Locked In
Uriel Gurrola
The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people 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 partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in 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 narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities. While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by 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 illustrated books. This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.
Locked In Uriel Gurrola
“Have me some clothes ready so I can shower,” I tell my mother over the phone. It’s a cold winter morning, and for the past two days, I been wearing the same clothes, staying at the trap.
A trap is often an apartment people do what they want in. The moment you step foot inside, you have a mixed smell of weed, cigarettes, and sex. Majority of the time, you’ll see guns everywhere, drugs, and grown women half naked in and out.
I’m sixteen years old. I couldn’t stay at the house with my parents because I had a warrant for my arrest.
At this point I didn’t care. All I needed was a shower, some clothes, and food in my stomach. I told myself I’ll be in and out.
Never did I think my father would call the police to turn me in, but he did, or at least he tried.
As I come out of the shower, I walk towards the kitchen to heat up some food so I can get going. I walk to the door so I can leave, but my father blocks it. “What did you do? Why are the police looking for you?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything. I have to go.” He didn’t move and told me he called a number the detectives gave him to call if he sees me. I tried pushing him out the way so I could run, but we only started fighting. I finally gave up and took my ass to my room.
I asked myself “Why doesn’t my father love me? Why is he doing this?” Without thinking, I opened the window and jumped down to the patio in the backyard. It had been snowing the past two days, so the jump from the attic window to the patio in the backyard wasn’t as bad.
Now I’m cold in my backyard thinking what to do next. I left my phone inside the house, I don’t have no money to jump on the bus to get to the hood, so I did the only thing I could do, I started running.
I’m on 63rd and California and I have to get to 42nd and California, so I decide the safest street for me to run on is Western. I still ended up getting chased and followed from 55th and Western to 51st and Western.
I got to the hood cold, tired, and still thinking/asking myself “How can my father do this to me?”
My father was always against the “gang banging life.” I started being involved in the streets at the age of thirteen. The day he found out, he started acting differently towards me. We even stopped talking. I felt as if I wasn’t loved anymore because of the lifestyle I chose. My older and little brother would always get what they wanted, but the moment I asked for something, I was ignored.
My father didn’t understand being in this certain environment. Gangbanging was normal. My father was against this type of “normal.” He was the exception to the rule. Even though this was normal in the neighborhood and environment I grew up in, he didn’t want that for me. Being around all this at a young age drew me in because I was impressionable.
I was living on a known Satan Disciple block. It is impossible to not see gang members gangbanging. You’ll see and hear gunshots and police sirens every day. You smell the odor of burnt weed in the air. Growing up on this block, you’re seeing things a kid shouldn’t be seeing. I always felt there wasn’t any escape or way around this lifestyle. I felt as if there was no way out, so I made my way in.
It was tough growing up. There’d be days I had nowhere to go, so I slept on the block or by Kelly Park with a gun on me. I was young and new to this game. I didn’t know anything about selling drugs. I was fucked up. I would sometimes ask my parents for money, so I can get through the day. My father would always say no, and my mother wouldn’t want to go against my father, although sometimes she did. I started selling cocaine and marijuana to get me money to buy the things I needed and also wanted.
In my mind, I was telling myself “I’m going to show him I don’t need him. I’ll do it all on my own.” I started having all the clothes I wanted, jewelry, cars, hoes, guns. You name it, I had it. I was living my life to the fullest.
Although I was deep into the street life, I still was seeking my father’s love. He was always heavy on education and wanted all his children to graduate. I got expelled from Kelly High School three months into my freshman year for constantly fighting. I wasn’t a dumb kid. I was actually pretty smart. I was put in AP classes, which means advanced placement. I just made poor choices bringing my street life into school. I knew my parents would be disappointed. Even though my father and I didn’t see eye to eye, I love him and care about what he thinks about me. I made the choice to go away for six months to a military school called Lincoln’s Challenge Academy in Rantoul, Illinois. I wanted to prove to my father, even though I’m involved in the streets, I can still succeed and do what I choose to do.
I ended up graduating. Those six months I went away, my parents would visit me every other week after the first two months. My father and I started talking, but for the most part, it was always about the same shit, how I need to change when I come back, to do a little better, all that good shit.
I came home and went back to the streets. I felt as if my father was still neglecting me because of the people I choose to be around. I felt that although I graduated the way that he wanted me to, I still wasn’t good enough. That only made me turn to the streets even harder. That became my way of life. I ended up catching a warrant for my arrest as I was telling you in the beginning.
I eventually got caught and was taken to the Juvenile Detention Center on 1100 S Hamilton. My father and I still weren’t talking, but every court date he was there.
I came home and not even a month later, I got shot. I was shot in my kneecap. The bullet traveled up and shattered my femur. I was taken to Christ hospital where I had surgery. I remember waking up after surgery and I couldn’t feel my leg. The doctor notified me it’ll be 6 to 12 months before I can walk again, at least without crutches. All my father had to say was “Aver si aprendes cabron. Let’s see if you learn now.” I understood his reasoning for moving our family from my neighborhood to 63rd. He wanted to keep my family and I as far away as he can, but that only made my situation worse.
