American Me!!!
Darrius Walton
Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales 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 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.
In Collaboration With:
American Me!!! Darrius Walton
My name is Darrius B. Walton and I am 26 years old. I’m mixed Hispanic and Black, and my zodiac sign is Virgo. I’m born in the “Greens,” the Cabrini Green Housing Projects on the Near North Side of Chicago, 10 minutes away from downtown. I was raised in the Humboldt Park neighborhood in the West/North side of Chicago. I’m going to tell you a heartbreaking, breathtaking, frightening, life-altering real story about a very young boy going from childhood to adulthood with a mother and grandmother playing a father and mother role because my father was in and out of my life.
(Knock) (knock) is what my 6 year old self heard from the front door. I can barely hear it because my Wela is playing Mark Anthony loudly and you can smell a loud aroma of arroz con gondolas (yellow rice with eggs) and lechon (shredded pork). I was focused on the cartoon TV show called Arthur I was watching in the living room, then I hear again (knock) (knock) (knock), but I still ain’t really pay attention to the door for 2 reasons: my mom and grandma always told me never answer the door without us giving you or your sister the OK, and 2, I don’t want to miss a part from my favorite TV show. Then more knocks once again, louder than before.
(Knock) (knock) (knock) (knock), then I hear my Wela screaming “esparte ya yo Vengo” (Wait, here I come). She was coming from the kitchen to the front living room to turn down the big stereo radio with those big house speakers. While my Wela do that, they knock again louder. So now Wela’s getting pissed, walking to the door saying, “Quien es” (Who is it?). She looked in the peephole, then she opened the door. My younger self being so nosey, I looked over the couch to see who it was. It was 2 men, one black and the other one Hispanic in black suits, so I thought it was the Indiana people coming to try to convince my Wela or mom to let them take me and my little sister to this Hamond, IN church again like they do every weekend.
So I hear the Hispanic guys ask her do she speak English or Spanish. Wela said Spanish because her English was bad. So he asked her in Spanish does she know where my cousin Emerson is at. Is he inside? She said, “No. What’s this about?” The black guy looked at my Wela funny. Then you can tell he was trying to see inside the apartment through the open door. Wela was standing in front so the Spanish guy asked her do she know where he may be at. Now Wela said no again, and they look unconvinced. They handed her a card and left, so my Wela closed the door, looking pretty confused. She then grabbed the house phone and called my mom who was with my little sister at the store & told her what happened. Then she walked back in the kitchen to finish our breakfast meal. She yelled to me, calling me a nickname, Derie, in Spanish, telling me to turn her music back on.
The next day in the morning, while you hear the birds start chirping and cars warming up, the scariest thing happened. I’m in the living room now watching Spanish cartoons, laying on the couch drinking cola champagne. That’s a Puerto Rican soda. I hear banging on the door. My little sister is now at home and runs to the living room and watches the door while Wela walks to the door putting her robe on looking mad as ever because whoever it is don’t know my Wela hates getting woken up early in the morning.
So she yelling, “quien punetas es” (who the fuck is it)? Then I hear something about a warrant but my Wela walks to the door trying to open it. Then I hear a big bang and I could of sworn the wall shook, then 2 more times before the door broke in the middle, knocking my Wela to the floor. The door hit her with force. I was so scared that me and my sister ran to my Wela crying because she looked confused, scared and mad. I looked at where the door use to be at and I see a lot of people in all black tactical gear, running in the apartment with flashlights on big, long guns.
Then I see the same 2 men in suits but this time they have vests on and guns aiming everywhere, asking Wela where is my uncle/cousin Emerson at. She was crying & holding on to us sitting on the floor. You can tell she was mad and scared, asking them in Spanish why did they break in her home, it was just her and the kids there. They were still pointing guns, so Wela got real mad and started arguing with the men in suits. Me and my sister were scared to death because I thought they was going to hurt us or Wela. My sister didn’t really know much because she was 4 so she just seen we was scared. Wela in a heated argument with the men in suits. The people in all black yelled that the whole house was clear and there was no sign of him.
So they started searching our home. Then out of nowhere my Wela was on her feet telling them to leave. They told her don’t move or they’ll be forced to sit her down but she didn't listen. She continued to yell at them in Spanish, speaking so fast I didn’t understand her no more. It was like she was speaking in tongues. They told her to calm down, but she couldn’t. They was destroying our home. At the time I just didn’t know what was going on. I thought it was a nightmare. Wela at the time was so heated; I don’t think she knew what was going on or what they was saying to her. Because next you know, they tried to grab her, but she didn’t like that, so one of the men in suits was trying to grab her wrist but she was not going.
