Guilty Until proven otherwise

"I find the defendants guilty! And I elect to keep them as wards of the state."

Looking to my left, I could see my brother's face besieged with tears, as if a volcano had erupted. To my right, Keith had collapsed into his mother's arms. I thought he had fainted. "What now?" I wondered.

Our troubles started two weeks after my freshman year began when we received a phone call from detectives asking Keith and me to meet them at my house. Obliging, unaware of what awaited us, we answered some questions about a cell phone we found weeks earlier. We spoke, thinking there was no reason to use our right to remain silent since there's no law against finding a phone. The detective looked on as we spoke attentively, nodding, making us feel at ease. He stopped me mid-sentence, hearing enough. He turned me around, handcuffing me while reciting my Miranda rights. We were taken to the police station, even then our adolescent minds didn't think anything was awry, singing Akon's newly released 'Locked Up.'

"Shut up, you juvenile delinquents," said the lady cop.

We arrived at the station to be fingerprinted; my brother arrived later due to practice. Once there, the detective detailed a heinous robbery that took place weeks earlier, offering his opinion, including how I attacked the lady.

I attempted to plead my case to any officer who would listen. "She knows what she saw; she wouldn't lie. I walked her dog; I know her. You all will get what you deserve." I stopped talking after that.

We stayed handcuffed to a cell for hours, intermittently asking, "When are we going home?" considering school the next day. A cop came, stating they were finishing paperwork and we'd be going "home" soon.

At 4 am, we were loaded into a paddy wagon with one other guy, freezing and shackled together like slaves. The wagon stopped, the door opened; we found ourselves in an unfamiliar building. "Where are we? I thought we were going home," said my brother Aaron.

The officer, grinning from ear to ear, excitedly exclaimed, "This is your new home; the audi home. I think y'all picked the wrong time to come too. We just had to stop a fag from fucking this other dude."

My heart immediately dropped to the floor. This was a place I never envisioned myself. I ended up at the audi home for two weeks while waiting for my house arrest bracelet. I quickly realized this wasn't the place to be. The on-duty police clearly didn't care, treating everyone the same, but the teachers there had it worst. I felt deeply sorry for them.

They struggled to teach kids who didn't care and some lacking basic math and reading skills. She pressed on anyway. "Please, can everyone just listen?" she said, but no one paid her attention until she finally snapped.

"Can everyone shut up, please!"

She looked so frail; I didn't think she was capable of yelling so loudly. Everyone's ears perked up; they were clearly amused.

"This is not the place for reform," I thought.

During home confinement while awaiting trial, imagine playing sports and going to school with a house arrest bracelet on your ankle; it was my reality for the greater part of a year. No matter how many points you score or A's you get, everyone only wanted to know what did you do, as if it was a badge of honor. My answer was mostly "I don't want to talk about it."

As much as you try to put on a strong smile, you are constantly reminded, not only by your ankle but also by other people.

During a basketball game in December, it all seemed to come crashing down. My brother came to me at halftime of a big game and told me we had just been evicted from our home. My heart sank; I felt the need to throw up. But once again, as a 15-year-old kid, I had to put on a strong face for the crowd while inside, I felt like I was dying. For the rest of that game, I watched the door, looking for the police to come whisk me away.

The trial lasted for almost two years, and with each continuation, what started out as hope in the justice system waned more and more. Each attempt at proving our innocence was futile. No character witnesses nor honors classes could help. We brought in one of the guys who was actually a part of the robbery; this was our ace up our sleeves, but we were told if he spoke, they would charge him along with us. All hope was lost.

The plaintiffs' lawyers were ruthless. They clearly enjoyed what they were doing, and their tones let everyone know they meant business. They presented their case so well it instilled doubt within myself of my own innocence.

"Maybe they are right. Maybe I blacked out and did it," I thought. They were that good.

The day came for the verdict, but I knew what it was. Judge Brown did not have to say anything. As the guilty verdict rang out, I stood there expressionless like some kind of sociopath. I was lost, alone in my head with my thoughts. Should I channel my inner James Cagney and shout "you'll never take me alive copper" while running away? "What do I do now?"

Unbeknownst to me, a guilty verdict was not a sentencing; that agony was prolonged for another date. The only thing we knew at that moment was we were 15, 16 with at least 9 felonies; aggravated battery, aggravated assault, strong arm robbery just to name a few.

I thought for sure they would lock us up and throw away the key, but we were "spared" jail time because it was our first offense. We were sentenced to five years probation.

Maybe I was naive; I had mistaken the justice system for the justice league. Justice has never been about finding the bad guy; it's about what you can prove or someone being punished for a crime.

If there was one positive takeaway from it all, it is that it opened my eyes. My mind was no longer impervious to the perils this world had to offer. The conversation I had with the officer who walked me out of the audi home years earlier still resonates with me to this day. "Man, this place isn't anything nice. You have no freedom, no privacy, you're told what to do, and when to wake up. I never wanted to be here, and I will never be back," I told him.

"Okay, I'll see you next week," he said without the slightest bit of sarcasm. Yeah, you just wait on it.

chromecast

"for a few to be immortal, many must die"

did you improve on the design or did you do some' new?

There's a debate going around right now, I have no idea if it's hot or not I'm not into pop culture, it's about McDonald's workers making 15 an hour. I'll come out and say this first they should absolutely get paid at least 12 dollars per hour without a shadow of a doubt. That's modern day slavery and they also have to work every major holiday. People make the argument"what are they doing for the world?" Well what is Derrick Rose, eminem, and Lupe fiasco doing for the world? All of whom are amongst my favorite celebrities. To me the answer is around the same as a McDonald's worker on a more global platform. We have no problem coughing up 50+ dollars to see them , read glimpse but we have a problem with giving a worker whose almost literally slaving for only enough to make a decent living. You would think people, especially those of us who are at the bottom would be more empathetic to these workers demands but no we'd rather judge them, treat them as insignificant. How dare they want to make a decent living while only flipping burgers. Well the next time your meal is less than satisfactory lets remember they are minimum wage workers they can only put in what they are getting out or something like that. We expect top product from someone who probably had to choose rent over food. Everyone is expendable at every job but these workers are treated the worst of the worst. They don't get sick days, no paid lunch, no real vacation time, and not a lot of free time. But oh well it matters not apparently life is about setting yourself up for success, not worrying about burger flippers. "its funny how are schools make us stupid and are schools jobs make us poor"

the world

If you could change who you really are because it makes you unhappy even if you're a good person would you?  Would you conform even if it meant going against everything that you stand for? Being different shouldn't be a curse leaving you searching for a place to belong. Now a days "weird" is a trend complete with shaved heads, tutus, male rainboots, and "nerds"  what gets lost in it all is individuality,  everyone will claim to be an individual but trying not to stand out as if having a voice is a sin. People are judged because of what brand of clothing they wear but yet no one know what materials the clothing is made of. People who are overweight has it the worst they can't even post a picture on a social media without scrutiny. The light skinned vs dark skinned attacks on social media is sickening our ancestors would turn in their graves if they knew everything they had to endure would turn into this, not to mention other races joining in as if they are all superior. Its some things you just don't say or do out of respect everyone is so insensitve and out for self. If we took the time to think about what our ancestors were fighting for we would realize we still don't have our basic rights. Women have it the worst, I do not believe the vast majority of women of any race has joined the "twerk" movement but that's a movement that will set women back even more. Its bad enough most men look at them as sex symbols, and because that's what men like they become that. They all want to be Marilyn Monroe but unknown to them was she was a torchered soul. Women are too intelligent for this. As a whole we need to do better we are all overdosing on "the cool"

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2nd day

2nd day blogging