Reversing the Curse: How I Created an Amazingly Abnormal, Overcoming Life!

By Keng Davids

Ignorance is the lack of knowledge or information. Think and ponder on the definition for a moment. The lack of knowledge puts you at a disadvantage, the lack of information false information or relying on others to give you the proper information or some knowledge that's pertinent to empower you to become the person you were meant to be.

Reversing the curse was written for his reason, to empower, to encourage, and propel many to greatness. To reverse is to back up or move backwards. Some of us have the ability to do that. The curse is a cause if trouble or bad luck. Some of us have experienced that. Reversing the curse is interwoven with causes, effects, solutions, and the ability to overcome. For those who believe there is no hope for themselves or their experiences are too much for them to become an overcomer.

Reversing the Curse debunks all the reasons so many of us come up with. The story told in this book is a depiction of a real individual who was able to navigate through the pitfalls, stumbling blocks, misbeliefs, false beliefs, and the generational curses.
"Move Forward, create your life and live!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796088700

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Copyright © 2020 by Keng Davids.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/17/2020

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CONTENTS

Foreword & Dedication

Introduction

Chapter 1     The Beginning

Chapter 2     The Dedication

Chapter 3     Long, Hard Time

Chapter 4     On the Road Again

Chapter 5     Perfecting My Craft

Chapter 6     The Descent

Chapter 7     Prison Part I

Chapter 8     In the Beginning

Chapter 9     Self-Destruction to the End

Chapter 10   I’m Home

Chapter 11   The Phone Calls

Chapter 12   The Change Begins

FOREWORD & DEDICATION

Mom, I have always loved you and thank you for:

My brothers and sister for the times we’ve had growing up.

To the teachers and staff members who were influential in the formation of my mind; The people, who took me to church and out to eat, and for teaching me even though we didn’t know I was being taught.

I dedicate this book to my four children, so that you can forever know that anything is possible with hard work, sacrifice, education and believing in yourself. It is my hope that you may see me as an example of what can be no matter what circumstances may arise.

I give a special thanks to a friend for always looking out for me.

INTRODUCTION

(Explicit Content Warning)

This book is a mixture of memoir and autobiography that is dripping with salacious, sometimes explicit details of my life. Each story, while it may be entertaining, uncomfortable to read, and to some offensive, is told for the purpose of sharing my truth of how I descended into a curse of criminal behavior and my eventual rise to the overcoming life I live today. It is not intended to glorify crime, drugs, sex or teach how to develop the behaviors that almost destroyed me. It is intended to take the reader on a journey of destruction and despair to a resurrection of hope, determination, passion and success.

It is to demonstrate to the young man who finds himself headed toward this path, who is on this path or getting off this path that they don’t have to make my choices —because they are avoidable. It is to let them know that as dark as it got for me, I knew I was meant for more, I longed for more and I went after more. It is to share with them to not stay on this path too long because your tomorrow may never come if you die in the streets or in jail. It is to show them that my success can be their success and I have the strategies to help them do get there.

It is to share with every parent of a child that may be wired like I was that there is a way out and lessons to learn before your child goes down the path of self-destruction that I traveled. Your child is special; even if you get tired of looking for it, they need you to continue to believe in them and pull their gifts out of them. Even when they push you away with their words, they need you to undergird them with your love and prayers. They need you to help build a community of support in the areas where you are weaker or where voids exist. They really need you to take the It takes a village mantra to heart. Your child was born to be successful!

This book is for the counselor who works with children labeled as delinquent and tossed to and fro in the system; for them to know that every one of those children has more than a name, is more than an inmate number; they are powerful and they have a destiny to be fulfilled and your job can be to help them get there. If you don’t give up on them and if you nurture them with integrity, focus, discipline and love, then together you will help them get there.

CHAPTER I

The Beginning

My life has been everything but easy. My earliest memories are from the time we spent in California with my Aunt in her guesthouse. My family included my father, my mother, my older brother, my older sister, my younger brother, and myself, Keng as everyone I’ve known growing up and even to this day prefer to call me.

As I reflect on the past as a young child around the age of four, I would be allowed to go outside in San Diego. We had an apartment near a beach. I remember this because a Hispanic family stayed above us and they would shoot birds and prepare them for meals. So at the time when I was allowed outside I would find any place I could to lie and take a nap—on steps, in hallways, closets, you name it, I’ve probably laid there too. Even at these early stages of life, my level of comfortability was unique or I was just plain neglected. On top of that, I had this weird habit of smelling where people sat after they got up, and to this day the shit is not pleasant. I was also a trouble-making fool. An Asian family stayed beneath us, and their car was beneath my windowsill. So I would brush pebbles onto their car as they entered and the man would rattle off some Chinese displeasures in a language only he could understand. Why do I remember so many abnormal events? Because as you will discover later, I have had an amazingly abnormal, overcoming life.

