The Sands of Time by CJ

The Sands Of Time

By CJ

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds,,expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

The Sands of Time CJ

You live life and you form memories. Those memories are tied to your emotions and really form your identity. It’s one of many reasons why you have to be careful, within your discretion, so that the integrity of your identity is maintained, and your pride and dignity is preserved.

See, my memory is like a video recorder, I can rewind, fast forward and hit play at even the earliest years of my life, recalling nearly everything. It’s a gift and a curse, but it really defines who I am.

One of the most significant memories I always revisit is the moment I was taken from my mother by the Chicago police. I was four years old, it was April 17, 1992. My mother told me “don’t open the car door for anyone, go to sleep, keep your head down.” She left me too long alone, and I started crying, looking around out the window for her. She was in a bar, waiting for someone to bring her money. It was Easter, she said she was trying to get me an Easter basket. Someone called the police, seeing me in the car crying made them want to. When the police arrived, they told me to open the car door. I said no at first, remembering what my mother told me. Then they said, “come on, we’ll help you find your mommy.” I opened the car door, and each male officer held each of my hands as they walked me to the first bar. I told them, “no, she’s in the other one,” but they didn’t listen to me. We stepped in, and everyone froze, “do you see her?” “No, I told you she’s in the other one.” We walked to the next bar hand-in-hand. When we stepped inside, I saw my mother shooting pool and her expression was ghostly white with anxiety when she saw me with the police.

They arrested my mother and put us both in the back of the police car. My mother glared at me like I did something wrong. My mother always left me at babysitter’s houses too long, in cars, even overnight. I didn’t know the difference. I just knew I hated being away from my mother. It gave me extreme anxiety.

My father was murdered about six months before this incident. He was a lot older than my mother, who was twenty when I was born. She was a single, naïve, poor young mother, who really wanted to be independent. She was intelligent though.

The day the police tricked me, I was taken by DCFS and I was immediately put into an emergency shelter for kids who were also taken from their families. I didn’t live with my mother again for six years. I found out later, statistically, 1992 was the year IDCFS took more kids than ever, over 500,000.

I bounced around and landed in one foster home for four years. On the surface, it looked like a good home, but in actuality, the woman was cruel to me. She starved me, she hit me, and basically tortured me. All I wanted was my mother, and she kept me away from her, lying to DCFS, making them extend my status as “long-term care.” I was conditioned not to speak of the abuse.

What the woman did do was demand I become educated. She made us read to eat. If you couldn’t read or pronounce the words you got smacked. I learned quick. She used to say I was the brightest. She also made us do flashcards every single day in the a.m. before school. She told me, nobody loves you, nobody is ever going to love you, they’re never going to help you. You’re going to help yourself, that’s why I’m making you the smartest.

By first grade, I read at a sixth grade level. I knew a lot of math off of memory. I even took an IQ test and tested as a genius. I was also extremely anxious, extremely underweight, and robotic. I was emotionally stunted. I probably stood in the corner, staring at the wall for a year of my life during that time period. Out of the six foster kids there, I rebelled the most so that resulted in discipline in the form of standing in the corner, writing sentences and missing meals. She was excessive, though, and frequently didn’t give me enough to eat, so I’d lose my fight. I hate that woman, she made us call her mom. The state made her my mother. They wanted to keep me, but I wanted to go home to my mother, my real mother, and my foster mom hated me for that. She made me pay for it.

In fourth grade I got to go back with my mother. My mom fought for me. She had a good job as an underwriter at PNC Bank and then she became a hotel manager at Four Points Sheridan. It’s hard to describe this period of my life. I think our reunion wasn’t quite what we both expected. I was emotionally looking for nurturing where I was stunted and my mom wanted me to be more like an adult. Our relationship is more like friends rather than mother and son. I did whatever I wanted. My mother was exhausted and I was demanding.

At this time the Federal Government had recently arrested both of my father’s brothers for conspiracy. My mom took me to my brother’s and sister’s house as soon as I came home to her. They lived in a mansion across the street from Michael Jordan. I stayed there the whole summer and it was at this time I went to the MCC to visit my uncles in federal custody with my cousins and siblings. I gained thirty pounds the first two weeks I came home. I weighed 54 pounds when I came home to my mom, and I jumpe d to 85 pounds immediately.

