Like Father Like Son
Anthony Jackson
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.
Anthony Jackson Like Father Like Son
Hello world my name is Anthony. I was born at Cook County Hospital in Chicago on the west side around the neighborhood called Capitol Hill also known as the Austin community.
My father was a street dude, you know a hustler always around people, places and things. I remember a time I was out with my father over one of his friends' places with some of his friend’s people as we all got into some things. They were playing cards in the front room. Me myself was playing someone ’ s video game in someone ’ s bedroom. Just as I was enjoying myself, here comes my father, running into the room, pulling me to my feet then dragging me to the washroom.
There he puts a bag full of little white things in my hand as he tells me to put my hand as far as it will go into the toilet then flush it if someone comes knocking on the door. I stood there looking at the bag and wondering what it could be as I had no clue. I waited, listening for the knock at the door. Instead I heard someone saying Lamont tripping, he high off that damn happy stick.
He needs some fucking milk and I think he put his little boy in the washroom. Somebody go see. I need to make sure Lamont drinks some of this milk. That’s when I first understood.
My father was doing something that was wrong. My father had spent most of his life in prison for his dysfunctional ways.
The last time I was with my father, we went to an auto shop. First we had to go to the auto store to get some parts for his other car. Then off to the shop we went. We’re at the shop, looking around and some guy walks up and says to my father give him a minute he will be right back.
My father and I make our way walking out of the parking lot into an alley as he starts to talk on his cell phone to someone. No later than 10 minutes some dudes ride up on motorbikes with all black on with guns aimed at my father. Telling him to give them his cash. Once he hands them his money they take off. My father starts yelling, screaming throws his hands in the air, saying “fuck, fuck, fuck!” Then he reaches down and picks me up in his arms, then takes off running with me to his car. He took me to my auntie's house.
After that I didn’t see him until he came home that night. My father was only in the house no longer than five minutes before the police came in right after him. That was the last time I seen my father for a very long time. My mother came from a fairly decent background, she was one of those cases where a good girl is loving a bad boy. When my father went off to prison for the longest time he ever did, I watched my mother struggle. Her hair went from black to salt and pepper to shiny silver.
I watched her pray every day, crying uncontrollable tears as I sat and pondered to myself. How could I stop her pain? Till one day only contributed to it. It all started one day, walking home, preparing myself for the verbal beatdown that my mother is about to give me for coming in late again.
As I make my way to the house I get more and more nervous with each step. Here we go I whisper to myself as I stick the key in the door as I push the door open. “Mama” I shout as I close the door behind D-boy. “Mama” I say again. As I make my way to her room doorway I’m not shocked to find her at the foot of the bed bent on both knees in prayer saying “Please make it easy on me. ” Her cries and sobs can be heard loud and clear. In the name of Jesus. “Please help me in my time of need. I need one of your many miracles.” I listen closely and wonder what it could be that she needs a miracle for. Hearing my mother beg like this melts me. I listen further with the hope of finding out what her issue is. Then she continued saying “These people are gonna take my house from me if I don’t come up with the money to pay. I need you right now, in Jesus name. Amen.” She says loud and clear before struggling to stand. I quickly head back to the front room then tell my friend D-boy “Right now is not a good time to be here.” He replies, “It’s too late,” with a worried look on his face looking past me. As I look over my shoulder, I see my mother standing behind me.
I see the tears still dripping from her old and weary eyes. She frowns the very second she sees Deangelo. “Hello Deangelo” she forces herself to say. She despises D-boy so much that she can’t even hide it. She believes it’s his fault I am running the streets. In her eyes D-boy is a bad influence on me. My mother felt that way since we were young children. Her fear has always been that D-boy would lead me to my demise. As we stare at each other, “Anthony why are you putting me through this? Baby, I raised you and your brothers on my own, and I did the best that I could do without your father.”
“My first born murdered on the street corner. My middle boy strung out on drugs, and now, here you go, running those same streets I lost your brothers and father too. What did I do to deserve all of this?” she snaps. “You come in anytime of the night knowing I can’t sleep until you get in.
