Never Waste Your Pain
Anthony Wallace
The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people who are at risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high-quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives. Since January 2017, ConTextos has collaborated with the Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Division X of Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narrative about violence and peace-building, and help author a hopeful future for these men, their families, and our collective communities. While each memoir's text is solely the work of the Author, the images used to create this book's illustrations have been sourced from various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering, and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into fully illustrated books. In collaboration with
Never Waste Your Pain Anthony Wallace
August 20, 1981: Elizabeth Wilson Wallace birthed her only son, me, Anthony Wallace. I was born at Michael Reese Hospital on the south side of Chicago. My mother was happy and elated to bring me to her Englewood home, adding me to her new family and giving her one-year-old daughter a playmate. A year later, she divorced my father for reasons unknown to me. My mother Elizabeth, better known as Newt, a name given to her by her family in Mississippi, was raised with a southern hospitality disposition.
Teaching me and my sister suitable morals, she even took my sister and I to church on Sundays where my endeavor was to play the drums during service. But I could never stay on beat and would eventually be replaced by the church drummer. My mother worked in downtown Chicago at the Board of Trade building, CBOE which stands for Chicago Board of Exchange.
She needed a babysitter for me and my sister. I was 5 years old and over the next 3 years I would go from babysitter to babysitter because I never got along with the kids of the adults that would watch me. I was depressed a lot because the kids did not share with me and treated me bad. When I was 8 years old, my mom gave me and Adrienne keys to the house in Englewood. Now we would watch ourselves and it felt good.
I went to grammar school on 65th and Ashland. It was called Ralph J. Bunche. A lot of the male kids that went there claimed to be Gangster Disciples and would chase me every day after school.
I was very afraid of leaving school knowing I had to walk home. Sometimes I would leave out the back door of the school and take a different route to avoid them. I would even run onto people’s porches I didn’t know just to get away when they would chase me. I hated school and wished I had an older brother to protect me.
I was unable to focus in school. Then I found out I had a disability. I was having problems comprehending what was being taught to me, plus I would worry about what would happen to me after school with the Gangster Disciples always jumping on me. I would eventually start to skip school.
My mother Elizabeth would keep me and my sister with her on the weekdays and take us to our father’s house on 63rd and St. Lawrence on the weekends. My father was a drug addict, but before he began to use, staying with him was fun.
We would watch my favorite show on Sundays: Samurai Sunday Kung-Fu Show and Spectreman. He always had a dog or a cat at his place which gave me and my sister a love for pets.
He would turn into a different person when he drank, always smiling and making jokes making us laugh. We had our own beds at his place. They were bunk beds and my sister and I shared a black and white T.V.
I remember spending Christmas with him and my sister waking me up saying, “Get up. It’s Christmas.” I responded saying, “I don’t want to get up,” playing with her, acting like I did not care about Christmas. But that would only last for seconds. Then I would jump out of bed with my red onesie on, extremely happy to get to my gifts. I really loved my father back then.
But the drugs took over. And I never spent another Christmas with him. And the nice furniture he once had was gone along with our little black and white T.V. He had sold it for drugs. But I still loved him.
At the age of 10, my mother moved us to Bellwood, IL where I went to school but she still took us to see our father on the weekends. At the age of 14, I started selling crack cocaine to my Dad, doing whatever I wanted. My Father allowed gang members to sell drugs on the porch of our apartment. He also let them rent out the basement for drugs. I felt a little upset because they would play music so loud and I could hear it while I was watching T.V. It was inconsiderate
I was so used to my Father doing drugs that when I started selling them to him it didn’t bother me. I stopped caring. I couldn’t have cared less. It was normal, and the reason it was normal is because when me and my Sister Adrienne was about five or six years of age we would play in our Father’s room where he would tell us to stay while he and his friends would smoke crack cocaine in the kitchen with a sheet up that would be there in place of a door because he didn’t want us to see what he was doing. But we would sneak out the room just playing and trying not to get caught. There was a hole in the wall and we could see them doing drugs and this I saw throughout the years of being at my Father's house.
He allowed me and my sister to smoke Newports and weed at his place. I also started having sex. Everybody in my environment either used drugs or sold them. I was comfortable, it was life to me. My mother never knew all of this was going on. One time I caught my father stealing money out of the pocket of a pair of pants I had in his room, and when I tried to get my pants, he punched me in the face and we fought that night. But I still loved him.
