Road to Nowhere Ivanti Byrom
“Until the lion writes his own story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” -African proverb 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, illustrating and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie, and positive self-projection 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 young men, their families and our collective communities. In collaboration with
Road to Nowhere Ivanti Byrom
“Where’s daddy?” I asked as we walked through the door. “He not here,” my mother said. Everyday when I came home my dad would be sitting on the couch or in his room watching TV, but today was different. All my dad’s things were gone. He had moved out while we were gone. I really didn’t understand what was going on. He was there one day, and then he wasn’t
I remember my dad had a burgundy 4 door Cadillac and every time I would hear a car pull up or a car door closing I would run to the window thinking it was him but it never was. After a while I got used to him not coming home and didn’t expect it anymore. Now that I am older I know that he left to live with another woman.
Shortly after my 4th birthday came and I had a birthday party. I wasn’t even expecting to see my father but he popped up. I remember being excited that my father was there. He even brought me a gift. It was a mini basketball rim, because I was crazy about Michael Jordan and loved basketball at the time. He told me he was going to the store to get sand to put in the base of the rim and that he would be back. I was holding off on cutting the cake because I wanted him to be there but he never came back. We ended up cutting the cake because it got late. I was sad the rest of the day and cried. After that, my life as I knew it changed.
With my father being gone my mother couldn’t work and take me to school everyday, so this caused me to move with my great grandmother and grandfather in London Town houses on 100th and Cottage Grove. Shortly after, my great grandfather passed away due to a heart attack and my great grandmother didn’t drive at all so she couldn’t take me to school so this caused me to move again with my other grandmother on 87th & Kingston. “The Medina” as they called it would be where I would spend the rest of my childhood and the majority of my life. It was considered a bad neighborhood to some, but for me it was home.
I was excited about moving to my grandma Sheryle’s home because my older sister Vicky already lived there. My grandfather lived there, too. He wasn’t really a father figure to me because when he wasn’t working he was getting drunk. I was still crazy about my father at this point, but I was only seeing him every once in awhile, probably twice a year until 10.
In between that time I seen a lot and been through some traumatic experiences living on Kingston such as being shot at by a fully automatic submachine gun at 7-years-old to seeing somebody get shot in the head when I was 9-years-old.
From the ages of 10 to 12 years old I started spending weekends with my father. Then he moved to South Carolina with his wife and my little sister and step brother. This is when I started to resent him because I felt like this was when I needed him the most. I went there to visit him once, then after that, we went years without talking at all.
I was always smart and talented. I was on the honor roll almost every year in elementary school. I was good at basketball and football, because I used to play with the high school kids at a young age. I started writing music when I was in the 5th grade and producing music by 8th grade. I remember I told my dad I wanted to be a rapper and he said that’s what all black people wanted to do, or play ball.
I remember feeling a little hurt because he wasn’t supportive. That just made me take music more serious to prove him wrong. I feel like I could have been anything in the world but I didn’t have the right guidance. I was teaching myself as I went.
In my sophomore year was the first time I lost friends due to gun violence. My friend Lil Johnny was only 13 years old and Chiko was 15 when they were killed. I was suppose to be with them that day but it was cold so I went home to get a coat after school and that’s when it happened. Lil Johnny’s birthday was three days after. He was shot once and Chiko was shot 10 times. Another boy named Kendrick got shot in the head. I didn’t know him like that but he went to my school. They were killed with an assault rifle or a “choppa” as some would call it.
I always wondered, would that have been me if I were with them? This is what led to me carrying guns. By then peer pressure started getting the best of me and my grandmother couldn’t control me. I started talking back, leaving school early, not going at all, fighting, drinking, smoking, even selling drugs. Around this time I hated my father for not being there and didn’t want anything to do with him. That’s when I vowed if I had kids, I would always be there.
I remember I always used to ask my family growing up why did everyone in my family have a nickname besides me. I always hated my name because people always mispronounced it. Ivanti. Then I started to not like it because the first four letters are my dad’s name, Ivan. I always wanted a nickname which I never got from my family, but I earned in the streets, Menace. This still sticks with me ‘til this day, to the point that some people I grew up with forgot my real name.
