Keeping It Real: Life Lessons Criminal Consequences

By Michael Bradshaw

Keeping It Real is a collection of short stories written by Michael Bradshaw. There are those who know someone or has had loved ones incarcerated. These stories should provide some insight into the minds of those who can relate to them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781469131573

Book preview

Section One     Family and Human Interest

They Didn’t Fail

Growing up in a large family was a challenge. My parents were very loving and caring people. They went to church every Sunday without fail. I had four brothers and six sisters. We all had a tough upbringing. My parents never once wavered and were always there to encourage us and give us hope while enduring harsh circumstances. My parents did the best they could to provide for all of us; and there were times when they went without something so that they wanted just to provide for us kids.

My eldest brother was the one we all looked up to and respected. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for him; I tried to pattern myself after him. My other brothers and sisters had minds of their own, and as time passed, they became more independent of my parents.

From an early age, I was a hardhead. I didn’t want to go to school, but was told I must go because it was the law. I begrudgingly went to school but resented being forced to go.

A couple of my brothers enjoyed sports and tried out for a team, but they found out that it was not for them.

My elder brother excelled in sports. While going to school, his coach told him, Boy, with your speed and strength, you should try your hand at boxing. You have a natural gift that so many people would die for. From then on my elder brother took up boxing and soon became the number one contender in the state. I noticed how my parents brightened up when the whole family would attend one of his boxing matches. Before every match, he would give thanks to the Lord and our parents. My father proudly showed off the trophies on display in my brother’s trophy case.

One day my parents got a call that all parents dread. My brother was dead. We were all devastated, but none more than I. I ran into the bathroom to be alone, not knowing what to do.

My father took all of my brothers’ trophies and put them away, never to be seen again by the family. We asked why and was told, We don’t need trophies to remember what kind of person he was. He will forever be in our hearts, and in our minds.

From then on I didn’t know what I would do. So I stayed out until all hours of the night, or just wouldn’t come home for days. It was during these times that I bought a gun. With that gun I felt as though I was invincible, and had power to make things happen.

One night I was out with my friends, and we were all getting high. The drug of choice was ice. When I was on this drug, I felt I could do anything and be anyone. I had my gun with me that night, and we needed some more drugs, so I told my friends I would get more drugs. I set off in search of a dealer and spotted one in the middle of making a sale.

I rolled up on him and told him I needed a couple of 8 balls. He was arrogant, acting like he was better than I. I got mad and told him, You know what, I am not asking you for the ice. I am telling you to give it to me, along with all of the money you have. I pulled out my gun and pointed it at him.

He told me, I didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger. After he said that, I shot him several times. I emptied my gun, took all of the drugs and money he had, and left.

I saw a lot of things I wanted, but I knew my parents could not afford to buy these things for me or my brothers and sisters. It’s not like they didn’t want to give us nice things, but they had to prioritize the nice things after food for the family. I knew this, so if I wanted something, I would just take it.

It wasn’t until I began walking home high that the police rolled up with guns drawn. I was slammed to the sidewalk and handcuffed. I was thrown into the back of the squad car, taken to the main police station, and booked on the charge of murder. They put me in a cell with some other guys that had smelly armpits and with looks that were even worse. I was given a bag lunch. All I wanted to do was sleep, so I gave it away.

Tuesday morning arrived, and everyone in the cell was shackled together and transported to the courthouse where we were divided into two groups. One group was for minor crimes. I was not in that group. There were only two of us left in the cell. The bailiff took the other person and left me alone.

I wasn’t thinking about what I did. I only wanted to get some sleep because ice keeps you up for days at a time, and you won’t eat because you’re up, like the energizer bunny.

It has been several months since I committed my crime, and I have settled in to perfect the art of survival. The cell I moved into smelled like a cesspool. I cleaned it the best I could, and that’s when I got a new cellmate. I told him he needed to learn how to keep the cell clean, because this is where we live for the time being. Prison etiquette is very important. The simple things such as using the toilet, on the outside where you would lift the toilet seat and pee. In prison, you squat and pee like women do everyday. If you didn’t, it would splash out all over the wall and floor. If you didn’t clean this up fast, the cell would smell like a portable toilet.

