Category Archives: Uncategorized

I still smell the apartment

Recently there’s been a great amount of courage from women with #MeToo.  I imagine hundreds of thousands of men rolling their eyes, dismissing, avoiding, and in fear of being called out about this.  I choose to face it.  I appreciate what women are doing and I encourage more to come out as I expect at least 9 out of 10 women to have been sexually harassed in their lifetime.  Likewise, I encourage men to minimally acknowledge the unsafe world that women live in and how we and the cultures we rule make it that way.

Part of my empathy comes from my very own behaviors contributing to this culture.  For me, I’ve seen personally what young boys can do to little boys, what little boys will try with little girls, and how young boys can violate young girls.  I have no doubt what those young boys are capable of when they grow up to be big boys and grown men.  They genuinely need healing and I believe that healing begins with acknowledging how we’ve violated women in big and small ways that they themselves can work through their pain and anger and grief to move forward whole.  I was a perpetrator of sexual assault.

I grew up in housing projects in Columbia, SC. Youngest of three children (maternal)- brother four years older and sister five years older. When I was in elementary school somewhere between 6 and 9 years old, there was a morning we were out of school but I’m pretty sure it was during the school year. A neighbor who was close to the family and around the age of my brother and sister invited me to come play video games. We were poor, didn’t have a video game set, and I liked playing. I was glad to go play. He let me play and he played the video game as well. Then there was touching and he said that if I wanted to play more I had to stroke his penis. He pulled his penis out and said I had to touch it since I already played his video game and he didn’t have to let me do that. He kept prodding and suggested I couldn’t leave without touching it. I did. His demands continued from touching him, to him touching me, to me giving oral, to him penetrating me. I didn’t want any of this and deserve any of this. I left lost and confused and hurt and afraid. I expected my family to not believe me or blame me or for him beat me up or for everyone in the projects to know or whatever goes through a child’s head whose been molested.

This happened again. Except this time, it was a weekend morning and my mom told me to go to their house to get some clothes that they were gonna pass down to me. Although we all lived in the projects, compared to us (my family) that family was well off and they regularly passed down clothes to us. I went there and the mom wasn’t there and I ended up waiting in his room to try on clothes. I wanted to throw up from the smell of the apartment. He told me to wait there and play video games. Then it all played out again. When I left there was a box of clothes for me to take home. Sometime later I would hear some of my friends joking about who got “pumped in the butt.” They joked about “fags” and laughed about knowing that it had happened to each other and denied that it had happened to them in a “I can’t admit that this happened to me” kind of way. I knew I wasn’t the only one he did this to.

Something happens every three to five years that brings this back to mind… Catholic priests, Penn State football coach, something in the news… And I watch how the victims are further questioned, slandered, and blamed for how they handled being a victim in these situations. After wondering about the facts of the case I then find myself stuck in empathy for their situation based on my own personal ordeal which I’ve still not had the courage to confront the accuser and share broadly without personal shame.  I know far more women deal with this than men and I smelled the apartment.

Not long after this time or even during, we young boys were infatuated with “hide and go get it” in the evenings with the young girls.  Being gay was considered somewhere between wrong and strange to hellish and disgusting.  I knew I wasn’t gay but this violation of my body seemed to suggest that I was.  So, it was my duty to prove otherwise by engaging with every female possible.  I remember thinking that if somehow, I could dry hump enough girls that I could maybe eliminate the harm and disgust acted on my own body and soul.  But it didn’t go away and I didn’t stop.  I maintained a high compulsion for sexual indulgence with females in hopes of getting the feel, smell, and displeasure out of me.  And instead of having an avenue to come forward to deal with my own pains I simply shared my pain with these girls through my actions and pressure on them.  I could still smell the apartment.

Awful choices shifted my approach on my behavior and made me think more about my actions but never really equipped me to get to the core of why I was doing what I was doing.  The first reality check came a few years later when family was visiting from out of town.  An older cousin was sleeping in a room and I attempted to pull her panties down slowly.  She adjusted and moved as I violated her.  After several tugs, attempts, and failures I stopped and let her be.  I awoke to seeing her, not knowing if her movement was out of awareness from being awake and knowing what I was disgustingly doing or just regularly movement when feeling things when sleep but no consciousness of what was felt.  I was disgusted with myself because this was family and our family was close.  I always struggled to get below the surface in conversations with this cousin.  She’s an amazing and beautiful woman and until this letter I never admitted my action to violate her.  Just buried it.

