“Babe! You hear this shit?!!” My son’s father’s voice was
shaking over the phone and I could hear a Drug Enforcement Agent talking to
him. “We’ve got you selling to an agent
and people in your circle are making statements against you. I’d advise you to leave town now or we’ll be
to pick you up in two weeks with an indictment.” As much fear as that put into my son’s father
at that moment, he didn’t leave, even despite me trying to convince him he
should. And sure enough, two weeks
later, they came and got him.
He had left home to go to the store and get something to drink for dinner. While he was gone my best friend called. “Someone just told me that your son’s father was arrested at Harding’s.” “What?” I said in disbelief. “Who told you that?” She said that a friend of hers had seen my son’s father get arrested in the checkout lane. I grabbed my son and raced to the grocery store. When I got there, I didn’t see anyone. I was running around in a panic. “Did someone just get arrested here?” I asked the cashier, out of breath. He told me two men dressed in plain clothes had arrested a black male a few minutes prior. I knew it had to have been federal agents. I went back home to meet several more agents at my door. “We’ll need to search your apartment,” one said. I asked for a search warrant, which they didn’t have. “It’ll take a couple hours, but we can get one and in that case, we’ll kick the door the down. So you can let us in now, or get your door kicked in.” I refused to let them in. I knew no drugs were in my apartment but I refused to go through that again. “We know about you, but we’re not here for you,” they tried to assure me. I still asked them to present the warrant before I let them enter and while we waited, I was told I couldn’t enter my apartment either. I left to drop my son off and when I returned, they had already kicked my door in.
My apartment was ransacked. They had flipped over my sofas, dumped clothes all over the floor from the closet and the drawers only to leave with one thing; a letter an old friend of my son’s father had written to him from prison.
At the time my son’s father was indicted, I was working in a hotel as a housekeeper. That was the only job I could get with my felony. Burger King wouldn’t even hire me. My paychecks averaged $110 a week. I couldn’t afford to pay rent, let alone feed my child. I thought my son’s father had been paying the rent, only to receive an eviction notice from my landlord stating that the rent hadn’t been paid in three months. I could barely afford a $10 pack of diapers. I had no idea how I was going to find the money to pay back rent. And to this day, I can’t tell you how I made it through that time. I found a job doing home care two months later that paid under the table and made an arrangement with my landlord for the owed rent. God’s grace is amazing, that’s all I can say.
My son’s father was being held in a prison a few hours north and I would visit him every weekend. Our relationship got rocky quickly as I began to discover a new freedom of having and managing my own money and what it was like to live without the stress or drama of other women harassing me or him abusing me. A part of me felt guilty that I was so peaceful at home without him and a greater part of me just felt free. I felt obligated to be there for him, again, and I tried, but as the pressure of being inside and going through his case began to break him down, I couldn't stomach who he was becoming... or rather, finally realizing who he always was.
I won’t go into any further detail as to why my son’s father and I fell out. What I will say is, despite my involvement with him, I was never from the streets. I didn’t know anything about selling drugs, street violence, etc., until I had met him. I couldn’t have cared less about whether a person chose to testify against another person in the streets or not. It wouldn’t have affected me in any way. However, I CANNOT respect a man that will allow a woman to sacrifice her life to spare him from his own consequences, but when he finally has to face the consequences himself would choose to break the very “code” he praised her for keeping to save his own ass.
He had left home to go to the store and get something to drink for dinner. While he was gone my best friend called. “Someone just told me that your son’s father was arrested at Harding’s.” “What?” I said in disbelief. “Who told you that?” She said that a friend of hers had seen my son’s father get arrested in the checkout lane. I grabbed my son and raced to the grocery store. When I got there, I didn’t see anyone. I was running around in a panic. “Did someone just get arrested here?” I asked the cashier, out of breath. He told me two men dressed in plain clothes had arrested a black male a few minutes prior. I knew it had to have been federal agents. I went back home to meet several more agents at my door. “We’ll need to search your apartment,” one said. I asked for a search warrant, which they didn’t have. “It’ll take a couple hours, but we can get one and in that case, we’ll kick the door the down. So you can let us in now, or get your door kicked in.” I refused to let them in. I knew no drugs were in my apartment but I refused to go through that again. “We know about you, but we’re not here for you,” they tried to assure me. I still asked them to present the warrant before I let them enter and while we waited, I was told I couldn’t enter my apartment either. I left to drop my son off and when I returned, they had already kicked my door in.
My apartment was ransacked. They had flipped over my sofas, dumped clothes all over the floor from the closet and the drawers only to leave with one thing; a letter an old friend of my son’s father had written to him from prison.
At the time my son’s father was indicted, I was working in a hotel as a housekeeper. That was the only job I could get with my felony. Burger King wouldn’t even hire me. My paychecks averaged $110 a week. I couldn’t afford to pay rent, let alone feed my child. I thought my son’s father had been paying the rent, only to receive an eviction notice from my landlord stating that the rent hadn’t been paid in three months. I could barely afford a $10 pack of diapers. I had no idea how I was going to find the money to pay back rent. And to this day, I can’t tell you how I made it through that time. I found a job doing home care two months later that paid under the table and made an arrangement with my landlord for the owed rent. God’s grace is amazing, that’s all I can say.
My son’s father was being held in a prison a few hours north and I would visit him every weekend. Our relationship got rocky quickly as I began to discover a new freedom of having and managing my own money and what it was like to live without the stress or drama of other women harassing me or him abusing me. A part of me felt guilty that I was so peaceful at home without him and a greater part of me just felt free. I felt obligated to be there for him, again, and I tried, but as the pressure of being inside and going through his case began to break him down, I couldn't stomach who he was becoming... or rather, finally realizing who he always was.
I won’t go into any further detail as to why my son’s father and I fell out. What I will say is, despite my involvement with him, I was never from the streets. I didn’t know anything about selling drugs, street violence, etc., until I had met him. I couldn’t have cared less about whether a person chose to testify against another person in the streets or not. It wouldn’t have affected me in any way. However, I CANNOT respect a man that will allow a woman to sacrifice her life to spare him from his own consequences, but when he finally has to face the consequences himself would choose to break the very “code” he praised her for keeping to save his own ass.