I had heard from some other inmates that two of my brothers and one of my sisters got arrested. This has put a tremendous strain on my parents. When they failed to come home that night, my parents were consumed with worry. They dreaded getting another phone call that bore the news of death.

Our parents would go from one courtroom to another, then to another, and so on, until they saw all of their children’s court cases, sometimes all in a single day.

I don’t know of any other parents that would go through this kind of heartache for their kids, but mine did. Yes, I could tell they were hurting, but they remained strong.

They loved us very much, but by the time we got to my arraignment, it looked as though they had aged ten years over the past months.

Everyone in the community, including many police officials, knew my parents were God-fearing believers in Christ, with hearts of gold. I can’t speak for my brothers and sisters, but our parents are very active around the neighborhood and loved helping people.

From the day I became a number in the judicial system, I knew I would be a force to be reckoned with. My trial came, and I was found guilty as expected of murder and sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole. I was glad to get the trial over with so I could settle into a routine.

I was transported to the main prison and was promptly sent to a private prison in another state. They told us we were being sent to this prison because of overcrowding.

I arrived at the new facility and began to settle in. The days passed quickly, and two years later, I was shocked when I saw two of my brothers arrive in the recreation yard. We were housed in different buildings, but were at the same prison; now what were the chances of that happening?

The years passed, and eventually, my brothers were placed in my housing unit. We all looked out for each other, and all became skilled in the art of prison survival.

When something was brewing, the tension would fill the air. It was like having a sixth sense that some ol’ timers developed after having done a fair amount of time. They could sense when something was about to happen.

Two days later, a bunch of younger inmates got drunk on a batch of homemade prison liquor called Swipe. When they ran out of Swipe, they began to trash the unit, and some idiot took the keys from one of the guards and set fire to a number of places on the facility grounds. My brothers and I banded together for protection, and nothing happened to anyone of us. The authorities were able to gain control of the prison, but the facility sustained substantial damage.

There was an investigation, and somehow my brothers and I were the ones named as the ring leaders in the uprising, even though we just banded together to protect ourselves.

Four days later, the three of us were shipped out to different prisons so we could no longer have contact.

I can reflect back on that incident as though it was yesterday, but it happened twelve years ago.

I got sent back to my home state where I spent the next four years moving through the correctional system. I am looking forward to getting out of prison and becoming a productive citizen once again. I am tired of gang life and am ready to do whatever it takes to make it in society.

All of these years I have languished in prison, my parents have not only stood by my side, but the rest of my brothers and sisters as well that have also gone to prison.

I was asked if I had a chance to go back in time, would I do the same thing again. I said there is no way I would make the same mistake again. I have learned what not to do, and how to channel my anger and frustrations into something positive.

When children are born, the parents take care of them, because in most cases parents know what is best for children.

The problem is when the children of these church-going, God-fearing people decide to take matters into their own hands. The children think that they know it all, but one by one they end up committing crimes, most of which are senseless.

The parents continue to stand by their children with undying love, but they feel as though they have failed as parents, and as Disciples of Christ. However, it is not the parents who have failed their children—it is the children who have failed their parents.

A Stronger Foundation

With Better Choices

The day I was brought into this world, my parents began to form my foundation. My parents provided me with lessons about the right and wrong values that would serve me faithfully throughout my life.

Starting in school expands my foundation even more. I’m taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. I may not realize it at such an early age, but my foundation is always a work in progress. Learning never stops, not even when I finish school.

When school is out, the choices are mine to make. Do I continue building on the foundation my parents started for me, or do I forge down a different path? How do I continue to build?

