When I Dream...

It’s four o’clock in the morning, the alarm clock wakes me up by playing “Redemption,” a song holding a special meaning in my life—and not simply because I wrote it. I climb from the bed, careful not to wake my beautiful wife, and dress for work. It may be Saturday, but I like to be present at the Center on the day someone graduates from the program and is born into the world a new person.

Today is Greg’s “birthday” as we call it. We have a surprise planned for him. He thinks he’s just going to leave the front gate behind and drive to his new apartment in his own recently purchased car. He has no clue that his parents will be waiting outside with little Benny, the eleven-month old son he has never laid eyes on. They haven’t told him that they won custody of the child after Benny’s mother was arrested for selling heroin out of her apartment a second time since having him. Once Greg is ready, custody of Benny will be transferred to him.

His is an amazing transformation, as are most who complete the program. Just after he turned sixteen, his parents brought him to me, hoping against hope that my program would help him, though nothing else had. He was out of control when he entered the program. He had a history of assaults and drug use for which the juvenile justice system had locked him up twice before. He’d been on probation since the age of twelve, and even though he spent a total of nine months in two different juvenile facilities, it didn’t deter him from doing as he pleased.

Though he is very intelligent, he simply quit going to school, preferring to sell drugs, party, and fight. His behavior was ripping his family apart with the constant fighting and irresponsibility, eventually escalating to abusing his siblings, and physical altercations with his parents. They feared for their lives near the end, so much so that they threw him out into the streets. Even though they took extreme measures to keep him out, such as changing the locks and installing an alarm system, it didn’t work. He would just kick the door in or break through a window.

Now he is a week into his first semester in college, pursuing a degree in electrical engineering. He works full time as an apprentice to an electrician. He has paid off all of his fines and restitutions. He even volunteers as a tutor to children diagnosed with severe learning disabilities.

Greg and others like him are the reason I have chosen this path in life. I was once a troubled teen with problems similar to his. Trouble at home, trouble with the law, and in school. There was no help for me; doctors failed, the juvenile system failed, loved ones failed. I fancied myself an outlaw and a rebel, thought I was a hard-ass, and had a misplaced pride in my criminality. I was too naive to even care about what I was doing to myself and my family. I landed in a real adult penitentiary for a decade and a half after being convicted of attempted murder.

Prison changed me; or rather prison helped me to see the error of my ways, and provided me with the time, resources, and opportunity to right those ways. Now, at the age of forty-five, I own a completely self-sufficient building renovation and maintenance company, and a real-estate firm. They have earned me enough money to be considered wealthy, and provided me with the means to do everything else I’ve ever wanted to do.

I have earned the right to sign my name beginning with “Dr.” after receiving a Ph.D. in psychology. I have founded the Centers for Troubled Teens: Behavior Modification Program--a program designed by myself to provide young adults and teens the opportunity and help that I never received before I ended up in prison or dead. I have also founded the Centers for Troubled Teens Emerald City Resource Assistance Program; a program developed to aid teens and young adults who are otherwise unable to find and stay on the right path, by providing guidance and assistance in obtaining and using resources such as education, career training, housing, child care, parenting, psychological support, legal aid, financial aid and management, and personal and family counseling.

In this way I can bring balance for the wrongs I have done.

Of all my achievements in life, none compare to the family I have built and my ability to provide for them. The angel whom I do not deserve as a wife, yet still has given me her heart and soul, the two beautiful little girls who have pushed all of the guilt, regret, ugliness, and pain from my heart, and filled it with pure joy and peace, have left me with a permanent smile affixed to a face once marred by a bitter scowl. My daughters’ love is the reason for which I live the life I now do.

On the way home from the Center, I think I’ll pick up the ponies I bought for them for Christmas. It’s still three months away, but I can’t hold out any longer. I keep daydreaming about the glowing, surprised smiles that make me putty in their hands. I want to see those smiles today. Besides, the fence around the field behind the house is finished and it’s a beautiful day for riding. I’ll get a dozen roses for my wife, too, to—

It’s four o’clock in the morning, the alarm clock on my television wakes me up with a loud crackle of static. I can’t afford cable. I climb from my bunk and dress for work, careful not to wake my cellmate. Another day in prison. Too bad I had to wake up. If it weren’t for the dream, I don’t think I could wake up and make it through another day.

