Run with the Devil or Walk with God: Everything Happens for a Reason

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2014 Manjuan De La Pas. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   11/14/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5299-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5300-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-5301-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014920208

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1   From MA to P.R. and Back

Chapter 2   A Break from the Projects

Chapter 3   The Roaring 80s

Chapter 4   Street Politician

Chapter 5   Becoming a Boss

Chapter 6   How Things Change

Chapter 7   Rapping is as Serious as Dealing

Chapter 8   On My Own Now

Chapter 9   On the Run in P.R.

Chapter 10 A Life to Live For

Chapter 11 It was luv luv

Chapter 12 A Very Bad Relationship

Chapter 13 On the Loose Again

Chapter 14 To Love the Father You Must Love the Son

Chapter 15 The Beginning of the End

Chapter 16 Miracles

Chapter 17 Spiritual Strength Through Confirmation

Chapter 18 My Grandmother’s Church

Chapter 19 A Changed Man

Chapter 20 God Shines Through Me

Chapter 21 Against Time

Chapter 22 Our Second Trip to P.R.

Chapter 23 The Fam’s Last Hoorah!

Chapter 24 Time Well Spent

Chapter 25 My Last Days

Chapter 26 God is Good

Afterword

My prayer

Dedications

Acknowledgements

First and foremost I have to acknowledge God, Gee O Dee, as I would call him, for making the necessary changes within my heart that allowed the true Manjuan De la Paz, to shine through; and also my entire family and my true friends who stuck with me, loving me unconditionally through all the ups and the downs. I thank my editor, E. Alex Pierce, a wonderful woman, for her diligent work in making my first book become a reality.

Last but not least, I acknowledge my enemies, who made me realise that although it never really had to be like this, it was, and I wouldn’t change a thing because of the valuable lessons I learned through all our differences.

Introduction

My name is Manjuan De la Paz and I wrote this book for the glory of God because I wanted to show the world the change that occurred in my life since I had accepted Jesus as my personal savior in late 1999.

My grandmother, Blanca Oliveras, was a faithful servant of Christ. She would never force the word on any of us but she would educate us on the word almost any time she could. I always wondered why my grandmother was so happy all the time, even though there was so much pain in her life and so much ignorance around her. I have to admit myself that I was the most ignorant of us all but she never gave up on me. This goes to show that when someone really has the love of God in them, they never give up no matter what the circumstance. We as humans in the flesh always think about why are there so many bad things happening all over the world; or what did I do to deserve so much anguish and suffering. I used to think the same way. But the truth is that none of us has ever suffered the way Jesus has and he never did anything sinful!

But I thought that since the world is mostly bad, then I’m going to be worse. I’m going to show the world what bad really is! You name the sin and I did it. In this way of thinking I would acquire fame, money, women, cars, eventually a home but most addictive of all, power! I didn’t care if people hated me as long as they feared me. I definitely didn’t believe in the Almighty Father; I believed in the devil and would even worship him for a while. I was on a one way road toward self destruction. People, friends, family, even teachers would tell me that I was going to end up dead or in jail, most though, dead! God had given me many talents but I wasn’t using any of them for him. I would use them to my benefit. I was so influential to so many people that they would do whatever I told them to do. I’ve had many call me the king and a very close associate went as far as to claiming that I was his god. Man, the devil was doing his best to brainwash me and had me in a pit so deep, it still amazes me and others that I’m still alive to tell about it. I was destroying lives, families, corrupting the youth and killing myself on a daily basis. I would pollute my body and soul in many ways, all of which were displeasing to God.