So she was wrestling with him and then others joined in and restrained her with handcuffs to the back with her on the floor. But still she did not give up screaming so they called whatever. I didn’t know what they were saying on one of the radios, then a few minutes later some paramedics & the men in black helped put her on a stretcher. All the while she was still saying please get out her home in Spanish while crying also. She was saying that we were her babies, then one of the men in suits took me and my sister outside. I seen my Wela looking so sad and confused on the stretcher and then I was even more scared. While crying, all I wanted was Wela back or my mom but they was putting her in an ambulance. One of the men in suits told me and my sister to calm down, stop crying, that everything’s going to be OK.
When I looked around I saw a lot of the neighbors watching what was happening, some of them trying to talk to the people in black. I guess they was wanting to know what was happening. Others were on their phones. My home looked like a crime scene out of a CPD T.V. show, the way they was in front & inside my home. Then 20 mins go by and a white woman with a voice so sweet & calming/gentle asks me & my sister how we doing. We did not respond, just looked at her. Then she asked do I know where my mother at. I shook my head no. Then she ask do I know my mother’s phone number, but I shook my head again no. Then she asked me do my grandmother be hurting or yelling at us a lot.
I said “No, I love my Wela. Can they bring her back?” She said not now. So then she asked did the police hurt us. I shook my head no. I ask again can I just go with my grandma. She said not now. She had a pen & pad with paper, I just now noticed, writing down something, then she left for a bit. Then she came back, talking on the phone for a few. Then she asked us if we was hungry. I told her no. My sister just agreed with me, so then she told us she will take us somewhere warm for right now. I said, “No. I want my mommie or Wela,” but she said everything will be OK, hugged us & said it again, “Everything is going to be OK.”
At the time I didn’t know who the lady was, but she put me & my sister in her car and drove us somewhere. I fell asleep & woke up in a parking tower lot, with a lot of cars. She walked us down to some stairs. My sister was holding my hand like her life depended on it. Then we went into a building. I soon found out later that the lady who walked us in the building was a social caseworker that worked for DCFS, the Department of Children and Family Services, and the building I walked in was DCFS group housing. When we walked in, they checked our clothes size and got us some new clothes, took us for a shower, and then separated me and my sister.
I remember crying hard and begging them not to separate us, but they did not listen and picked me up while my tears dripped on the floor. My heart started to slowly break. They put me in a boys’ part of the building where there is a lot of bunk beds in a big room. The first night was the hardest. I remember I couldn't stop crying and saying to myself I just want my sister, mom and Wela back. That’s how it went for like 3 weeks. Then I had a visit with my sister and mom. She was so happy to see us. She held us it felt like for a long time. She was asking us are we OK. I just nodded my head & my sister did too. She asked are they feeding us and we shook our heads, yes.
But I didn’t care about that. I just keep asking can we leave with her, but she said not now. I remember me and my sister started crying and my mom started crying, saying everything’s going to be alright, just bear with her, she's going to get us back. But I still didn't understand what she meant. I thought we was going with her that day, but she calmly told us to stay strong. She had to go to court to get us back and Wela was still in the hospital because she had a mental breakdown and she was still going through it because of what happened. Then we played with my mom and I'm just happy we was all together, playing with toys and drawings. Out of nowhere a person told my mom that time was up and she said she got to set up another visit and that we would be good and safe.
I was back in my depressive state of mind while she hugged us goodbye and kissed us. We all started crying when she left. I was sad that I won’t see my mom, my Wela and sister for a while. So every week we continued to visit. After 2 months my heart was broken. I didn’t cry no more. I just stood silent most times. I hardly talked to boys in our group room. I only ate and slept. I didn’t even like watching TV no more. Then 3 months after our last visit, they moved me and my sister to a foster home to live with a foster family. Now all me & my sister did was watch TV, eat and sleep in a room together we shared with 2 beds. After a few months we moved to a new foster family because we didn’t like it and we started to get ringworms all through our body. My mom requested us to get moved too, so the next foster family was better. Like, you could tell they actually cared about us, but I still wanted our old family back with Wela and mom. I missed my Wela’s home cooked Spanish meals & my mom’s soul food.
So now 10 months has passed and mom, Wela and dad was in this court building. My caseworker took us to court while the state argued why we shouldn’t go back to my mom because she didn’t have a job or car or home for us. My mom’s lawyer counteracted everything they said. Then the social worker walked us to a room where me and my sister sat confused because I didn’t know what was going on. An hour later my mom and Wela came in with the case worker. They was happy, but I did not know what was going on.