My next awful choice came one evening when I was around 12 years old.  I decided that I needed sex from an ex-girlfriend which whom I had been previously sexually active.  I waited until I knew her parents weren’t home.  Proceeded to climb to their upstairs apartment leveraging an electricity tank, utility meters, and pulling myself up a balcony by the railings.  From the balcony I snuck in a backdoor and made my way to her room and sought sex.  I remember screaming and there was a struggle and I ran and escaped the same way I entered.  The police were called and there was lots of chatter in the neighborhood.  I don’t recall anyone ever naming me specifically but I’m pretty certain she knew it was me.  But nothing was spoken of it that I remember.  Though I never faced the law for this, I learned a lesson to never assume someone else will want sex when I wanted and to never use force or deception of any type.  Most disgusting was I was essentially behaving like the violation that occurred to me.  And I could smell the apartment.

From then on sex was always consensual.  But I still couldn’t get rid of the abuse that happened to me and I couldn’t talk about it for the fear of being considered gay.  None of this changed me knowing and the feeling that I needed to make sure I consistently prove I wasn’t gay by having sex with women.  So, I learned to charm the girls or as we’d say in the ‘hood, I developed “mad game.”  But I was wary of using my game much throughout middle school and high school as sports, school, and jobs kept me busy.  And the desire to be in a relationship with a girl often got in the way of being with as many girls as possible unless the assumption of monogamy was ignored.  And I learned to ignore it well as I smelled the apartment.

I became that thief who made girls die inside, lose their breath, and stole hearts but couldn’t be arrested as Lauryn Hill sung about in “Manifest.”  I learned to get the girl, cheat on her, move to the next, and repeat.  No one could call the cops and I couldn’t be arrested.  This lead to children out of wedlock and even contributed to an episode where I was once falsely accused of domestic violence which lead to an evening in jail for something I didn’t do.  But it was probably karma considering my crimes of the soul.  I’d pay the cost of divorce, loneliness, child support, and having lots of kids without both parents on a daily basis.  And I could still smell the apartment.

Thanks to my own evolution, maturity, and exposure to gays and lesbians, I’d also get over my outward fear of being gay which drove much of my behavior.  Equally important was to forgive myself and that young boy who violated me.  I was angry at the injustice of what happened to me and that it emanated from him, but I also realize there’s an unearthly amount of inner pain, despair, and hurt for a child to impart such actions on other children.  I’ve grieved for how that changed me, hurt me, and the man and husband I imagine I would’ve been were it not for this in my life and I’ve learned to love every bit of who I am despite what I’ve experienced and done as a result of this.  Most importantly, I owe my own progress to lots of counseling which is often rejected by men of all ages.  And I thoroughly expect the voice of a counselor to be a norm throughout my life.

As women bravely face their realities via #MeToo and so many other means, it’s easy for me or other men to play victim or rebel in silence.  This story isn’t about the hell that happened to me and its effects on me.  The focus should be on how the failure to talk about and heal from my hell became a hell for many women as I smelled that apartment.  All too often our society (men and women) abandon those women and remove their voice which ultimately denies their healing.  I choose to be a safe place for those women.  I apologize for how I’ve contributed.

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Sometimes a wrong calls for consequences and not criminalization

Sunday, June 4, around 8:10pm I entered the booking room of Sacramento County Juvenile Hall with a police officer, a good kid, and a load of emotion.  I was doing a Ride-Along in Del Paso Heights with the Sacramento Police Department.  There would be a roll call with an interesting trivia question and an insightful briefing and interactions to prepare officers to patrol.  Once on the beat, we had a couple relatively minor calls with serious situations to those involved but not too serious in general.  Then we joined a call where four people were already detained at an elementary school following an alarm going off.  When we arrived, four young boys sat on the ground as two officers stood nearby and someone resembling a school janitor sat on a bench out of the way with a large set of keys in hand.  Two of the kids appeared to be about the age of my eleven and a half year old son while  the other two could pass for fifteen or sixteen.  The officers were waiting for CSI to come take fingerprints and attempting to get parent information from the boys.  The kids and officers had already been there for a while when I arrived.  The call came in while I was with two officers who did an excellent job of facilitating an unfortunate and potentially volatile situation with a family who was duped into illegally subleasing and facing an imminent eviction.