“I sit here praying nothing happened to you out there doing only God knows what.” She turned around with a stern look on in her eyes. I’m thinking please don’t do this to me, not tonight. Come on mama. “Please” she say, as she looks at D-boy “Stop using my son to sell your drugs for you. Lead him to get a job and do the right thing before you have him killed on those streets. Get yourself together and let him follow you onto a righteous path.” I bite my lips to prevent me from saying something that my mother may never forgive me for saying, but I can’t accept how my mother views me as a flunky.
“Uh aight, I’m gonna leave.” He says as he grabs the door and snatches it open. Without hesitation, he exits the house. “Anthony, get out” she snaps, “ you leave with him and don’t you ever return until you ’ re ready to repent to God for the words that have come out of your mouth. I refuse to have those deeds of evil spirits in my house. Go!” she points to the door. And that’s when I first realized I can chip away at my mother's heart by traveling down the same route in life she thought I would stay away from.
My first day on the streets as a drug dealer, the only spectators are the few crackheads, walking up and down Waller and Washington. In front of me stands a woman with a bunch of crinkled dollar bills she fumbles with, as they dangle from her hands. “Can I get two for 18?” she asked as she attempts to put a sexy look on her bony skeletal face. As I sit on the milk crate against the wall, a vision that plays in my mind all the time when I see the candy apple red Audi eight with shiny chrome and red Vlados rims with music blasting Charlie Wilson, I can do magic, one snap of my fingers girl, and I can pull a trick or two.
As I think to myself, one day I hope to get there, but for now I have to make ends meet the best way I could. I finally make my way back and drop two bags of crack into the woman ’ s hand in return. She damn near throws the money at me before dashing off. I backed up against the wall as I tried to straighten out the crinkled bills. To my surprise I find I’m holding onto $11 instead of the $18 that she told me she had. Frustration sets in. A few other young men and boys are spread out around the dark street corner. The main attraction is the red Audi 8 and 2 to 3 women who stand around the car slightly parked past the intersection. The music blasts as the young men get out the car and stand around the vehicle. One of the men was D-boy showing off and entertaining them. As I look up the block to find no sign of the woman “crackhead b****”, I mumble to myself, feeling like a sucker.
I stand there with disappointment, looking at the bills as tires screeching sound off a few feet away from me. The sound startles me and causes me to divert my attention to the raggedy, black Crown Victoria. That has stopped in the middle of the street. Both doors fly open. An older man hops out of the passenger side, he waves a gun around he shouts "don't move!” Fear fills my heart. As I think of the fact that maybe they witnessed the transaction. I watch the gun closely, and slowly raise both hands in the air. I peek to the right, where D-boy and the Audi was parked, seeing it speed off, leaving the scene. As he pat me down and places the barrel of the gun to my forehead I close my eyes tightly and turn my head left. I feel the man ' s hands fumbling through my pants pockets. I peeked through one eye and watched the man put my money in his pocket. “Damn,” I think to myself, as I think of all the hard work I put in to earn that money. Then this man ordered me to lie face down without uttering a word. The driver shout out, “let’s go!” The man nods his head “listen clear” the man says in a little whisper “this right here ain't have nothing to do with you. Wrong place at the wrong time. This right here was bigger than you, you just got caught up in the mix” the man says. “Leave whatever happened over here, take it as a blessing that you get the opportunity to walk off. Do not come back here.”
I got right up then sprint with long strides to the front Street. Where I believe to be safe, huffing and puffing as I pulled out my phone then call D-boy. A minute later he picks up. I say with rage “I got robbed. I know you seen it, why you didn’t help me bro?” D-boy say we didn’t have the pole on us, and had too much money on us. Don’t trip, I know who they is. They got Uck the other night when he was out there by himself. Them Negas trying to take the block from us, ” he say. He tell me to hold tight, he’s on his way. I think to myself, this got to be a sign for me to leave the game alone. Before I get too deep. I stand there baffled, all of this is new to me. It is my first day on the streets as a drug dealer. I’m not prepared for all this. Cops, stick ups, shootings. Damn, am I built for all of this? At this very moment at the age of 18 I realize it is now time for me to take care of myself. Days later, after what happened on the block last week, I still haven’t been able to sleep a whole night without the situation replaying in my head. After a whole week, I still wasn’t ready to return to the block. I contemplated throwing the towel in until D-boy teased me about being afraid to go on the block. As much as I didn’t want to go, I’ll let D-boy pump my head up. One thing for sure, all the pumping in the world would not make me go back to the same spot. I refuse to ever step foot anywhere near that block out a fear that I would see those older men again. Luckily I’m from out west and D-boy has unlimited spots.
