and I got up with a haste. I went to the restroom and look at myself. At that moment I said to myself no one will ever learn about this and I suppress that memory for all this years. One thing I didn’t know would happen because of that decision was that it would case me many year of a porn addiction.

My funniest doing that time was playing outside after watching Saturday morning cartoons. I would go outside the back yard by myself where I felt I was free from people watching me and the voices in my head of people laughing at me. With my sword (a PVC pipe I raped around with black electrical wire tape) and I would act out everything I watched. The two biggest shows that I would play out were Digimon and Power Rangers. I would go outside around 3 and stay out tell the porch light come on. I never noticed it till it was pitch black outside. Those were the happiest days of my life and I wish I could have stayed in that time forever. After every hour past of me playing so to was the summer and the sad reality that I had to repeat the 5th grade. Before the summer was over my family went to a church called Sandown baptism church. The pastor their named Pastor Wilson was preaching. I felt something that I have never felt before but understood the feeling and know it presents from somewhere. It was calling out to me. It was pulling me toward it. It knows my name and it understood my pain. If I could put it into words what it was saying it would go like this “I called you by name. I created you and I know you before you were born. I call you my servant. I will use you to do great things. My people will know that I am God and God alone.” It was confining me like a father would to his son. I lesion to it and I walk to the front of the church and give my life to Christ.

2005, I’m 12 year old in the 5th grade in elementary school. I walk in to the door of Mableton elementary afraid to tell my classmates my secret that there was something physical wrong with me and I had learning disabilities. I thought if I told them that they would laugh at me and make fun of me. Keeping the secret did not help because they saw how weak and fragile I looked when I saw them look at my arm or as I was being pulled out the class for test. Every day I asked God to not let someone ask “why did you repeat 5th grade?” I would have had a mantel break down. I saw hope in someone a kid named Julian Mellum. I always wanted to be like him. He was tale, good looking, in Target the honors program. I remember we had to calm a rope for P.E. He claimed it all the way to the top. Everyone was so amazed and captivated by the accomplishment that he did, especially me. What he did is something I dreamed of doing, something that I prayed to God for. Ms. Kraus called me up to claim. A rush of nervous came all over my body. I looked at this rope that looked 100 feet long. I grabbed it with my right arm, then my left. I tried to pull myself up but I couldn’t. I looked at it for a little time and Ms. Kraus said to me “you can hold on to it for 25 seconds and you will pass the test”. I said OK and I jumped up. I held on for dear life. I felt like a little bitch, other guys could claim up the rope but I couldn’t. Up to that point only female handle on for 25 seconds. Those 25 seconds felt like eternality. It felt like every eye was watching me and I heard whisper in my head of all the people talking about me, saying why he can’t claim like Julian. After I got off all I could think of was Sydney Harden. I was head over heel for this girl. She was everything I was looking for in elementary school smart (she was in target), beautiful, and delightful. She was gentle, excepting, and it felt like she saw me for me and not my insecurities. It was so much fun just talking to her about whatever I was saying to her. I was too afraid to tell her how I felt because of my lows self-esteem of being in special education and my physical problems.

In elementary school I felt like a little wussy. Being bulled in elementary school too didn’t help my confidents. I guess he came from the hood I don’t know but he was different from the other kids. The bus pulls up at the school. I grab my bag off the brown leatherier bus sits that made me sweat and get off. As I just walk through the threshold. He was walking in front of me. He turns around and slips me in my face. He looks at me in the eye and says “what?” I will never forget his eyes they are burned in my mind. They had so much hate and anger in them. I didn’t say anything to him and I just kept walking to my class. With every step I felt the ringing in my ear, the numbness of my checks, and the warm salty tears that was coming down my face. My class room was all the way on the other side of the school. It truly was the trail of tears for me. A red hot burning sensation came over me. I felt so much hate and anger came over me. When I got in the class my teacher was standing by the door. I through down my book bag down. I was going to go fight him. All I saw was red and imagining running down the hall charging right at him. As I’m about to take off my teacher grubs me and say “Justin what wrong”? What’s wrong? I was screaming let me go. Let me go puffing with tears streaming down my face. She gives me a hug and I cry on her belly holding her. In that moment I felt her soul it cried out for me. See I was a teacher pet. I loved teaches because they showed me love that I desperately needed. Again she asked me “what wrong”? I said “someone slipped me” I didn’t know but that day changed my mind set to not fight first but talk thing out. I learned to let God have revenge and not put it in my own hands.