Several years after the structured environment of school, I weigh my options. I make a choice; my mind is made up, and the option I chose to mold me is now beginning to take its shape. I’m ready to begin building the framework for life’s foundation. Building will be difficult, but if I take my time and plan well, the process will flow like a river to the sea. Remember, the choices a person makes as an adolescent today will greatly affect the foundation they end up with as an adult tomorrow.

The foundation may be set, and it may support me. However, the choices I’ve made early on can be undermined by poor choices today, or tomorrow. Wrong choices will deteriorate and weaken any foundation, and such damage can’t always be repaired.

If, as an adolescent, I decide to see what I can get away with, hoping not to get caught, this poor choice may affect the quality of the foundation.

I look back on such choices I’ve made and realize they were some of the worst choices I could have made.

I now have the dubious task of maintaining the foundation that I have put so much effort into building. Failing to do so will jeopardize everything and leave my life in the dirt.

These past ten years have strengthened and reinforced my dedication.

At this point in my life, I will remain true to myself, trouble free, and most importantly, keep reinforcing my foundation.

I’ve learned to remain strong when my environment begins to go to hell in a hand basket.

Remember, although mistakes have been made and the price was steep, the foundation I’ve worked on as an adolescent has become a big, beautiful, and solid structure as an adult.

To build a rock solid foundation throughout life, remember, always be true to yourself, and don’t compromise what’s right.

This story is about how a person can build a strong foundation if they are willing to stay dedicated to making proper choices. The process starts at birth, and continues throughout a persons’ life. The foundation gets stronger, and stronger as we make proper choices, and is damaged with poor choices.

Good-Hearted People

Why is it that good-hearted people get taken advantage of? Nobody seems to have an answer except for those who prey on the good-hearted people. They circle around the good-hearted people like vultures looking for road kill. Many times those who take advantage of the good-hearted people have no self respect and mistake kindness for weakness. These people are jealous cowards, who don’t have the compassion or backbone that good-hearted people possess. When they happen to take a serious look at themselves in the mirror, all they see are inadequacies. They lack self-esteem.

Many years ago I was asked how the heart of a good-hearted person can be measured. I said the following:

You can’t measure the generosity of a good-hearted person by putting a tape measure around their head; instead, put the tape around their heart. You will find nothing measures up to their integrity, generosity, and their ability to find the goodness in people even when others have given up on them.

Those of us who continue to show kindness have no recourse but to tell people, No, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I myself don’t like turning anyone away. I guess that is why so many times my spirit is soaring, only to come crashing down when I attempt to help those who are not aware of what they’ve done, or they just don’t give a damn.

I take pleasure in helping people, but it seems as though some people are exactly the opposite. They take pleasure in hindering people.

A number of times I feel as though something more could have been done, especially when my help fails to have the good results that I expect.

A good-hearted person may be sitting next to you and you will never know until you need help. The grateful look on your face will be all the reward the good-hearted person needs.

For those who have a genuine heart and haven’t yet found a way to release the pent up anger that can be felt between the shoulder blades, all they have to do is look within themselves for the answer. Being good hearted is for people who have a sincere desire to help people. It’s not a chore—it comes naturally.

This reminds me of the incident when I assisted a young couple that had been stranded for six hours at the side of the road. The only thing they needed was a new tire. It seems their tire blew out when they were traveling at 60 miles per hour; the spare tire was flat, and it was too far to walk to get the tire repaired. I took them to get the tire fixed, drove them back to their car, and went on my way.

I felt very good about myself, because this was the first time since I was released from prison that I did something for someone without expecting anything in return. While incarcerated, I did my best to help those less fortunate inmates that couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up for themselves.

The one thing every inmate knows or at least should know is they come to jail by themselves and will leave by themselves. Something came over me that I can’t explain, but I began helping inmates that didn’t understand the judicial system.

When I first came to prison, I let my ego get in the way and was admittedly a loud obnoxious individual. I thought I was a bull. I found out through trials and tribulations just how wrong I was. One of the correctional officers took the time to explain what I was doing wrong. I watched this officer and how he dealt with other inmates, and learned that this person actually cared. I truly believe it was because of this man that I finally saw the light.