The next day on a Saturday night, me and my girl Chantel was on Springfield and Madison standing next to White Castle. D-boy had just dropped us off after giving me the run down on what to do, then introducing me to a few people. I’m familiar with this side of town and I know if you want to spend some money or make some money, Madison is the place to be. It’s like downtown New York. Every level of a hustler, every pay grade all on one playing field. The area is clear of civilian life. If you been on this part of Madison then you get the picture. The only people are me Chantel and some hustlers crowded around the storefront and the addicts we serve. The drug traffic was consistent, a productive day is winding down and coming to an end. No one minds it because it’s been prosperous. Things are just settling down on the strip. The stores closed hours ago and everyone else left the block to go to the circles to watch the show. The car slowed down to see some women, that’s what some people do in the city throughout the week but most of the time on Saturdays. Since I was now out of school and grown I figured I would have no curfew since I don’t stay with my mother no more, so I would be free to roam the streets all night long.
Leaving me and my girl Chantel on the block alone was a good look to me anyway. There was no reason for them to be there anyhow because none of the money coming through was for them. The batch of work that I got from D-boy today he said was grade A quality and that I should have no problem selling it all day. Any customer that came through was looking for purple bags.
Leaning against me stands a beautiful girl. She is pretty, short in height, standing at 5 feet 2 inches tall and slightly thick. Kiesha mashes her face in my chest as she hugs me tight. She looks up at me with her lips puckered up tightly. She closes her eyes and twitches her nose signaling me to kiss her. I lean forward and our lips lock as we indulge in a kiss.
Just as it was getting good, a customer confronts me. “Let me get two” the man says rather anxiously. I peek to my left, then to my right too. Making sure the area was clear of police. As I step away cautiously “gimme two!” a woman yells from across the street. I walk ahead about fifty feet before sticking my hand underneath the gaping of the aluminum siding. I retrieved a huge sandwich bag full of crack then I count out five bags. Then I grab two more and slip them into my mouth. I figure this will prevent me from having to come right back.
On the block standing in front of White Castle I look up and down the block to my right and left before making the sale. I feel like the star of a movie right now. Knowing Chantel is watching in action, we lock eyes. The sound of the engine roaring catches my attention and interrupts our stare down. As I peek to my right, to my surprise I see an unmarked police car racing up the block in my direction. My attention is on the passenger door which is half open as the car approaches. I stood frozen, stiff. I spot the faces of the two most feared cops out west. Chronic is behind the wheel and his sidekick Spider is in the passenger seat. Spider hops out and races towards me. “Don’t move!” Spider shouts.
I did the opposite without notice. I take off in flight full speed ahead running fast and hard. I hear the sound of the engine racing behind me. I look over my shoulder and see the unmarked car side by side with me. The sound of a walkie talkie feels close to me so I look over my shoulder again and Spider not even three arm lengths behind me. As I run even harder, I take a quick lead on Spider but the car is still beside me. As I approach the corner I realize it’s time to make a decision.
The best decision that is which way, I think to myself. Should I run straight, turn left and run behind a car? Before deciding, I bend the corner to my right and go up the block. The vehicle is still to my side. I look behind me and find Spider just turning the corner. The car is now a little ahead of me. I quickly run behind a car on the other side of the street. As I look to my left I see Spider gaining on me.
As I approach a minor obstacle. Ain’t no way I’m going to let a six foot gate stand in the way of my freedom. “Stop!” Spider shouted. I take two steps up the gate and throw myself over the top of it like a cat. I land on my feet. I look back and see Spider had just got to the gate. I run through a backyard straight ahead and I spit the bags out of my mouth. As I’m running, in front of me is a smaller gate. I hurdle over it into the next yard.