 

When we arrived, the kids and officers were calm and one of the officers was joking about the sprint the other had to make to corral the kids who apparently ran upon encountering the police officers.  There was also conversation initiated by the officers seemingly to relieve some of the fear and stress the kids might have been experiencing during this moment.  I stood leaning against a pole looking at the kids and flashing back to similar situations I was involved with from my childhood.  I was appreciating the kids were taking the situation serious while also comfortable enough to interact with each other and the officers.  After standing and listening a bit, I actually sat on the ground with them to be on the same physical level as we talked about them, school, friendships, my kids, sports, and more.  Following attempts to confirm guardian information and make contact, eventually officers came over to take each of the boys for separate one-on-one conversations on what happened.

 

From the discussions with the children, the officers gathered that allegedly the boys went into the Library and one of the children (13 year old) purportedly planned to take an iPad but put it back and all of the boys exited the building without removing property.  According to the officers this was a 459 offense which per Wikipedia is, “Burglary…an unlawful entry into a building or other location for the purposes of committing an offence.”  This was explained as a felony.  As a Ride-Along, the officer I accompanied took the time to explain to me what was going on.  The officers were of the thinking that the child was 14 years old versus 13 years old.  I noted the incorrect age and hoped this would be sufficient to have him released to his guardians as there are cases where being fourteen carries more weight than thirteen.  I pled with the officer to have another discussion with his superiors and personally pledged to serve in whatever capacity necessary to support this child during and after this situation with the hopes he would not go to juvenile hall.  The incident and consequence was escalated and determined that the child had to be taken to juvenile hall.

 

My mind was very focused on the damage that was being done in this situation and the innocence of this child.  When I was sitting on the ground speaking with the kids, this child in particular stood out with his manners and willingness to engage with me and the officers.  Whether it was noting that his butt was hurting from the time sitting on the concrete and asking permission to stand, trying to understand whether I was an officer or not since I came with them, asking one of the officers “how long you been growing your mustache?” or pleading with me to say that he looked older than 11 or 12 because he was 13… The kid was a pleasure to be around without coming off as cocky nor dismissive of the gravity of the situation at hand.  This good kid was about to take his first ride in the back of a police car and to be booked in jail for minors.  When the officer asked the child to come talk to him that last time, it was obvious to me that that kid wouldn’t be seeing the others again that night and I got up and followed.  After being told by the officer he was about to be taken away the child was confused, shaken, tearful, and very afraid.  He spoke of his mom and consequences, he explained that he didn’t take anything, and he wanted it understood that he learned his lesson and nothing like this would ever happen again.  Despite his genuine sorrow and all other factors the officer had to take him.

 

To calm this young nervous soul, I interceded and talked him through the situation at hand and reassured him that everything would be okay as best I could in this awful situation.  The child eventually gathered himself and walked to the police car with me as I hugged him with one arm over his shoulders.  We spoke some as we rode and I was able to get phone numbers for parents and make calls.  At juvenile hall he was booked.  Paperwork filed, shoe laces removed, draw sting taken from pants, assessed by the nurse, clothing and personal property taken, and a full body search.  At one point while the officer filled out paperwork, the young man asked, “will they let me have a fidget spinner in here?”  He was sincere and it was obviously a tool of comfort that he sought to help him through whatever was soon to happen.

 

After leaving juvenile hall and returning to the police car, my words to the officer was “This is wrong.  At a time when cities and law enforcement say they want a better relationship with the Black community, this one incident has done far more harm than good.”  This lead to a very respectful, open and constructive conversation.  That conversation does nothing to help the current situation for that young man who was put in jail for that night.  I do expect it to resonate at least a bit when officer is back on his beat again.  The reality is that the officer did a good job of “policing.”  When it comes to the rules and procedures, I’m guessing it will be found that he and the other officers did everything accordingly.  However, I think a process that would lead to a child to being taken to a correctional facility after he took nothing, caused no obvious material damage, was prepared to apologize, and was honest throughout the process- seems to be criminal in itself.

