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.
Brian Maturen April Fools
Body
April 1, 2004. Today marks the two-year anniversary of my father’s death, which was April 1, 2002. We were on vacation in Aruba. He took me scuba diving. Just one more thing he did for me to show me how much I was loved.
He had some type of panic attack which led to some type of heart failure in the water. I dragged him almost a mile through 5 foot peaks and rough waves. He was still breathing but frantically and that’s where I made the worst mistake in my life,and as a result he drowned.
HedrownedbecauseIwentagainstprotocolandunclippedhisB.C.(BuoyancyCompensator).Thiswas thevestfullofairthatdiversweartofloat.Ireallythoughta120pound,skinny13-year-oldmecould draghislimp225poundbodyupthatladdertosafety.Yeah!Aprilfuckingfoolsallright,jokesonme.
WhowasIkidding?Soanyways,inmymind,Iaccidentallykilledmyfather,amanwhohadsacrificed hiswellearnedgoldenyearstoraiseachildthatwasn ’tevenhis,butthat
’sanotherstory.Ihated
myself,andIdidjustaboutanythingIcouldtoescapemythoughts,whichledtomorepain.
One year after he died, April 1, 2003 I got caught in school with drugs. I was showing a capsule full of powder to one of the older kids in my auto shop class. Trying to be cool, trying to get some recognition, well, unfortunately, the security guard who just happened to be walking through at the time recognized the fake hand shake hand to hand transfer. Long story short, I got my first suspension in high school, my mom was highly disappointed. Figures, I was the bad guy, jokes on me two years in a row. Why would the third year be any different? This next part is where it stopped being funny and it got hilarious. Back to April 1, 2004.
I hear my mom say my name “Wake up Brian, I love you. ” I’m so tired my eyes are still closed but I can tell the light just came on. That’s weird because she never does that when she wakes me up to go to school. I squint my eyes open and notice two big figures. “Am I tweaking?” I rub my eyes “Nah definitely not tweaking.” There’s two huge grown ass men on both sides of my mattress which was on the floor. “Hey Brian” says the shorter of the two. “Your mom got your clothes piled up for you next to your bed. Me and my partner like to do things as civil as possible, we don’t want to throw you around the room but we will if you resist. So put your clothes on, follow me out, and my partner is going to walk behind you with his finger through your belt loop. So attempting to run wouldn’t be a good idea.”
You laughing yet? Because I sure as hell wasn’t. “Let me see a badge.” I demanded, thinking these guys are cops, and that I’m getting arrested. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s happening and why. “We’re not police, we ' re escorts,” he says. “All I can tell you right now is we are going to the airport and we ’ re getting on a plane. If you cause a commotion and we can’t board this plane, we will put you in cuffs and drive all the way to Utah, and we really don’t want to do that so be chill.” A lightbulb goes off in my head as I think about the thick wooden walking staff I always keep outside my front door in case anyone ever tried to come to my house to do me harm. This was my way out. I was going to grab it, whack dude holding my belt loop and take off into the little forest preserve across the street from my house. I would lose them in there.
When we got to the front door, I yelled something that I will not repeat to my mom out of anger. I will say I regret talking to my mom like that to this day. Once we stepped outside, my adrenaline pumped as I turned to grab the staff…. and it was gone. “Yeah, that's the first thing I noticed when we pulled up, ” said the guy behind me with a chuckle. It pissed me off that he thought this was funny. Plan A failed. I did not have a Plan B. “Whatever” I thought. “I’ll get through this, I always do.” I was angry. I felt hurt and betrayed. Once we got on the plane, the man handed me a letter and told me it was from my mom. I opened it and read it.
It explained how my mom and my brothers all came to an agreement that I needed help. My brothers at the time were in their upper 20s and early 30s. So to me they were more like two more parents that I had to lie to, because the age gap was too big for me to see them like siblings that I could trust, like how I observed my other friends and their siblings. I felt so alone, betrayed, and misunderstood.
How could they do this to me? My own family. Me and my friends always had this idea about cops, that it takes a real cold heart to be able to turn the key on somebody. That’s why I hated police and state attorneys. Now my own family sent me away. They didn’t want to deal with me. Understand these were not at all their intentions. This is simply how I was perceiving things. Another family who rejected me. I asked God why he even bothered, bringing me to earth in the first place.