I’m in a neighborhood that goes against the gang I’m affiliated to, and now I’m shot. Of course, I blamed him. I forced myself to start walking 2 months later. I wasn’t supposed to be walking, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t run and I had a heavy limp, but that didn’t stop me from being on the block nor selling drugs. I got shot two more times after that, once on my thigh and the other time on my head.
It got to the point my father wouldn’t tell me anything. It felt like he never cared. I continued living my life, dedicated to the streets. Everyone loved me in the streets, and if they didn’t, that’s either because they envied me, or I was probably fucking on their girl. I was being loved by everyone but the person I was seeking love from.
I ended up getting my girlfriend, at the time, pregnant after two years of being with her. My dad tried giving me the talk about how I have to change for my baby on the way. I bugged up. “How do you want me to change when the streets are all I know? Everything I know and everything I have is because of me. I never got nothing handed to me like my brothers. I had to get it on my own by all means. Every time I asked you for something, I got denied. The moment my brothers asked you for something, they got it. You treat them better because of the lifestyle I choose? You wanted me to finish school. I did. But I still wasn’t good enough. Everything I do isn’t ever good enough.
I am the man I am today because of me, because of the streets. You don’t love me! But you want me to change?” By the time I was finished going off, I was crying, not because I was sad, but more because I was angry. He hugged me and apologized for the way I felt. He continued to tell me he loves me and that he only wants better for me because he knows I can do better. We had a few beers as we continued to talk. I felt a little better about the situation at the end of the night. I felt as if I needed to let it out, and to tell my dad how I really felt.
“Hurry up and get home. I have a surprise for you,” the mother of my child said. I finished what I was doing and hurried home. As I came inside, the mother of my child tells me there’s clothes in the bathroom ready for me to shower. I start undressing and she walks in with a present in her hand. “Open it,” she says. I looked confused because my birthday was nowhere near and no holidays had passed or were coming up. I opened the present, which actually turned out to be the best gift I ever received. It was a baby girl headband and baby girl shoes. I looked at her. “We’re having a girl? We’re having a girl!” I hugged and kissed her with so much excitement. I am becoming a father. Not only a father, but a father to the first girl in our family.
I knew my parents would be so excited. They always wanted a girl, but had four boys. I decided to surprise my dad with the gift as well. I put the gift in front of his door to his room, so when he walks out the room he’ll see it. I’m smoking a blunt outside, talking to the mother of my child as my dad comes out and approaches us with the gift in his hands. So emotional, he hugs me, then the mother of my child and thanks us. He goes on to having a deep conversation about how my daughter will need me. I sat smoking and actually listened for once.
I thought to myself “My life is going to change. My life has to change.” I wasn’t involved in the street how I used to be, but I was still active. I was still showing my face and selling drugs. I thought back to everything my father once told me, and he was right. This baby girl is going to need me.
I started working two jobs. One was paying $25 an hour, the other $18 an hour. My dad and I started talking with each other more. He would constantly ask if I’m okay or if I need help with anything. We started building the relationship I was always seeking. Even though at times I’d still go to the block, and I was still selling drugs, he grew to understand. Instead of yelling at me or trying to lecture me, he’d tell me to be careful. He wouldn’t try to change me or the things I did no more because I’d make sure my family comes before anything.
On July 15, 2019, my princess was born. Isabella Jasmin Gurrola, my purpose to life. Growing up in the streets, I was ready to die. I didn’t care about shit. July 15th changed everything about me, the way I think, the way I move, the way I talk, shit… even the way I walk. Not only did it change me, but it changed my dad and also our relationship. From that day on out, we were locked in.
My daughter changed a lot of people’s lives as well as relationships for the better. She is my joy. She is my happiness. I’m sure sometimes she questions my absence, but she knows my love for her is infinite, even though I’m incarcerated. I try my best as a father to teach her the things she needs to know over the phone. I know this isn’t the end for me. I know I’ll be home soon, back reunited with my loved ones. They deserve the best, and the best they will have. I love you, Isabella. I love you dad. I love you mom. Uriel Gurrola
Uriel Gurrola I Am From I am from Brighton Park, the southwest side of Chicago From playing basketball at Kelly Park and hearing police sirens every night I am from my parents taking my brothers and I to eat tacos every Saturday afternoon I am from the trenches I am from seeing rammers chasing cars And if you get caught lacking, you will be made into an article I am from from the corner stores from 43rd and Rockwell I’m from Mom and Dad From family get togethers every other weekend And from tough love I’m from respect is earned not given And from where you were told to treat others the way you want to be treated I’m from God, the creator of the universe I am from Chiraq where you catch more bodies than the real Iraq I am from long sleepless nights From where if you don’t got no where to go Then we’re out here together taking turns on S From Carne su huego and modelos From my godfather Monshis I’m from a city many try to escape but don’t I am from NoLoveCity
Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright
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