Maybe one day, instead of waking from the dream, I’ll wake to the dream.

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

The relationship that I share with my family has never been that great. I’m the oldest of four by almost three years and from the age of eight the responsibility of maintaining the household was mine, as both of my parents worked long hours. I never had a normal childhood because of this, and a close sibling relationship never developed because I was seen as more of an authority figure than a brother.

When I was younger, my father had an affair which produced another child. My mother found out about this and attempted suicide after a legal separation. I was old enough to understand the situation in part, but never knew the truth. Eventually my parents worked their relationship out and renewed their wedding vows.

Growing up, I can remember that there was a distinct lack of emotional and affectionate expression within the family. Anger was the one emotion shown freely and though instances of physical abuse occurred near the time of my incarceration, verbal and emotional abuse was a constant occurrence in my life. For some reason, my siblings were almost never the focus of it; I drew the brunt of it all.

When I was 14, I discovered the details about my half-sister for the first time. I instantly resented the years of deception by my parents and my relationship with them, however twisted it may have been, was shattered. From that point on, I chose to do whatever I wanted to, and often times did things to instigate trouble. In combination with other aspects of my life, things quickly spiraled out of control.

Today, our relationship remains toxic. Because of the things that were done just prior to my incarceration, my family places the sole blame for every problem in their individual lives on me and, admittedly, I deserve some of the blame. There exists a great amount of anger, resentment, and fear within the individual members of my family that is directed toward me.

The trouble is that my family is completely blind to the issues that we face as a family. I am constantly reminded of the part I played in our issues, and the effects that has had on the family. I am also made a scapegoat for their own unresolved feelings and issues. It is as if resolving my personal issues will also resolve theirs.

This leaves me with a troubling problem. More than anything else in this world, I want my family to be healed and to be a part of my life. As things stand now, that cannot happen. Though my own issues are no longer an obstacle to healing, theirs are still in the way. I realize that I can do nothing about this and that, because they continue to deny the reality of the situation, things will probably never be resolved.

Because my family has such a negative effect on my life, I can now clearly see that in order to continue my own progress and have a chance at succeeding in life, I must cut them from it.
Only it’s not that simple. First of all, I love my family, no matter how dysfunctional it is. Love is what makes any decision regarding my family important and hard to make.

Also, I’m extremely stubborn. I know that my family is bad for me, and cutting them from my life is the right thing to do at this point, yet do I want to do it?

I know that I cannot heal my family on my own. I can do nothing to resolve their issues. I cannot change things. Yet I don’t want to give up. Even though I know that the issue is not mine anymore, I see my family the way it is as a failure of mine and I never let a failure go unresolved.

I must choose between three options. The first is to cut my family from my life and move on. No doubt this will cause me a great deal of pain and guilt added to that which I already feel. It will also hurt them and leave them with unanswered questions. I do not know if I have the strength to spare for the weight it will place on my already overloaded conscience.

The second option is to let my family know exactly where I stand and let them choose to either acknowledge and resolve their issues or continue with their lives without me. This could completely backfire on me by allowing them to the opportunity to deceive me as they have in the past.

However, it could open their eyes to reality and be the first real step in achieving my goal of repairing my broken family. What I need to say to them though, will definitely stir the pot of already volatile emotions, and make it fairly easy for them to blame me for shattering the fragile relationship that is currently in existence.

My third choice is to accept things as they are and continue the charade that suggests that things will eventually get better. If I do this, my family’s toxicity threatens my very life. The constant negativity that exists in my family has caused me to break in my past; twice leading to violent encounters that have resulted in incarceration, and once in an attempted suicide. It is almost certain that if things continue as they are, such an event may occur again--either by my own actions or the emotion-driven actions of another family member.

Coming up on parole, the need to make decisions such as these are instrumental to my chances of success in life. My issues run far deeper than criminality, incarceration, and the need to learn how to live an adult life. My family issues further complicate an already complicated life, and the decisions I must make regarding them are far from easy.

Whatever decision I make, I can be sure that its consequences will affect the course of my life.

I only wish that I didn’t have to choose.