Once we got to Utah, I figured I was going to some type of work camp to do countless hours of labor for no reason like in the movie Holes, with Shia Labeouf. I just wanted to get to the cabin so I could sleep. I was so mad that I couldn't even cry. We drove for hours through mountains and desert. Finally we got to a small building in the middle of nowhere.
I was stripped naked and told to ”Squat! Cough.” and then given a pair of khaki pants, a Tshirt and slip on shoes. No one really told me what was going on and I didn’t ask. The two guys that had brought me left and two other guys approached me. One of them said “Grab that bag right there and follow me. ” That’s when I saw it.
A huge bag, it looked like one of those bags hikers use. It was stuffed to the brim. I tried to put it on, and could barely even lift the bag. I struggled with it out the door. The man had his trunk open and grabbed it from me and put it in the trunk. I got in the back and we drove about another 2 1/2 to 3 hours. I was good and lost now. Literally bum fuck Egypt. We pulled up to a location. I saw four big blue water containers and a man with a big beard that looked like a mix of a Viking and a hippie. We were in the desert, all I could see was dirt, and not Chicago dirt, sandy desert dirt. And Sage bushes.
A dried up ball of tumbleweed blew across the sand, looking like something right out of an old western flick. There was the occasional juniper tree, and no sign of civilization as far as the eye could see in every direction.
Thetwo men whobrought me rolled awayandit wasjust me andthehippieVikingstanding inthe middle ofthedesertliketwojackasses.The manintroducedhimself asJohn andtold me totake a seat asif we werein an office andthere was a comfychairfor meto sitin.“Yeah, I’mdefinitelyonthe shit end ofthisjoke” Ithought asI satdown crossleggedinthedirt.Soon afterIheard voicesthroughthethicket of somejunipertrees and saw aline ofteenageboys, rangingfrom13to17 at most,walkingup.Theyallhad either shovels or pickaxesintheirhands. “Holes” Ithought.One ofthem approached me,introducedhimself asJohn andtold mehe was mymentor,andthathe’sthe onlyoneI couldtalkto untilI gottothe next phase.
I learned that there’s four phases: earth, fire, water, and air. I was on earth and until I made it to fire I could only talk to the little John and hippie Viking John. As I am pondering this, the wind starts picking up. Off to the Horizon some ugly, dark thunder heads were forming and coming our way. I definitely didn’t notice any other vehicles when we pulled up so I’m guessing the cabin has to be somewhere close. “Get him situated” Hippie Viking says to Little John. “We going to the cabin or what?” I asked. He ignores me. “ Let’s see that pack you got there,” he tells me. We walked over to an area about 100 feet from the main site where they had a small fire going. As he’s going through my pack, I ask him, “Bro, it’s about to rain, when you think we ’ re going to the cabin?” Now he’s looking at me. “Who said anything about a cabin?” he asked as he pulls a 10’x10’ blue tarp out of my pack. This is your cabin.
As I watched him, my jaw dropped with a mixture of wonder and utter disbelief as he tried to tie two ends of the blue tarp to two trees opposite of each other, and made a makeshift A-frame tent, if you could call it that. He then showed me a mat and a sleeping bag that was in there for me. “Stay in here until the storm blows over. ” So I sat there, under a blue tarp in the middle of the damn desert while a severe thunderstorm raged on in the background. I thought about my dad and I cried. What did I do to deserve this? I quietly cried out to God. “Why did you curse my life?” I asked, and no one ever answered.
Eventually,Igotusedtobeingoutdoors. Ifoundoutweweren ’treallydiggingholes,they weremakingsomethingtocollectrainwatersowildelkcoulddrinkfromit.Afterwefinished, wehiked.Weneverstoodatalocationlongerthanfivedays.Wewouldhikeanywherefrom 5to10mileswith70to80poundpacks.Wealsosawatherap istnamedTonyonceaweek.
Hecameouttowhereverwewereandhadoneononesessionswithus.
Therewere8to12 guysinthegroupatanygiventime.
Ihadtogiveupmyplasticspoonandcarveoneoutofwood.Iwasalsotaughthowto “Bustanember.