I saw how wealthy my dad‘s family was. My brother showed me a secret drawer. He said, “This is what the feds didn’t find” and rolled out a drawer laid in velvet with what looked like 100 diamond Rolex watches, all gold. I was mesmerized by the jewels and the mansion.

I had pride in my family. My mom said my uncle paid the lawyer to get me out of foster care.

As my brother and I ran through the house like a playground, we also discovered 50 caliber bullets for pistols, laying randomly around. We kept them and felt powerful, he said they were my uncle’s. I came to find out later, how prominently known my family was for murder.

My family was powerful, the kind of power the Federal Government doesn’t like.

When my mother found out I was carrying bullets, she said, “give them to me right now!” I liked the bullets, but my mother knew how I was. As a young boy, I shot the suction cup bow and arrow at her forehead at point-blank range when she was asleep on the couch. She had bought it for my birthday the day before. She woke up and snapped the plastic bow and arrow. On another instance, my mom was doing the dishes and I shot her in the butt with a rifle that shot yellow plastic BBs. She took all the BBs after that.

It was at this time, at the mansion, I met my Persian grandmother for the first time. She was my dad‘s mother, he was her first child of fourteen. She used to say I was good and my brother was bad. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but I was later told my father favored me over my brother. It meant a lot.

After about a year, things with my mother went bad. She disappeared for two weeks and left me alone. The DCFS case worker who did periodic checks found out and realized I missed half of the school year, and I was taken back into foster care immediately. I was crushed.

I went back to the same exact emergency shelter I was at when I was four years old. I stayed there for six months. They took us on a lot of outings to take our focus away from the pain. There were girls there too. I got close to this Mexican girl there, especially while we were at the Barnum and Bailey Circus. My first real kiss was in the backseat of one of the shelter’s vans, on the way back from an outing, with that girl. We had to sneak under the seat to do it.

I was in the shelter for my birthday and Christmas, my mom came once to visit, I was sick.

The shelter gave me an action figure from the movie Toy Soldiers, but this black kid from the village came new and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. He had a black velvet pouch with bullets, and he wanted to trade them for my action figure. I obliged. I stored the bullets under my bed for about a week until this black older lady, who everyone saw like grandma, searched my drawer in the middle of the night and took my bullets. She worked there. She smelled like cigarettes, but she was nice to me. She said, “You’re not supposed to have these. I could get you in trouble, but just go back to sleep.”

The shelter took us to an event at Harry Caray’s restaurant for needy kids. Some of the Bulls’ players showed up, Ron Harper came. He put his arm around my shoulder as the news filmed us. I got to pick out a present. I picked out a cool digital watch. I liked watches. That same day back at the shelter, one of the staff stole that watch when I put it down for a second. She was a mean woman, then she punished me for complaining about it being taken. None of the kids ever had it. She stole my Christmas present. She also washed my only picture of my mom and took my clothes.

Time moved on, and I moved from another shel ter-like facility into a foster home. They came back for me at the other shelter, afte r I stayed there for a few days. They said they wanted to be my parents and that I had great potential and I fit in their family. I was eleven years old, but I had to make goo d choices for my future. I was scared of the system, you didn’t ever know what you’d have to encounter. My foster parents lived in Northbrook and on a half an acre of land and their own home. He was a business owner, had an MBA in business from Northwe stern and he was Jewish. She was a national champion in karate, Catholic and wor ked at the local school district.

They promised me a bright future and a goo d education. At some point they gave me an ultimatum, I was 12 years old. They said let us adopt you or you have to leave immediately.

I told them give me some time to think. I dec ided to stay, I was scared of the unknown. Bad things happened to kids in foster care, that the state ignores because they don’t want to admit they take kids from less than ideal situa tions and put them in even worse situations, and it contradicts their purpose.

My mom came to court the day they were terminating her parental rights. She was on heroin and looked run down. I had never seen her like that before. I cried and begged my mom not to sign her rights away. My foster mom stood a distance away looking down on my mother, as I bawled my eyes out. Out of my presence, my foster mom told my mother “If you love him, let me be his mother.” In the courtroom they called my uncle in federal prison, and he told me to be strong and to live with the people, but that he would always still be my family. I cried the whole time. DCFS told my new family, my real father was dead.