When I was 15 years old in 1997, I got locked up for robbery and went to the Audy home for 3 months. I found God there, I actually found out how to get saved. Before getting locked up, I thought speaking in tongues was the only way to go to Heaven. It was difficult for me to go to sleep at night because I thought that if I died in my sleep I would go to Hell for lack of speaking in tongues. Then I met the Pastor there and he took me to Romans 10:9. He lead me to salvation. I felt different. I felt like I was a new person. I felt as though a lot of stress was relieved. I felt I was going to Heaven whenever I die. Now I was able to sleep, I felt safe. I had no more worries. I could actually close my eyes and have good dreams now.
Then I was convicted and had to go to little D.O.C, a jail for juveniles. When I went to little D.O.C. I was scared, lonely, and depressed. I cried. I was only 15 years old and being taken away from my family really hurt. I was in a gang called C.V.L. and would fight other gangs like the Gangster Disciples. I did not know how to read, so I taught myself when I was given a dictionary. I would try to sound the word out then I would ask the Officers how to pronounce the word if I felt my pronunciation was incorrect. I always felt slow for a lack of better words, but once I was able to read I felt smart. Now I was able to read my letters and books without feeling self-conscious so much.
I went through a lot locked up. I also went to boot camp. I got kicked out because I refused the program after 6 months of being there. I was sent to IYC Chicago, another place for juveniles, but this time I was in Chicago and could not resist the temptation to run away. I escaped and got caught the same day. I remember my mother came to visit me. She told me if she could she would do this time for me. I cried. I really loved her. She was always there for me.
I did 3 and a half years there: March of ‘97 until August 20, 2000, my birthday. I was 19 years old at the time. When I was locked up this guy hooked me up with his cousin from Rockford, Illinois, and she wrote me for a year and a half. So when I got out in 2000, I went to see her. Her name is Tarena Barfield, my first real relationship. I remember the first day I laid eyes on her in person.
My mother wanted me to go to Great America, so me, my mother and my sister and her boyfriend drove to Rockford to get her. When I got out of the car in the projects of Rockford, IL called Jane Addams, I went to her apartment. Her mother opened the door and I saw her for the first time coming up from the basement. She was so beautiful to me. We went to Six Flags Great America and had so much fun. I still can see in my mind the first picture we ever took together.
Two weeks later I moved with her and her mom and her siblings where I sold drugs with her and her mom. We would sell out of the apartment in the projects. I could be in the bathroom, Tarena could be in her bedroom, and her mother could be cooking, and if there was a knock at the door, we would all run to it to answer it because whoever would get there first was allowed to make the drug transaction.
We would take turns sometimes, or if Tarena’s mom would leave to go to her sister’s projects called Concord, she would leave drugs with me and Tarena to sell for her along with our drugs. That’s pretty much all I did in Rockford, IL: sell drugs, dress nice and take pictures.
Tarena was also 3 months pregnant. It was by another guy. She was pregnant before I met her. I named her son, and his name is Artavious Barfield. I eventually started to venture out and started selling drugs outside in the projects. I was in love with Tarena. She was smart, dark-complected, and pretty. When she would go to school, I would wake up just to walk her to the bus stop and would be waiting at the bus stop when she got off just to walk with her back home. I would even sell some of her drugs for her while she would be at school.
One day while I was walking to her bus stop to pick her up, I was stopped by the police. I fought with him to get away once he found my drugs on me, but he was too strong. With his legs wrapped around me, he pepper sprayed me in the eyes and handcuffed me. Sitting in the backseat of his car, I could hardly open my eyes. But when I had opened them for a moment, I saw Tarena walking past. I wished I could get her attention, but I couldn’t.
During the year 2001, I would catch case after case. I had like 13 cases. It was like once I caught the first one they just kept coming. I was depressed at that time in my life. I wanted to make money and elevate but it was hard. I was 19 years old. I was still having problems expressing my thoughts. I still felt slow for a lack of better words. I didn’t have any family in Rockford, IL. Consequently I would go to prison. I received 4 years and Tarena would rent drug addicts’ cars to come visit me in prison. I did 13 months and came home to her, but 17 days later, Christmas Eve, I caught another drug case. This time I received 6 years and had to do 2 and a half years.
