Reborn by David Johnson

David Johnson

Reborn

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

Reborn David Johnson

The night me and my sister Kaela spent a night over our friend's house was the night we lost our oldest brother, not to violence but to an asthma attack on August 8th 2014 on Maypole and Kostner on the west side of Chicago. We were poor at the time, no home, sleeping in a different house every night. Our friends Turrent and Pash stayed in the apartment building with their mama and younger sister on the same block. That night we heard an ambulance outside on the front. Me and my sister started Turrent and Pash was rushing to the front window to be nosy when we heard the sound of Tina saying, “Don't go looking out my window messing up my blinds.” That stopped us dead in our tracks.

The next morning our mom came knocking, early tears falling from her eyes. I was fresh out of sleep but seeing her in the doorway of the apartment door felt like we had lost a soldier and she was bringing his flag home. Tina invited her inside. She sat on the black couch in the spacious but not too much living room. With tears rolling down her eyes, she said we had lost our oldest brother. Not being able to control the tears that were flowing from our eyes, we just sat next to each other and cried.

A DCFS caseworker showed up and started asking her did she have any family to take us in.

She said no. She then started to tell us because we had nowhere to go, that DCFS was going to take us away. Tears started running heavier. Then Tina said she would take us.

She had a good home. She was a good mother. She cooked. It was always clean, and she made sure we washed our clothes and was ready for school every morning with lunches and snacks. It was a second home to me. It was home to me. Weeks later the case worker came back to do a house inspection to make sure it was fit for me and my sister to continue to live there and it was. Tina put a bunk bed set in Turrent’s room for me and him and one in Pash and Maya's room and plus one twin size bed for my sister. She accepted us like family and, out of the kindness of her heart, did what was needed to keep us. We all had our ups and downs like a normal family. Tina literally fought for us. I was grateful and I loved her.

She became my God mama. One day Tina went to jail for protecting me from our next door neighbor. The lady was talking crazy trying to tell me what I can and can't do like I was her child. So I went into the house where my momma and Tina stood chatting and told them what the lady had said to me and they both went off. It was all words until the lady started saying who she was gonna call and what she was gonna do. I guess Tina was ready to show her. She told Turrent to go grab something from her room. He went and did what he was told. As he brought what he was told to go get out the back door the lady must have seen it and retreated into her house and called the police.

“Right” Tina yelled heated, the police came and took Tina to jail. But not for long.

My momma had her own house on Congress and Springfield for a while now. We was living with her but was supposed to be staying with Tina. One night she told us we had a clinic appointment in the morning to get a check up and our shots. I fought against the shot like I fought to stay when I found out DCFS was meeting my momma at the clinic to take us away. I fought to stay with tears raining. That day changed my life forever. I boxed myself in my own world and never wanted to come out. It was like I landed in a foreign country and started a new life.

Riding in the back of the car stuck in traffic on the highway to hell, Kaela sat next to me quiet. I was wondering what she was feeling? Was she out of tears? Because I wasn’t. Are we going to be together? Or are they going to separate us? I was hurt and scared. Then looked up at the enemy through their rearview mirror. “How could a person do this? Where are they taking us?” I kept asking myself.

They took us to their agency first. We sat there for hours. I wanted to go home but I knew we were far away from home and we wasn't going back for a long time. They placed us into a shelter called Lake House in Aurora, Illinois. I was 12 years old. We did our chores. We got paid.

We had our own wash days. Breakfast every morning. The house provided all hygiene supplies.

We went on trips and to a community center if we wasn’t on LOP (loss of privileges). I was anti people that wasn’t Kaela. Depression hit me hard. I wanted to go home so bad.

One day I picked up the house phone, hid inside the closet next to the main office and dialed 3 Numbers 9-1-1. The operator answered. She said “hello” but I said nothing. Just cried. Still crying. I finally said it. “I want to go home or I’m going to kill myself.” The lady on the other end said. “Where are you?” I didn't give a response. Then I hung up the phone. Every-time I heard the phone ring I pressed end until it stopped. I emerged from where I was hidden and found a seat alone to myself. Every time I seen my sister walk past, she would look at me letting me know she knew I was there. I gave her the strongest smile I could give, not thinking about how the bad thoughts coming true would affect her. There was a knock on the front door (which I was sitting close by). I looked out the window to see who was knocking and it was the police.

They came in and went into the office to talk with staff. They then called everyone to the living room and interviewed some of us one by one. When I was interviewed they asked me was I okay and I said “yes”. Then they said I looked bothered. I said I wasn’t. They then asked did I make the call and I said no with a shaky voice, with tears building up in my eyes. They said I had a dried up tear on my face and asked was I ok again. As broken and lost as I was, I started crying, telling them to take me home. I was then sent to a mental hospital for 3 months. 90 days felt like years.

I hated the white room.

One day I was very upset and staff forced me into the white room. I didn't want to be in there .

I started to get madder and started banging on the door crying, to be released from that room, from that place. I continued to bang and bang and bang for at least 25 minutes, then staff started lining up at the door with a nurse in pursuit to give me a shot that was called the booty juice to calm me down but it didn’t.

I was on another banging rampage for at least another 25 to 30 minutes. The staff and nurse started lining up again. They opened the door and, like always, I would try my hardest to fight them off but they were big and always overpowered me. Restrained on the floor unable to move, the nurse gave me the booty juice for the second time. Then she would leave first then the staff left behind her and lock the door. Still that didn't stop my banging purge. I kept banging and banging and banging.

Staff formed a line again. This time I didn't see a nurse. They opened the door. I fought. They restrained me and took me to another room. All the while I’m screaming, crying and fighting.

They then laid me on a bed with four restraining belts on four corners of the bed. I started kicking and swinging but still they overpowered me. After I was restrained they tried to force pills down my throat that I kept spitting out until they stopped trying and left me until I fell asleep. I slept for days. The only time I got up was to eat and shower. My vision was always blurry. All I knew was every time I was woken up I was ready to go back to sleep.

I started having interviews with foster parents and it was my choice to pick which one I wanted to go to. Then I talked with my sister. She said she wanted me to go to the same place she was going to in Joliet. So I was discharged and that’s where we went but the foster lady treated us wrong. Never bought clothes, got our haircut or done nothing. There was a man who lived across the street. He said we could get the bikes from his garage and ride them anytime we want, but Sally, our foster mom, told him don't let us ride them. But we still did it. She didn't even like us laughing in the house. She was crazy.

We went to Washington Jr High School. The school had a fundraiser that required us to walk around the neighborhood with a menu of different types of snacks and foods. They ordered the food of choice at their home door and gave us money. All we had to do was give them the date it would be delivered. The money never made it to the school. We spent every dime on food and snacks for the next day of school and clothes. It was at least $500 we took from them people.

When the delivery date arrived and no one received nothing a lot of calls were made to the school complaining about their orders. Me and my sister was called to the principal's office.

We was prepared for any punishment. We told the truth and why we did it. The principal said he understood and that he would put the money back to pay for their items, only me and my sister had to deliver them with an apology. So that's what we did to get out of that situation.

One day we got tired of how Sally was treating us. We packed our book bags and ran away to the parking lot across the street from the house. We sat on the curb crying. Waiting on a caseworker to come get us. When he arrived he asked us do we want to go back, and our response was basically “Hell no!” with mugs on our faces. He then took us to the agency and had us waiting until he found us a place to go. We ended up back at Lake House. Then I ended back in a mental hospital. After a long 90 days then I was discharged.

After that I was never in another home with my sister. I went into a foster home in Ford Heights.

I was enrolled into Cottage Grove grammar school. I was 13 years old. One day I had a close to physical fight with the security guard. I was ferocious and refused to calm down. I was arrested.

After I left the police station, I was returned home. I got kicked out of Cottage Grove and was enrolled into an alternative school called Speed. After school I would go to the community center. One day I got into a fist fight. My foster mom was called. She picked me up and tried to fight me herself, saying since I want to fight, fight her. My reaction was like “What?” mainly because she really wanted to fight, but I was angry at the fact she wanted me to hit her so she could have a reason to put her hands on me and I wasn't.

As soon as I walked into the house I went to go pack my clothes and walk to the agency in Matteson. Yep! I'll walk from Ford Heights to Matteson, Illinois. I wonder what people thought seeing a 13-year-old boy walking down Lincoln Highway with a big blue duffel bag? Then again they couldn't have thought much cuz they didn't stop to ask and check and see if I was okay.

I thought people were ugly and thought about nobody but themselves. From that day forward I never trusted them. I didn't ask for help or anything. Because if I could walk from Ford Heights to Matteson at the age of 13, I could put my mind to anything and make it through. I was sent to a foster home in Markham, Illinois that was the best Foster home I've been to. I was there for two, almost three years. I was still going to Speed. I graduated, then I returned back to regular school.

I was enrolled into Tinley Park High school. I got into another altercation with another guard my sophomore year and was sent to an alternative school. It was stuff I wanted and money wasn't going to come by easy, so I started searching for jobs. Plus me and my mentor would go to the library and he would help me fill out job applications, but I never got hired. So I started finding my way home to the West Side of Chicago to my family, taking the train and buses. I started to get comfortable. I started hanging out with friends I'd met in Speed. I started getting in trouble in the streets.

