A Lonely King

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“Until the lion writes his own story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” The Soy Autor writing process was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program launched at Cook County Jail with young men awaiting trial for violent offenses. Through the process of drafting, revising, illustrating and publishing memoirs, the Authors’ Circle develops reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie, conflict resolution and positive self-projection.

In collaboration with:

Cook County Sheriff’s Office



A Lonely King Decorian Collins



The smile I see is basically his trademark. That smile alone could make any cold heart warm, any frown smile, and brighten any dark day.



Growing quickly, these moments we spend together were priceless. It was Christmas Eve and it was just me and Kaleb at my mom’s house. I couldn’t wait to see his reaccon come Christmas morning when he opened his giis.


I think about mes with my dad, biiersweet, only because there were precious moments, but could have been more. My dad was like my idol, like the way you would be about a celebrity.


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One of our last precious moments together was Christmas morning starrng with a fresh beam of sunlight through the window warming two faces of love. It was as if by faith we both opened our eyes on accord, and we smiled at each other, which warmed my soul, but now opens the oodgates in me.


I picked him up and started toward the kitchen full of black marble. Using one hand like a skilled veteran, I made his boole and held him with no complaining from my prince. Immediately, I gathered the giis and gave the ďŹ rst gii to a curious child, who wasted no me trying to open it. But being that he wasn’t even one yet, I opened it for him. Within milliseconds, that trademark was plastered across his face, listening to the sounds emerging from his play cellphone. I actually recorded it. Siing here, reminiscing, really destroys my heart.


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The pain only deepens because my first born, Decorian, Jr., is now four years old and is experiencing the same suffering pain as me and Kaleb. Our relaaonship isn’t where it should be. Funny to me, when I look upon him, because it’s like looking in a mirror seeing myself as a child growing up. Almost like the ghost of Christmas past showing me to myself. He is just as charming as me. Funny, somewhat shy, naturally smart and loving. Decorian Jr. and I also have such an extraordinary and authennc conneccon, just like me and Kaleb. I can hear him now: “DC, daddy, I love you.”


On a visit more than half a year ago, here in in Cook County Jail, like Kaleb, he ashed his trademark smile.


If only I could hug him and correct his confusion. I wonder does he understand why dad can’t leave with him? Does he understand why he calls two people Daddy? Does he have a bad image of me now or a good one?


The precious Father and Son moments me, Kaleb and Decorian Jr. experienced together‌I would sacriďŹ ce anything for them again.


In County Jail, I am truly missing my family, my princes. I feel like a king who has lost his throne, his kingdom, and the blood of royalty that ows through his veins; replaced with the blood of failure, sorrow and devastaaon of my true idennty. What am I to do?


The pursuit of happiness is now a very dark road, almost as the valley of the shadow of death. Oh how do I miss the responsibiliies of being a father, an idol, a leader.



They deserve beeer, more. A complete family is every parent’s dream for their children. A clear day holding such an innmate moment. A strong loving man, a tsweet loving mother, with their bundle of joy and innocence embraced.


As I held a part of me for the first me, we all showed a perfect example of love and unity. The feeling of completeness and acceptance warms my feet to the ps of my fingers. His mother’s soo touch and sweet fragrance encircled me...

love literally in my hands! My heart screamed to never let go, to never let go of the feeling of a perfect love, a perfect family.


How could I let this happen? Where did I go wrong? Probably the same thing my father did.


The destroyed dream of my parents’ affected my life like Global Warming to the Earth’s atmosphere. I must become like Jordan in 1998 against the Utah Jazz in the Finals, to accomplish the unbelievable in such a harsh demanding situaaon.


I will try to live my mother’s dream and make her proud. Having pride in being a father, like a lion, is in being the leader of his family.. To become more than great. Perfeccon is impossible, but honestly perfeccon is not what I yearn for. Just being able to have a family and being with them is what my heart cries out for. A Happily Ever AAer, now what a story that would be. Don’t you think?






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