Son of a God Who Became a Dope Fiend

Many people will be celebrating the coming New Year tonight, and so will I, but in a different way. I will spend my night in my truck by myself in deep prayer, meditation and thought. I will be reflecting on the last 27 years of my life, January 12, 1986 when my mother Sabrina died at age 29 while making love to my father on his birthday. On November 2, 1997  my father died from a drug over dose.

Those two days forever changed my life and have left a void in my heart that will never be filled.

Since the mid 1980’s, we have seen a barrage of infomercials and ads about the harmful effects of drugs and how they can destroy your life. In the 30 years of all the information about drugs and drug addicts, I have never came across a infomercial or ad talking about the effects of having a parent that is a drug addict. There are drug rehabilitation clinics numbering in the tens of thousands, but there is not one facility dedicated to the rehabilitation of the mind and psyche of a child that has been effected by their parents drug use.

You see, an adult who is a drug abuser can get clean, and never use drugs again. They can go about there life with some normality because they are an adult and can put their past behind them and move forward. But what about the children who have had a front row seat watching their parent or parents destroy themselves right before their young eyes with drugs? There is no help for them except a psychologist chair and maybe some psychotropic drugs!

My father came from a middle class family that owned businesses and had money. He was the 1977 High School All-American at linebacker for West Jefferson High School. Pops was the most sought after defensive player in the country at that time. His path was laid out before him and all he had to do is show up for school and continue to perform in college. Things didn’t go as planned and some life changing mistakes were made. Not understanding the thinking of white people, he got caught up in the politics of school integration and “Black Balled”.

The scholarships and prestige went out the window and he was forced to pay his own way through college, which he did, through my grand mother and uncle James. As time went on, more mistakes were made and he soon found himself out of college and working to support my mother, me and my brother Jessie Jr.

After my brother Derick was born, my father started selling drugs to support his growing family. We moved to the neighborhood he grew up in, and his illegal enterprise flourished. At one time, we had five vehicles, a projection screen TV when no one else could afford it, and all kinds of expensive material things.

My mother hated what my father was doing and pleaded with him many days and nights to stop selling drugs. There were times late at night when my father would be out of town trying to “Score” some more dope to sell, that drug addicts would knock on our door trying to buy some drugs. My mother would get me out of the bed, hand me a black .38 special, and have me answer the door with her standing behind the door holding a 12 gauge shot gun.

I would tell the person at the door that my father was gone and shop was closed. They would leave because they didn’t want any trouble, but my mother hated that shit! When my father would make it back from out of town, she would bitch him out and get him to go put those Negros “in check” for coming to our house after 8 PM.

Some years passed and it was January 12, 1986. My father came into my room sweating and hysterical and asked me to help him with my mother. I jumped out of bed and headed to the living room. My mother was laying on the couch nude, with vomit coming out of her mouth. My father yelled at me to hurry up and help him dressed her so he could take her to the hospital. My uncle John had been staying with us and he rushed from the back to help out.

I couldn’t move, I just stood there in a stupor with the glare of my eyes fixated on my mothers face. She didn’t move, and she said not a word. She was already gone.

Waiting for my father to return from the hospital was the longest wait I ever endured. Mu Uncle Albert was also there and he was telling me that “Sue” will be alright.

A few minutes later my father came through the door and said “I’m back”. I looked up at him and he told me to go to bed. After hearing him and my uncle Albert whispering in the kitchen, he made his way to my room and opened the door and said, “You’re mama is dead son, she won’t be coming back home. You have to be strong for your brothers and your lil sister okay?” An autopsy later determined that my mother had died from septic blood poisoning due to a Cesarean section.

I said okay and got out of bed and followed him to my mother beauty shop in the garage. My father sat in one of my mothers dryer chairs and broke down crying. I never heard or saw my father cry so when he broke down, I began to cry. My uncle was standing over my father and I trying to console the both of us.

Your Ad Here

Things were never the same with my father after that night.

After the funeral and all the family members went back to their lives, my father and my uncle Albert were sitting at the kitchen table bagging up dope. Dionne Warwick song, “That’s What Friends are For” was blasting through the speakers in the living room. My father said, “That’s Sabrina’s favorite song” and “You know what Albert, I’m going to stop selling dope because that’s what she would have wanted”. I sat there listening to him make that statement and a sense of disgust and hatred swelled up in my body.

I said to myself,” You should have stopped selling this shit while she was living so she could have enjoyed it”. I hated my father for making that statement, I just felt that it was too late and not sincere because my mother had to die for him to stop pushing drugs.

About a year later, my father met a woman named Gwen. His friend Mylow introduced him to her. Gwen was a beautiful woman and she could have easily “” Pass for white. It was this woman who would introduce my father to crack cocaine which would later destroy him and try to destroy me and my brothers and sisters.

Inside of three years, my father became a dope fiend and lost all that he owned, including his children.

My sister, my brothers and I were sent to live with various family members while my father was living on the streets. The final straw came when my brother Jessie Jr was accused by Gwen of losing her dope. My father sit in another room while Gwen beat my brother unconscious!

My father did nothing but just sit there numb. My grand mama Honey called while Gwen was beating my brother and I relayed to her what was going on. My grandma Honey was a Leo and she didn’t take shit from anybody, not even a toilet, she didn’t play.

Within five minutes, my grand mother was there with a pistol in her hand demanding that my father open the door and let her grandchildren out of the house, which he complied with. My grand mother told my father she was within inches of killing him and that b*tch for what she done to my brother, but that would have made matter worst she said.

That’s when we moved and Gwen disappeared.

 

(continued on page two below)

Shadid

More Posts

Follow Me:

Pages: 1 2 3

Tags: 12 step programs, addicted to drugs, children of drug addicts, crack cocaine epidemic, drug dependency, drug use and african americans, Food and Drug Administration, war on drugs

Category: Guest Posts, Society and Culture