All that year I felt great pain. On father day, I would look around the lunch room and see so many fathers eating with their sons and daughters. Every year my father didn’t show up. I dint know my father because my mother left him because of his drug usage. I didn’t know that at the moment. I just I know that I had a father but he was not there for me. I would sit with other people friend’s parents who were nice to me. I would laugh and smile around them because I didn’t want to ruin the moment for then. Inside I was dying because of my barren heart. One father day my mother came, I don’t think I physical cried but spiritually I was crying of Joy because I was not alone. I could see she know the pain I felt. Afterwards she had to go back to work. I acted nonchalant (try to be cool because she was my mom) but I didn’t want her to leave me. I dint want to be alone, but she had to go she said “ill back to pick you up”. What she meant was I don’t get off till late. I was always the last child to get picked up after school. My mom wouldn’t get there till 8:00 or 8:30 pm. I would think to my self does she not love me or cared about me? Why am I always the last one here? The really pain came from when I saw other kids dad’s in nice cars and suits. Usually they were white and I felt like the have not’s. I would be playing and the teachers would call out names from the top of the playground. I would watch everyone leave one by one. Don’t think I didn’t have fun. I had a blasted but I slowly watch everyone drifted away. Till I was sitting on the bunch in the cold and spaces lunch room. The only one there was a black lady named Ms. Deborah Davis. She would always reassure me by saying” your mother on the way doesn’t worry. She has not forgot about you.” I was not stupid I know every time she was late there was a late fee. Even though I know now that was out of my hand I felt like a burden to my mom, but every night see would come walking in with a smile or with a not so happy faces. Every time I saw her I said to myself I love my mom and I would not trade her for the world.

After school day ended I would go to The Boys and Girls Club. I guess it got too expansive for my mom to keep me in ASP (After School Program) at my school. I really think the reason why my mom sent me there was because she saw my sister Corinthia having so much fun there. I guess she thought I would too. In the middle of the year she tells me to go there. I hated it. It was so artificial. Everyone (mostly blacks) was trying to impress everyone with a façade using shoes, girls, and money. The kids were in social groups. I talked to everyone I guess I was a social butter fly. The worst was The Boys and Girls Club did not feed us. I don’t always have money on days to eat. Corinthia had it better because she was in the teen’s club. Just like at ASP Corinthia and I were always the last kids to get picked up. I never saw here until mom came. I usually only had a dollar or two. I would have to steal coins from my step dad’s dresser to eat. We were not poor but we were not riches family. If you did not have your card ID you would have to set out the whole day in timeout. I remember I had a panic attack and I was fighting to get air in my lungs. The staff saw me but they did nothing to help. I started to cry and the staff that was looking over me said to a kid “he just is faking. He is acting like a sissy.” When the kids heard that they started to laugh at me. My panic attack lasted for 5–10 minutes. When he saw I was not playing he sent me to the mangers office. He started to claim me down and give me a drink of water. I hated that place with all my heart. I got bulled there too. I was playing basketball. I was standing in the middle of the floor picking up a ball this light skin obnoxious boy walks up to me in front of the staff and slips me in the face. I just looked at him like “this nigga just slapped me.” I just stood there frozen because I was in shock. I looked at the staff (he was only in high school) like what are you going to do. You’re over use do something. He fucking didn’t do anything!!! I just walk away. As I was walking away I said to myself that is it!!!I’m done being bullied and being a victim. I’m going to learn how to defend myself.

The thing was I was not scared to fight but I only fight to protect something that I cared about. I didn’t love myself at all but I loved my mom and sister. I would have died from them. I remember my mom and step dad would get into verbal fight. When they started to fight I would go to my room and close the door. I would listen to every word that yelled. I said to myself if he ever put his hands on my mom I would kill him. I had a plan on how I would do it. I know where the knives were in the house. I would grab two knives and cut his tributaries vein. I know that was an important vein by looking at my leg. If I would cut that he could not walk. After that I would stub in the anterior bundle so he would not move his arm. The last step was slitting his throat. Back then I wasn’t a killer but if you mess with my love ones I will turn in to one. I was so scared of losing my mother. Every day I had paranoia that someone would try to take her, kill her, or rape her. I would always think what I would do if one of those thing happen? How would I take care of myself? I pray every night to God that he will cover my mother on her comings and goings.

