For years i’ve had a gansta living inside me.
Now its time for the gansta to “get out” !!!
This is my life story.
It all started back in 1974……the year i was born.
It was blizzard conditions in the city of seattle wa.
Three feet of snow covered the ground.
The date December 23,1974.
Time 3:23 am.
The University of Washington Hospital was a state
funded institution that provided health
care for low income families.
It was supported by the Washington State Welfare system.
And it just delivered an eight pound nine ounce
gansta to the world.
I was the second child born to a “beautiful”
single African American woman.
My mother was poor but did her best
to support me and my brother Charles,
who is two years older then me.
We lived in the “projects!”
Yep thats where i spent most of my childhood growing up at.
Living In the projects in the 80’s
was a bad but fun time to live.
There where pimps, prostitutes, and
lots of dope-feens running around terrorizing
the collapse infrastructure, the state has set up
for some of it’s low class residence.
I was a beautiful, but really bad kid.
I remember when i was three years old running around
in the living room laughing and giggling with no diaper on.
I remember suqeezing my little giggling self behind the floor
model t’v and peed right in the back of it,
giggling and smiling the whole way.
My brother Charles said,
“Ooooh, Mommy…Andy is peeing in the back of the t’v!”
The t’v started POPING!!!
SPARKS WHERE FLYING!
It caught FIRE!
I was just laughing and giggling my little butt off,
until my mother grab me up by the arm and
stated whiping my little tan butt.
Thats when those giggles turn to screams!
Life was super hard growing up in the project,
called the Yeseler Terrace, Located right on
the edge of downtown Seattle, just four blocks
from the old King Dome, home to the Seattle Seahawks,
and the Seattle Mariners. wich is now
Safeco field home of the Mariners.
I remember one horrible monring being woken up,
to my mother crying. She was being raped,
right there in front of me.
The man had a bucher knife
to my mothers throat, at the sametime saying
i’ma kill you’re son if you fight me! She was crying
and saying please don’t kill my baby! Then he looked
right at me pointed the knife and said “i’ll kill him!”
“I’ll kill that little fucker!”
I was so scared!
My mother was crying and he rape her right there
in frount of me. When he was done and pulling up his pants,
he gave me this look and i felt like there was a monster
deep inside of his soul.
I was six years old at the time. I was in shock for month’s.
I felt like it was my falt. I felt like i could have done
something to stop him from doing that
to my mother.
I felt so bad for my mother! She went into a deep state
of depresion after that happen to her.
Thats when my life was turned upside down.
My mother had a hard time shaking off what had
happen to her. And thats when she started hanging
out with some bad peple. OH SHIT! Those people
introduce her to crack cocaine.
Life for us really went down hill from there.
(stay tune for next weeks chapter)
Dear Stone City Readers:
As you know i am locked up, so
I am hopping to find a few good volunteers
who could help me get
my story & music out, by helping me set up a
facebook & twitter account.
I also write & produce, music.
I am ready to share this amazing music
with the world,
So please if you could give a little of your
time to help, i would very much appreciate it,
and all volunteers who participates
will get a super cool song
commorated to them.
We need to change the world with our storys,
and words, and our music.
The change starts here!
It is my goal to give a voice to all those who dose not have one
or may have a hard time using there voice to help
change the things around them.
We all have dreams and goals,
and we all deserve an opportunity
to live out those dreams and goals.
We’re worth it!
We’re all worth it!
My storys is just as important.
My words is as important!
My life is just as important!
contact me @ jpay.com
I will try to make time for everybody.
You’r New Friend
Categories: Anthony E. Herod