Our body is where the Holy Spirit dwells. When we drink, do drugs, smoke, kill, slander others, the Holy Spirit cannot guide us. Don’t get me wrong I was like a lot of people still are today, and often worse. I would say yeah, yeah God whatever! But ever since that fateful day in the summer of 99, when I accepted Jesus, started to repent from my heart, asked him to forgive me and relieve me of all the weight I was carrying, he would relieve me slowly but surely of all of that weight, and my life would begin to change drastically. I started by kneeling and praying every day faithfully. Through prayer I would acquire patience, something my mother family and friends could tell you I didn’t have. In lighter terms, I was a true hothead. As time went on, days, weeks, months, years I would receive things that I had prayed for. For example, I tried to quit cigarettes and weed. I’d stop for a while but I would start right up again out of frustration or anger for one reason or the other. My excuse was it calms me down, it takes the stress away. Well listen to this, since I’ve accepted Jesus I’ve acquired patience, and through patience I’ve left my bad habits behind. Smoking, along with drinking abusively, adultery, fornication, doing and dealing drugs which is killing, because you’re killing yourself and others. You’re just not using a gun to do it. I no longer hang out where there is negativity unless I need to help someone try to get on the right path. I love my people and love to see them happy. Whether black, white, Hispanic, Chinese, it doesn’t matter to me. If I can help I’m there.

Like I said, God had blessed me with many talents. I misused them and often wonder why he never took them away from me. But now I believe that it’s because he’s giving me another chance to use these talents for his glory and to benefit others like friends, family, enemies, and even people I don’t know. He’s given me the strength physically, mentally, emotionally and most importantly, spiritually. He’s showed me how to love, forgive, and help those in need, again emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually and financially, when possible. If I can I can; if I can’t I can’t. But no matter what I do, it’s all for His glory and I always give him thanks, whereas before I wouldn’t acknowledge him at all. Now, not only do I know, but I always remember this, "Whatever we do is only possible if God permits it, Shalom!

CHAPTER 1

From MA to P.R. and Back

My name is Manjuan De la Paz. I was born in Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico, and I was raised In Cambridge, MA. My mother, Carol De Los Angeles De la Paz, moved to Massachusetts in 1976. I was about four years old, and my brother, Renaldo Vidal De la Paz, was about ten. I remember us living all around Cambridge city as the years went by. East Cambridge is where I remember starting my life as a Latin American. Man, I can remember these days like they were yesterday, and I was only four years old. How I remember, only God knows, but He gave me this memory for a reason, and this reason was so that I show my people whether white, black, Hispanic, or whatever nationality they might be, that there is a God. Don’t get me wrong, it took me years before I believed in God, because all I knew is what I saw and what I felt, and all I saw and felt was pain and suffering. I mean they say God is everywhere you go, but everywhere I turned I saw the devil.

Growing up there were good times and bad times, of course more bad than good. But I was just too ignorant and dumb to understand that I had a great mom. She would do whatever it took to keep her kids happy, and everyone loved her. I used to love when she made us homemade donuts, chocolate chip cookies, and flan. Flan is Spanish for custard pie, and that till this day is still my favorite.

My older brother and I weren’t too close, and I at this time being four years old never really thought he loved me. The reason I say this is because this cat put me through hell, even before the world would get to show me what hell was really about. My mom got me everything I wanted, even though we were poor Ricans. Everything I saw on T.V., if I made a stink about it I’d get it. What I really wanted though, were my big brother’s toys. My older brother had all the nicest cars, I mean he had a collection of some the hottest HOT WHEELS that you could get back in the day. He was only ten but he knew his cars. First he’d tell me how stupid my cars were, point out how unlikely it would be to see a hot rod shaped like a dragon on the streets, then he would show me his cars. He’d tell me the make and the model of each one as I watched in Awwwwe at his collection. After all that, he’d put them away and rudely tell me if he found me playing with them he would kill me, and he meant it. You know how many cocotasos I got, that’s Spanish for noogies, and if you don’t know what a noogie is, it’s when someone, In my case my older brother, would hit me on the top of my head with his knuckles, and made sure it hurt. We’re older now and very much love each other, but he used to torture me.

One day he came home and caught me playing with his cars, for like the fifteenth time, and he was so angry that he gave me a nice noogie, took his cars from me, dragged me to the kitchen, and made me watch him as he lit the stove, held the cars with a pair of pliers, and melted them one-by-one. I cried uncontrollably as the cars melted and the wheels dripped into the fire. It was then when I really felt like my brother wasn’t even my friend. The day I finally realized that I loved my brother, was when he came home upset and crying because some white teenagers wanted his bike. He wouldn’t give it up; so they pulled out knives and slashed his tires. East Cambridge was predominantly white in those days. I remember so well how my mother held him in her arms and began to comfort him, it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my little life. Like I said, me and my brother weren’t too close, but at that point in time I didn’t care if he didn’t let me play with his car collection, or if he put on monster movies, like Creature Double Feature to scare me into tears, all I knew was that I loved him, and that was probably truly the first time I experienced hate.