He treated all inmates with the same level of fairness. I have talked to a few of my friends in the other modules, and they told me that this officer has been like that ever since he has been working at this prison. It was because of his example that I was motivated to become a better person.

One day, this officer came to work and said that he would no longer be assigned to our module; they were assigning him to work in the women’s module. I knew that my girlfriend, who is no stranger to doing time, had been arrested and was in the women’s module. I talked to the officer and told him about her situation. He said he would talk with her.

I got a letter from my girlfriends’ mom; she said that my girlfriend had been raving about that newly assigned officer.

I said hello to him when I saw him in the hall a few weeks later. He said my girlfriend was a lot like I was but saw where he might be able to help her. I thanked him and went on my way.

I will never forget one thing he told me, If you treat other people as though you want to be treated, then you will always be a better person for it.

I have been out of prison for a while now and will never forget the help I got, and how he inspired me to become a better person.

My girlfriend told me about this officer who would take the time to talk with inmates and how he really tried to make a lasting difference in their lives.

She told me there were a number of female inmates who would talk with him, but he never showed any favoritism to anyone.

One thing he said stuck with her: A lot of inmates feel as though everyone around them owes them something, but if they would look within themselves, they will see that they already have all that they need to be a success in life.

She said, "That officer is truly a good-hearted person who loves his job, and honestly cares about the inmate’s circumstances. With all the times I have been in and out of prison, I have never met an officer who showed compassion yet ruled with authority when needed. He is an iron fist in a velvet glove. He is definitely one of the few, one of a kind, with a caring heart and a tremendous amount of compassion.

One closing point I want you to seriously think about. Close your eyes and imagine that you are locked away in a space no bigger than a broom closet, when you hear another inmate say, Hey dude, just think, you will never see a blade of grass again. Now open your eyes and think about that one phrase, and remember doing real time is not worth it.

There are those who feel as though nothing in their life is going right, then along comes a good-hearted person. These people seem to have a sixth sense about people’s feelings and don’t hesitate to listen.

There will be those who think the good-hearted people they come in contact with have some selfish motive and are looking for something in return for the good they have done. The problem is, these people don’t know what it’s like to have a good heart.

Far too many good-hearted people are taken advantage of because of their good nature. Being a caring person does not mean you are a bleeding heart and give in all the time. Sometimes the answer is yes, and sometimes the best way to really help someone is to tell them no.

Help comes in many forms. Just being a good listener can make all of the difference in the world.

When you see someone helping another person, you are looking at a caring, compassionate person with a good heart who only wants to see people happy. You will find nothing measures up to their integrity, generosity, and their ability to find the goodness in people.

A Twist of Fate

Ihave two sisters and one brother. Being the eldest of four children, I’ve had to assume the duties of the man of the house. Raising the four of us has been a real challenge for my mother. My father has been incarcerated for the past six years and has another twenty-six years remaining on his sentence. My mom has gone to see him every Saturday for those six years.

It was late Saturday afternoon, and my mom had just returned from her visit to the prison. She told us to go outside and play for a while. My brother and sisters went outside to play. I was just about to step out the door too when I decided to go back and get my radio from my room.

I went to my room, and as I was walking back down the hall, I heard my mother crying. I listened for a couple of moments, then decided to go on outside.

While we were all outside, I couldn’t get the sound of my mother crying out of my head. Mom then called us all in for dinner.

When I walked in the kitchen, she looked happy as usual. I was puzzled but couldn’t gather the strength to ask her why she had been crying. The dinner she had prepared was much the same as the past few nights. I helped clear the table and put away the leftovers. After the dishes were done, dried, and put away, my mom came into the living room to watch television with me and my brother and sisters. When it was time, she asked me if I would get the kids ready for bed, and I told her I would.

After I got my brother and sisters tucked away in their beds, I went back into the living room to watch television with my mom. During one of the commercial breaks, I asked, Mom, is everything all right?

Things couldn’t be better, son.