 

Assuming the allegations are correct, my gut says this incident has taught all the kids that when you make a mistake (illegally entered and considered taking something), realize that you’ve done wrong (stop and put it down), and leave the premises that the full weight of the law will be thrown at you.  So run faster next time because you’re likely not to receive justice.  I can hear others countering me with “the kid broke the law and has to deal with the consequences.”  To me, these consequences create an antagonistic if not hostile response to law enforcement.  I also hear those that say, “they pretty much admitted guilt when they tried to run.”  I respect that view might be the case in many neighborhoods or for many others.  I also understand how that can be perceived that way and I don’t think it’s the right thing to do.  I too was likely to run until I was in my twenties and managed to get somewhat established with work and marriage to where my fear of what I could lose weighed heavier than my fear of what the police might do to me.  Living in an upper class neighborhood today versus my childhood, having a personal relationship with the senior police officers in my city and sitting on the Board for the Police Activities League, I still have to check myself and my instincts to flee for my survival or fight for my children at the thought or possible interaction with police.  Simply saying “they” need to learn not to run is counterproductive if you haven’t explored means the individual (police officer) and agencies (law enforcement) can engage with the community long before interaction occurs with the community.  It’s important to establish relationship and trust that can shift hundreds of years of fleeing for safety in these situations.  And there happens to be plenty of images that suggest maybe a Black man’s odds are better if you’re faster versus what might happen if you’re apprehended.

 

At the end of the night, the officer was encouraging me to come on another day to see how things play out.  He thought this incident may not have been a good example to take away.  I let him know this incident and the others we had (which are worth writing about) are exactly why I did the Ride-Along.  I plan to do more and I plan to encourage and expect the same from others in the community.  I let him know that I don’t like the outcome at all because my ultimate goal is to help bring about a positive relationship between law enforcement and the Black community.  This incident didn’t help that goal in my opinion.  I also let him know that I appreciated his listening to some of my tips throughout the day on going beyond just what’s expected to close  a call and look at means to help the person.  I sincerely appreciated his professionalism in his work.

 

My first priority out of this is supporting the young man along his path to success in life.  He was released Monday morning and is home truly facing the consequences of his actions.  He and I have an informal agreement that he’s going to be a future prosecutor.  I’ll be doing more Ride-Alongs.  I’ll be hosting events to bring together law enforcement with citizens who are wary of law enforcement to establish some respect, rapport, and understanding as we look at the ultimate goal of providing better solutions.  There’s many sides to this.  Please get involved and make difference.  There are lots of emotion, good kids and good police officers whom we need to encounter.20170607_030109_1

Not so Golden Anniversary- Opportunity to Improve our Future

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In a couple of weeks will be 25 years since I was approaching my high school graduation and had to face the reality of gun violence that resulted in the death of two friends, Tyski Gabriel and Chris “Punkin” Sharper. In seeing many begin to share their resolution for this coming year, I’ve thought lots about Tyski and Punkin and their families. I try to imagine what they would look like, what their lives would be like, and how things might’ve been different for me.

I selfishly wonder what would be different for me because Tyski and Punkin’s death was yet another awakening in my challenging childhood and adolescence. In the days following, several of us adrenaline and anger loaded young men gathered with the goal of exacting revenge on the perpetrators and those who we believed contributed to the fate of our friends. I had withdrawn to deal with my sadness of their death alone and to focus on my part time job and going to college, but received a call from my best friend who told me of the meeting and when he’d come to pick me up. I wanted in and wanted nothing more than to avenge the death of Tyski and Chris. As can be expected, when we met we were poorly organized in how we would retaliate and after lots of talking, scheming, and emotional venting we eventually dispersed. For me I swung between being livid and relieved that nothing happened because I had managed to get a handgun that night in hopes of making a significant contribution and that wouldn’t happen.

