Boy 2 Man (A Waha Story)

By James Welcome

I’m a married father of 9, 6 girls 3 boys. From Ocala, Fl, raised in Ocklawaha, Fl. My book is about me coming up in a less fortune place. It’s basically about the different things I went through as I grew up. How my mom and grandma struggled to keep food, clothes and a roof over me and my sister’s head. How we lived in an old wooden house my granddad built that was about to fall apart. With no hot water, and a Pvc pipe for a shower head. You could see through the floor between the toilet and the bath tub. Sitting on the toilet was like a roller coaster ride, hoping you don’t fall through. But, hey, grandma and ma pulled through the did the best they could. I was young and wanting to help. So, what to do, I thought, all that’s around me is drug dealers, nobody going to school. They are thinking school’s just another way of slavery. Just a way to teach me away to work for another man, build his dream. So, 9 times out of 10 if you are around something long enough, eventually you’re going to want to try it. I watched these people make quick easy money. My family needed it, so I went in and since my dad is already in it, just being on the other side made it easier. So, I started making money and taking care of my family. A typical kid with a hard head, I was. I summed it up, But my going to prison changed my outlook on my life, made me want to do more in life. I hope you guys enjoy my story and share it with family and friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Welcome
• Release date: Sep 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463973066

James Welcome

I’m a married father of 9, 6 girls 3 boys. From Ocala, Fl, raised in Ocklawaha, Fl. My book is about me coming up in a less fortune place. It’s basically about the different things I went through as I grew up. How my mom and grandma struggled to keep food, clothes and a roof over me and my sister’s head. How we lived in an old wooden house my granddad built that was about to fall apart. With no hot water, and a Pvc pipe for a shower head. You could see through the floor between the toilet and the bath tub. Sitting on the toilet was like a roller coaster ride, hoping you don’t fall through. But, hey, grandma and ma pulled through the did the best they could. I was young and wanting to help. So, what to do, I thought, all that’s around me is drug dealers, nobody going to school. They are thinking school’s just another way of slavery. Just a way to teach me away to work for another man, build his dream. So, 9 times out of 10 if you are around something long enough, eventually you’re going to want to try it. I watched these people make quick easy money. My family needed it, so I went in and since my dad is already in it, just being on the other side made it easier. So, I started making money and taking care of my family. A typical kid with a hard head, I was. I summed it up, if I told you everything I would have never finished this book. But my going to prison changed my outlook on my life, made me want to do more in life. I hope you guys enjoy my story and share it with family and friends.

Book preview

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Boy 2 Man

(A Waha Story)

By James G Welcome

Biography

I'm a married father of nine, from Ocala, Florida, born and raised in Ocklawaha, Fl. I have always had a passion for writing: words, as well as music. I haven’t been able to work much since my 18th birthday, in 2005, due to a car accident that day. I was hit by a car, and the older I got, the more my body started to hurt. So, what can a man with a large family do to help support his family? Not go backwards and go back to the streets, because don’t nobody like them prison blues. I have had my share of that, in and out of jail, trying to provide for my family and catching dead ends. The money was good, but the chances, and the risk were not worth it to me, anymore. It took me a while to realize that. So, sitting down with a sober clear mind, I really started to think. What am I good at, and what can I do to help my situation?

I've always had a story to tell, just didn’t know how to put it into words. So, one day it clicked for me, while my wife was at a dollar store after I had my surgery. I told her to get me a notebook, I'm going to write a book. I started writing and never stopped. They say to be a writer, it must choose you. I guess it chose me. I'm currently working on a few more books. I guess I found what I'm good at, and hopefully my readers find what they’re good at, too. This is James Welcome, I hope you enjoy my book, share it with your friends, and God bless.

