I’ve heard the stories from my parents about how their paths crossed when they came to this country from Haiti, almost 40 years ago. They had nothing, my mother immigrated with her family in the early 60s and started life in America as a High School student. My father, in the late 70s came in and started work in a body shop. They met in the church and married in 80. In the 29 years, they've had 5 sons (including myself) and one grandchild.
I grew up in one of the worst cities in Connecticut, Bridgeport. We lived on 110 Berkshire Ave and life, wasn't too bad. My mother was a hawk, never allowing us to play with the other kids that were "trouble". For a while, it was just my brothers and me. Eventually, we had cousins living next door and down the block. Family was what we had. It was a good life because we never considered ourselves poor or unfortunate. My dad made sure to provide the best he could for us, while my mother kept the household tight. Now, the education system was lacking and my parents noticed. My dad decided that they'd take us to school in the city where he worked. The bad news, we'd have to get up at 4am and take the 2-3 hour drive (because of traffic a 40 min drive was double the time), hiding in the back of my father’s pickup truck with my brothers every morning to get there. As far as we knew, the authorities would have a problem with this idea. After school, we'd stay with our grandparents, try to get our homework done, play with more cousins until my dad got off work. And every night, returning home that evening back to Bridgeport, leaving grandmas at 7pm and getting home as late as 10pm. I’ve watched my father work 40+ hours a week at his job, and yet, come home and do side work on other people's cars in our garage sleeping for no more than 5 hours a night, just to make us happy. And yet, he still had time to help family members when he could. Because of his hustling, eventually we were able to move into the same city where we’d been smuggled to in 1996, to enjoy a better life. I understood then, how hard work and sacrifice could enhance your place in life and the lives of others. I can not speak for my brothers, but I’d seen what America can do for you when you give all that you have to reach a goal. I’d also seen what can happen to you when you don’t work for it. I appreciate my father even more for teaching me this essential rule in life.
As the “quiet one”, I observed what the world was becoming when the hard working students were surpassed in a society where sports and entertainment were more important than education. I watched as Hip Hop turned from speaking against violence and drugs, only to turn into the violent, pro narcotic and sexist music it is today. I watched people growing up, taking less responsibility for themselves and blame others for their lives. But I persevered because I was taught that knowledge was my goal, and I constantly pushed to gain more of it. I excelled in my academics, but was horrible with finances by the time I started college. I learned about credit the hard way after starting school in NC, obtaining a $3,000 credit line and spending 75% of that during the 1.5 semesters of my freshman year before realizing, “I have to PAY for this?!!” I also realized that working less than 20 hours a week at $6.15 per hour at the Campus Library wouldn’t make a dent in my bills, and I realized that I couldn’t ask my parents for help (4 other brothers to worry about too), I was determined to pay off the balance without my parents help. (I was out of the house, cut the umbilical!). I admit that decision came from foolish pride and a sense of personal responsibility (my father was a great example of being responsible for yourself). I made my mess and felt that I should clean it up.
Fast forward two years of college, and I’m a father. It was a new level of responsibility that I wasn’t ready for. I spent that next year working harder in school to guarantee my daughter a life better than what my parents offered me. My daughter was left in the care of my soon to be wife and her parents as I spent more time in class or the dorm room, carrying the weight of my girl's and daughter's future on my back. We then made the difficult decision to move in together and leave our daughter behind with her parents as we attempted to create a solid family foundation for our daughter. I completed one full semester at an engineering school while working the 3rd shift full time in order to pay the bills. By the second semester, I could see my drive to do both was diminishing as the spring semester began and my grades began to suffer. Then, due to an error (on the school’s behalf) in processing my financial aid, I lost my funding in the middle of the semester. Pride kicked in again, and I couldn’t tell anyone. I convinced myself that I could pay my way through college these last 5 semesters based on the measly wages I was earning. So around this time, she and I are kicked out of our first apartment. We live in hotel rooms until the end of our semesters (to keep the charade up) before packing up and going home for the summer, hoping to try again the next semester.
That summer of 2003, I worked my ass off in Connecticut. Two full time, 80 hour weeks, sometimes no more than a 4 hour difference between jobs for 3 months. From 9am to 5pm, I was in Stamford, working in a mailroom for $12 per hour. From 11pm to 7am, I worked through a temp agency as a stocker for $9 per hour. From time to time, the agency called me for additional assignments for some overtime pay. I was making $1680+ gross biweekly. In total for the summer, I made under $9,000 by almost working myself to death. My problem? I met a co-worker who talked me into having fun instead of saving it and returned to NC with only under $2,000. It was a lesson that I already knew, but didn’t have the discipline to stop myself. Nevertheless, when returning to North Carolina, I put a down payment on an apartment, but I couldn’t find a job to keep it. We shared my one car, but because she worked, she used it more often. That rift between us grew wider as I worked different professions before falling back into security work at the Auto Auction again. It was too late to save our apartment, so we did what we had to do. We didn’t have electricity so we “jacked” power from the apartment next door by using an extension cord and running it into our own. During the day, we took cold showers, but in the evenings, we took hot showers in the empty apartment next door, and watched TV using that same power. This lasted for weeks before the office probably noticed the electric bill and finally locked the empty apartment shut. We packed the car with our belongings and drove to Greensboro that evening, living in the car. At least we both continued to work and save. In the meantime, we rented out a storage unit for our stuff, occasionally using the unit as our changing room. It happened to be less than a block away from my job at the Auction. She worked as a waitress at a steakhouse and we’d occasionally have to rent a hotel room from time to time so we could shower and get cleaned due to the extra income. It came to $800+ per month to stay there, money that could’ve gone towards a down payment on an apartment. But it was safer than sleeping in the car. Through this struggle, not a single person in our families knew of our situation, but I'd occaisionally humble myself and ask some relatives for some money here and there, when I had no other options availiable. Not once did I use government assistance, because my pride got in the way. They way I felt, if I couldn't rely on myself or the people I know....I would never put my burden on a stranger's shoulders.
So we hustled, I grinded, and we finally were able to be stable enough to rent an apartment for $630 a month. A bit steep, but my girl wanted the best and my daughter was ready to start kindergarden, and I had to deliver. I worked ridiculous hours as security for a market chain (6-13 hours a day) but the money was great, I met some great young people trying to come up. Man, the stories to tell...we stayed at our apartment for 3 years, while I took classes to make up for the years lost at school and got my degree. Opportunity knocked and I got a position working for the HQ of an international trucking company, finally was able to marry the woman who was by my side through the struggles, and have watched our daughter grow. We've made it.
So far, the things that I've experienced have shaped me to be the man I am. There've been highs and lows, but I've learned alot about my strengths and weaknesses. My pride can make me slow to ask for help when I need it, but drives me to succeed. I'm not upset at anyone for my low points because I understand that my position in life depends on the decisions I've made to get there. I know that this country has many opportunities for anyone that chooses to work for it. I've helped others when I've had nothing to give, and continue to do so now when I'm comfortable, because I was there and I know how life can beat your ass. But I try to also convey the message that only I was able to make the choice to fight back.
Looking back, I've lived the conservative life. I've lived independently, made my mistakes, learned from them and never blamed others for my faults. I didn't break any serious laws (ok, I know...) to survive, but made sure my actions would not affect anyone besides myself negatively; both physically and emotionally. I've taken responsibility for myself, only taking help from others that volunteer assistance and I'm ok for it. Around that time, I realized I had more in common with a certain political party than I was told I should and became a Conservative the same year Barack Obama came into the spotlight. Those years I worked in security, gave me time to think about the world and how it works. The tough decisions I've made tempered me for the hardships I'd have to face in trying to convince others that a better way exists through themselves. The education I acquired reinforced my belief in what I already knew to be true. Economics, social issues, diplomacy.....I could tell you why I don't support him, but that means you weren't paying attention to my story.
This is who I am.