I would end up being relieved that circumstances didn’t escalate further causing me to use the gun and I was also determined to find some way to honor Tyski and Punkin. After a ridiculous confrontation later in the school year, my principal, Mr. Henry Young admonished me on being a leader and called me out to honor Tyski and Chris by being successful in life and helping others. For the past twenty five years, I’ve thought of Tyski and Chris a few times a year and it’s always stood as a reminder for me to seize the moment, to do my best, and to make a difference in the lives of others. Though I’ve come up amazingly short in my personal life in many ways, I’m at peace that my life to this point has honored my friends as I wanted and as Mr. Young directed. As I look back at 2014, I realize that my work isn’t done and that I have tons to offer relative to improving life for those who are living in situations similar to that I was reared in. After taking a few years off from being highly engaged in community service, I look forward to upping my involvement in 2015. Surprisingly, I also find myself in a position to engage with law enforcement and communities that have historically had low trust for them.

After spending most of my life hating the police because of my perspective and how I witnessed them treat me, family, friends, and others in the community, I managed to also spend time advocating for families and seeing more inappropriate and dismissive action by law enforcement individuals which further disgusted me. However over the past three years, I’ve gained a broader perspective as a result of many close interactions that helped me view police officers as people and individuals. I’ve sat on a non-profit Board with a Chief of Police, established a relationship with a different police chief, partnered with police officers to find computer equipment for a non-profit, sat on a police hiring board (that was an odd feeling), played basketball with police officers (couple decent ballers), shot guns at a range with officers (that was fun), and even made suggestions for new cadets. Although none of my interactions over the past few years erase my past experiences with police, I have gained a level of appreciation that I never had and even more important is I’ve established relationships with officers as individuals and have seen some of them engage in communities to proactively discuss changes when necessary to ensure there’s understanding of how the police is perceived by the community and possible changes to address.

One might ask, “What does this have to do with Tyski and Chris?” To me, the stupidity that killed Tyski and Punkin stems from the same disregard for and lack of compassion for life that would have a police officer quickly resort to deadly force in certain situations and not others, or have a young man to thoughtlessly take the life of another within his community, or to have a jury not recognize or ignore that police authority doesn’t beget necessity to use any level of force, or that perpetrating revenge on someone that killed a friend is just as sinful and immoral as someone killing police officers who some might feel targeted and plagued by. I believe that if we face the same core problems that resulted in my friends deaths 25 years ago, fewer people will be in the situation 25 years later wondering what their friends lives would be like or how they would look because we would’ve taken action to still have them alive.

Below are my thoughts on practical actions that I believe need to be taken to shift behavior and accountability to improve the lives of all citizens and establish respect between law enforcement and communities where they garner the least trust. I intentionally omitted “training” as it’s very subjective and often used as a means to exonerate or refute blame versus build bridges and relationship. Likewise, I omitted cameras because they do nothing to build relationship or increase the likelihood that officer and suspect will treat each other as human versus serve to hopefully prove blame after something has already gone horribly bad. Hopefully each individual (starting with me) can find a means to see what they can do as individuals to improve the situation prior to or in direct alignment in speaking of the shortcomings of others.

Actions for the community-

  1. Vote in EVERY election possible. City and school leaders will respect your vote even if they don’t respect you based on any bias
  2. Spend as many hours volunteering in a classroom than you will in a bar at a night club or at parties (Go to any school where the help is needed)
  3. Spend as many hours reading with or ensuring children are reading than they will watch TV, play video games, or play on a smartphone/tablet
  4. Yes, I said it. Sorry, more often than not we know those perpetuating violence and crime and we need to face that those individuals are holding us back

Actions for cities and local law enforcement-

  1. Provide financial and promotional incentive for law enforcement to live in high crime zip codes and beats within the city (include in contract where possible)
  2. Incentivize staff with pay or promotion to include citizens from high crime areas on hiring and promotion boards for police officers
  3. Incentivize police officers with pay or promotion for participating in sports, mentoring, and other activities within high crime areas
  4. Don’t participate in the school system’s criminalization of children which is most egregious in communities of color

Actions for state and federal government-

  1. Implement background checks on all gun and ammunition purchases and discontinue sales of automatic weapons
  2. Provide rehabilitation and job training for perpetrators and connect time served with a financial remedy for victims, families, and society
  3. Reward grants to schools that encourage partnership for accomplishing
  4. Reward grants for things done in the “For cities and local law enforcement” section

None of this will change that Tyski and Chris’ families have to deal with their death every birthday, every holiday, every milestone, and every family gathering, but I pray we all engaged to make it better for others. So this year, I send my love and continued blessings to the Sharper and Gabriel families and I recommit to them and Mr. Young to continue to honor their lives.