Prologue

This story is about the experiences I went through as kid, and how they influenced me to go the route I chose. Growing up in the hood wasn’t easy for me and my family. My grandma and mama struggled to make a way for me and my sisters. My father was never there for me as a role model, he wanted me in the streets with him, so I went in head first, I just saw the streets as an easy way to help. I gave up on my dream to help pay bills and take care of my family. With every choice you make, come consequences, and being young with a hard head, you learn everything the hard way. So, as I got older, I thought I was getting bolder, until I ended up in them prison blues. Prison sits you down and makes you think about the choices and ways to change them. So, I made up my mind and I ain’t going back.

Prison blues

Chow! the guard yelled, as the breakfast trays entered the pod. Scoota wiped his eyes from the sleepless night he had. Damn, I'm tired of these 24-hour lockdowns. he said to himself. The prisoners would be locked in a cell, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, due to the gang violence, and every time the warden would let the prison off lock down, a gang member would start another fight, because they didn’t want to go to school. It was a youth offender prison. Nothing but hard-headed kids, from 18 to 25 years old. Most of the time they wouldn’t even get a chance to shower, only if a nice guard was on shift like Mr. Royal, he would let them shower every 3 days. The guard opened the slot on the door, and slid the trays in. Scoota and his cellmate didn’t get along, his cell mate tried too hard to fit in. Scoota knew he didn’t live the life he portrayed, so Scoota would barely talk to him.

Here goes your tray his cellmate said.

Thanks, brah, Scoota answered as he got down off the bunk and put his slides on.

We still on lockdown, his cellmate said.

I know, this some straight bull, Scoota said, as he looked at his soupy oatmeal and powdered eggs. This shit for dogs, Scoota said, as he handed the tray to his cellmate and grabbed a pack of noodles out of his box.

Yo, Scoot! Jarryd yelled through the cell door.

What's good brah! Scoota answered. He was just a few doors down.

Throw your line out! Jarryd yelled.

Ok, Scoota answered. They would use a cut up sheet, in lines and a book cover for weight of the line. They called it fishing because you would have to throw it a few times before you got a bite. Jarryd had made a goulash of a prison meal: ramen noodles mixed with pickles, tuna fish, slim jims, and chips. Scoota pulled the food under the door.

Thanks, brah, Scoota yelled.

You good, my dude, Jarryd answered.

Scoota and Jarryd had got close like brothers. They both were from Ocala. Jarryd taught Scoota how to play chess and always challenged his thinking. It helped him became a better thinker and they had each other’s backs. Scoota couldn’t figure out why Jarryd was in there, both were too smart to be caged like animals, but you must live with the choices you make in life. Even though they were on lockdown, they would still have their group meetings, because they were in a drug program. The counselors would divide them into groups and let them talk about themselves and what got them in prison, and how they were going to change their lives and never come back. Scoota ate his breakfast and laid back down on the bunk for what seemed like two minutes.

Time for group! Mr. Santos yelled, banging on the cell doors as he walked by.

Damn, Scoota said. He hadn’t been able to sleep since he’d been in there. The random thoughts wouldn’t let him, when he closed his eyes, his mind would race. His life would flash before his eyes: all the things he did, and the things he couldn’t change.

Class A! the guard yelled, as he opened the doors.

Aye, man, make sure your bunk is straightened up, Scoota said to his cellmate.

Ok, brah, I got you, he said. He was new to this, Scoota been in the pod almost a year, so he knew the ropes.

Scoota grabbed his shirt from under his pillow, put it on and tucked it in, before walking out the cell. Jarryd was dusting off his new Reeboks.

You ready for this boring-ass group? Jarryd asked as Scoota walked up.

Yea I am, I’m going to speak today. Scoota said.

Oh, yeah, Mister storyteller, Jarryd said, with a smirk.

Yep, better than listening to these young meth heads, Scoota said, and laughed.

Mr. Santos would let whoever wanted to speak tell their story for the group session. The pod they were in was divided in 2 sections, F and G pod. They would open the doors in the middle of the pods, so the inmates could make it to their groups. There were 36 cells in each pod, so there were 144 inmates. It took about 20 minutes for everyone to get settled in their groups. Scoota and Jarryd sat next to one another,

You still going to speak? Jarryd asked.

