Take a listen & let me know what you think.
As heard on http://www.worldtunedradio.com
Take a listen & let me know what you think.
As heard on http://www.worldtunedradio.com
This young Haitian guy Stevie, but calling himself Hyena, came back to the unit after spending 40 days in the hole.
He’s 21 years old but when I tell you he looks like he’s 12, I mean it. He’s shorter than my 13 year old daughter and weighs about 100 pound soaking wet. If we were free in the world together, I’d take him right to my Princesses middle school to beat up all the little boys that want to be her boyfriend.
Hold up, that was the over protective father, triggering my past gangster mentality taking over.
Anyway, Hyena lost his mother in the earthquake that devastated Haiti and came to live with his uncle in Brooklyn. It didn’t take long for the lure of the streets to take hold and he’s since found himself as a member of the Cripps.
Charged with armed robbery, the Feds offered him 10 years on a plea deal.
He came to my cell, asking me for advice.
“Eddie, ten years is like life,” he said with his strong Haitian creo accent.
“That’s how it seems now, but your young, you’ll be all right. Take that!”
“You say that like it’s nothing because you have over 13 years in already.”
“No” I corrected, “I say it like it’s a good deal and if you think about going to trial, they’ll knock your head off with twenty years or more.”
“Well, I’ll go to trial and they’ll have to give me that!” He said.
I’ve heard this argument many times before and I recognize it as the fear talking.
I also understand that he’s looking towards me for advice because he’s scared for his life.
“Hyena, your running around on gang time. You just got out the hole and your chasing the next high smoking all that K-2.”
“I been a Crip before I came to the Feds and I’m Cripping until that day I die. I get high all day cause there’s nothing else to do.”
“There’s plenty to do. Your not making the choices to do it.” I said continuing, “You have to want better for yourself and that means you’ll have to do change.”
“Change for what? They want to give me 10 years!!” He said leaning forward in the chair, running his hands through his mini-afro.
“First of all, if you start changing now, you won’t loose your good time and you’ll be home in like eight years.”
“Listen, this is what comes with the lifestyle your choosing, so get used to it. You want to be a gangster, bust your gun, wave your flag while throwing your little hand signs, then be prepare to do more time after that because you’ll either be killed or come back to prison, those are the consequences.”
“I want like two or three years,” he said like he didn’t hear what I just told him.
“That’s easy to say but the way your thinking and the actions your taking in here are attracting a different result. Take that little bitty 10 years, hopefully it will be enough time for you to wake up and live your true potential.”
Standing up, offering his hand, shaking his head he said, “Man, you say take 10 years like it’s nothing. I can’t hear that right now.”
“You don’t want to hear it, but I speak the truth to the youth!” I said as he turned and walked out my cell.
As much as I would like to grab Hyena, sit him back in the chair and talk to him until he’s ready to change, I know that he has to want better for himself first.
He has no idea that the patterns of thoughts he’s entertaining are setting the laws of attraction in motion to draw his experiences.
He’s convinced himself that he’s a Crip in his mind and speaks without understanding that our words have the power to become the results of what’s spoken. Hyena can’t see the logical conclusions of the path he’s currently on and when I was his age, neither could I.
I try to discourage those headed on that path, but in the mist of doing time, it’s a difficult barrier to conquer.
Instead of focusing on how much time I’ve done or have to do, I pay attention to what I’ve accomplished and my future goals.
Right before we locked in that night, I passed Hyena my “Day in the life with coffee and Paradise” book.
He gave it back this morning, having finished it since it’s only 30 pages.
“Does life really work like that?” he asked.
“That’s a question you should be able to answer if your honest with yourself. Think back to how you were thinking in the past and what lead to where you are now.”
“I like the way you break all that down with the laws and principals. Do you have something else to read?”
And so it begins.
Mar 25, 2018 at 7:37 AM
This weekend the first national March For Our Lives took place, and my mother, Jean Wright was present with Nia, my 13 year old daughter.
I wasn’t surprised, receiving the early morning message that read, “We’re headed to NYC to March for our lives!!”
It’s like a sacred rite of passage in my mothers mind.
I can still hear my mom’s voice yelling above the crowds of thousands, when I was five years old, protesting nuclear weapons, “1,2,3,4 we don’t want a Nuclear war!!”
My sister Mimi and I would shout right along, with flowers and peace signs painted on our faces, with puffed out afro’s like lost members of the Jackson five.
There still hasn’t been a nuclear war, yet more nations now have and are fighting for nuclear arms, which stirred a few questions in my mind. Why is it that our government is so against allowing every nation to have nuclear weapons for their own protection? Isn’t it their right as a free country?