They was happy because my mother won her custody battle against the State over us. I was just shocked and my sister was happy. We all hugged each other and cried because God had blessed us. Once I thought everything will be fine, how it was. Nope, I was wrong. I guess the rules to keep us is my mom needed her own crib and job, so we stayed at a homeless shelter for a month and changed schools till my mother finally got her own apartment and job. Then everything got back to normal. We was all happy and the only thing I missed was having my dad with me. But it was alright. I learned to live with my mother and grandmother playing both father and mother roles, even though I felt like I needed his guidance in life. Before I didn’t understand why my friends at school had moms and dads, but I had mom and Wela in my life.
Soon after that I learned I had some mental health issues and PTSD. I was scared every time I saw the police because I would think they would hurt my family members or take us away again. I had ADHD and I had problems staying focused on certain things because my mind was always wondering about 1,000 things at once. I had manic bipolar, my mood would always change at the oddest times. I could be mad one sec and then sad, then I would be happy then it would change again. I was never satisfied. I would have outrageous outbursts, and then when I thought things couldn’t be worse, I found out I am diagnosed with dyslexia, a learning disability.
So in school I was always a problem child because I couldn’t stay focused. That’s how my childhood went till I was in 8th grade when I learned how to look past my differences and focus on school sports. Then one day when I thought life was settling down my destiny took a turn. It was the last week of school so we basically just chilled and tried to get as many girls phone numbers we could get because we was young preteen age boys. So then you hear a bell ringing, meaning it was the end of school, 3:30 PM. It was a very hot sunny summer day and I was walking home from school with my classmates, just talking shit and talking how we going to end up dating the prettiest girls in the High School.
By the time we parted ways, I finally made it to the corner of my block where I live. I was sweating like I was in a work out, with my bookbag feeling so heavy. It felt like I had bricks in my bag. I finally made it inside and it felt so good with the AC on Then I went in the room and rolled up some weed because no one was home yet. Then I got high and got the munchies. I wanted some chips, candy and strawberry Fanta, so I left to walk to the store 2 blocks away. I made it to the corner of my block, minding my business, looking at my Sidekick, texting and listening to music out loud. Then all of a sudden it felt and sounded like 4th of July fireworks.
I thought it was fireworks going off, but then it felt like everything was moving in slow motion till it dawned on me. It's not fireworks. It was someone pointing something shiny my way with sparks flying out. The crazy thing was I didn’t feel anything till I noticed my white uniform shirt and white Air Force ones was milky red. It was happening so fast, in slow motion. I couldn’t do nothing but run. ? Then I seen someone come out of nowhere aiming at the guy shooting at me & shooting at him. Then as soon as it was happening, it all ended somehow. I ended up on the grass feeling like I was in one of the Die Hard movie scenes. The only difference is there’s no acting, no cut scene. I was a 13 year old in 8th grade when I got shot 5 times. From that point on, it altered my childhood/teenagehood. The way I viewed life changed.
They say being an innocent victim of a violent crime can change you for the better or the worse. I guess for me it changed me from worse to better. I was handicapped for 3 months; I had to learn how to walk again; and I had a cast on my left arm for 6 months. I couldn't move my fingers on my left hand without it hurting a lot. I was so depressed and tired. All I wanted was to pop pain pills and smoke weed because the trauma of what happened affected me more mentally than physically. My PTSD was at an all time high. I was always paranoid. Any sudden sound, flash, or anything bright would put me in a dream-like state of mind of flashbacks. I never felt safe.
I didn't trust no one, I didn't like school no more, and I became anti-social. I didn't feel safe nowhere else but the streets. The trauma experience changed me from being an innocent victim of a violent crime to another product of our hostile, violent Environment.
My problem was I gave up on hope, on family, and on myself. It took one person to make me look at life differently. This one person is my first daughter Adeline. When she was born I didn't care about the streets, drugs, money, or power. All I wanted to do was see her grow into a beautiful woman. I love the way she used to hold me or when I left her space she would run out and chase me. Now I have two little daughters, Adeline 6 years old and 4 year old Anastasia. For them, I'll rearrange the whole solar system like I'm Bruce Almighty.
Darrius Walton I Am From I am from humboldt park From Western to Pulaski. I am from the hometown of the cubs Gunshot like fireworks, tattoo’s like Art. I am from puerto rican food trucks, section 8, And police harassing on every corner. I am from if you wanted some, you had to go Get it, I wanted new designer boots for the winter So I stood on that snow covered corner till I Got em.. I am from a family so big so diverse Light skin to dark skin, I am from the Walton’s and Cartagena’s I am from a beautiful Latina queen I am from you had to pray before you ate From Spanish rice with beans and pork chops I am from pain, suffering and gain I am from dream chasers.
Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright
2022 ConTextos