Tarena was pregnant with child #2, but when I got out of prison, I went back to Chicago because she had moved to Minnesota. I was 25 years old at that time. I came home from prison with a nice built body thanks to the weights I had lifted while incarcerated. I came out looking for love, just wanting to be in a relationship. I still stayed in contact with Tarena, but the love of my life was a grown woman taking life more serious in Minnesota where she was living. So I moved on with mine. At an emotional cost, it took about 2 years to get over her. Maybe longer. Even at the age I am today I would love to have another chance at love with her. She’ll always have my heart.
I found a woman named Reese that was extremely gorgeous, and in 2005, after 3 months of being with her, she became pregnant with my son, who I named Ijuwa. He is my only child, who I love very much.
I even have his name tattooed on my face. I wanted him to know that by doing that I loved him. I would daydream about him, thinking to myself that whenever the day comes for us to see one another again, he’ll see his name on my face. Damn, what a day that will be. Brings tears to my eyes right now.
The last time I saw him, he was three years old. I went to jail and his Mother left me. I never knew that would be the last time I would see my baby boy.
I really love my son, Ijuwa, whose voice I can still hear in my mind. He would talk to his mother as the 3 of us lay in bed when he was three years old. “Ma. Spiderman. Ma. Momma. Ma, Spiderman,” he would say, because he slept with Spiderman every night. He loved Spiderman! I was 28 years old at that time and was still in a gang. By the time my son was 3 years old, I was back in prison. But before I went to prison, I became addicted to a drug called cocaine. I got out of prison when he was 7 years old. A month and a half later, I got locked back up, and when I got out of prison at that time, he was ten years old. Every time I tried to get in contact with my son’s mother so that I could see my son, she would delete me from Facebook. And I hated her for that because although I was missing out on my son’s life, I still loved him and wanted to be in his life. But she would not allow me to be a father to him. I think it’s because of how me and her relationship went. Cheating was going on on both of our parts. But I filed a motion to get her in court, that way the judge could force her to let me see my son.
I’m in jail at this moment writing this book about my life, just a glimpse of it. And my son is 13 right now and even though his mother doesn’t allow me to see him, I still know the date of his birth: November 22, 2006. And although he may not remember my father, his grandaddy, because he died, my son took a picture with him before he passed. That means a lot to me. Today my mother has Dementia. I found out when I was in prison. She asked me a question, then about 3 minutes after that she asked the same question again. That happened frequently when we spoke over the phone. I would say to her, “You said that to me already,” or I would say, “Mom, I just told you,” not knowing what was going on. She told me that people have been telling her the same thing. I had a feeling that her memory was leaving because her Mother had Dementia as well. I cried alone in the living room once I returned home from prison on 10-15-2015 because it was different and I felt sad for her. I asked God, “Why did this have to happen to my Mother?” I didn’t know how to take it at first, but I’ve come to deal with it. I will never know what life distress might bring or what life blessing might be; I just remain thankful to God that I have a life.
My life is not over yet. A relationship with my son will happen no matter what because I’ll find him. He’s part of me. My mother loved my son and took pictures of him whenever she was able to get him when he was a baby.
Once I’m out of prison this time, jail will not be an option anymore. I’ve been stabbed in the neck, shot in the arm, hit by a car and I’m still here. I know there’s purpose for my existence. I believe everything I’ve gone through in life was for the purpose of helping someone else that may go through things similar to the things I went through.
My purpose is also to encourage people to not experience them but instead to take my deficiencies and turn them to their own advantage. I’m done with gang life and jail. I’m no longer a member of the Vice Lords. I just grew out of it. It was no beatings or anything in order to get out. I just stopped claiming it. I’m thinking like a man now, praying and keeping God first. I love me. And once a person starts to love themselves and starts to change their life for the better, they can better love others and help others. I don’t want to waste my pain; I want to use it to help someone.
This book is dedicated to my son Ijuwa. I hope once he’s old enough to read and understand the ways of life, he can read this short memoir of my life and know that although I struggled in life, I want him to be better than me and to capitalize on my mistakes so that he won’t have to make the same errors. And he will. I also want him to know that I loved him before he came into this world and that I’ll always love him.
Anthony Wallace I am from gang banging. From Cream of Wheat and Government cheese I am from Englewood/Woodlawn Lovely, caring, home with mom. I am from dandelions that shine like the sun. I’m from family reunion and church on Sundays. From Elizabeth and Anthony Wallace I’m from the forgivers and caregivers. From you are intelligent and loved I’m from Christians, Jesus flowers I’m from Chicago, Illinois Hot water cornbread and pig ears From a single parent household mother All memories of my life Found on my sister’s phone.
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