Silly Papa

By Jamil Couzens

"Silly Papa" is the, all too familiar, story of the author's various addictions, his numerous involvement with the criminal justice system and the author's dysfunctional family relationships. This is the true life story of one man's journey, wrought full of bad decisions and the real life consequences that were the result. A journey that began innocent enough; but that, over time, spiraled out of control to the point of complete hopelessness and a very bleak outlook for any meaningful future.

When the author came to realize that; with belief in a power greater than himself; and that he could learn to make better and more thoughtful decisions; that it was possible for a different way of life and a more promising future.

Overcoming self imposed mental, emotional and spiritual obstacles, brought about a challenging, hopeful and much more productive lifestyle. Facing and working to clean up the wreckage of his past, has help to restore hope for him and the family, that he was estranged from for nearly twenty years. It also gave him a second chance at a family life, where he is now regarded as Silly Papa.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481720137

Jamil Couzens

Jamil Couzens is a 55 year old Aerospace Machinist and a grandfather of 11.

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© 2013 by Jamil Couzens. 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 3/20/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2015-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2014-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-2013-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013903195

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

Chapter 1 Looking Back

Chapter 2 Smugteen

Chapter 3 False Impression

Chapter 4 The 80’s & The Streets of LA

Chapter 5 San Diego Street Life

Chapter 6 1984 (C86393) Was The Number They Gave Me!

Chapter 7 The Mainline

Chapter 8 Back to the Streets Spring 1985

Chapter 9 The Revolving Door 1985 to 1988

Chapter 10 Goodbye

Chapter 11 Riot & Reawakening

Chapter 12 Still Trying It My Way

Chapter 13 Reflection at Ironwood

Chapter 14 Forging Ahead

Chapter 15 Perseverance

Chapter 16 Another Chance at Life

Chapter 1

Looking Back

I had a very whimsical exchange with my grandson that just delighted me, and at the same time caused me to feel overcome with disbelief and gratitude. I love all ten of my grandchildren, as any grandfather should; Only, for the life of me I can’t figure out how I made it, somewhat mentally intact and reasonably healthy. I am cognizant of this moment and in awe at the journey. It’s these heartfelt moments in the here and now that cause me to reflect on my past. My past is just that, My Past!. I have no intention of infecting my grandchildren with my defects, born of my life as I chose to live it. On the contrary, I want them to learn from the mistakes that I made along the way, and do better at making the right decisions. Decisions that they must make for themselves, and not become inhibited by mine, or anybody’s, bias views of the world around them. I still want them to know about me, the man I came to be, as defined by my life’s journey. And that is my conundrum.

After a long day on the job, I finished some work around my stepdaughter’s new apartment, and was leaving to go home; When, as I was walking away, I heard a squeaky, 4 year old, voice call out to me, Papa, Papa, I turned to see Chalupa (Kemal, one of my grandsons) coming out the front door, bare footed and walking towards me.

Papa I want to talk to you, he said, in that squeaky high pitched voice. It was all I could do to keep from cracking a smile, for I knew that whatever it was, my little Chalupa was being serious. And I knew that he had complete trust and faith in me, as only a child could. Alright whatzup little dude, I replied. He said, You know that toy I had?

I asked, What toy?.

He said, The one I wanted to play with and it didn’t work.

Yeah, I said.

The one that you have to get me batteries for.

I said, Yeah I know the one, what about it?

I need you to bring me that one, and some batteries, when you come over tomorrow, ok.

Alright little dude, I said, Go on back in the house, because you don’t have any shoes on.

Silly Papa, he said, as he headed back to their apartment.

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Me & my eighth grandson Kemal at the ranch

I was on my way back home and a wave of anxiety began to come over me. It happens occasionally whenever I think about where I came from, to where I’m at, as of that day. The fact that he, and most of my grandchildren, seem to place their trust in me, as representative of a good grandparent, is the cause of my anxiety. They’re not mature enough to know and realize that as an ex alcoholic/drug addict, burglar, car thief drug dealer and 5 time ex-con I sometimes feel totally inadequate, and completely out of my element. I want to be the best Papa any kid ever had. An influential person in their lives, that will contribute to their lives being the complete opposite of mine. HOW?, is the question that causes my anxiety. I was in the delivery room when my eighth grandson was born. When my stepdaughter asked me to be there, I was shocked and truly, truly honored. I filmed the moment with my camcorder. It was a surreal moment for me.

