Why I Shout

By Al Brown

Here's a story of a child who lived in the bar scene from a very young age and grew up attending church regularly. I then adventured into the street life of Omaha, having to learn that life isn't a game as I thought. While facing several challenges, I soon found out that the choices I make can make the difference between life and death.

So thank you for choosing to follow me through my journey. Open your hearts and minds as you'll begin to realize that there is a better life than what we tend to think. We can live life to the fullest, but we can't make it on our own.

I've written this book in hopes that through my life experiences, it may be able to encourage others that if you don't like the way your life is going, it can be changed by the renewing of your mind. We can make lemonade out of lemons.

And I understand that by writing this book, people may see me in a different light that could be challenging for them to recognize me as the person I have become. If that is you, well, you have picked the right book. I have always been the type of person who speaks his mind and now that mind is the mind of transformation.

So come and follow me, as I show you how my life has changed-from a thug life to moving toward an abundant life full of love, joy, peace, purpose, power, and destiny in order to find out why I shout!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098063252

Book preview

1

So Mannish

As far back as I can remember, I was an inquisitive type of child who didn’t start walking until I was eighteen months old. Go figure, maybe it had something to do with how I enjoyed the company of females. My mother told me when females would pick me up, I would pull on their shirts to see what was down there; those round, soft boobies would peak my curiosity. You see, I was being catered to and loving every minute of it, being carried around without a care in the world. Seriously, Mom said the ladies would always say, Boy, you’re so mannish, because of some of my curious behaviors pertaining to the female anatomy. From a young age of three, I remember always asking Mom and Dad why this, why that every time they would tell me to do something I would ask why, especially when they wanted me to eat something I didn’t want. If they didn’t put sugar on it, when they turned their backs, I would take the plate to the bathroom and scrape it off into the toilet and then get in trouble. Most people think that children who ask those questions are just being a smart aleck, but I was really interested in how things worked and why. My mother told me that I had to be around three or four when I gave my sista Trisha a bloody nose. I remember her making me jump for things—toys, candies, whatever—until I got tired of it, then I would punch her in the stomach and when she bent down, in the nose, and take what I wanted. I love my sista. She taught me how to tie my shoes, jump rope, and play jacks, but she would treat me like I was a baby, bossing me around, telling me what to do, and making me mad to the point Dad would tell me, Stop hitting her!

Growing up in the bars as early as three, I remember not even being tall enough to see over the pool tables. I enjoyed going to the bars ’cause that’s where I received more attention because I was Brown’s son, and he was well known as a hustler. Pops would get me a chair so I could see people shooting pool until I could reach the table to play with the balls and eventually learn how to shoot pool myself. People would always buy me pop, chips, and almost anything I wanted. I would look around noticing things, people smoking, gambling, drinking, laughing, playing cards, shooting pool, cursing, fighting, and arguing. It was exciting for a youngster like myself; seemed like everyone was having such a good time and so was I. I’m sure being in that type of environment had a lot to do with how I viewed life, and the lifestyle I thought was kool. My Pops was a ladies’ man, a hustler, and a drinker, and his bonding time with me consist of taking me places like several different bars, to the Rodeo’s, All-Star Wrestling, and riding around with him in the car and bus on his job. That was great hanging out with Pops doing all those things. I looked up to him as my role model.

In the neighborhood of South Omaha, from twenty-seventh and R in the projects to all over South Omaha is where I remember growing up. We moved around a lot and everywhere we moved, we were around family as well. I was hustling and cussing even in kindergarten, but my words weren’t so rough then. As far as I can remember, me and some buddies would tell the children, We’ll give you our white milk for your chocolate milk (remember D——k), then when they would reach out to give us their chocolate milk, we’d take it and keep them both and tell them, You better not tell or we’ll beat you up. We’d mix the chocolate milk in the white milk, pour it back and forth mixing it up, then we would have two cartons of milk each. When the teachers would make the children take naps, DK and I would get rubber bands and shootm at the children while they were trying to sleep. Eventually, we would get caught and have to be placed in the corner and by the time I was in third grade, I had graduated to the principal’s office on a consistent basis. I was so hyper that when I would get done with my schoolwork, I’d start picking on people, just bothering them to have something to do. I remember even cursing in kindergarten, but my words weren’t so vulgar then—that’s what I heard—so that’s what I would say. Most the time, when I got mad and when the report cards would come out, I would have check marks everywhere and back to getting in trouble, spankings with a belt.