Not even three seconds later I’m making my way from someone ’ s backyard to the front of someone ’ s house onto the block. “Fuck!” I shout as I spot the unmarked police car pulling up in front of me. Chronie hops out of the car with his gun aimed. “Stop!” I look up and see Spider coming up from the backyard behind me. “Put your fucking hands up in the air you mother fucker!” He says with his gun aimed. I peek back and forth at the two officers who now have me trapped. “Damn,” I mumble. I raise my hands high in submission. Suddenly like a quarterback gettin sacked, I’m tackled to the ground by Spider. Spider grabs my wrists and forces them behind my back. He uses so much force that my shoulders feel like they’re being ripped out of the sockets.
“Aghh!” I scream.
“Shut the fuck up! I should beat your fucking head in for making me chase you ” Spider threatened. Spider cuffs me really tight. “Aghh,” I grunt. “ Aghh my ass, you stupid motherfucker” he says as he flings me around by the cuffs. Spider drags me by the cuffs back to the police car. I’m tripping over my feet since Spider is pulling me backwards. I fall to the ground.
Spider lifts me and continues to drag me. I start back at the crime scene which is now packed with spectators. I lowered my head with shame, unable to face all the people. I feel embarrassed and even more than that, I feel stupid. I got caught. Spider slams me against the car.
“Hold him and walk off.” I wonder where he’s going. I’m hopeful Spider is going in the wrong direction of my stash. When Spider got to the corner he makes a left and he is out of my sight. Chronie stands in front of me. “You got something on you I should know about?” he asks as he stares at me.
I shake my head from side to side. “Speak now or forever hold your peace ” Chronie says with a smile as he digs in my pocket. Ironically he goes straight for the money pocket and snatches a knot of money from my pocket. “You were having a good day up until now huh.” As I watched Chronie sift through my bills. “Bingo” he says as he snatches a twenty dollar bill from the stash. He hold the bill high in the air as he studies it closely. A smile appears on his face he had the bill in the palm of his hand. “Look at this,” he says as he extends the bill closer to me. Chronny laughs as he snatched the back door of the car open. He forces me into the back seat intentionally banging my head on the roof. I sit with the back door wide open. “Damn damn” I think to myself. I sold to an undercop, but who? I ask myself as I think of the people I served. “Damn” I mumble under my breath. As I look up I see Spider approaching. I notice my ziplock bag full of dime bags in Spider hand. “You found the bill?” “ Yep” Chronny replies as he waves the bill. Spider slams the door shut.
I look to my right and lock eyes with Chantel who is standing on the White Castle stoop. She shakes her head with sympathy in her eyes. Both officers get in the car and Chronie snatches the gear out of park. Chronie pulls off slowly. At this moment I realize that my life is about to change. I take one last look at Chantel and see her eyes are still glued onto me. She again shakes her head with pity and I do the same. I bang my head against the backseat as the car approaches the corner. A terrible end to such a beautiful night.
I tell myself repeatedly, this is the other side of the game. I chose to play the game and this is what comes with it. Now as I’m faced with reality, I’m forced to look at life differently. Now that I have a criminal record, I’m sure that it will affect my life from here on out.
I have been told all my life by teachers and my mother that I will never be able to get a decent job once you get a criminal record. Now that I have a criminal record, I feel like I have no choice but to go harder on the streets. The fear that fills my heart is unimaginable, but the adrenaline rush surprises me.
As weird as it sounds, I got addicted to the highs and the lows of the game ’ s adventures if you know what I mean.
Anthony Jackson
I Am From
I'm from the Sandra Bellamy and Lamont Jackson
I'm from chicken or fish with spaghetti every Friday
I'm from make sure you ' re in the house before the street lights come on
I'm from Chicago, Chiraq, Windy City,
The west side of the Austin Community
I'm from poverty, growing up I had to use milk crates for a rim
To play b-ball in the alley of my hood
We had no b-ball in the hood and if we did it was drug infested
I'm from continuously throughout the day all you hear is
Police, ambulance and firefighter truck sirens wailing loud
I'm from throughout the day and night all you hear is random gunshots
I'm from Love, Hate, Greed, and Envy
I'm from devious people places and things
I'm from pimps and prostitutes, hustlers, killers and thugs
I'm from every time you look around I try to prevent going down
From getting locked up or even dying
I'm from don't become a product of your environment
And if you do then it's fuck where you from
It's all about how you come
Cuz niggaz get their hair blown off where I'm from
Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb
