The Long Way Home

We should not judge people by their peak of excellence; but by the distance they have traveled from the point where they started. 

- Henry Ward Beecher

THE LONG WAY HOME

GEORGE HOPKINS

MITANNI PUBLISHING INC

5231 Simpson Ferry Rd. Mechanicsburg, PA 17050

Copyright ©2018 by George Hopkins

Produced by Mitanni Media

PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

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THE LONG WAY HOME

GEORGE HOPKINS

prologue

T

hrough my eyes I could see the sky was light gray. A drizzle that could barely be felt tinkled on my skin. ‘Good thing I brought my fitted hat...’ I thought as I twisted my last dime in a Phillie. It was the day after the funeral and the community was still reeling from the tragic event. How a 12-year-old little girl was shot dead by a stray bullet in one of many drive-by shootings that day. This was the life I became accustomed to seeing and living in Chicago Illinois (or Chiraq as it was famously known).

Sitting on the roof of my cousin’s project building, Henry Hornets, (or da Hornets’ Nest as I often called it) I peered out at the horizon. Even though it was beginning to rain, there was still a beauty to the skyline as the sun-splashed in and out of the clouds, giving just enough light to keep the street souljas and nightcrawlers at bay. Truthfully, that didn't matter because the savages could care less whether the sun was up or down, and most thrived in the day time to shape and mold their reputation.

Living in a place where you see drug addicts more frequently than the average citizen (because they were the average citizens), a plethora of bars and clubs, less and less churches; where the drug dealers were our role models (and trust they modeled a role that we could envision). Coming from where we come from that's all we had to look forward to. However, that road almost always led to a deep dark

dead-end alleyway with no possible escape except for jails or death. And to be honest, death didn't seem that bad when you thought about how they treated people in prison. Knowing all this we still took the snowball’s chance in hell at hood stardom. That's crazy right? Chasing a fantasy dream that would only transform into a nightmare, but this nightmare was worth the risk, however short lived it may be, to reach the livelihood and success of the rappers we saw on T.V.

No one ever tells you that you're being played like a fiddle. It's just something you figure out on your own. Or maybe not! It took a while for me to comprehend my mother’s words, but in the end, I eventually did. I can still hear her words echoing in my ears. Calvin, sometimes it's just better to take the long way home.

1

M

y story isn't any different from anyone else in the hood, in fact, the only thing that makes me different is the fact that I have the heart to tell it. I was one of the fortunate people on the west side of Chicago (so I was told) because I grew up with both - father and mother - under the same roof. I couldn't see what the hype was about. I mean my mother, Cheryl, didn't work because my father was old fashion.

He was famous for saying, The man is the breadwinner, so you just make sure my bread and meat is ready for me to eat when I get home!

Truth be told, my father, Olaru, was anything but the breadwinner. So, mom had to perform odd task to balance out the income in our home. On many occasions this caused friction with them because of the lack of food and clothing I had, not to mention the rent was backed up more times than not, no cable, car or anything of luxury. The root to it all was my father felt less than a man when mom took a more proactive role.

We lived in a 2-bedroom apartment, so I had my own room while mom occupied the other. My father slept in the living room on the one couch we had. Besides the TV, there was a single picture of Malcolm X holding an AK-47 while he looked out a window. My father told me many stories about why Malcolm had that gun.

Well son, he would start out after taking a sip of his whiskey.

Malcolm was a strong black man dat took pride in helping his brothers and sisters out. He was very powerful, not only in our eyes, but in tha governments eyes too.

I always watched and listened closely when he spoke about the past. Something within me was drawn to the stories. My soul yearned to learn about these historic events.

But why did he have a gun dad? I'd ask in between his sips of whiskey.

Calvin, he'd respond, reaching across his lap and placing a hand on my knee.

Protect your family at all cost! When someone... Anyone for dat matter, threatens you and especially your wife and children, you kill em dead with no questions asked! Protect! Provide! These are the requirements of a Blackman.

With a sigh of relief, he leaned back into the sofa and pointed at the painting.

That man answered the call when his family’s life was put in danger, and you too, should do the same if and when something like that arises.

These are the stories that helped to shape and mold my childhood and eventually my adult life. Knowing that I had to be 10 steps ahead of everyone else - mainly white people - set me on a path to succeed. My only options (so I thought) were to rap or play ball. So, I set-out to play basketball because that would be easier to accomplish than rapping. My game was similar to Derrick Rose’ with a slightly better jumper. And if D-Rose could make it, coming from where I'm from, I know I had a chance.

2

I

n between school and basketball - which kept me extremely busy - I somehow managed a little leisure time to produce the most Angelic being to ever grace this earth. Her name was Shyla and the mother of my child was Nicole. These two aided me in escaping the torment at home. Though I was only 16 years of age my maturity developed very fast and I vowed to never allow my family to want for anything. I mean, to relive my past again, but in the present moment with my new family would be the epitome of insanity.

On several nights we'd cuddle together at my cousin Cush's apartment before Shyla was born and conjure up our lifestyle.

So, Nicole when I get dis contract where do you want to live?

She would look with the arresting stare in her compelling eyes, blushing as if I was already a super star. "Ummm... I don't know. Don't you have to go where ever you're drafted to?"

Yea, but I'mma stud! Plus, I'll have enough green to buy whatever house you want-· where eva it is! I said spinning around shooting a balled-up piece of paper in the trash bin like Jordan.

Now don't be disrespecting Jordan boy! she said under her breath, then burst out laughing.

It was stuff like that that forced me to love her unconditionally. But the atrocities of the world, and my city in particular made the future look bleak. It was depressing to know that I was considered inferior to other groups of people, but what could I do? Then one day while Nicole and I were skipping school at Cush's house he barged in on us having sex and that was just embarrassing for us, but for him, he didn't even blink twice.

Hey little homie put some clothes on and come holla at me in the room.

And before he shut the door Cush said with a sly grin,

Hey 'Cole, hope you're doing it well like LL!

Who's LL Cal? she said while wrapping herself in a sheet from off the floor.

Lifting up on my back arms and surveying the floor for my shorts I replied,

He the dude who always be licking his lips on TV

I entered the back room and saw Cush pulling a black book bag from out the closet. He spoke, knowing it was me,

Make sure the door is shut Cal.

Walking to the bed he put the bag down and turned the stereo on low, but high enough that Nicole couldn't hear what was being said. He was extremely cautious with everything he did. So much that even though we were ten stories up in the air he pulled the window blinds down to insure no one was watching. Me, on the other hand, I sat in silence not too sure what was about to happen. Cush eventually took a seat in the old wicker chair that he kept when his mother passed away, and started rummaging through the contents in his bag. Being younger than him, and having no siblings, immediately forced him to become the person I looked up to. And everything about him I admired. From his money, cars and clothes to the way he conducted himself and the fact he backed down from nothing!

He was easily six-foot three and one-hundred ninety pounds. He resembled Amare Stoudemire. Each time he went into the bag he came out with an item that convinced me even more that this was serious. First was a stack of cash tightly wrapped in plastic. Then came a brown paper bag neatly folded with something in it I couldn’t see.

Next was a scale, some baking soda and then a forty-caliber pistol with two extra clips.

Cush? is everything alright man? I asked breaking the silence that was suffocating the room.

He answered me not before moving the Chicago Cubs fitted hat which revealed the three-sixty deep dish waves that covered his head.

"Yea... Life is great minus the bullshit. I pulled you in here to holla at you about some things. But first twist sompin so we can burn."

He threw a half ounce of Chocolate Thai at me and a box of Peach Phillies. After I rolled one and sparked it he continued.

You know you my favorite kuzzin and I'd do anything for you right?

I nodded my head in agreement because I couldn't speak with all the smoke in my lungs. The Thai stick went down smooth. It actually felt like you were smoking nothing and then the high hit you unexpectedly. Cush went on.

I know everything ain't right at home, but you gotta hold on because in tha hood there's only a couple ways out and you got one of them tickets! He glanced up at me and then led my eyes to the Jordan poster when he hit the jumper over Craig Ehlo in the playoffs.

"Yea bro. I feel you, but basketball seems so far away sometimes...Truth