While living in the projects around five or so, I would try to sit on top of the banister rail and slide all the way down without falling off. I don’t know how many times it took me with falling down bustn my head hurting myself before I finally did it, but when I did fall and start crying, I would go to Mom, and she would rub my head and kiss it to make me feel better. She’d tell me, I told you about sliding down that banister, you’re gonna hurt yourself real bad one day, and don’t you ever let me catch you on that banister again. After she would calm me down to the point I wasn’t crying anymore, a little while later, there I’d go again. They just couldn’t stop me. I guess my father told her, He’ll learn one of these days. Finally, I mastered it, then moving on to the next challenge. Once I got good at doing something, I would look for something else to do, something more challenging, more on the edge. I remember a time around Christmas when me and Trisha heard a noise, so we snuck downstairs peeking around the steps and saw Dad and Santa (a black man) talkn and drinking while Mom was at the stove. We must had made some kind of noise ’cause everybody turned around, and Dad told us to go back upstairs and not to come back down. So we went upstairs talkn and waiting for them to go to bed. Once Dad and Mom came upstairs, we snuck back downstairs bringing some of the toys to our room, ripping the paper off the presents and getn down playn. I’m sure it was all the noise we were making playn, which caused Dad to come to our room making us, take the toys back downstairs, then going back to our room waiting for Dad to get back up. Safe to assume after seeing a black Santa, we knew from then on there wasn’t no such thing as Santa Claus because he’s either black or white; there couldn’t be two.

As you can tell, I was always into something. That’s what they called mischievous, getting into things stealing from the store and when I got caught, they knew me so they told me, Wait till I see your father. He’s gonna hear about this. You see, my father was the disciplinarian. When I got completely out of control, he would hear about it and here comes the spankn. So when he found out, I got a spankn (tears and all), then he took me back to the store and made me pay for the candy. Back during that time, the neighborhood would help raise the children and give you spankns if they could catch you, then tell your parents and when you got home, you’d get another one. Yeah, those were the days.

I remember around six, Mom took me with her to visit one of her friends and as soon as we got there, they would tell us (myself and Cali) to go upstairs and play, so that’s the first time I remember playing doctor. We would be playn around lookn at each other stuff, then putting our clothes back on and the next thing I knew, we were laying on top of each other grinding, thinking that I was getn it on. There was that type of freedom where the parents weren’t always monitoring the children closely, because back then, parents didn’t want us in their business and would hardly ever check on us, maybe yelling at us asking, What you doin’? You better not be getn in any trouble, when all we would have to say is okay and if we got away with it koo, if not, ugh ohhhh. Growing up in the projects and in the neighborhood wasn’t no joke. I was stealing, gambling, cursing and fighting, and you had to fight back or get chased and beat up regularly, so that added to my reputation. I remember times when people would pick on my sister (Trisha) and even though I was two years younger than her, I considered myself her bodyguard; no one could beat her up but me, so I would always come to her rescue.

When I was nine, we were living in this house owned by Mr. Walls. It was like an upper and a lower level and to get to the upper level, you had to go through this narrow passageway between these houses, which had this fence on the side, and the stairs seemed like they went up forever. It was so steep. I remember being so scared of going up and down those stairs because I would think what if I fall, because if I fall all the way down to the bottom, I’d be dead so when I went up and down those stairs, I make sure to hold on to the rails tight. This one time around nine, while me and Franky (cousin) were in the house bouncing on the bed like it was a trampoline, reaching up to the ceiling and pulling the plaster down, Mom came in and caught us, yelling, sending my friend home, and then grabbing the belt to spank me. As she started hitting me, the belt buckle accidentally hit me in the face. As I balled up my fist, Mom stopped (being surprised) and started yelling, I’m telling your daddy. You just wait till your daddy gets home, and then she would send me outside to play. I don’t quite remember if I got a spankn that time or not ’cause I was always getn it.

During this time living with my father, mother, and older sister, Pops would continue taking me to the bars every Saturday, and Mom would take me to church regularly throughout the weekday. I was somewhat confused though. At church, where you suppose to have fun and learn positive things, it was the complete opposite. I was always getn yelled at, Stop that, Don’t do that, Sit down, Be quiet, You want me to take you to the bathroom? Just wait till you get home. Then in the bar, Hey, little Brown, you want this? You want some of that? Here you go, and watching everybody laughn and havn fun was kool to me. Mom was a short little lady, nice and all, but she didn’t play. If you make her mad, she’d go off. It must have been that short person’s complex thang; that’s probably where I got it from. I remember her letting me play outside and inside with Franky and rest of the neighborhood crew and when she needed me for somethn, she would yell outside. That’s how it was back then or send my sista for me. Mom would take me to the store and all other places with her. I loved being around my mom except when I wanted to go do boy things.