When our government makes the argument of limiting the countries that have access to nuclear weapons, as a way to insure the greater peace for the world, why don’t we make that same argument when it comes to guns here at home?
AR-15’s, bump stocks and all other automatic rifles are like individual nuclear weapons that have proven to cause mass destruction at our schools and movie theaters.
I know I recently made a post on banning automatic weapons. To me that’s a first step that makes sense.
It also makes sense that if you insist on having a gun in the house for protection, it should be one shot gun.
If you want to have a bunch of hunting rifles and hand guns, we should keep them stored at your local police station, where you have access to check them out for your hunting trip.
There’s a lot of sensible steps that we could take to limit the gun violence in America. Our current governmental representatives, republicans and democrats alike, haven’t done anything but talk a good one for the political spot light.
There are free democratic countries that have almost no gun violence. America appears not to care about the well being of their citizens like those countries do.
The younger generation is the foundation of the March for our lives movement. Unfortunately, it appears that it’s going to take until that younger generation gets old enough to have the political power to demand a radical change.
Until then, we’ll have to continuously re-set the clock in expectation of the next mass shooting.
I don’t want this to be a doom and gloom post. I’m inspired seeing the marches on the news, knowing that the seed of hope and change is being planted by my mother in her granddaughters mind. She’ll grow up knowing she too has the power to make a difference.
Although Nia’s generation would more likely take to the internet to insure their voices are heard around the world.
My mother is teaching her a lesson to march a peaceful protest, taking it to the grass roots that gave us the freedoms and liberties we often overlook today.
That’s a rite of passage that should never be ignored.
From: WRIGHT, EDDIE
Jun 26, 2016, 1:06 PM
When I first sat down to write this post, right after reading this article about a father who refused to claim his son’s body after he was killed in the Orlando Massacre at club Pulse, my outrage, anger, and disgust for this father who was causing more hurt and pain to his son’s family and friends was clear in my explicit word expression because…..I was mad as hell.
My blood was boiling as visions of a young mans body, alone in the morgue just waiting for his loved one’s to put him to rest flashed in my minds eye. I was livid and had to step away from what I was writing when I noticed how upset it made me.
I went and got a fresh cup of…
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Author Eddie K Wright’s Amazon #1 Best Seller “Gangster Turned Guru Presents: A Day in the Life With Coffee and Paradise” IN PAPERBACK for ONLY $9.99
I am currently an inmate in a Federal Prison serving my 12th year of a 45-year sentence! If I can find peace and happiness in this type of environment… How is it that people in the ‘free’ world can’t? What is it that I know or what woke me up? I’ve been asked these questions thousands of times and now, following a conversation I had with an inmate, who’s asked these and more, I’m ready to share my thoughts on what I’ve learned with YOU!
I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from Author Eddie K. Wright or myself but let me assure you that he has been hard at work on his next release “Gangster Turned Guru Presents: The Evolution of A Gangster Turned Guru!” As I’m reading through his next book, I’m often amazed at the memories my ‘little’ brother sparks in my mind! Memories of a childhood where we shared every experience while at the same time experienced life so differently!
Most of the memories bring a smile to my face and an uncontrollable laugh to my belly. Some bring a tear to my eye and a lump of sadness in my throat. Others then give me a clearer understanding of why I do some of the things I do as a parent.
After reading a part of the chapter titled: “The Beginning” I was filled with a sense of peace regarding a decision I made as a new mother that I KNOW was a direct result of my mother’s belief system!
I’m not saying I had the best discipline rituals with my boys (now aged 16, 18 and 19 with no behavior problems) but… Before I gave birth to my first child I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would NEVER ‘beat’ my children. I made it very clear to my (ex) husband that neither would he or anyone who came in contact with my children.
Now I know why…
…My childhood years were spent growing up in the suburbs of Smithtown Long Island where I realized early in life, I was on the ‘only’ list for a number of things. We lived on Twilight Lane where my sister Mimi and I were the ‘only’ kids without a father living at home. We were the ‘only’ black population in this town and probably for the next two towns over so Mimi was always over protective, being three years my senior. I was the ‘only’ one who had a sister who beat up the strongest boy on the block. We were the ‘only’ ones who’s hair little white kids were asking to touch like exotic animals that they previously read about and actually were able to pet.
When my mother would drop me off at school, I was the ‘only’ one asked by other kids if I was adopted and looked upon with such disbelief when I answered: “No, that’s my real mom.”
