Grandmother Love Tyrice Hunt
“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
Grandmother Love Tyrice Hunt
Growing up was hard on me. Living in the projects, raised in a three bedroom apartment with three generations was even harder. You got my grandmother, my mother and her kids, and my aunt and her kids all in one.
We stayed arguing about every little thing—from who will be the first one to get in the bathroom, to kicking and fighting, to getting to the Frosted Flakes cereal for the little toy tiger that was at the bottom of the box. We all wanted that tiger because when you pulled the tail the mouth opened. We would even argue about who would get the biggest bowl. My granny always kept us from arguing and fighting.
One morning I woke up trying to get to the bathroom before the girls. It was a school day so I got up like around 6 am, but that didn’t work. As I got up the girls got up. It was chaos.
You had my oldest brother trying to get in the bathroom. I’m trying to hold him back, so we fighting. However that didn’t mean nothing, cause grandma always let the girls go first. That made us mad, because it wasn’t nothing we could do about it.
I would just pace the floor like a crazy person. My brother would just go in the room and say things under his breath. To make things worse, the girls would just be selfish and stay in the bathroom for at least 40 mins so we wouldn’t have no time.
We used to always try to convince my grandma to let the boys go first. Saying things like, “we don’t take long in the bathroom,” and, “the girls stay in the bathroom that long on purpose.” Nonetheless, it didn’t work.
Grandma would just hit us with a belt or throw something at us, cause we use to fight the girls and that didn’t sit well with her. She told us not to hit girls and her word was not to be tested, because what she said goes.
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My Grandmother (Mom’s mother) was a big part of my life growing up from giving advice with girls to whooping my ass when I got in trouble. She was the backbone of the family, especially for me.
One time I was running from the police and ran in the house to hide and she protected me. She even had good and bad advice on me having kids. It didn’t matter what was going on, she made me feel like I couldn’t do no wrong.
She helped me through so many situations, good and bad. When she died it crushed me to the point I wanted to go hurt someone and make them, or their family, feel the pain I was feeling. Because the last words I said to her kept playing in my head.
They weren’t bad or good words, it was actually a stupid joke. I said God shouldn’t have gave you his number because you keep calling him.
I shouldn’t have never let that come out of my mouth. When I think of it I feel so bad that I can’t breathe.
My grandmother died the same day I made that joke. I never let myself forget what I said.
I had so much hatred in me when she died that I wanted the world to understand where I was coming from.
Right after we buried her, it’s like the family went their separate ways, which made me have all these different emotions from hate to confusion. It was like no one cared that the family was breaking up. No lie, I felt some type of way because we didn’t even call and check up on each other no more, like how we used to when she was alive.
I began to lean more on my other Grandma (Dad’s mom), from going to see her daily to her giving me advice. When I was around her, she made me feel good, because she always thought I was a perfect angel.
She never saw or heard of my bad side and I wanted to keep it that way. She was a church going woman so everything was about God with her, which made me feel uncomfortable. Somehow I think she knew that.
When she died I lost everything which fucked me up mentally. I started popping pills heavy, drinking a lot smoking heavy to the point I blacked out or passed out. Eventually the streets took over my life.
I started staying out late, selling all types of drugs, playing with guns. My life took a complete turn for the worst.
Now I’m telling my story. A story I haven’t told anyone. And I kind of feel relieved that it’s out.
Tyrice I am from the streets, From concrete and trees. I am from the projects Running, playing from building to building. I am from Cabrini Greens Where most people have to struggle to survive. I’m from gambling and house parties From Gynell Wolff and Earl Knight. I’m from the era of shooting dice and playing cards From keeping your house clean and keeping yourself up. I’m from staying in the hallways to hustling on the block. I’m from Chicago From chicken to pork chops From the hard knocks of life.