There were times I would have fun riding with Dad on the bus getn chips, pop, and sometimes money for just being there while he drove ladies from Job Corps around. During those times, I’d also notice he was being friendly with this one lady, but that was our secret and by this time, seeing stuff happn in the bars, I could figure out things pretty good, so I had an idea of what I thought was going on. At home, I remember hearing Mom and Dad arguing at times, which was normal to me as I would get in trouble for using the bed as a trampoline, hitting on Trisha and whatever I could get into. I even saw Dad come home beat up from hustling (1time) and hearing the stories of how bad the other guys looked after Dad and his friends got through with them. I roamed around the neighborhood having what I called fun, learning the tricks of the streets, hanging out with friends and family members, learning a lot of bad habits, which followed me for a long time.

Every so often, my mom would get sick and have to go to the hospital and stay for a bit. I never knew why except remembering hearing her say somethn about taken her nerve pills. As time went by, the next thing I knew, Daddy was asking me and Trisha, Who would we want to live with if we had to choose between Mom and him if somethn happens? Now, we’re pretty sharp kids and knew somethn was up with Mom so we said, You. Next thing I knew, Mom was gone, and when I would ask about her, the family would just tell us that she got sick and had to go to the hospital. Then we would have to stay with our relatives (until Dad got home when he came home) in the neighborhood, who we saw all the time anyway so it wasn’t a big deal. I can’t remember how I felt the first time Mom went to the hospital other than missing her, but afterwards, it was like a normal routine. I’d miss her, but I was close to my other family members, too. Before Mom got really sick, our parents would teach us responsibilities like washing dishes, cleaning the house, and learning how to wash clothes. At the age of nine, during the time our mother got sick (and in the hospital), on the weekends, Dad would drop us off at the laundry mat regularly to wash and dry clothes, then we would call him at the bar when were done and then he would come to pick us up. Responsibilities wasn’t fun for me, but I knew that’s what I had to do before I could go play. Now that Mom wasn’t around, Dad had us to do what we had to do. This time, Mom got really sick and had to stay in the hospital. We would go see her sometimes, but that place was spooky, and I didn’t want to go back so we ended up living with our father.

I was nine years old, and everything had changed; before I knew it, the lady I would see Daddy with on the bus was now living with us, and she brought a three-year-old girl with her. Our visits to the Rodeo and everywhere else stopped, except the bars. Not soon after, he began playing favoritism, which didn’t make me happy, and I was really mad telling this lady, You aint my moma, when she would tell me things to do.

There’s this lady and her daughter. What are they doing living with us? (was my thought). Now my father isn’t taking me anywhere like we use to go to. What’s going on? Everything changed, (I kept thinking). That’s when I started staying out past curfew. They would tell me to be home before dark. I’d get home after dark because that’s when the real fun started. We had this place that was something like a mini strip mall called LeRoy’s. It had a Laundromat; a garage area where they worked on cars; a rec room with pool tables; and a diner where they cooked, which was one of our hangouts. There were picnic tables in this specific area right up under this huge tree outside where the older men hung out playing checkers, dominoes, and cards, and around the corner in this alley, the older teenagers would be gambling and rolling dice. There were dogs running everywhere all the time. They weren’t ever chained up because most of the time, they would break the chains so a lot of times, we would be carrying a stick or something as we walked around. Most of the time, I would be over there or at Woodson Center (a rec room) where he could always find me and if not, all they would do is ask around, and somebody would know where I was. During the daytime, it didn’t seem as much fun runin the streets, but when it became dark, it was more fun to chase girls, play hide and seek, sneak around doing stuff. Oh yeah, that’s when the fun would happn. Back then, I didn’t really know what was going on with me as I became more rebellious, acting out, fighting, stealing, cussing, and getting in trouble more. Whenever I left home, I basically stayed gone as long as I could because I was having fun, and I didn’t want to come back. When I’d get home, I would get grounded, having to stay in the house a day, two days, or three. It kept changing. The more I got in trouble, the longer my father would tell me I’d have to stay home (with a spankn), but when he would leave, I’d leave and when I would get back home and he heard that I took off, I’d get in trouble again.