My idea of being a Grandfather is, that it is a privilege and not a right. I became a Grandparent by having children, and living long enough for them to have children, simply put. I made too many mistakes and exercised plenty of bad judgment, along the way, for me to ever believe that I earned this position in life. But this position is what I find myself in at this juncture of my life. For me there is no articulation adequate enough to express the humbling and gratifying sensation that I feel whenever I think about it.

I had a wonderful childhood in the environment that I was born into. That environment instilled in me the characteristics that would define me for the rest of my life. These characteristics would stymie, cajole, confound, astound and delight me, throughout my life. I daydreamed a lot of having one kind of adventure or another as slanted by what I saw on TV or read in books.

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Grandpa (Habeeza Shafeek)         Grandmamma (Sultina Shafeek)

My Grandparents were from the deep south. They were good, solid people who grew their own vegetables and fruits, spit chewed tobacco and worked hard from sunup to sundown. They owned their home, a two story early American style house, in the city, on a full lot. My grandfather put up a white picket fence around it. He poured his own walkways and stairs, which he lined with those picket fences as well. He built a wooden canopy over the walkway in the back from the garage to the house, where he grew grapes that completely covered the wooden structure. On both sides of the walkways my grandfather had created gardens for my grandmother to grow her vegetables. Between the house and the fence my grandfather had planted fruit trees i.e. apple, peach and cherry. Here they raised seven kids. My Grandmother was a heavyset, goodhearted southern girl who loved nothing better than to have a lot of kids around. She was a God fearing woman who loved taking care of her home and family.

My uncles and aunts and the people they went to school with and their kids would stop by frequently. My cousins were the best of all. Gus, Junior, Ali and Meme were older than us but they were more like older brothers and sisters who just lived with Aunt Essie. I guess the best part about them, to me, was that they always treated me like an equal.

All sort of people would stop by almost daily. They would sit around the kitchen table talking and laughing while my grandmother was bustling around cooking and baking; And, if it was that time of the year, preserving the fruits from her trees. It seemed like everyone in the city knew my grandparents. Which made life at their house cool for us kids. We took comfort in the laughter and camaraderie coming from the kitchen while we were playing in the backyard

My Grandfather had only a third grade education, but it seemed that he was very knowledgeable. He did all the work on their home, from raising the ceilings in the living and dining rooms, including the rewiring, to working on his own cars and trucks. He worked at a foundry for years and eventually went to work as a janitor for the schools. In his earlier years he would cruise the allies in his truck and pick up discarded items such as lamps chairs and many other items he thought he could refurbish.

Mostly self taught he did have some help in his learning. One of the alleys that he traveled down, a few blocks away from his home, took him past the workshop of the Wright brothers. He told me that they asked him what he was doing with the stuff he was getting, to which he answered that he sold the stuff for very little or gave the stuff away to those who didn’t have much money. My impression was that they didn’t mind teaching him a little and he was naturally mechanically inclined.

Growing up as a child in the 60’s was a incomparable time for many kids. My father left when I was 6 months old. My brother and sister were only a year older than me. My earliest memories of the projects back then weren’t like the projects of today. It was a tough environment and probably more violent than the rest of the city, but not to the levels that we see today. Then, we were compelled by our parents, uncles, aunts, older cousins etc., etc. to fight back and not allow ourselves to be pushed around.

So I started fighting back at an early age, from the 3rd or fourth grade on. The best lesson that I got out of that was that I wasn’t going to win every one. I vaguely remember winning my first couple of fights. It was the first lost that I clearly remember. I don’t remember why we were fighting. I just remember thinking that it’s not possible for a fist to suddenly appear 1/2 from my face and not see it coming. This never happened in the movies or the cartoons. I might have gotten one punch in if that. What was really fucked up was I don’t think he was trying all that hard. When mom got home, from work, and saw me, all she said was, Sometimes it’s not about winning or losing a fight, sometimes it’s about letting the other fella know he was in one".

I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I didn’t think he knew it.

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Desoto Bass Court

Dayton, Ohio

For me it was a time of wonder and exuberance. Not only did I have the freedom to roam our expansive complex, but, it was alright to roughhouse and just be a boy. School seem to have the same level of excitement. I was challenged by keeping my grades up and passing from one grade to another along with my classmates. My mom would say, I’m not raising any ignorant children.

She reinforced that with a belt.

I found that along the way I was also being tempted by the wrong things too. While I was doing the usual things with my classmates, like shooting marbles, another game was being played at a circle in the dirt not far from us, a game of craps. I would drift over to that game where the older kids were and became entranced. Not of just the game, but of the charisma that emanated from those who played or hung out there.