I learned a lot with my new family. I got adopted when I was 12. The government gave me a new social and a new name. I took on new activities and thrived. Most of my grade was Jewish. Everyone was wealthy. I got a very good education. My class ended up winning the state championship in basketball my junior year. I love basketball, but I couldn’t ever make the cut. I was too skinny. I noticed my life experiences had me stunted physically also. I was always trying to catch up where I was behind. The kids were ahead of me in a lot of ways, but in other ways, I was way more advanced and independent than they were. The girl I liked all through junior high finally let me take her on a date when I was 16.

I had just got my license and I picked her up and took her to breakfast. I was so nervous I could barely eat in front of her. It was at this time I had a jump shot that was automatic.

It felt good.

I got in trouble all through junior high, I guess because I had issues and I was a bit dysfunctional because of my past. Since my adoptive mom worked at the school district, they didn’t expel me, but I embarrassed her a lot. They knew my past was a factor. They also didn’t expel me because at times I’d focus and ace state exams. I was the troubled kid with a mind that made them want to give me a chance. One day I was going to be somebody. I made friends eventually with the two smartest people in the school. My freshman year I got shipped to military school.

There was nothing left of my family, but the US attorney's briefs on my family were published on the Internet. I used to read them with pride. My family was top of the food chain.

They even spoke of my father. My adoptive parents were scared of who I was related to, they heard of them from the news and newspapers (front page). As I became rebellious, I utilized this pride to their distaste. It’s one of the number of reasons the adoption fell apart. By 16, I became a ward of the state again. DCFS charged my adoptive parents with neglect, but they beat the charge, because the adoption is considered a charity to a troubled kid in need. The Judge ruled “no fault dependency,” meaning no one’s fault.

I was placed in the same emergency shelter again from when I was four and 10, but this time I was 16. I used to just leave and wander the streets. I didn’t go to school. I went to find my brothers and sisters again. They came and picked me up once, then I used to take the Metra to see them. The first semester of my junior year I didn’t go to school. My whole life I resided at the shelter for 1 1/2 years. Every six years I ended up back there.

I moved to a group home in Lisle because it was close to my siblings, (15 minutes). I made new friends, and graduated on time, June 2006. My foster mom who I haven’t mentioned yet came to my graduation. I ran into her walking downtown when I was wandering. I was walking to Union Station and I walked right past her. I walked for a whole block until I decided to run back and see if it was her. It was! I recognized her from 1992! When I lived with her, she was very nice to me, best mom I ever had. While I stayed a ward of the state, they used to let me stay with her on weekends when I was 16, 17, and 18. On my 18th birthday she got me my first car, a 1993 Toyota Corolla.

As soon as I graduated I moved to the city to avoid prison. I barely got away without getting felony charges. Lisle was a small town and they were out to get me. People were telling me the police would knock on their door and ask about me.

While I lived in the group home, I got arrested a lot. The police preyed on us. It was on the news that the police were called to the group home 500 times in one year. The crazy part is the woman who was so quick to call on the police died years later from a heart attack while smoking meth. My friend was her neighbor in the apartment building and witnessed her body being removed, and the drugs openly displayed on a coffee table, in front of her dead body.

I physically matured at Lisle. I gained strength, some weight, and all the girls in the school liked me. It was new to me, I dated the captain of the dance team and got close to others. I fascinated people with my wits, looks, and independence. I had a bad boy image. I really just wanted to be successful though. I hooped with all of the ballers competitively, but I never tried out for the team. I guess I was afraid to be shut down like before, but I beat everyone when I played. My roommate at the group home grew up in the Robert Taylor Homes and in Englewood. He and I formed an alliance that drew the whole school to our parties. It became a regular weekend thing to throw Hotel parties.

He had more experience with the ladies than me, but he saw how I drew all of the women. He started to pressure me to do more with women I had at my fingertips, telling me you are a big scary! He was like a brother to me.

I really loved my neighbor Ashley though and she loved me too, she was my best friend too or one of them. She had a boyfriend though and I never had sex with her because of her boyfriend although on several occasions she tried to get me to do her. She used to thank me for not doing it to her when she tried. It was weird, but she was jealous of other girls. I had girls in every single class, one time I had three in one class and they'd fight for me openly and demand my attention, telling me “you're making me jealous right now.” Every day a different girl drove me home from school. When I graduated, the girls screamed so loud for me, my foster mom was like wow.

