Darryl is a 23-year-old black man whom I met while attending a class on domestic violence...
I think he signed up for the class in order to help himself come to an understanding of his own life, and to perhaps sort things out. I took the class to learn something that might be useful to me later on.
Growing up in an array of New York City public shelters, his life was damaged from the outset. Later, his life would be shattered. Hence, his attempt to get a handle on domestic violence and the reasons for this kind of abuse, as these things have swirled around him since he was a baby.
Weeks later, Darryl and I had a chance meeting in the outdoor recreation yard. Prior to this, we'd sometimes walk back from class together. The class lasted for 90 minutes once a week over a period of two months. We live in different cellblocks. So today's meeting was a good one in that I finally got the opportunity to get to know him better.
Darryl never had an apartment to call home. His mother was addicted to crack-cocaine since he was an infant. According to Darryl, his mother had a string of men around. They obviously provided her with money and drugs in return for sex and companionship. Almost every one of these guys, he said, would end up punching and slapping his mom around. But the ultimate shattering of his life came when he found his mother passed out in a bathroom stall, unconscious. It was a drug overdose.
It was up to Darryl, who was in his mid-teens at the time, to drag his mom's drugged and unresponsive body down the hallway to her bunk. Someone called for an ambulance and the next thing he knew, she was being carted off to the hospital. The shelter's staff, however, made him get a mop and bucket and clean up the puke.
At some point, as Darryl explained it, Family Services had been contacted, and they tried to get him into some kind of program. Fiercely loyal to his mother, he resisted their efforts. She was back within a couple of days, and so mother and son were reunited.
Listening to Darryl's story, he reminded me of an overly protective dog who is determined to stay by his master's side, even if it means death. His mother is his only family. He has no idea who his father is, and neither does she.
He told me that he could see abuse in others, but not in himself. Yet he admitted that, as an adolescent, he was always angry and often lashed out at anyone who managed to tick him off. From the sound of it, he grew up with both fists clenched, ready for combat.
Of no surprise, at the age of twenty-one, with a handful of misdemeanor arrests already on his record, he would finally end up committing a felony. Darryl would attack someone with a weapon, causing harm and bloodshed. He's a volcano with lots of hot lava bubbling beneath the surface. Darryl tried to rob a man for his wallet and ended up cracking the victim's skull with a small steel pipe he had up his sleeve.
Speaking with Darryl, I saw in him maturity beyond his years. In the several hours he and I were together in the chilly air, I think that in his mind I became something of a father or grandfather figure. An older man was finally paying him some attention, and he desperately needed to talk and get things off his chest. He freely admitted his wrongs. He said he doesn't want to be a violent person with unending anger. He told me he wants to have a normal life. That when he gets out he hopes to find a good job, meet a nice girl, and get married.
Sadly, Darryl has no outside support. His mother, he said, was "out there somewhere." But she's illiterate and cannot write to him. She also moves around a lot, he added. Yet, he's confident he will find her when he is released from prison.
In fact, this may not be too much longer, as Darryl is only doing a sentence of five years. He already has almost half his time in. And his correction counselor told him that he's now eligible to be reclassified as medium security; he's expecting to be transferred shortly.
Despite his lack of a high school diploma and with a history of erratic attendance in public school, Darryl is well-rounded and intelligent. His mind is sharp, and he's easy to talk to, though his life's story is a painful tale of woe.
During our conversation, I invited him to church and I tried to share Christ with him. But his pent-up anger would not go away. Judging by the way he spoke about God, it sounded as if Darryl was ready to start a fistfight with Him too.
D.B.
Growing up in an array of New York City public shelters, his life was damaged from the outset. Later, his life would be shattered. Hence, his attempt to get a handle on domestic violence and the reasons for this kind of abuse, as these things have swirled around him since he was a baby.
Weeks later, Darryl and I had a chance meeting in the outdoor recreation yard. Prior to this, we'd sometimes walk back from class together. The class lasted for 90 minutes once a week over a period of two months. We live in different cellblocks. So today's meeting was a good one in that I finally got the opportunity to get to know him better.
Darryl never had an apartment to call home. His mother was addicted to crack-cocaine since he was an infant. According to Darryl, his mother had a string of men around. They obviously provided her with money and drugs in return for sex and companionship. Almost every one of these guys, he said, would end up punching and slapping his mom around. But the ultimate shattering of his life came when he found his mother passed out in a bathroom stall, unconscious. It was a drug overdose.
It was up to Darryl, who was in his mid-teens at the time, to drag his mom's drugged and unresponsive body down the hallway to her bunk. Someone called for an ambulance and the next thing he knew, she was being carted off to the hospital. The shelter's staff, however, made him get a mop and bucket and clean up the puke.
At some point, as Darryl explained it, Family Services had been contacted, and they tried to get him into some kind of program. Fiercely loyal to his mother, he resisted their efforts. She was back within a couple of days, and so mother and son were reunited.
Listening to Darryl's story, he reminded me of an overly protective dog who is determined to stay by his master's side, even if it means death. His mother is his only family. He has no idea who his father is, and neither does she.
He told me that he could see abuse in others, but not in himself. Yet he admitted that, as an adolescent, he was always angry and often lashed out at anyone who managed to tick him off. From the sound of it, he grew up with both fists clenched, ready for combat.
Of no surprise, at the age of twenty-one, with a handful of misdemeanor arrests already on his record, he would finally end up committing a felony. Darryl would attack someone with a weapon, causing harm and bloodshed. He's a volcano with lots of hot lava bubbling beneath the surface. Darryl tried to rob a man for his wallet and ended up cracking the victim's skull with a small steel pipe he had up his sleeve.
Speaking with Darryl, I saw in him maturity beyond his years. In the several hours he and I were together in the chilly air, I think that in his mind I became something of a father or grandfather figure. An older man was finally paying him some attention, and he desperately needed to talk and get things off his chest. He freely admitted his wrongs. He said he doesn't want to be a violent person with unending anger. He told me he wants to have a normal life. That when he gets out he hopes to find a good job, meet a nice girl, and get married.
Sadly, Darryl has no outside support. His mother, he said, was "out there somewhere." But she's illiterate and cannot write to him. She also moves around a lot, he added. Yet, he's confident he will find her when he is released from prison.
In fact, this may not be too much longer, as Darryl is only doing a sentence of five years. He already has almost half his time in. And his correction counselor told him that he's now eligible to be reclassified as medium security; he's expecting to be transferred shortly.
Despite his lack of a high school diploma and with a history of erratic attendance in public school, Darryl is well-rounded and intelligent. His mind is sharp, and he's easy to talk to, though his life's story is a painful tale of woe.
During our conversation, I invited him to church and I tried to share Christ with him. But his pent-up anger would not go away. Judging by the way he spoke about God, it sounded as if Darryl was ready to start a fistfight with Him too.
D.B.
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