Needless to say in my junior year I was kicked out of school. This really pissed me off because I felt like I almost made it. I wouldn’t be able to go to my prom or graduate. I remember getting kicked out the day me and my friend Norris both planned to go to school everyday on time no matter what, because we were the last two out of our crowd still in school. When we got to school they told the both of us we were being dropped from the CPS system on the same day.
How ironic is that? That next morning Norris got locked up for a shooting. I felt if we didn’t get kicked out that wouldn’t have happened because we would have been in school. He was sent to the county at 17 years old and copped out for boot camp. He was the first out of our crowd to go to the County, but he sure wasn’t the last.
Later that year my Grandmother died. When she was on her death bed she told me to move in with my mother, because she just got a house in Blue Island and my mother always wanted me to live with her. But I didn’t want to because of my friends and school. My uncle was getting out of jail in a few days and was going to move in with us on Kingston. My Grandma felt me and my uncle didn’t get along. So I agreed that I would move with my mother and I did. The day my uncle got out and seen her in the hospital she opened her eyes looked at him and died the next day, November 28, 2010.
In January, 2011, I found out my girlfriend was a month pregnant with my son. I was excited, sad and scared all in one. I was excited because I was going to be a Dad, I was sad because my Grandmother wasn’t alive to see my child and scared because I didn’t know what my Mom would say. Also because I was only 17 with a child on the way. My son was born September 16, 2011.
By this time I was 18 and had my first car. Now I just needed my own place, which I ended up getting in 2012. I was trying to stick to the vow I made to be there for my kid no matter what. My heart was in the right place, but I was still young minded. I got kicked out of my first apartment for playing music too loud. My second apartment was on 81st and Paulina also known as “Killaward.”
I moved back with my mother from there for various reasons. It was supposed to be short lived, but ended up being longer than I expected. The fast food and warehouse jobs wasn’t paying like I wanted them to, so I started side-hustling. It was going good, but I couldn’t get a place without proof of income. Somewhere down the line I ended up back on Kingston with my uncle which was a bad idea.
I made my name, my car and my house hot to the point that people were pulling up looking in my car and waiting on me to come out of the house. My uncle had his wife and family staying there and I felt unwanted, but I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t want me there neither. I didn’t feel safe and now I had a daughter, born July 18, 2014.
I didn’t get the break I was looking for until that September when I got a job at the postal service as a mail handler. They were paying good with benefits and I would get a dollar raise every year. I moved out and got my own place again, but me and my child’s mother almost never get along so I didn’t let her live with me. We would just get put out, but that didn’t stop me from getting her pregnant again. But now I was on my feet and could provide for my kids. We broke up right before we knew she was pregnant because she was a party animal and I found out she was cheating. My daughter was born January 4, 2016.
Now I had three kids I had to be there for. Even though I had a busy schedule that took up a lot of my time, I was there when I was free and provided for them whenever they needed something. But I was still hanging with the wrong people in the wrong places. On December 1, 2016 I ended up getting caught up in a misunderstanding and losing everything. My job, my place and my freedom.
But most of all I feel like I broke my vow and repeated history by not being there for my kids and not knowing when I will be reunited with them. Will they hate me like I hated my father? Will they understand that I’m not there not because I don’t want to be there, but because I can’t? Because I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I guess only time will tell.
Ivanti Byrom I am from twin size beds From VHS’s and Walkman’s. I am from the house with the two big windows Clean, shiny, can’t open or close. I am from dandelions Blowing in the wind. I’m from BBQ’s and high blood pressure, From Sheryle Davis and Rhonda Brown. I’m from loud music and laughing From “Do your homework before you go outside” And “If somebody hit you, hit ‘em back.” “I’m from do unto others as you want done to you” And “Believe,” and “Jesus forgives.” I’m from the south shore neighborhood and the Byrom’s Harold’s chicken and mild sauce From taking care of your responsibilities, because that’s what a man does.