I immediately moved to Chicago after graduation into a transitional living program. I was a ward of the state until I was 21. I went to a city college and studied business and the body. I took a test with MetLife and they said no one ever tested higher, they hired me as a financial advisor, I was 19. Then, my background for my arrest from high school came back and they told me to come back after I resolved the cases, they were still open. I was very disappointed, my experience with the group homes blocked a very good career.

I went and got a job with one of my dad's friends who was Persian. He hired me as soon as he found out who my father was. I delivered food for him. While I worked there, I learned more about my heritage. There were people who were older than me, who were Persian and they asked me, “Do you know who you are? Do you know who your father is back home? Your father is a legend like Billy the Kid.” Then I was told who my grandfather was and what it meant to be his first son's son. I am a leader of a tribe of people by blood. I'm disassociated with my people and Birthright due to how my father was murdered and the plot of others to conceal my identity. DCFS knowingly concealed my identity on purpose, I've had four names in my lifetime.

Anyways, when I was about 20 years old, DCFS gave me a scholarship for being a leader within DCFS. My friend used to joke and say I was the king of DCFS. I was taking Advanced college courses and getting decent grades. They gave me monthly checks to go to college. On my 21st birthday, I flew to London. I simultaneously was no longer a ward of the state. I met my father's youngest brother and one of his sisters for the first time. They were very kind to me and told me about how my father named me as his heir and what it meant. I love both of them, my auntie asked me to marry her very beautiful daughter, I declined. We visited for a month, then I came back to Chicago in 2009.

Times were hard. I came back and lost my job. It was hard to pay rent and go to college, so I stopped going to school. In November 2009 I was arrested for a gun. I went to Cook County boot camp and then to prison. One of the sheriffs in boot camp was racist towards Middle Eastern men. He told me in the beginning, “by the time I'm finished with you, you'll be in prison.” That's exactly what he did, he made up the paperwork and got me kicked out with just a few weeks left, after I had worked out for 100 days straight rigorously. It was unfair but I became extremely disciplined and athletic. I aced their GED test, and I was told I was the only person to ever do that in 20 years.

They sent me to a disciplinary prison called Pinckneyville and I paroled out and went back to Chicago with my real mother. I was given a year on house arrest on parole, even though others got 60 to 120 days. The system is racist and completely unfair. The police officer lied in the courtroom. I developed a deep resentment for the police. By the time I was 23 the police pulled me over a few hundred times, and put a gun in my face at least 40 times. They arrested me for no reason before, threatened to kill my dog just because, and harassed me everywhere over and over.

In high school the school officer who was given cop of the year, had it out for me, especially after I caught him outside of an apartment I was in, in the next town over, doing surveillance as a security guard for the complex. Years later it was published in the paper that he was fired for working at the complex and at the school, that it had violated the terms of his contract at the school. I realized that I was the first person with knowledge of this. That's why he was out to get me.

What I learned was that I didn't know enough of the law and that the government was abusing its authority and imposing themselves or victimizing me. I studied the law in the system.

I also was introduced to a friend of my Dad's friend who was or is a lawyer. He went to Harvard school over 65 years ago. I've known him since I was 20. He has taught me a lot.

After my release from prison, I lost everything I owned. My mother had a boyfriend who robbed banks but he got caught twice. I decided not to talk to my mother anymore because she was so toxic. I met a girl who was very loving and kind to me. She was 5 years older than me. I decided to stay with her, and we got a place in a very dangerous neighborhood, in the Back of the Yards. We lived there for 3 years. She already had kids. I taught the kids a lot, like they were my own. I loved their mother. We shared her love, she loved me so much, it nurtured me where I was deficient from childhood. I felt whole for the first time in my life. I passed the state exam to sell insurance at this time, but they would not let me work because of my convictions.

At that time in 2012, my good friend Anthony was murdered. I cried and spoke at his wake. He was like a brother to me. I went to his funeral but I refused to help carry and drop his casket into the ground. I was angry. After that I never kept a friend close. My skills from boot camp help me to survive. I ran really fast through places and I avoided all the gunshots. Once a week I was walking through murder scenes. For a while I took the bus. Then I got a brand new car. I worked really hard and moved out of that neighborhood. We went out west. I bought a semi truck. I was 27 years old and it was 2015.

I started getting every woman I wanted. I got a bit carried away. One of those women was a very attractive Puerto Rican and Mexican mix. Her step mother was a high ranking detective. When I tried to leave her and I told her I had a girlfriend at home, I didn't make it home that night. Her stepmom had me arrested and I stayed in jail for 3 years. They framed me, included me into a murder conspiracy, ruined my life, but I beat it in trials.

