Finding Purpose

Ter ri

on P oun c

y

Finding Purpose

Until the lion learns to write his own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people who are 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 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 men, their families, and our collective communities.

While each memoir's text is solely the work of the Author, the images used to create this book's illustrations have been sourced from 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 fully illustrated books.

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Finding Purpose Terrion Pouncy

February 2, 2017, my son, Terrion, Jr., was born. I thank God I was there to see him be born for my first time seeing birth. I have two kids, a boy and a girl, ages two and three, my son being the youngest. I missed my daughter’s birth being in the juvenile DOC. I was released 12 days after her birth.

My son and daughter is my blessing. On the day my son was born, I was lost; my baby mama kept telling me to do this and that. I knew she was about to have him, from all night she saying she was in pain and keeping me up. Once I drifted off to sleep, she woke me up breathing hard, saying her stomach hurt. I ran upstairs, falling up the stairs to my mother: She’ll know what to do.

Once I yelled out to her, she jumped out her sleep, staring in my eyes, with a boy-what’s-wrong look on her face. I told her, “Ma, Precious finna have the baby in the bed.”

Me and my OG ran downstairs to see my BM looking crazy. My mother said, “She probably just having contractions. Take her to the hospital to see what’s going on.” As me and my BM got dressed to leave out, I grabbed the car keys and was out the door, and we made it to the hospital.

As we made it to the waiting room, my kids’ mother really got into panic mode, telling she hurt and she about to have him. Seeing everything that was going on and all the doctors and machines going off, I began to panic. Then I hear a woman's voice, “Ms. Sanders,” as we go up to follow the nurse to an x-ray room. That’s when it all hit hard.

The doctor told us that the baby is coming early. I asked, “How? His due date is March 21st.

It’s February.” The doc told me he coming now, and we have to get into procedure. Now my kids’ mother acted possessed. “Get him out of me!” she yelled at the pretty young nurses that were assisting. The nurses didn’t look over 21 years.

My BM looked at me with devil eyes. I was stuck. I walked outside the room for air and called my mother, and let her know that Precious was about to have the baby. Then I called KD to relay the same message.

“Yo,” he answers the phone.

“Precious finna have the baby,” I told him.

“Where you at?” I heard the excitement in his voice.

“I’m at the hospital.”

“Where?!” he yelled.

“We at St. Bernard—” He cut me off. “That’s right off the Red Line. I’m on my way. Don’t go nowhere!” he yelled and hung up.

Then I walked back into the room to my BM yelling at the doctor about an epidural to numb the pain. The doctor explained that it was too late, and she went back and forth telling the doctor then she not having the baby without it.

I told her, “They said it’s too late. You keep talking about an epidural.” She looked at me again with them devil eyes and told me to shut the fuck up. “Fuck you!” she said. “You did this!” She went a hundred bars. Then she asked me to hold her hand. I did throughout the rest of the birth. I helped and watched closely. It was scary and exciting at the same time.

When my son came, he was 5 pounds. I couldn’t stop taking pictures, sending them to my mother before the doctor came to tell me he had to take my son to the NICU nursery. They had to watch him closely because of him being born early. I didn’t want him to go, but put up no fight because I knew it was best for him. So I followed closely behind, worried and watching the doctor’s every move and facial expression.

When we made it to the NICU, I noticed all the other babies and nurses attending to them. Then my phone vibrated. I seen it was KD, so I left the room, eyes never leaving my son when I answer the phone.

“We just got off the train. Come meet us!” KD said.

Then I told him, “I’m coming down.” As I was crossing the street, I could see KD from a distance, overjoyed with both arms and hands in the air.

Losing KD Jumped up, startled by the sound of Meek Mill’s “Save Me.” Pitch black as if my eyes were closed.

Hesitant to punch green or red, knowing it was something that’s not in my best interest. When I saw the female name that popped up, with my kids’ mother snoring next to me, I knew it was an emergency. As I answered the phone, all I could hear was, “He’s dead.” Not ready for what was being said to me, I got angry at her: “What? What the fuck you talking about?”

For a second, all I could hear was the soft sniffling coming from the other side of the phone. She broke the silence and said, “KD, he’s dead.” Everything in the room sunk in. In my head, I just knew it wasn’t true. I was just with him. All I could say was, “Stop playing.” Then, “Where he at?” “The hospital,” she said, with her brother and mother. “Where you at?” I asked her. “Home,” she replied. Then I told her, “I’m on my way to the hospital.” She told me to come get her. I told her, “I’m on my way.”