This was the beginning of my unhealthy curiosity of the shady lifestyle. The older kids seemed to have more interesting things to get into. My interest was reinforced even more when I got around my older cousins and they were doing it to. They would ask, What do you know about that? and I would show them what I had picked up on. If I didn’t do it right they would correct me so that when I got around my friends in the projects or at school I would impart my newly found knowledge to them. It was my way of gaining stature among my peers.

My Mom’s generation, that was raising us at that time, was fiercely engaged in a dynamically changing era. An era that they arrived at with a lot of trepidation. Consequently, they didn’t want us to let the color of our skin impede our future. The future that their generation was fighting so fiercely to establish for us. Mom was a very beautiful, college educated, and determined black woman who vehemently refused welfare and opted instead to work.

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Mom (Barbara Couzens)

She wasn’t the kind of woman to say, I love you; Instead, I came to believe that she showed it by her actions. She never went without a job and worked whatever hours she could get. She did micro data work when we were real young and eventually went to work for General Motors. Many long, cold winter days, where the temperature was zero or not much above, she came out of that factory holding the jacket that she wore in and her blouse completely soaked from sweat. Many days she would work a double shift, just to get us ahead.

She retired from GM after many years, for medical reasons. It was her job there that made it possible for a single black woman with three kids to buy her own home, in the 1960s. After ten years in the projects we moved into our own home in 1968. She never re-married and never dated. She dedicated her life to her children. It was only after we had moved into our new home and neighborhood that I began to realize what she had done and sacrificed for us. Even while we were in the projects she made sure that we were exposed to more in life. I believe that we were the only kids from the projects that went to speed boat regattas, car races, horseback riding and the air shows at Wright Patterson Air Force Base.

It was pretty cool when we moved into our house. All the neighbors came over with cakes and pies and all kinds of goodies for a house warming. I couldn’t remember anything like it in the projects. Me and my brother and sister went outside to check out the neighborhood.

My brother wasn’t very brave, but he had a smart mouth, which usually ended with, I’ll get my Brother.

It was his mouth that got me most of what little rep I had. Many a time I never knew why I was fighting until it was over; Only, to find out that it had something to do with my brother.

One time it was me, my brother and peanut playing around my grandparents house. Somehow I ended up around back by myself eating grapes off the grapevines, Ja’m and Peanut were on the side porch. I heard someone yelp, but thought nothing of it, especially since there was no other sound after that.

About ten minutes later I heard the unmistakable sound of someone coming over the back fence in a hurry. My first thought was that Ja’m and peanut were playing tag or something and I wanted to get in on it. I went around the corner of the garage to check things out when Ja’m blew past me like a bullet, like a blur, yelling, Jug duck!

At the same time, I heard someone else climbing on the fence and I turned to see who it was.

No sooner than I got my head turned around then I saw it. The bottom of a beer bottle. It was so close that I could see the patent marking on it. All I remembered next, was the paramedic leaning over me asking me something about his fingers. My head was spinning like crazy and I couldn’t focus my eyes. I was leaning against the garage and one of the paramedics was holding something cold against my forehead.

They finally got me up and took me in the house, were they wrapped gauze around my head and left. I wanted to go to sleep bad but Grandmamma wouldn’t let me. Mom finally arrived and they took me to see Dr. Johnson. I was in his office a long time and it seemed that all he kept doing was asking me a bunch of stupid questions. I was so irritated that tears started coming because they wouldn’t leave me alone and let me sleep.

They finally took me home and I slept for what seemed a long time. When I woke, I got a look at the goose egg on my forehead. That’s when I found out that Ja’m had shot Peanut in the dick with his slingshot. Peanut had chased him and slung the bottle at him when I came around the corner of the garage. Some things never change.

Here we were, our first day in our new house and new neighborhood, when Ja’m came running around the corner of the house, calling for me, closely followed by Philip, a chunky, awkward kid trying to hit him. I jumped right in and chased after him. I chased him through the yards and in between the house until we finally ended up behind the Wesson’s house where I found more trouble.

They were all back there. The Wesson Brothers, three of them, along with Carlos and one of the Blackshears too. They didn’t waste any time grabbing hold of me. After a couple of thumps, Carlos told them to stop and asked me why I was chasing Philip. I told them he had jumped my brother. They asked Philip what was going on and whatever he said wasn’t convincing, so they decided that me and him should fight it out to settle it. Philip didn’t want to and after they talked bad about him they chased him off.

Ricky came walking up about that moment and they saw that we knew each other.