Once I caught the case I contacted the FBI, what the police did was so illegal. They began to call my lawyer, and then the topic I contacted them about was brought up on the news and it was the basis for the Department of Justice’s investigation into CPD. I helped start the police reform but they used Laquan McDonald, another DCFS kid as the cover.

I studied the law a lot in jail and tutored people for the GED. I also learned to play chess at a highly competitive level. I outlasted every inmate on my deck and walked out the front door. My girlfriend left me though, and she took everything I owned. She got rid of my semi truck too. I came out to absolutely nothing in 2018. I hit the pavement running. After I paid the price, I learned to play hardball.

By the end of 2018 I had my first child, a son. Having a son was the best feeling I think I have ever experienced, I love nobody more. I aimed to give my son the brightest future.

The day before my son was born a bullet missed my head by a half of an inch. I caught a case in Kansas while I was traveling, before my son was born. The highway patrol completely violated me. I was able to convince them to give me an I-bond because they realized I knew the law. They realized I sue for jail conditions in the federal court, and they didn't want those problems. Later, I discovered they edited the dash cam from the traffic stop.

In 2019 the relationship with the mother of my child completely deteriorated. My past causes many misunderstandings because others don't fully understand me or care. It causes many problems in my life, as I still aim to resolve my past. You could say I chase my past.

In the summer of 2019 some things came to my attention that my son was in danger. I had no choice but to report the circumstances to DCFS. They refused to acknowledge the facts. I went into the DCFS headquarters seeking to speak with the supervisor of the headquarters, they told me to wait 5 minutes and the supervisor would be there. Instead they arranged my arrest. The police basically kidnapped me and completely violated me.

How ironic that DCFS arranged my arrest considering my life. I've been in the county jail now for 4 years. I will beat all of the charges, the government is malicious.

I vacated my first gun charge I went to prison and boot camp for. The United States Supreme Court said it was unconstitutional. Kansas dropped the charges because I established the video was altered. I beat the charges in 2018. I will beat these current charges. I am not a felon. I've spent 8 years in Cook County Jail during three periods of incarceration, I also did one year of house arrest. I'm now 36 years old. I’ve sued the government more than any inmate before, with real impactful causes as the basis. See what I've really valued in my life is time, it's probably why the memory of diamonds and gold as a part of those watches never left me. Time is golden and I demand the respect of my rights and my time.

Unfortunately, you can never get time back. A new cycle is repeating itself, as I am incarcerated and my son is without his father. Systematically, this is how the government designs control over those they have labeled to do so. I fight the system, I create change, I am still trying to get back to my father's country and continue his legacy. Chess has made me a skilled tactician, as life has caused me to be. I aim to use my skill set to transmute negativity into gold. When it's all said and done, I hope to say it wasn't all in vain.

I was raised by an entire village. There's nowhere in Chicago I haven't been. Nobody stands up to corruption, I feel obliged to stand up for what I believe in. I have a righteous cause and I have a duty to bring balance to the system, as I am the compilation of all the people. The thing is, I never gave up. I never threw in the towel. I know one day there will be glory, after I survived standing in the arena, with unforeseeable evils. Will I survive? Will I succeed? I'll never know unless I continue to strive. They might just remember that foster kid that went against all odds. I've lived a few lifetimes, you could say.

I always wanted to know everything so I could be the Jack of all trades. A force that is omnipresent is Unstoppable. I aim to delve deep into the essence of time in that manner. Rewinding the sands of time is only fathomable to one who can interchangeably manipulate the past, present, and future.

CJ I Am (Overcoming Adversity) I am from Chi-town From where your family is likely to be killed And you probably have a deceased friend I am from the pavement where the bullets fly You better hit the gas at the right moment I am from where you have to be smart to survive And you have to earn your keep and protect it I’m from where everyone wanted to be like Mike And hoped Derrick Rose would’ve won a ring From the place that motivated me to perfect a jumpshot And from the place you have to battle CPD’s oppression I’m from where the village raises you And from the place where pressure makes diamonds I’m from the place you have to fight to strive for light I’m from Illinois Masonic Hospital

Until the lion learns to write their own story, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter - African Proverb Copyright

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