I started staying out late even though I had a curfew. I started smoking weed heavy. Miss Banks, my foster mom, was cool and always treated me right. When we all went to take family pictures, I felt like I was a part of a family until I caught a case with my brother in 2018 because I wanted my own for once. I was popular always, but I wanted the clothes, the shoes, the money and my own car so that I can drive to school instead of taking the bus at 6:30 a.m. when my first class starts at 8:00 a.m. Plus no one had a car in the house. The driveway was always empty. I wanted to fill it up. It always made me feel like something was missing.

So yeah I went to juvie for a few months for a case, and when I was released on house arrest I wanted to go back, but DCFS said I couldn't. Ms. Banks was willing to take me back, but I couldn’t go back. Then the agency placed me in a foster home on 88th and Emerald on the south side of Chicago. That home didn't last long because she wanted to lecture me about inviting my sister Kayla over to spend time with her and she would go do runs for me like go buy me shoes, food, and clothes cuz I was on house arrest, and she didn't want me to close my room door. I was ready to go, like for real! I then moved to Park Forest then from there to 79th and Kenwood. When I lived on 79th and Kenwood, I went to a school called Hirsch High School.

Through all that moving I was still on house arrest.

One night I got into an argument with the foster parent. She made a threat so I did the same.

She called the police and I ran all the way to the red line on 79th and State, took it to Roosevelt and took the green line to Pulaski and went to my uncle's house where my Mama stayed. A couple days later I showed up to school and the police came into class to arrest me saying I've threatened my foster parent. I was in my head thinking like she threatened me first but it was what it was. I went to a group home up North for a few days until my mentor Terry came to pick me up and he took me to the office. We sat until they could find me a place to go. No one would take me because I was bad and no one had time for me and my bull. So Mr. Mac took me in.

It was a very nice home but I couldn't do too much cuz I was on house arrest. I cleaned, stayed on my phone, played video games and always had food. We, as a house, played games and went places. He always got my movement approved. I was tested for drugs and it came back positive and the judge sent me to rehab. After 3 months of that I was returned home still on house arrest. It's been 2 years. A couple of weeks later I was enrolled in a school called Plain Field East. I started asking my foster dad Mr. Mac if he could get me a job. He said I can get you one you just have to finish school first. Every time I asked him that that was his answer. All stores were within driving distance. I filled the applications and never got hired. School then was shut down because of covid. I was bored out of my mind. I couldn't take the bus to go see my friends and family.

March 8th 2020, I went to my friend's house in Dolton, Illinois for his birthday. I figured I could take the hit of coming back late at night but when I asked them to take me back home that night he said no. I was already home and they wasn't taking me back. So I said f*** it. It feels more like home anyway. This was my friend ever since I went to Speed in the 6th grade. We built our own family when we all had no one. This was my second family after I lost my first.

Everything was okay. I was in the streets getting my own money, doing stuff, hoping not to get caught. My homie little Trey's Grandma became my grandma over the years. She accepted me as family and over the years she was getting sicker. We all knew but we didn't expect her to go so soon. First it was my granddad on my mama's side, my mama's dad. I don't remember the bond between us but I knew it was one there. All I remember is him coming to my mom's rescue when she called. Whether it was for food, money, clothes or bills, he was there; that's why I had so much love and respect for him.

I was staying with Miss Mary, Trey's grandma, my grandma, when I got a call through the app messenger from my mama crying saying she lost her father. Something in me broke that moment. I was lost. I didn't know what to do. On the day of his funeral there was a lot of crying and a lot of people claiming to be family that I didn't know or want to know. I was there to say goodbye to my Grandad and comfort my OG. A couple days later I was reminiscing in my head walking into Trey’s room. He started talking about our past together, how when we met he had just lost his mama and how my mama was in jail and was sending me letters and how we would read them together. That was a time where we both carried each other. But we needed someone. A few days after that Trey came to me and said something was wrong with grandma. I went to check on her.

Her breathing machine was beeping and she was unresponsive. I told Trey to call the ambulance and was careful not to move her so that nothing could go wrong. I was scared and worried. I didn't know why but it was the feeling that came over me. It was a rainy day, pouring. Getting high, smoking weed, was a normal activity for us so that's what we did when the ambulance left to ease our mind. Plus he didn't have a way to get to the hospital to be by her side. Trey called his auntie and told her the situation and that Miss Mary needed someone by her side. I guess she went to be by her side. A few days later Trey woke me out my sleep by punching a hole through his bedroom door crying. He didn't have to tell me why. I knew. I can feel it. He hugged me tight, crying, telling me the reason for his tears. I was hoping I was wrong, but I was right. We lost our grandmother and it hurt. It hurt like hell. Pain like open wounds. Our lives changed. Everything felt different. We was really all we had now. The family we built has to figure out ways to really live on our own and pay bills.

