I’m usually an optimist, so I see the glass half full. But at times, I just don’t know. I wonder if I’m suffering the sins of my father and mother or their fathers and mothers. How far does the blame go? Or am I solely responsible for the quality of my life?
I was born on a Monday, at 5:12 am on December 24, 1979, to my naive 21 year old mother. She must have thought she was in love with my father. I was her second child by him. I wonder if she looked to him for the love she never received at home. My grandparents back then were heavy drinkers and very strict with my mom, aunts, and uncles. At a young age, my mom was sexually abused by the church pastor who never was brought to justice. The family rumors ought to be believed. This was one of the few family secrets not talked about. So, I was born to a young mother who was emotionally scarred.
My life is pretty much one tragedy after another. Happy moments are rarely remembered. I didn’t grow up in a happy home with a mother and father. I grew up in roach and mice infested apartments. I recall at one time living on the streets of Detroit with my mom and older brother, sleeping on trash bags full of our clothing and personal effects in winter. Can you imagine how traumatic that experience was for me? I was only about five or six years old at the time. I remember domestic violence, witnessing my mother get beat bloody as I cried helplessly alongside my brother. What could we do? Bobby was a big guy and a former army soldier. I remember Bobby’s combat knife as he plunged it into a wall near my mother’s head. I remember living without electricity and hot water. We had to use candles at night and boil hot water on the gas stove, the only utility on.
I remember watching ashamed as my mother left our home to hunt for crack and watching her get high. I had to grow up fast and clean the house. I remember helping people at the local grocery with their bags, for tips, at 10-11 years old, so I can feed myself and go to the movies to see the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, my favorite flick. I remember being in foster care and made to use a toothbrush to clean a bathroom because I complained we foster kids were being treated as slaves, whereas the foster parents kids were treated better. So I ran away. I remember being in a youth shelter and getting evicted because the case manager felt some kind of way that I had a cell phone, which I purchased with my own money and paid the bill, but she tried to prevent me from having it. I got so angry, I cursed her out and threatened to kill her. I was just venting at the injustice, as teenagers often do. In truth, I never physically harmed anyone, but this vindictive woman got me evicted, so I was back on the streets. Soon thereafter, I was in jail to never see the streets again.
From the time I was born, to the time I turned 17 years old, my life was tragic. I didn’t have much help. I had a mentor, but he wasn’t really equipped to truly help me. I don’t think Leo fully understood what I needed in terms of support. He was just a kind hearted dude who would take me out to the arcade and Alpha Pizza, a much needed respite for my miserable life. I’m thankful for his efforts, but he eventually abandoned me too. People tend to abandon me because my circumstances are too overwhelming for them. Ain’t that funny? I’m the one living this shit. I could probably be home today, but I don’t have no one really going hard for me. I’m serving an unjust sentence. There’s no doubt about that. But no one is so moved by my plight, that they will beat down doors for me or hound the press until they tell my story. I find it sad and frustrating.
Although I’m suffering to see my life passing me by, I’m making the best of it. I’m in here fighting hard to save young prisoners from gangs, drugs, and violence, but get no help in doing so. Again, people abandon me or just put me off as some side show at their pity party. I constantly feel bad I can’t do more for my young boys. Just today, a 21 year old young man tells me how badly he wants to change his life for his grandmother and his girlfriend’s sake, but how he too has no one to help him. Because I know that feeling of abandonment, I instantly felt attached to him. I wouldn’t abandon him. I hardly have any support myself. I’m broke and can’t feed myself. I can’t even find anyone, not my own family, to at least do a Go Fund Me on my behalf. But I won’t abandon this kid like none of the several others I have embraced as little brothers. They’re the family I don’t have.
To serve others selflessly is the highest reward for a human being. It’s the greatest worship of God, the giver of life. When it comes to that, you can’t half ass it. I appreciate all those who do support me, but I know there’s more you can do. Just ask yourself: if you were in my shoes, what would you hope me to do? Short of breaking you out, I’ll be on the phone and on social media every day until your story got told enough that Governor Cuomo would listen and release you. When you act like you’re so helpless or so busy to do that, you just add to my abandonment and destroy my hope. I never let you see it, but I’m crushed every day because I know I deserve better. Why? Because I do it for others. I’ll do it for you. The golden rule: treat others how you want to be treated. True friends are there when it’s inconvenient. Some of you have a lot to learn. This is Dontie S.Mitchell, better known as Mfalme Sikivu reporting to you from Great Meadow Correctional Facility in Comstock, New York. Follow me on Facebook at Free Dontie Mitchell. Thank you for listening and God bless.
These commentaries are recorded by Noel Hanrahan of Prison Radio.