I didn’t even get to ask her what happened before I hung up. I put some pants on. My BM was up, mouth moving but the voice in my head outspoke her. I got home and ran up the 13 stairs, feeling as if it was two. I ran into the living room to find my mother asleep on the couch. She jumped out of her sleep from all the noise. I told her the information that I had received and asked for her keys. She saw the bulge in my pocket and the look in my eyes, and told me she was coming with and she was driving.

On the drive, I had a million thoughts, a million questions: Is it true? Where it happen? How it happen? Why wasn’t I there to help him? As I pulled up to KD house, his sister and girlfriend was sitting on the porch. They got in the car. The drive to the hospital was silent.

I asked his sister what happened. She told me that he was sick, so I went back into thought.

He didn’t get shot. He ain’t dead. She just overreacting. If anything, he’s in a coma. When we approached the lobby, I ran into a known family member, and he told me where KD’s room was.

As I approached his room, I could see that his mother was outside the room and his brother was leaning down over him. I hugged his mother and walked in the room. I couldn’t bear to see my brother like that, so I walked out the room for air and alone time. I locked myself out on some stairs that a nurse told me twice not go on because I would get locked out.

As I walked back into the room, I could see my mother, his mother, brothers, sister, dad, aunts, and cousins standing over him. I knew I was not in reality when I asked KD brother why the machine heart and air wasn’t on. He looked at me, and told me that he was dead. I look ed at him, and stormed out of the room and back to the stairs. I got light in the knees and fell.

Who Am I Really?

Growing up in Englewood, people would always compare me to my father. Although I had an older brother, I was the one people saw as the most like him. That’s probably why he was so tough on me. He didn’t want me to be like him or take the path he took. Back then though, I just thought he didn’t like me.

My brother was the total opposite. He stayed out of trouble, had good grades, student of the month. From grammar school to high school, anything a student got for being good, he was in it. He’s in the Navy now. Looking back at the time from now, I realize he was and is the only good role model to me and my two younger brothers. It wasn’t that I was a class clown or really too much of a problem. In fact, I never talk much. I just never did the work. I never liked school. Nobody could tell me anything, let alone teach me.

My first appearance to my teachers was always good for the first couple weeks. It always goes from “He so sweet” to saying “He always angry” to my mother. My mother could always lift my spirit, even though I put her through a lot. She let me know that I’m better, I can do better.

She didn’t let me get away with nothing. She was on me, and when I say on me, the look in her eyes would let me know I was about to get it. I remember one time I got in trouble at school in the sixth grade, and the police had to get involved. I was sitting in the principal’s office with two cops questioning me, and my mom walked in with tears in her eyes.

When we made eye contact, I knew I had something coming. I thought to myself, It's two cops in here.

She not want to hit me after the lie I gave the cops. They bought it, but she knew I was full of it. She swung but caught herself, remembering the cops were there. She turned to them and said, “Excuse me,” and popped me in the lip with a fast backhand. I didn’t even see it coming. I looked at the cops with a y’all-just-gone-sit-there-and-let-her-do-that-shit? look on my face.

After the conference with the officers, me and my mother went home. She sat me down and talked to me.

She asked what had gotten into my head. All I was thinking was the worst of the worst. I felt her concern, and knew that all she wanted was the best of the best for me.

I was listening, but at the same time I wanted to do what I wanted to do, because I was young.

But as I sit here today writing, so much is on my heart and mind. My mother never leaving my side. Never giving up on me. Staying honest and true. I want to be a great person and father to my kids. This is what inspires me.

I want to be that kind of father to my children. That is what helped change me, to think before doing. I’ve learned to focus on taking care of myself and family. To slow down, and not rush into situations which can hurt my family and me.

lish I want to accomplish the things KD wanted to accomplish for his future. I want to accomp their find and living better have to kids my the things he wanted to achieve for his family. I want purpose in life.

Terrion Pouncy I’m from struggle and hustle, From the big red brick house in the middle of the block Where all the kids on the block made their way to.

From loyalty, love, respect.

I am from dandelions That blow and fill the summer skies.

I’m from 4th of July, family reunions, and the Pouncy tree, From O’Sheena Guy and Terrance Pouncy.

I’m from hard nights and better days, From “it’s better to be caught with it than without it” and “one fight, we all fight.”

I’m from a Christian background.

I’m from Englewood, Chicago, southside, Ribs, greens, cornbread, chitterlings, and Kool-Aid, From dice games, bad grades, and fights.

The outgoing, most think he's crazy, Funny grandad Frank McKinzy.

Until the lion learns to write his own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright © 2019 ConTextos