Grow up. We dove deeper into using drugs. We started doing whatever. To get drugs we started buying more weed. I myself started taking football xans. I used to get a bottle of them from a friend for free. Trey and D Thing didn't like how I abused them but they knew it was how I dealt with my losses. I was taking them every day. Codeine started coming around more and every time she came around I drank her. Then I stopped getting xans. So we all started buying ecstasy literally every day and having fun partying almost every night drinking liquor. Those were the only drugs I did and never thought about none other than those.

I was enjoying the place away from home for at least 2 months until I really was away from home in jail. A hell hole called Cook County, a place I never thought I would be. In the beginning I was lost, hurt, wondering how something like this happened to a person like me. I didn't know how to fight what I was going through. I didn't want to talk to people on the other side of the phone. I didn't know how to talk. I cried until No More Tears were dropped. I worked out until I felt relaxed. I ran laps racing against my thoughts. I learned how to write letters from my heart. I've advanced my handwriting and vocabulary. I used to say I don't believe in God when I first came to jail. Then people would ask “How do you think you got here?” or “ How do you think anything exists?” and I would just say I don’t know, I just don’t believe. Maybe because of the life I lived up to this point. The bible is the first book I’ve read (not front to back) about God to try and understand him.

I started reading and praying every night and day because I started to believe in God in his creation. I would read 2 or more sections of a chapter everyday, if not then I would just read a couple of verses. I would study with Christians on the deck, but I never considered myself to be one. I was seeking from division 6 to division 10. Then I was sent to division 9 for school for almost 2 years. By the time I graduated and got my diploma I had already lost my Bible and fell into bad habits and a deep state of depression.

This one dude who was on the deck with me for a couple months would always say “Allah loves you,” every night or just anytime he saw me for the first time of the day. But I wasn’t aware of all the signs that Allah was reaching out to me, because I’d lost faith and was ready to accept fate. I went to the hole for a couple of weeks. In the hole my cellie had a Quran sitting on the desk that I never saw him use.

So I asked him how come he never uses the Quran. He said because it wasn't his. Then I asked if I could read it. He handed it to me and said you can have it. I opened it and started reading.

I felt the energy from every word I read coursing through my mind and body uplifting my soul and Spirit for the 3 weeks I was in the hole.

I read the Quran every night and day. I could understand it better and had a better understanding of Allah and his creation. The way of life. I felt my Hope and Faith getting stronger. When I left the hole I landed on a deck where there was a group of Muslims who practice Islam and who took their Deen very serious. I continued to read and ask questions. I guess they seen I was seeking because they kept asking was I ready. I didn't give a response, I just kept asking questions and paying attention to their prostration during Salat. The Imam asked again. This time I was, so I said yes. Then he showed me how to make wudu, then I made wudu and he gave me Shahada. He gave me a salat book and I practiced the language (Arabic) and wudu everyday and every night. I was so in love with learning that I became dedicated to learn every Surah, which I still don't know and every prayer which I don't know. I believe Islam is the way for me because every-time I submit myself I feel less sin. I feel I owe it and that salat is the best way to ask for forgiveness. I feel heard and most of all I feel guided.

So I became a believer of Allah and Islam’s way of life. Which is my way of life now.

I read urban novels until I realized they were all the same, just different stories. I read James Patterson until it got boring. I stared at pictures of the Free World wishing I was there. I stared at pictures of beautiful girls wishing I had them. I stared at pictures of designer clothes and jewelry imagining myself in them.

Now I chase knowledge because I fell in love with learning. I pray for guidance from Allah so that I won't fall again. I'm different, I’m better, I'm a man, I'm a fighter, I’m stronger. Every step I make is powerful and I think of the consequences before I make a decision. I'm going to get that girl. I'm going to go to that place. I'm going to wear that designer. I'ma rock that jewelry and be like I wasn't here until now. I’m reborn.

David Johnson I Am From Coming from the City of Chicago where I looked up to villains as heroes.

I’m a warrior fighting through a war of Heartaches and pain.

Someone whose been contaminated by the System.

Seeking guidance, reaching to find my way home.

Being judged and forced to live in fish bowls Instead of the Ocean.

I am from where mommas don’t play and Daddy’s run away.

From loss until I find my way.

From better myself and hope for better days.

I am what’s left of a being Bred to make a difference.

I am “D” David Johnson.

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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