Even with my mom love I still had a void in my soul not having my father in my life. My first real man that stepped in my life was my mom’s bother Fredrick but I called him Uncle Fred. I think he instilled in me to find peace in myself and find the beauty in the things around me, no matter where I’m at and what people looked like. My most funds memory was us just riding and listening to smooth soul music like Musiq, Jill Scott, Erykah Badu, Anthony Hamilton and many more. He played music that had a positive message that uplifted or inspired me too think. My love of music stared with him. The most impactful song he played for me was. Lyfe Jennings- it must be nice. The lyrics were “Must be nice, having someone who understands the life you live. Must be nice, having someone who’s slow to take and quick to give… Must be nice, having someone who loves you despite your faults. Must be nice, having someone who talks the talk but also walks the walk”. After hearing that song I told him I want to find a wife like that. On that day it opened my mind to find not only a wonderful wife but a friend who know me and loves me for me, “someone who is cut from the same cloth.” He though me so much about life. Most of the things he thought me was none verbal. He could be by himself and find peace. He was respectful to all women and people. Men respected him not out of fear but out of love. He would never call women out their name or talk about them like they were property. He was honorable man. He would never talk loud but with a claim and joyful demeanor. To this day I’m forever indebted to the wisdom he shared with me.

There were many people in my elementary days that showed me abnormal tenderness and kindness. My 5th grade teacher Ms. Roussel broke down the walls of racism in my mind. I thought whit people were waiting to snobs and evil people because I was black. I was not feel good on this certain day and I just didn’t want to follow the rules. I was talking in line, not listening to my teacher, and acting out. Ms. Roussel said told me “stop talking”. I said under my breath shut the fuck up bitch. I don’t know where I got those words from but it came out my mouth. I was ready to go into verbal war with her, but she did something I have never seen from a white women. She looks at me with her brown eyes and says “I love you anyways”. I was struck by her rebuttal. I walked up to her and I said I’m sorry you don’t derisive that and gave her a hug. After that day I thought that all white people are bad. There are some who can love someone despite their race. Another teacher in the same 5th grade class room was the women who I cried in her arms. I remember she had tall long brown curly hair and parakeet green colored eyes. She had to be like 5’10 tall. She looked like she was Irish decent. She was lecturing to the class about something and a kid said some racist remark about white people owning slaves. She said “look I’m not racism; I didn’t enslave black people. I don’t even think my family own slaves. I love all of you the same”. She had so much spunk in her, it makes me laugh now. She had the boldness to talk about racism to 5th grades. Many people would not address that topic because of our comprehension level but she did. At that time I remember I was thoroughly impressed. Do to those women and a couple of other Caucasian’s who stepped in my life I learned how to not base people off skin but their heart.

In Mableton elementary there were only two people who I felt comfortable talking about my disability with and who I though understand my disability. They were Ms. Cornwell and Mr. Kirkland. They were my Special Education teachers. Both of them together were like God sent an angle from heaven, just amazing people. Ms. Cornwell was the one of the sweetest women I have ever come in contact with in my life. They just let me be a child that I very rarely could be. Mr. K would read Shrek to the class and give out limited addition Shrek sour candy. He did the voices of all the charters in the book. One time when it was after lunch and the class went into the cafeteria to get something to eat. He was eating his food. It was clearly Chinese food but he said it was monkey brain. I was like no fucking way monkey brain! He said do you want to try some it’s delicious. I looked at it. It was the color of cooked meat and it had this brown sauce on it. I said “yeah” with enthusiasm. I got a fork and eat some. I said to him “it’s not bad. Money brain is good.” He just starts to laugh. What was deeper than anything about Mr. Kirkland is that he was a black man who cared and loved use all. In our class room we had blacks, whites, and Hispanics. It was all love in there because we all know we were different from everyone but we know together we were a family and we had each other’s backs.

It was finally time; the last day of school. I remember I was happy but there were tears in my eyes. As I watched all the students leaving the class room, I started to reminisce of all the memories we all shared. It all passes by so fast and it was too late to grab it. As I’m writing this I feel emotional because somehow I know at that age that I would not see some of those teachers and students ever again. I didn’t want to throw away all those times I spent laughing, crying, talk, and loving those people. To me they were a part of my family now. As I was thinking I got depressed because the whole (the gap) that was left behind by my father stared to bleed. I had no one or anything to stop the bleeding. I just grabbed my bag and left without saying bye to my teachers. I didn’t want to start crying in front of them so I walked to the buses the long way. When my mom and I got home we talk about it. She told me something I have never forgot or will ever forget (It’s like a well that never runs dry). “Some people are in your life for a reason, or a season.” Over the years that proverb took on a new meaning and reached new deeps.