From then on I looked at white people differently; I didn’t trust them at all. I was too young to fight, but a mean streak was definitely growing within me. God was always with us, it’s just that the devil kept interfering. If it wasn’t through a family member, it was through a friend, if it wasn’t through a friend, it was through a stranger. Eventually he made his way through me more and more as I got older, but God always made his presence known through my mother’s smile, or through my brother, Renaldo, while he was trying to teach me how to ride a bike, but especially through my grandmother, my mother’s mother. While my mother worked she babysat me. She would sit me down with her and read the Bible to me. She didn’t live too far from East Cambridge and she was defiantly the spiritual strength of the family. No one I knew had the strength she had, not even my grandfather, and he treated me like a little man; I used to love that. My grandmother was Blanca Oliveiras. To me she was La Reina, that means the queen.

My grandfather was Manjuan De la Paz. My mother named me after him. He was the man; everyone respected him. If they didn’t respect him they hated him, or feared him, but no one ever challenged him. I was always proud to carry his name. He lived in Puerto Rico, built the house in which his seven children lived in, and worked for the government. I had heard many stories about how handsome he was, how he rode a horse and at times carried a gun; I fell in love with this man. When I heard that this man wasn’t faithful to the woman who would do anything for him, I still loved him, but that’s when my grandmother became my strength.

Newtown court was were my grandparents lived at this time, and it was more of a Black and Hispanic projects, as opposed to Roosevelt Towers in East Cambridge, which was predominantly white. While we lived in East Cambridge, my mother had a boyfriend or something like that, I hardly remember him at all. By the time I turned five years old we moved to my grandmother’s apartment in Newtown Court, and all I do remember is some chubby cat with a mustache and a nice car.

I remember a blue Barracuda with black stripes on the sides and a black leather or vinyl rag top. I never got love or hate from this man, but I did wonder where he went, because after we moved I never saw him again. Then, one day my cousin Xiomara’s father, a white man, Gary Daniel, sat me down and told me why he wasn’t around anymore. He told me that this man used to hit my mom. At first I didn’t know what to think, or how to feel because I never saw this happen, never saw my mom with bruises, but I knew it had to be true cause Gary was the one and only white man that I learned to love and respect in those days.

He had many of the characteristics my grandfather had, and even some that he didn’t. He was a unique white man. He respected all colors and nationalities. He was as handsome as John Travolta. He had custom painted cars, he lifted weights, and was a martial artist. Gary was one of the most talented painters and sculptors I ever knew. One winter this man made us a snowman that looked exactly like Elvis. It was a life size replica of Elvis on his one knee, holding a microphone in one hand, and playing a guitar. I mean he had side burns, the collar and everything. Gary was talented, he demanded respect, and no one would ever challenge him either. He was ill, man. He was bad. Having learned so much about cars through my brother, I knew Gary had a muscle car; it was an all black Dodge charger, with that racing type of shape that I liked.

These were the 70’s and I was about five years old and everyone in my family was young. I remember my mother, her four brothers, her sister Elizabeth, Xiomara’s mother and even Gary, working up the street at Nabisco, a local candy factory. I’m very surprised that I still have good teeth these days, because between all of them bringing candy home, we didn’t need Halloween, that’s for sure. I remember the day my mom and her brother Felix brought me to the factory and gave me a tour to see how the candy was made. In the projects the sweet smell filled the air every day making us kids crave for candy, but I got to go in. I saw how they melted the chocolate and caramel, how they spun it in big tubs, and I wanted to stick my hand in it like I stuck my fingers in the bowl when my mom was about to bake a cake. At the end of the tour I got some candy fresh off the conveyer belt, and to me it was a way better feeling than buying candy from the store. This was an experience that I would never forget, and it was probably the most well behaved I’d ever be for years to come.