“But she’s white and your black” was the all too familiar response.
This was another subject added to the ‘only’ list. My sister and I were the ‘only’ mixed kids. Even the other two or three minority children at school had both parents of the same ethical background.
My mother was raised Irish Catholic in the same house we grew up in, nurtured in the hippie generation of love, peace, and happiness. She did her best to create a loving environment by herself from when my sister was three and I was just two months old. That’s when she finally had the strength to choose to change the direction of her life for the best by divorcing my father who I only saw a few weeks out of the summer. But even with such a limited time shared with him, he was still my hero. Big, strong, bald and black as the night. He always made me feel like I was the light of his world when my sister and I would visit him eight hours away in Rochester, NY.
I loved my summer vacations when spending time with my father’s side of the family and although I still felt some of those ‘only’ list effects, it was a different type of ‘only’. Now I’m the ‘only’ one with such good hair or the ‘only’ one with such a nice red bone complexion.
When living with my mother it was always a struggle for her to make ends meet and compared with everyone else in our town, we were considered pretty poor. But up in Rochester, I experienced what real poverty was like. Not so much with my father who had a good job and a decent place to live, even if it was for a period of time in a trailer on the grounds of the industry juvenile prison where he worked as a guard. It was when he took us to our grandmothers in the city or any one of my 18 aunts and uncles houses, that at a young age I realized how much my mother provided on her own.
In all our years of visiting my father, my sister and I were only allowed to stay over my favorite Aunt Linda’s house because she was married to my Uncle Eddie who together provided a beautiful home, was successful, heavy into the church and the only one who gained my mother’s trust.
My mother’s wrath concerning her kids was well known as my father once made a crucial mistake when he got an unexpected call into work when I was five years old and left me in the care of some girlfriend he had. At the end of the day, around 4:30 p.m. he pulled up to the curb and found me sitting on the front porch, bottom lip puffed out, eyebrows scrunched together and my arms wrapped around my chest. He knew something was wrong.
Normally, when he comes home from work, as soon as he steps out of his van, I’m running arms outstretched to be picked up, hugged and covered with a barrage of kisses. As I stomped towards him, chest rising from my deep pouts he asked: “Eddie what’s wrong?”
The floodgate of tears took over as I started breathing faster, trying to get the words out to express the cardinal sin that had taken place.
“Son,” he said bending and lifting me giving a reassuring hug. “It’s all right just tell me what happened.”
Placing me back down, I looked up with my light brown tear filled eyes and said “She whipped me with a switch!” pointing my accusing finger towards the house.
Whether it was panic, fear or both I don’t know. I don’t even remember what it was that I did and my father didn’t care. All I recall was that he stormed into the babysitter’s house raising all hell and no matter what justification she gave for whipping me with a switch, my father wasn’t trying to hear it. All I heard him yelling was ” When his mother finds out she’s going to kill me!!”
On my fathers side of the family, seeing my cousins get in trouble and being told to go out back and get a thin branch off a tree to make into a switch to get beat with was normal, but it was a well known fact that no matter what my sister or I did, we are not to be physically disciplined by anyone, my father included.
For my mother to hear that her five year old baby boy was beaten with a switch, would produce images in her mind of me being strapped up and whipped like the man in the beginning of the movie Roots. Mom enforced a non-violent, unconditional loving environment which she expected to be honored…
~Eddie K. Wright
I remember people throughout my young parenting years (INCLUDING MY BROTHER) telling me… “You need to spank/beat him.” Or, “One good whoopin’ will fix that little attitude.” I’m honored to say that I stood behind my mother’s style of discipline in this regard. My children have never known what it felt like to be hit with a switch, a stick, a spoon or a belt. I firmly believe NO CHILD needs that kind of discipline. My children prove that to me every day! I’m not the greatest mother and they are not the perfect children but… but we are perfect for each other and physical violence was NEVER a part of our lives! Thank you Ma! I love you! Thank you Ed… For reminding me!
Thank you for reading. You’ll be hearing more from Eddie very soon!
Big Sister Mimi
I was honored to be interviewed by KC Loesener, CEO, and founder of P.A.R.C. Magazine.
Their July 2017 issue is highlighting discovery and focus’ on subject matters where others have dug deep and discovered something about themselves and overcame or brought certain challenges to light.
My book Voice For The Silent Fathers shares how I overcame my personal challenge of being a young father and street gangster who’s son was gay.
Please take a few minutes to read the article and share with anyone you know might benefit from reading it. I would also love to hear your thoughts so please leave a comment.