I heard you crying earlier, mom.

Yes, I was. During my visit with your dad today, he told me not to come back for anymore visits.

Did he give a reason why?

Yes, he said it was not fair for me to work all week, and then have to drive up to the prison and visit him. For the past few months I have been thinking of a way to tell your father that I really didn’t want to visit anymore.

I told her, I understand, mom, but if you and Dad didn’t want to visit each other then why were you crying?

Well, son, I wanted to keep everything together, so we could be a family like we had been before your father went to prison.

Mom, I know things have been rough since dad has been in prison, but everything will be better now. I have noticed you’ve been a little distant lately, and now I know why. I will do all I can to help you out around the house, mom, so you won’t have that much to worry about.

Son, I know I haven’t told you too many times, but I appreciate everything you have done for not only me, but your brother and sisters.

I gave my mom a hug, kissed her on the cheek, and told her, Goodnight, mom, and just before I walked out of the living room, I turned and said, I love you, mom.

She smiled and replied, I love you too, son.

In an odd twist of fate, a young boy still in school has become the man of the house. He has had to grow up quickly. The father is not and has not been a factor in his growing up and maturing. All too often children are thrust into the role of an adult. They are still a child at heart and should be given the opportunity to be a child first. Going from childhood to adulthood overnight is too much to expect from any child. This child’s mother is a strong loving parent, who has given credit to her son for helping hold the family together. This story has played out far too many times all around the world.

Dealing with the Pain

The day started out like any other day; my mom woke me up, and told me to get up to get ready for work. I felt lazy and struggled out of bed, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took a shower. I got dressed, and walked into the kitchen.

Just as I got to the doorway, I noticed my mom was not looking too well that day. Her head was cupped in her hands while she winced in pain. She had no idea I was standing in the doorway. I backed up just a little, not wanting to alert her of my presence, coughed, waited for about ten seconds, and then walked into the kitchen.

She greeted me with a big smile, a glass of orange juice, and told me breakfast would be on the table shortly. She returned to the stove where she was cooking pancakes. I looked at my mom with amazement at just how much strength she had. She knew she didn’t have much time left with us.

Breakfast was prepared; she put everything on the table. My dad, younger brother, and I sat down to eat, but not mom. She always cleaned up the kitchen before she sat down to eat breakfast.

My dad and younger brother were leaving no crumb on their plate. Me, well, I took my time to enjoy the results of mom’s hard work. I watched her as she sat in the chair; by the way she sat down, I could tell she was obviously still in pain.

After breakfast, I cleaned up what little mess I made, finished dressing and headed out the door. I saw mom walk toward the front living room. I caught up to her just before she sat down. I gave her a big hug, told her I loved her, and then turned to walk out the door for work.

While preparing a quarterly report at work, I got momentarily sidetracked, and found myself thinking of Mom. She was 5′4 ″ tall and weighed just a little over 100 pounds.

One of my coworkers walked in while I was daydreaming, and she said, Yo, dude, you look like you’re a million miles away. What’s up? Nobody at work knew of the struggle my mom has endured. I tried my best to keep a brave look about me, but my emotional reservoir was at its peak and in danger of overflowing. I could not contain my feelings any longer; it was as though a dam broke over my head and tears began flowing from my eyes at the rate that seemed like a gallon a minute.

My coworker was a very close friend; we had dated occasionally during high school. She did her best to console me and asked what was on my mind.

My mom isn’t doing too well.

She hugged me. I will always be there for you whenever you need to talk.

I appreciate your concern.

I felt a little better for a while, until the phone rang. I answered, and my dad said, Son, you need to come to the hospital. Your mom was rushed by ambulance to the emergency room.

I was such an emotional wreck that I had my friend drive me to the hospital. We parked the vehicle, walked into the ER, and I saw my dad sitting next to my brother Shaun.

My dad said, Your mom wanted to see you as soon as you got here.

My friend remained with my dad and brother while I was led behind a curtain where she was lying in the bed. My mom