See, I was getting used to this city Cambridge, and this grey state of Massachusetts. I was one of the first five babies of the family, and everybody loved me. I could also see that everybody loved each other. God was definitely in our family, and for that I give the credit to my grandmother. If anyone was God’s servant it was her. If she would’ve never opened that steel dead-bolt door, of the projects and let God in, none of us would have ever known him, because the American dream was in everybody’s eyes, and the devil’s ambitions were starting to make their way in to the hearts of the men in our family. In the beginning, I hardly saw my mother; all she did was work hard. I would cry every time she left, and this was making me angry. The hell I was giving my family when she left was, and still is till this day, legendary. The only way to shut me up was to literally beat my ass until you were tired. I can remember everyone in my family putting their hands on me one time or another, everyone except my uncles Felix and Ishmael.

My uncle Gary had whipped my ass so many times that my anger was starting to grow into hate. Since my mother was hardly around, I was starting to learn from my uncles and my brother. The only person I could not give hell to was my grandmom; whether we realized it or not, God wouldn’t allow it, she was his servant. She would never force the word on us, I had never heard her swear and she was never angry, but she would always tell us where we were headed the way we were acting. She would make sure she put the fear of God in all of us, warning us of the days to come.

After being in Mass for about a year and some change, my mom sent me to Puerto Rico with my grandmom to start school. I guess she thought I would be better off in Puerto Rico, because it was a slower environment, there was less bad influence, and she knew I respected and would obey my grandparents. This was true because I loved my grandparents dearly. The only thing she didn’t think about were the other people, kids and adults alike. Even though I was born in Puerto Rico, the kids didn’t know that, as far as they were concerned I was an American. They called me Gringo and in school I would often get in trouble, because I really didn’t understand, and I didn’t really want to understand. This place was too sunny and way too green for me. I wanted the grey buildings and the snow.

The fast paced American culture was already in my blood stream, and my family would soon realize that. While in Puerto Rico I knew how to get to school on my own cause it was at the bottom of the hill we lived on. Even if you were blind you couldn’t miss it. The kids were loud, and if there’s anything I know about Puerto Rican kids, they loved to make noise. My neighborhood was called Santa Clara, and my school was La Escuela De Santa Clara. I straight hated it. The only perks it had was a store next door where my mom’s sister, Matilde, always seemed to be. Everyone called her, Mati. I always thought she worked at this store, which was owned by a nice old man named Americo. At recess or at lunch, my aunt would faithfully be at the fence that separated the school from the store. She would call me over and give me candy, soda, cookies, whatever I wanted. I used to love seeing Marthaat the fence. Her smile was beautiful and it was the best part of my day every day, at this school. I couldn’t wait to see her at the fence, but I was having problems adapting and her smile wasn’t enough to make me wanna stay. Since the school was on open ground, at lunch time I would leave school, make my way up the hill, go home and never come back. This started to become a routine. I’d go to school in the morning, and by lunch time my grandparents would find me in the living room watching American cartoons, dubbed in Spanish.

I hated this school; I had no intention of going back. I respected my grandparents, and never got hit for this, and I knew they knew I didn’t like it here. For example, this girl that was in my class who sat right behind me kept pinching me. She was pinching me so hard, I was fighting just to hold back. Now I didn’t last a year at this school and it was never because I had any fights or confrontations with anyone. I played tag, basketball, and did everything all the other kids did until lunch time, because that’s when I usually went home. But this girl was getting on my nerves. I tried to tell her to stop, but she wouldn’t. Every time she pinched me, I would yell, and the teacher would get mad at me like I was trying to be a clown. This kept happening till one day I turned around and punched her in her face. The teacher grabbed me by my arm, and dragged me to the officewhere she yelled at me and hit me with a ruler on my hands. As far as I can remember, that was the last day I played ball in the yard, or saw my aunt’s beautiful smile at the fence.