A few good men…

A good look through my WordPress page, my slow-written autobiography, or knowing me and my history will readily identify that I credit most good in my life to the love and direction given by my grandmothers, my mother, and a high school teacher (M. L. Kohn)- all women.  And most of my bad decisions came from not honoring those women or their advice.  I’m also very willing to provide my opinion on topics of privilege which frequently align with issues around women in the workplace or society.  I look forward to continuing to write as I do and am also delighted that today it’s weighed upon me to write about a few good men.

Walter Priester, John Hooten, and Scott Terpstra

Walter “Bunky” Priester is my uncle (mother’s brother), a friend, a retired US Army leader, an educator, a spiritual leader, a sacrificing brother, an honorable father, a loving son, and a phenomenal role model.  A lead camel in the torrential winds of the desert.  Can’t say enough about him yet lost in the words to bring together to do him justice.  Uncle Bunky, I love you!

John Hooten is a hoot.  Small in stature and big on results and bigger on the process for generating greatness.  He obsesses over the particulars and details and believes in practicing relentlessly until perfection is secondhand.  He’s the pain in the butt for anyone who wants to be great needs to have around on those days when they think they need a break from being great.

Scott Terpstra is just a good person.  That goes along with being a savvy insurance professional, thoughtful friend, and carer of his family (immediate, extended, and adopted).  Never one to claim to be the best and definitely never the worst, Scott works hard to see the best in others and is glad to help others and himself overcome challenges that may appear as daunting at firs sight.

We’re a few weeks out from Father’s Day and I’m glad that I realized that after I began writing this versus this being some sappy homage that I came up with because of Father’s Day.  I’m also glad for the example these men are to me.  I’m glad that they’ve seen me fail as much as they’ve seen me do well and treated me much the same.  They’ve encouraged me in times of high and low, and committed to being available to help me.  They’ve coached me as a father, a son, and a friend and I’m sure each would love to deliver a good whacking to me for the advice I’ve yet to put to work but they refrain from such attempts due to fear of me massive muscles.  🙂

These are all “everyday” men who choose to be their best everyday and I’ve been blessed to have them to learn from.  Maybe I’ll be as wise in another twenty years.  Unc, Coach, and Scott-  I love you.  Thanks for all that you are to me and so many others in this world.

Rambling before a real post

Being relatively new to WordPress, I’ve noticed the date since my last post progressively age over the past two months.  There were times where I thought, “Man, I’m becoming irrelevant.”  Which is funny and obviously all ego talking because that would suggest I’d been irrelevant for the 40 years that I didn’t have a WordPress blog.  And we KNOW that’s not the case…. yes- me adding to the ego claim.

Whatever the case, there was an underlying self-created pressure to say something.  Which reminds me of the many alcoholics I grew up around.  If you can’t relate, something I found common amongst alcoholics is their willingness to profess and make clear that they have something to say.  It usually goes (imagine being said with a drunken slur), “OHHH!!!  I got sumtin’ to say, ya betcha!”  Even funnier, that was often said when no one was saying anything to them or refuting their position.  Maybe it’s not appropriate or funny to laugh at such behavior but it was free entertainment that I and others enjoyed our front-row seat to.

I admit that I’ve spent more than a few alcoholic moments (without the drink) languishing on the fact that I have something to say and will write something soon on my WordPress page.  Thankfully, I’ve managed to hold off on writing anything until I actually had something to say and not just out of the urge to say something.  With that, I will hush on my rambling and begin to share something worth sharing from my very relevant state of mind.

Have a blessed day.