Yeah, I didn’t change my mind, Scoota answered, I was serious, brah."

Ok, now, Mr. Santos said, How is everyone today?

Good, a few inmates said.

Now, I know y’all can do better than that, Santos said in his heavy Spanish accent. Now, how’s everyone doing? he asked again.

Pissed, Scoota said.

Damn right, another inmate said.

And why is that, James? he asked.

Because were on lockdown, and we didn’t do nothing Scoota said.

I know, Mr. Santos said, I’ll have a word with the warden when we finish this group. Scoota knew he couldn't get mad at the counselor, because it wasn't his fault and he was a nice dude.

So, James, Mr. Santos asked, he knew the other inmates respected Scoota.

What's up? Scoota asked back.

How about you tell us what got you here? Santos asked.

Cocaine and a torn childhood Scoota answered.

Ok, well, let us get a rundown of your life story? Mr. Santos asked.

Gone head, brah, Jarryd said, nudging Scoota’s shoulder.

Y’all really want to hear my story? Scoota asked.

Yeah, the other inmates said.

"Well here it goes!

Chapter 1: The Beginning

June 24, 1990

One summer afternoon, Scoota cheerfully laughed, as his grandfather Buster bounced him up and down on his knee. His uncle Ernest sat next to them laughing. Scoolit, gone and take another bite of this oatmeal pie, before I eat it. Ernest said, while laughing, then slaps his knee, and takes a huge gulp of his cold beer.

Pop, we had a lot of yards to cut today, Ernest said.

Yes, we did, son, Buster replied, I thought we were never going to get to finished, Ernest said.

Buster laughed, Hard work always pays off, son, then he slowed bouncing James, as a sharp pain entered his chest.

Ernest, go get Vean and Trish, Buster says, as he sits Scoota on the couch next to him.

Pop what's wrong? Ernest asked, nervously.

I don’t know, son, my chest just feels heavy. Ernest runs out the door like a flash of lighting. Buster turns and lays his head on the armrest of the couch, with both hands on his chest. Trish and Vean were out by the old wash shed, hanging up clothes. Ernest runs up, almost out of breath, panting, with both hands on his knees.

Maw Maw Ernest said, trying to catch his breath.

What is it, Ernest? Vean asked. You and Trish have to come in the house something’s wrong with daddy. Ernest said. They stopped what they were doing and ran to the house.

Scoota was sitting next to Buster, holding his big hand in both of his little ones. Pop-pop, you ok? Scoota asked.

Yeah, son, Buster replied, but sounded destressed and hurting.

The screen door slammed as the three of them entered the living room. Vean rushed to Buster's side, What's wrong honey? she asked in a soft, caring tone.

I'm having a sharp pain in the middle of my chest, he mustered up.

Trish, call 911, I think your daddy's having a heart attack! Vean yelled.

Trish grabbed the old phone and dialed 911. The phone rings twice, 911, how can I help you, ma'am? the dispatcher asked.

Ma, what's wrong with pop? Scoota asked, pulling on her pants leg. Hold on, man, she said, as she put the phone back to her ear.

We think my father is having a heart attack, Trish said, Ok, ma'am, the dispatcher said. What is your name and your address?

My name is Trish, and my address is 14060 SE 114th Terrace, she said.

Ok, ma'am, paramedics are in route, someone should be there within the next 5 to 10 minutes. The dispatcher said. Those 10 minutes felt like ten years, you could hear the sirens blaring down the street.

Little James panicked and hid under the old couch, he's only three, he doesn’t know what's going on, terrified Scoota cried for his mom, as men walked in the house with suits on he’d never seen before. Sirens still blaring, the men carry Buster out on a stretcher, Vean in tow. Trish grabbed Scoota from under the couch. She and Ernest jumped in