Soon after that my mom took me back to Massachusetts, where I wanted to be. Where I would start school, and have more fights and confrontations in the duration of my one life than most average people have in two of theirs. When I came back we still lived in Newtown Court, but I finished kindergarten in East Cambridge at the Harington school where my cousin Tito, my Uncle Anthony’s son, went. They lived across the street from the school. This school was okay, and for a cat that didn’t like white people, the first girl I liked was blonde, blue eyed, and her name was Julie. This girl could have been a model for Babies ’R Us, she was that cute, no doubt. But I was only there for about a half a year before I went to the Roberts School, which was walking distance from Newtown Court.

At the Roberts school I quickly forgot about Julie when I saw this Puerto Rican girl named Gladys, in the first grade. Gladys was beautiful. So beautiful that when I went home, I asked my mom for this silver chain she had. I had never seen her wear it, it probably wasn’t even silver and that’s why. Who knows, I didn’t care anyway, I asked my mom if I could have it so I could give it to Gladys, and just like that she gave it to me. I couldn’t wait to get to school so I could give it to her. The next day I waited for recess to do my thing. She was gorgeous and I knew other kids liked her, but the kids were too busy being kids, running around playing games, none of the boys would ever approach her. So this one day at recess, I saw her in the yard with this other Puerto Rican girl named Carmen, whom I later on in life, found out was my cousin from my fathers’ side, which I never got to meet because he would die in 2000.

Anyway, I approached her, we were never really became boyfriend and girlfriend, but I told her I liked her a lot and that I had something for her. She smiled in excitement, and asked me what it was. When I showed her the chain, she got real happy, even my cousin Carmen looked in amazement as she lifted her hair and helped me put the chain on her neck. I was oblivious to who was watching and to who knew. All I saw was her, even Carmen seemed to disappear and she was right beside her. God is love, and love is God, and God knows this was just puppy love, but he was there the second I asked my mom for that chain, and she gave it to me. I can’t lie, I felt great, cause I didn’t tell anyone, I just did it.

Now there was this kid Jamie, a redhead, blue-eyed Puerto Rican who evidently liked her. He had noticed me with Gladys and was coming through the yard with a few cats that I knew too. When he got to us he gave me an ugly look, told me that Gladys, was his girl and that he was going to beat my ass. You know I couldn’t let this happen, not after the way I made her smile. Man, I was ready for whatever. So I punched him in his face and we started fighting; next thing you know I put him in a head lock and flipped him over my hip onto the ground. From there I was all over him till he was curled up in a fetal position. I kept punching and kicking, till I heard him yell, Get him off of me! No one had to get me off him, that was enough for me to get off on my own; I knew I was wrecking the kid. I really didn’t even want to fight, but he started it, and I had just ended it. After that I was looked at by the other kids as the man. I wouldn’t start trouble, but would fight in a second, and I was literally fighting almost every day. I would fight after school, on the weekends, at the teen center with my cousins and friends, for the dumbest reasons. Man, I was fighting kids from Washington Elms, these were the next door projects. Some of the kids there didn’t want me cutting through there after school to get home, but I would cut through there anyway and would have to fight literally almost every day. Some of these people are my friends today, and some of them still hate me.

Back then I never knew why, but I know why now. Because even though I didn’t believe in God, He believed in me. He gave me the will to fight and I couldn’t be discouraged. I always fought for what was right, not just to get ahead even when I was wrong. I respected every one and always believed in love, trust and honor, but you best believe the closer you are to God the more the devil attacks. As I got older he was trying to strip me of all these qualities bit by bit. Instead of maintaining my strength and becoming more godly, my anger was starting to turn into hate and I was starting to become evil. Looking back, one of the reasons for this was all the fights I was having, never starting them but having to fight anyway. I won most of them but I was getting tired, tired of fighting all the time for reasons unknown. Over games, my brother, my friends my family, it was really crazy.

The last year living in Newtown Court my mom put me in an inner city day camp. I ended up beating up this white kid for putting an army ant on my arm. It bit me and I went crazy. I remember kicking him in the balls just before we got off the bus. I barely remember his name, I think it was Kenny; all I know is that we were cool until that day. I explained what happened to the counselor and they gave me a break that day. But then there was this black kid, Lamont, a short, musclebound bully with glasses. He would try to intimidate others but when he tried that bullshit with me, I ended up chasing him around the buses at the end of the day. Although I never got to him, he got the point, but the camp counselors were done with me and kicked me out of camp. My mom was pissed, but she knew I wouldn’t start trouble, she knew that most of the time I was just defending myself. I remember for the end of that summer my mom would leave me with different family members to take care of me while she went to work. At times she would leave me with Angie or Mita. They were sisters of my little brother’s father whom my mom was seeing back then. My little brother wasn’t born yet and at this time I didn’t know this man, but his name was Cay. He would become more a part of our lives when we moved out of Newtown Court in 79’.

Newtown Court was a big part of my life. It’s where I started to gain an identity, where I started to earn a reputation. By the time I was 7 years old I had so many fights in the area that all of the so called coolest kids showed me love, especially the older cats. This is where I got pushed into my first fight over a girl. In Newtown Court I learned what it was like to be jumped crossing through rival projects. At times I would get jumped by multiple cats, but always remained unmoved and never scared. There are many people from this area who are still my friends till this day. Some are also my enemies. Some I’ve fought, some I haven’t, some have become state officials, some have died due to drugs or disease, some became drug dealers, but worst of all some became killers and are alive and well till this day. As you continue to read you will be reminded about these individuals from this area, and how they played an active role in my life and in the city. Only God knew that I was going to be surrounded by some of the most violent people that this city has ever produced. Also keep in mind that some of these people have become some of my best friends. Some I’ve had to stand up to, and some I would eventually control.

There was this one kid from the projects who no one would really hang around with, because he wore a helmet when he rode his bike. We, as kids would look at him and laugh cause in those days no one, unless they drove a motorcycle, wore a helmet. It took a while before fate would pull him and me together, but when it happened I would end up controlling a nice part of this city’s drug activity. This kid’s name was Juan. We would end up connecting in high school, and I would give this kid life on the streets. I showed him what I believed in, Love, Trust and Honor, not to mention drugs, guns, money and women. He would eventually be so influenced by me, he’d swear to kill for me if he had too. You’ll hear more about him later on in this book, because right now I’m seven years old and about to move out of Newtown Court.

Some of the people from Newtown Court that would be in my life forever would be cats like Leroy Thompson, cool black cat with the Jackson Five afro. He and I would always play basketball with two Puerto Rican twins named Carmelo and Carly. Carmelo and Carly also had a sister, Yoli. It was funny cause back then I knew Yoli liked me, and everywhere we went she followed. No disrespect, cause I got love for her but she always had a little boogie, hanging from her nostril that used to gross me out as a little nigga. There was also another black kid, Jermaine Wilkins, who back then I showed how to ride a bike. He put crazy scratches on my bike. It was like teaching someone how to drive a stick shift. But me and Jermaine had something in common. He and I both used to get chased and beat by our mothers in the projects, outside in front of everyone. Believe me when I tell you, I use to get it, but my man Jermaine use to get beat like a baby seal, his mom was no joke. We still talk about those crazy days today. But it was with Carmelo and Carly, that I kissed and fondled my first girl. We all actually fondled and kissed her. It was this girl Christine, who let all three of us take her shirt off in a dirty ass hallway and do all types of things. We were sucking on her flat chest like baby porn stars. This was crazy; we weren’t even seven years old yet. I can tell you this though, we all left with little woodies, and after that we’d continue to mess with her, whether we were all together or by ourselves. If we didn’t look for her, she’d look for us.

I can’t forget about the infamous Billy Brown, or as he called himself, Billy Black. I swear this is my man, but he was hilarious. He would always wear these blue jeans with a doo-doo brown, turtle neck. He was the kind of friend that acted tough, would show off in front of girls but when it came to fighting he would always be the first one running, I chased him a few times myself. Well anyway in these days my youngest uncle, Benjamin, was the man in this area. He was handsome, tough, and had been to jail a few times. No one would mess with him, he acted more like a big brother to me than my uncle, and he was as Puerto Rican as Puerto Rican could be. If I looked up to anyone, it was him.

CHAPTER 2

A Break from the Projects

The next place I moved to was Rockwell Street; this area was called the coast, and is where my youngest brother’s father, Cay, started to become a major part of my life. He was my mother’s man and I loved him like I was his son. I was about seven going on eight years old, too young to understand what he was really into, but in the beginning he treated us well and my mom was real happy. I never saw my mom like this. I never knew my own father and didn’t care, because Cay filled that void and filled it fast. He didn’t have to buy me toys; he just showed me his smile and treated me well. He took my mom places and wasn’t scared to be a part of my mother’s life even though she had two growing boys at home. I remember he took us to Philadelphia to see his family. His family and their kids loved us, and his brothers look just like him. One thing that really had impressed me about Cay was although he was nice, he was one tough cat. He always lifted weights; he was like a Puerto Rican Bruce Lee, skinny but ripped. Anything he used to get stronger, he would show me how to use to. He knew I admired his strength and he would eventually buy me my own weight bench for Christmas when we moved from Rockwell Street to Briston Arms, an upscale type projects in North Cambridge. I loved the set and used it all the time. He was also the one that introduced me to Hip-Hop. I remember it was on Rockwell Street when He came home rockin’ the Suga Hill Gang. They had a song called Rappers Delite. He played it so much that I eventually started making my own raps and showing them off at school.

Now before rap, I used to love to draw and I was good, but rap quickly took over. Next thing you know I was rappin’ about everything and amazing everyone, especially the girls. Cay was definitely a big influence in my life, from him I learned how to smile and punch you in your face if you deserved it. Although later on in life he would make my mother sad and break her heart, for the most part he did make her happy. He gave us a lot of good times, and he would eventually give us Carmelo, my little brother and best friend. I’ll always love Cay for that. While we lived on Rockwell Street I didn’t have any friends, all of my friends were in Newtown Court. My cousins Xiomara and Marcola lived a few blocks down from me on Prince Street, which was a big plus cause I could visit them often. There was also this cool Puerto Rican kid Polo, who I would hang with at times, that lived in their building. The only people I knew on Rockwell were through my older brother, and they were his age. They would say what’s up to me, but they weren’t my friends. I realized that they liked my brother because he could build bikes. He would customize bikes, take old frames, paint them and make them new. He would even cut forks from old frames, connect them to other forks and make Choppers. He was the first cat in Cambridge, to have a bike with a working car radio and speakers on it, and it wasn’t ugly, it was very well put together on a beautiful blue Motobecane 10 speed frame. Everyone that bumped into him loved this bike. He knew he couldn’t leave this bike anywhere, a bike that played tapes and had speakers on it. It was the first of its kind, and it would be gone in the blink of an eye.

My brother Renaldo was so talented, that he drew cats to him; he was about 14, not to mention he was also smoking weed around this time, and that’s another reason why kids would gravitate to him. The day I found out that the cats on my street wasn’t shit, was the day they came looking for my brother, but since he wasn’t home they asked me to hang out with them. Now, remember these cats are my brother’s age and I was having fun all by myself just riding my bike up and down the street. They asked me if I wanted a ride down to the park with them and I did, I thought nothing of it. It was just down the street. Now these cats that I left with were white cats that lived on our street. The park we were going to was called Hoyt Field, I’m talking about this park was straight blacks. I didn’t care though, I just moved from the Port, where it was nothing but blacks and Puerto Ricans fighting every day. Rockwell Street ran off River Street, and the park was just a block away. This park was dead smack in the middle of a mostly black community. In this area you would see drug dealers, gamblers, gangsters, and pimps. It looked like a scene from good times, no bull shit, but we went anyway.

As soon as we got there, we were riding our bikes in the field, jumping curbs, having fun. Then we see a group of black cats playing basketball. There’s about 10 to 12 of them playing full-court, some playing, others on the sidelines swearing and talking shit. When I get a good look, it was that kid Lamont, the kid I chased around the school buses at camp about a year before. Little did I know he was from the Coast, and this park was literally his back yard. See the Coast was crazy, without a doubt but I came from new town court, the Port, and it was just as crazy. If I had to fight over there, I was going to have to fight over here and that’s just what happened.

So when Lamont spots me, he shouted, Ay yo, that’s that kid, pointed me out and it was on again. When my brother’s friends realized what was happening, they were gone. I turned around and all I saw was the backs of their jackets flapping in the wind. Lamont and his friends surrounded my bike. His friends asked me to give him a one-on-one. So I did and we started going at it, right there on the basketball court. I was on him immediately. Of course his boys didn’t like that and within a few minutes of me beating his ass, all his boys jump me and started beating my ass, but I didn’t cry a fucking tear. I took my beating like the little man I was. When they were done with me, I got on my bike and went home. I left with a few more bumps and bruises, nothing big, but I was much angrier at life, the devil was back. After that I thought my brother’s friends where nothing but bitches. It’s funny, because later on in life half those same cats who jumped me, ended up learning about cocaine or working for me. I would become something like their street teacher. You’ll see how this came about later on in the book. Oh, and those two white cats, they apologized to me, but they lost the respect of me and my brother.

I never saw my brother hang with them ever again. I was beat up pretty bad but even the cats who jumped me respected me cause I didn’t back down, and I would never back down. One thing’s for sure my mom didn’t didn’t want me to go down to that park anymore. I love my mom but I would never listen. I never used to know why I would get into so many fights when I was younger. But then when I looked back at my pictures from back in the day, all I could think of was that crazy Beatles haircut my aunt Ely El used to give me. It was horrible. One day my mom brought me to her house to get a haircut, and I specifically asked her not to make me look like the kid Nicholas from Eight is Enough. She told me she wouldn’t do that anymore. But when she was finished I looked in the mirror and bugged out. She tried to calm me down by telling me that I looked like Spock from Star Trek, like that was any cooler. I can still remember how pissed off I was. That was the last straw, the last time I let my Aunt Ely El cut my hair like that. I truly gave my mother hell that day the whole way home from my cousins’.

After that I told my mom to bring me wherever my brother was going, because first of all his haircuts were cool and second of all he never got into any fights, he was always chilling. After that my mom would take me to my brother’s spot, Eddie’s Barber Shop on River Street.

Rockwell Street was cool even though it was the shittiest house we ever lived in. It was just down the street from my cousins, Xiomara, Marcola, and Taina who were more like my sisters. The only real family memories I have from that place was when my brother Renaldo told me there was no such thing as Santa Claus. Of course I didn’t believe him but my brother, Renaldo, was devious. It was only a few days from Christmas, and he knew that my mom and Cay’s sister Angie, were wrapping our gifts in mom’s room. So he asks me, How does Santa Claus get in our house to give us what we want? And I told him, Through the chimney. He responded, Does it look like we have a chimney bonehead? Then he tells me go in ma’s room and you’ll see her and Angie, wrapping our presents right now. So me being as curious as I was, went in my mom’s room and saw her and Angie wrapping our presents. Not only did I see the race track I wanted, I also saw a hand held video game that I was dying for in her hand. My mom was pissed, and back then mothers hit you for the littlest thing. It wasn’t like these days were hitting a kid is wrong.

My mom straight beat my ass. Back then she didn’t play, for real. Hell broke loose, and I called my brother a fucking asshole, and he like a dummy decided to yell back, Your motha! laughing as he ran through the living room to the kitchen. When my mom heard that she bolted out of the room into the kitchen and broke a pizza paddle in half right off his back. This was the first and only time I saw my mom hit my older brother. He had no shirt on, his back was red and he was in pain. I was so shocked I stopped crying. Then my mom went back in the room and finished wrapping presents with Angie like nothing had ever happened. My mom used to be ill like that.

Man, I got so many beatings by my mom, it’s crazy. One of the worst beatings I ever got was in Newtown Court, about two years earlier. I was about six years old the Christmas before we moved to Rockwell Street. I woke up on Christmas morning and when I saw all the presents by the tree, I was just a little bit too excited. I opened all the presents, woke up everybody in the house, and started passing them around like I knew who they belonged to. I woke up my Uncle Felix, my brother, and my grandmother and started passing out the presents. I remember right when my mom started putting it on me too. I was trying to pass my uncle a toolset, when my mom came out of nowhere and started beating the caca out of me. I mean the second I tried to give him the tool set, pow, she got me. I dropped those tools like a hot ass potato, no bull shit. My mom beat me like a dog that