” Prettymuchmakingfirewithsticks.Youmakeafiresetwhichconsistsofabow,afireboard,aspindle,andatoprock.Mostnightsifyoucouldn’tbustanember, thenyoucouldn’teathot.Everyonceinawhile,theywouldcallitaneffortnight,thosewhofailtomakeafirecouldstilleathot.
We ate oats and granolaforbreakfast andbeans and ricefordinner.Allthefood was precooked.All youhadtodo was add water andhydratethefood.Fridaynights were meat nights, which would usuallyconsist of groundbeef.Onetime,one ofthe guysthatbrought out our supplies everyweekbrought us somefresh elk steakthathehadjusthunted.Man oh man,Ihad such an appreciationforfood.
Besides allthe hardskills Ihadlearned, Iwas also learning to come togrips withmy own issues. Mainly my adoption andthe deathofmy father, andhow bothinstances caused trauma thatinfluencedmy decisions in life.
I woke up one morning, about 11 weeks in, to some surprising news that I’d be leaving. I had been out there for almost 3 months. I was so excited. I missed home, missed food, missed civilization. My mom came out to Utah to get me. I was so happy and then she hit me with the bad news. I wasn’t going home. She told me I was going to some type of program school located in another place in Utah, and when I finished that program, she said I could come home. I was so upset, but by that time I just thought “fuck it,” if she didn’t want me home, I didn’t want to be home.
Later that day we got to the place. It looked OK from the outside. It was called Island View. Supposedly there were both male and females, so how bad could it really be?
About a week in, and I realized this place wasn’t exactly what I had been told. “Program school” was a nice way to sell it. It was an RTC, residential treatment center, level 4 lockdown facility. It was basically a step up from a loony bin. It had a therapist, and a Nintendo 64. My mom had to pay to send me here. I don’t know if my Social Security checks from my dad dying were covering the costs alone, but I figure whatever saved up money my mom had for me was being expended. Oh well.
I noticed real quick that the staff were kind of strange. One moment they’d be all nice trying to get me to open up about what I was going through. The next moment they were trying to tell me how full of shit I was, yelling and cursing at me. Definitely not the same atmosphere as the wilderness program.
I wasn’t the only one to catch the abuse either. It seemed that just about any one on the three lower levels was fair game to get ganged up on by everyone else, staff and residents, and just get roasted in every way possible. There were five levels and the two top levels were the best to be on, but the hardest to maintain.
We would have these little groups called problem-solving groups. If you had an issue with someone, even if what they were doing didn't affect you at all, you could write it down on a slip of paper and put it in a box. During PSG the staff would draw your slip and you could confront the person. This just turned into a petty “throw your friend under the bus session.” If you were the one being thrown under the bus and you tried to explain yourself or stand up for yourself, the staff members would start screaming at you and telling you things like “You’re in denial.” and “You’re full of shit.” and “Tough shit.” Sometimes they would take you off your level and make you start from the bottom. This also meant you got privileges taken from you and you got to watch everyone else enjoy theirs.
One time someone blamed me for doing something I didn’t do, and before I knew it everyone was blaming me. I remember the staff member named Becca, who was just feeding into the nonsense. I couldn’t understand how this grown woman was facilitating this nonsense, allowing everyone to blame me and talk shit to me, swear at me, call me out of my name, call me a liar amongst other things with absolutely no proof at all. She literally put it up to a vote to see how many people thought it was me and told everyone to close their eyes and raise their hands if they thought I did it.
institutionorajuveniledetentioncenter.
MindyouIhadonlybeenthereabouttwoweeksandnooneknewme.
Ifthey absolutelycouldn’tcalmyoudown, they’dbootyjuiceyouandsendyoutoamental
mgotupreadytofightthisonekidandtwoofthemalestaffmemberssaidifImadea ovetheyweregoingtoPI4me(tackleandrestrain)andputmeinthetimeoutroom. Alittleclosetsizedroomwithaheavysteeldoorthatlockedelectronically.
Ilostmyshit. I
Even though I calmed down, I was still put on a punishment called yellow zone. I had to sit in a white lawn chair for three days in the hallway in staff site. I couldn’t talk to anyone or it would start over. Once a week, I had a personal session with my therapist, Mr. Taylor.