Older people never had a problem allowing me to hang with them, I guess because I had a playful seriousness about myself. I was never told to stop playing by an adult, although I played not with toys but homemade hand-clapping games like "down in the valley with the hanky-panky, fee, fi, fo for the hanky-panky, fee fi fo for the flop." You know those hand games you had to play because you were poor but did not know it. I was definitely weird. I recall a time I stuck five to six hair beads up my nose and for days I could not breath through my nose only through my mouth. Not until one day my mother smelled something so foul she had to investigate, and would you know I was busted, beads, odor and all. Oh, well. That’s all I remember from the time I spent in Cali. The remainder of the book takes place in the State of Ohio, because it will hold great significance.

The road trip began with the road trip back on the Greyhound bus—everyone but my father rode the bus back. It was a very long and tumultuous trip given the circumstances that my parents were splitting up. Recollection of memories good or bad can play a part in the making of decisions, upbringing and some courses of action children and adolescents make, as you will discover within the book.

Upon our arrival back to Cincinnati, Ohio, we were taken to a shelter for women and children called Captain Booth where I acquired the taste for cream of wheat because it definitely was a staple of the breakfast menu. The interaction with the other families brought a lot of peace to my soul, I guess because of the structured environment. I don’t remember too many interactions with my family before this time, although I was around them all my young life. I don’t think this is too strange seeing that one of my sons has told me that he only remembers a little bit of his formative years. It’s hard to imagine that I would become a drug-dealing thief, robber, whore and a fucking realist who overcame all odds. But more on that later.

There are a few things I remember about my family as I was growing up. I once asked my brother to stick a pop can on his head so I could shoot it off his head. My older brother had a BB gun that I had found and loaded with a rock. My other brother agreed to put the pop can on his head. I aimed and fired! I shot him in his forehead, causing him to cry; and as for me, I got my ass whooped. As you can see, I was very active and unattended. I have many regrets and issues I’ve felt compassionately remorseful for. I often ask myself why I made so many bad choices only to have them all occupy my mind now. I also remember another incident that contributed to my life growing up. When I was in kindergarten, I sat by a young chubby girl. Every day, for some reason, I would put my hand in her pants and stick my finger up her ass and she would just smile. I think back on it now and wonder where did I pick up those behaviors, as I was just a child myself? I cannot attribute it to being molested because thankfully I never was. The closest thing I can pinpoint it to is being unattended as a child and allowed to raise myself.

My mother tried her best as a single mom. I do hold on to one good memory. I believe out of hurt and confusion over our family splitting up, when I was about six years old, she took us all to breakfast at Wendy’s. It was so fun and I was full. We sat, laughed and ate—all the while my father was nowhere to be found. I have learned that there will be pain and it can cause anyone to give up or cause you to keep going. If you give up, you can become a crack head, alcoholic, bum or even go crazy.

A child’s life is supposed to be carefree, where innocence abounds. I remember the hot, lazy summer days and the beauty of sunsets before the crack cocaine epidemic hit our cities. When that drug arrived, it destroyed so many lives and still today has taken so many people’s ambitions. I’m not only talking about drug use, but also selling drugs and the lifestyle that goes along with it.

I was told that I always had an innocent looking face. That may be true, but the truth is that I had always been deceitful and hurtful toward others. I can actually remember when I picked up my criminal behavior. It was way before fifth grade when I would skip school and break into houses.

It all started when I met a buddy, we’ll call him Nick, and I thought he was the coolest kid. He would walk into a local Walgreens pharmacy and would pick up a remote control car and walk right out the front door. I couldn’t believe it until I tried it. Stealing became exciting to me and it gave me all the things I could not afford. Unbeknownst to me this behavior was formulating in me a criminal mind. My new hobby harnessed observation, concentration and manipulating as new skills I had honed. A vital lesson I have learned is that during this time I was destroying my future by neglecting my present.

I was only seven or eight years old when I met some other delinquent boys on a mission to steal. We went to Newport, Kentucky, which was about seven miles from where I stayed. Our mission this day was to steal all day from K-Mart. We did just that, only to have to leave everything behind because we were pursued by store security. When I finally made it home about one in the morning, I found my father waiting to beat my ass. My mother watched, as I yelled and screamed for it to end, with determination in her eyes and fully focused on all the unrighteousness that resided in me.

Undeterred by the physical punishment of that whooping, I was still thirsty for the thrill and chance to steal again. Although I must admit that even though I had picked up stealing, I had managed to still have a bit of compassion in me. By the time I was ten years old, I had advanced from