The next thing I knew, we move up the street and not too much later, here comes this lady and her three-year-old daughter (which was puzzling to say the least). One minute, it’s Mom, Dad, Trish, and me; the next minute Mom’s gone, then this lady shows up with her daughter. In my mind, I’m like, What’s happn? Then all of a sudden, Dad stopped taking me to the other places, but not the bar. That’s what we (the family) called his other home. Now I’m really tripn all these weird feelings inside of me—getn mad, wanting to stay away from the house, not wanting to come home, and I didn’t care if I got in trouble or not. By the time I’d get home, it was dark, and I was supposed to be home by dark. As I was thinkn on my way home, all he’s gonna do is give me a spankn and ground me, but so what, I’ll just take off again tomorrow.

Growing up with my older sister (Trisha), I always felt as if she was always telling me what to do, so when she would make me mad and walk away from me, I would punch her in her back. After several times of her telling on me, Daddy lit into me and got me really good until I realized that I could really hurt her. I would then start hitn her in her arms or slapping her big legs, especially when she wore shorts so I could make them sting. At least, it wasn’t in her back, stomach, or nose.

Acting up, stealing, gambling, hanging around the older people, and getn in trouble fighting was normal for me ’cause if you didn’t fight, you would get picked on regularly. They would take things from you and beat you up, and that’s just how it was. So I was always fighting and having a smart mouth, saying whatever was on my mind. I’m sure the attitude I showed through all those negative behaviors more than likely came from the neighborhood; growing up in the bar and having a small person’s complex didn’t help matters either. As far as I can remember, I never got beat up, which made matters worse for me; except that one time the fellas got this dude off me with ice balls, (he was wearing me out). I didn’t think I was all that, but I knew I could handle myself. I even had a bodyguard named Sammy who was much bigger than me. He might’ve been a couple of years older, too. He knew me since I was very little and would always look out for me when and if the older boys would mess with me, and if he wasn’t around, all I had to do was to let him know. Every once in a while, people would try to bully me, but then I tell them wait till I get Sammy and when I’d tell them, he’d get them for me. It seemed like every time I turn around, I was in a fight with people my age for whatever reason, or I was being set up to fight to add to my reputation. When it came to gambling, I started off pitching coins with my homies against the wall and who ever got the closest to the wall would win the money, or I would roll dice or find pop bottles, turn ’em in and get paid. That’s how I made some extra money. Dad would give us allowance for a while, then later on, when he hooked up with his girlfriend, the allowance stopped so I had to keep my hustle going if I wanted some change. When I first started stealing, it was junk food. Then as I got older, it was tennis shoes, clothes, liquor, and other things.

Now there was a childish side to me as well, who enjoyed playing with my army men, dinosaur toys, toy guns, water balloon fights, riding bikes, and everything else we could think of. I even tried skateboards, but that wasn’t my thing. We also played on the merry-go-round, too. We would make it go as fast as we could and try to jump on and off. Most of the time, you’d fall and bust that head, but the object of the game was to stay standing when you jumped off (as it was going fast). Sometimes, I’d see some children lose their balance, fall off, and roll under the merry-go-round. Then we’d have to stop, get the person out, and take them to their parents if they really got hurt. I was always daring. I don’t know if it was part of being a boy, or if it was just in my nature; while playing on the swings, we would swing as high as we could, then jump to see who could land the furthest falling on my head, oftentimes hurting ourselves and then quitting until the next time. It’s a wonder I’m still around. I played softball, baseball, and basketball; I was really good in football but too small to play with the big boys, but that didn’t stop me. I would play as long as they would let me or until I got hurt. I played these activities until I got bored, then go looking for something else to do.

By this time, I was twelve and getn in more trouble at school fightn, cussn, being sent to the principals’ office even more and when I was out of school, I was stealing, running the streets, coming home late, and not seeming to care. Dad would yell, threatening to ground and spank me, but by this time, the spankings weren’t working, as I remembered him picking me up by both arms and banging my head on the ceiling.

Now I’m thinking, he’s crazy. So I can’t let him grab me no more. I would stay out of his reach, sometimes running to the basement, but the next time he’d see me, he ground me more days, which didn’t matter because he was never home to enforce it.

I remember us moving a lot, too, and every neighborhood we moved to, we were in the same vicinity of my homies, still going to the same school and everything. It got to the point I couldn’t stand moving, but I looked at it as another way of me building on my reputation, as I continue fighting on an average it seemed like at least two or three times a month.

Now, I’m twelve and chilln at home watching sports with Pops when he decided to ask me if I wanted to taste his drink. I said, Yeah, so he let me take a sip of some alcohol. I spit that stuff out and said, Oh, that’s nasty. I aint gonna ever drink that stuff again. But it wasn’t too much