Itriedtelling my momoverasupervisedphonecallaboutwhathappened, butit seemedto melikeMr. Taylor hadbrainwashedher, andno matterwhatIsaid, Icouldn’t gether towanttopullmeoutofIslandView. I’dbehereuntilthey saidIcouldleave andthat’swhatitwas. Onlyway togetoutwas togivein.
ThatorwaituntilIwas 18.
Alittleoverthreeweeksin,
andsomekidonthenexttieroverhunghimselfinthebathroom. NowthatI’molder, Irealizehowirresponsiblethestaffandtherapistswere. Theyhadthisweird , toughshit , callyououtmethodoftryingtogetinsideourheads. Nottakingintoconsideration thatnotallthekidsthatcameindidthingsforattention. Someofthesekidswerereally suicidal , reallyviolent , reallydidn’tcareandwoulddosomethingcrazyjusttoproveapoint.
Later on, I learned that not all the tiers were subject to the same methods of therapy. They were literally experimenting with different forms of therapeutic procedures. When you understand psychology, as I do now, there is no denying how dangerous that is. This is emotional and mental abuse, highly unprofessional and irresponsible.
I spent months at IslandView, andby the time I came out, Iwas an expert bullshitter. I really didendup giving into the program. I allowedthose people to get into my deepest, darkest secrets, andshow me how to connect the dots from my trauma, to how it manifested. Finally being able to honestly reflect on myselflike this didsomething else to me that was unexpected. It fine-tunedmy intuition andgave me sucha profound understanding on the human psyche condition that ever since then, I hadthe empathetic ability to readjust about anyone in any situation I came across.
I didn’t like knowing everything about myself. I didn’t like knowing everything about everyone else. When I got back in the world, I wanted to go back to the streets, but this time I felt like I had the intellect to do what I do and not get caught. Once again joke’s on me.
Later on in life, I discovered a branch of activism advocated by Paris Hilton. I touched on this in my last memoir, Any Path Can Take You There. I never realized my situation, my experience, and the after effects it had on me psychologically was way more common than I thought. Unfortunately, this kind of thing gets swept under the rug and hushed up. Just another corporate cash cow under the illusion of “HELP”… Pathetic.
Being a person who loves animals, I always realize this: if you can’t have a cat without declawing it, then you shouldn’t own a cat. If you can’t own a bird without clipping its wings, then you shouldn’t own a bird. If you can’t own a dog without keeping it caged, then you shouldn’t own a dog. This is to parents everywhere. There’s no manual to raising kids, but if they are your kids, you need to raise them. If you can’t handle dealing with the emotional baggage that kids come with, then you shouldn’t have kids. Don’t send your kids off to so-called professionals, because you don’t know their intentions and what kind of sinister things hide behind, smiles, and nice faces.
These days the world is changing so fast. Negative behaviors are being poured into acceptable culture at every level. The old ways of parenting kids are changing too. Teenagers these days, for the most part, are more confused than ever at no fault to the parent. Most parents panic when their teenagers start acting out, which is understandable, but doesn’t help the issue. Talk to your kids, identify with them. Learn to understand their world, their perceptions, instead of judging them for not understanding yours. This book is dedicated to the misunderstood, the troubled, and the damned.
Free the kids and save our children. If you ’ re a parent and don’t know what to do, there are resources that will help if you reach out. Parenting classes aren’t anything to be ashamed of. If you are an experienced parent and one kid acts out in ways your other kids never did, it’s OK. Don’t panic. Open yourself to different approaches to connect with your kids, it may seem hard, but understand this is what you signed up for. Blessings to parents everywhere. It’s our job to raise the future of the world.
I Am From
I am from the city of Chicago
From grief, loss, and pain
Brian Maturen
From making mistakes and disappointing the ones that love me
And making the wrong choices for all the wrong reasons
I am from a loving family but a hateful world
From never giving up no matter how many times I fall
From where ignoring one problem leads to five more
I am from proving to myself that I can accomplish anything
But still prone to making mistakes
I am from a mindset that empowers me
To keep striving to be the best I can be
And to allow me to speak my mind
Until I’m the loudest in the room
Even if my opinions go against the grain
I am Brian Maturen and I refuse to give up
I am a loving father
And a loving husband to a Queen named Venus.
Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb
