Writing With Conviction(s)

By Elijah Henry, Jr.

A Tough Beginning

Back in 1962 when I was born into our cold, prejudiced, corrupt world, I of course had no idea what I would face as an African-American male. At nine years of age, I was pretty much abandoned by my father when he physically separated himself from my mother, my sister, my brother, and of course, myself.



This
separation certainly left all of us at a disadvantage. My mother, I
believe, suffered a great deal of hurt, and thereafter she struggled to
raise us as a single parent. I don’t have any idea why my parents broke
up, and I’m no longer placing the blame on my father. Instead I’m
casting blame aside now and trying to mend my own broken spirit that
was mangled by the separation.


My mother is a
very strong and loving woman with a good moral background and firm
beliefs. She raised us as best she knew how, which was a whole lot
better than some of my peers in the city of Camden, N.J. When I
remember and reflect on some of the struggles she faced, I salute her
with love.

I am so very proud to have had such a one as her to care of
me. But even with all her love and protection, she could do only so
much by herself, especially as poor as we were. Her influence on my
character and in my behavior paled in the face of the horrors I was to
meet in the streets of the city.

Dangerous Home – Dangerous Streets – Dangerous School


The horrendous
obstacles that invaded my community included people always doing dope,
practically on my doorstep and the ever-present violence outside our
front and back doors didn’t always stay outside. By the time I was
fifteen years old it had actually increased in our school, and I was
beaten up, sometimes badly, by kids who were much older and much
stronger than me. I didn’t have anyone to talk to about what was going
on., being the oldest “man” in my home I felt I had to be strong and
fearless for the rest of my family. Of course I was afraid, but I
refused to show it, and I fought often for my families honor. I lost
most of the time, but I did learn to defend myself.


I also came to
believe that God has always had a hedge of protection around me. I
don’t know the reason why, unless it’s because of love, and at this
time in my life I was also totally confused. It seemed like I believed
that white society at-large had long ago decided to hate and outcast me
and everyone like me, and would continue to do so. I thought they were
the ones opposed to me succeeding in life; that society preferred for
me to just disappear or die, thus saving them the trouble of getting
rid of me.


But then I
wondered why was it that my blacks “brothers” were the ones who were
killing each other all over the country… and trying to kick the crap
out of me on a daily basis? “What’s up with that?” I thought. I soon
figured out that it wasn’t only one structured society that wanted me
out of the picture, but my own peers as well. I discovered the true
meaning of “dog eat dog.”


Again I was
sorely afraid, and again I couldn’t show it, for I learned that fear on
your sleeve is like serving yourself up as a delicacy to a ravenous
wolf. By now, I was becoming fed up with being subjected to the
violence that awaited me in the yard of my home, and hallways of my
high school, and I decided to stay away from them both. Near the end of
my junior year, I dropped out of school altogether. This was the
beginning of my personal bad decision making.


Sex, Drugs, And… They Needed Me


Although I had
long ago started to use drugs in the street, I now turned up the flames
under my drug use and began to live the street life. I met people whose
lives were in worse shape than mine, and I began to run with them.
These were young women with no family at all. They had been sexually
assaulted as children and stripped of their self-esteem very early in
life. I felt my heart go out to them, and my passions as well. I opened
up a whole new world for myself; for I believed I had now found what I
had always been looking for.


These young
ladies seemed to need me as much as I needed them. I had “arrived.” I
was never alone; there was always someone who needed me for my now
cultivated experience in the drug game. I spent my days and nights
getting high and having sex, trading the drugs and sex for my own
special brand of “love.” It was so easy to get what I needed. I say
needed, because I had now become a bona fide addict.


I was
cross-addicted. I was addicted to several things — money, love, sex,
and drugs — and totally dependent on “the game” to get them. If I
wasn’t in the arena playing “the game” with its players, I was
miserable, missing the lifestyle so much that it hurt.


Success v. Conscience


You cannot serve
both God and man. I found out the truth and the meaning of this long
ago, but I did not want to accept it then. None of us did; we had found
what we thought was right for us, because it felt so right. All the
things we were doing to maintain “the game” felt so good. The flow of
drugs equaled money which made us independent; able to pay for hotel
rooms, able to call the shots or who we wanted to play with at any
given time. The whole cycle of independence and success gave me
delusions of grandeur.


But along with
those delusions came an awareness of the reality that what we were
doing was wrong – I could feel it! Most of my peers, my “friends,”
either could not or, if they did, they didn’t let on because they, like
me, didn’t think, or didn’t want to believe, that life could be good
without our drugs.


My conscience
was tearing me apart. Many times I watched one or another of my close
girlfriends sell her body to get what we craved. Their act, their
self-abasement, served only to increase the amount of product we needed
to suppress our emotions and keep from feeling dirty.


Substituting One Crime for Another


In an attempt to
decrease the amount of tricks the girls had to turn, I started
shoplifting. I thought if I could make the cash flow in, then the
people I cared about wouldn’t have to sell their flesh anymore. I would
support them, by buying drugs in bulk and selling them with their help.
I was a pioneer! I knew this would work; it was clear as a bell that I
had found the answer! No, I was stupid! The game doesn’t change, and
there’s nothing new except the players.


So, just like
all those before me, I got arrested several times for shoplifting and
drug possession. Every time I was released from jail or prison, I went
back to my old playgrounds and playmates. Some of them were new to me,
and some were violent, which only brought about more trouble. People
began to get hurt, and I started to look even harder for a way out.


Finding a New Path


I believed there
had to be an answer, and, as I said before, I believe God has given me
His protection, hedging me in from harm. He has also given me two other
benefits that I believe; He intended me to use to live my life on the
right track. He has given me a strong conscious that knows right from
wrong and that will help me look to Him for guidance. And He has given
me the talent of writing, to help me support myself free of drugs and
illegal activities.


I have written
three books and am working on another. I believe I have a future as a
writer, telling stories and sharing a message with young people. If you
are “baller” youth folk, it’s not worth ruining your life and getting
incarcerated with felony convictions. Seek help, go back to school, and
don’t look back at the street life. Even though I am locked up right
now, I believe it is for the last time, for I have faith, and I have
hope.


Elijah Henry
grew up in Camden, N.J., and most recently lived in Asheville. He hopes
to publish his first novel in the coming year, as well as pursuing
other journalistic work.