So, I used to be a lowkey, small time drug dealer in the biggest city on the east coast. I’ve lived in the hood all my life and who I am is simply a product of my environment. One of my first drug deals was to some tall white kid who wanted a dub of weed. I could tell he didn’t do this often, he used as much slang as he could and even tried to sound “black”. The problem was that this kid wanted to meet at a train station and i didn’t have my metrocard. I hopped the turnstile to get to him. […]
Author
JamalK02
JamalK02
So, I used to be a lowkey, small time drug dealer in the biggest city on the east coast. I've lived in the hood all my life and who I am is simply a product of my environment. One of my first drug deals was to some tall white kid who wanted a dub of weed. I could tell he didn't do this often, he used as much slang as he could and even tried to sound "black". The problem was that this kid wanted to meet at a train station and i didn't have my metrocard so, I hopped the turnstile to get to him. problem was, there was a cop hiding to the left of the turnstile and he saw me. Normally, they'd let me pass with a warning or force me to actually pay for the train but this guy was an asshole. He kept pressing me about where I lived and where I was going and a bunch of other really nosey questions. After that though, the white kid I was doing the deal with freaked out and thought I got caught and was ratting him out. This kid decided to scream "HOLY FUCKING SHIT, I SWEAR I DON'T KNOW THIS NIGGA! PLEASE DON'T ARREST ME!" and ran away. Instead of chasing him though, the cop just asked me if I knew him and if anything was happening between us. I told him the kid was probably just crazy, he has nothing to do with me. The cop obviously didn't believe me and asked what I did for a living, I told him the truth, I was just a high school student (I was 15 then). The cop decided that I was so suspicious that he had to take me down to the precinct which would mean that my bag, which at the time contained nearly 6 ounces of weed, was going to be searched and confiscated. I didn't want to end up in jail so I ran, the cop chased me, and this dude was fast. I only managed to get just of the train station before he tackled me with his handcuffs. I was terrified, I thought I was going to get shot, I started screaming and kicking and crying, I begged for my life for what seemed like hours while the officer called a squad car to come pick me up. I spent the next year in a juvenile detention center. The worst punishment of all though, was my parent's disappointment. They always told me not to be a stereotype, get out of the hood, go to college, get a good job. And there I was, selling dope to make a quick buck, to be honest, I think that year I spent in Juvy was worse for them than it was for me. When I got out, I was still just as foolish as when I went in, I started dealing again, promising myself not to get caught, and I didn't. By the time I was 18, I had sold 20 pounds of weed, 6 pounds of crack and 2 pound of cocaine. I was proud of myself. I had a name in town, people didn't mess with me. Problem with having a name was that my parents knew. I never admitted it, but it was an obvious lie. That was the same year my mother died of ischemic heart disease. She died disappointed in me. I never dealt again, instead, I used all the drugs I had left. I was depressed, I almost killed myself 3 times and I was high more often than not and I was running out of money to pay the rent. I started thinking about what my parents used to tell me when I was middle school and high school, "Don't be the White man's picture of a Black man. That's how they oppress you, they make you think of yourself that way and then they use it against you, make your life goal to please God and disprove every negative stereotype of Black people" I didn't listen to my Mom then, I thought she was just being a regular Mom, worried about her kids and being overprotective. She was right though, and it was at that moment that I finally realized that. But I thought it was too late. I was almost 20 years old, 2 years too late to go to college, and my Mom was dead, she would never know, she could never be proud of me. That night, I took my gun and i sat on the toilet, just staring down the barrel, I could pull the trigger and end it all. I thought about how the Russian guy next door would call the cops after he hears the sound, then a bunch of white pricks would come into my apartment and start poking through all my stuff only to come in and see my butt naked lying against the cold floor of my bathroom, blood everywhere. I decided not to, simply by replaying that same memory of my Mother in my head over and over again. She would speak strongly, almost loud, almost scolding. But in reality, she was just begging me to live a better life than she did. That was my motivation, that same day I drove over to the community college near my house. I almost went inside. But i made an excuse for myself, "it was the middle of the semester" I told myself, there's no point applying right now. I went right back home. I smoked some weed and fell asleep with my gun only a reach away from my hand, I relived that day over and over again for nearly a year before I finally gained the courage to apply online (I was way to embarrassed and afraid to do it in person despite living less than a mile away) I waited a few months until I got my letter, I was accepted! I started my course as a paramedic, I hoped to be a big doctor one day. I worked really hard, I started going steady with this girl I really liked, It wasn't long before we were married. Now I'm a successful primary care physician with my own practice, a loving wife, a child of 7 years and another one due this October. And well, that's my story.