J.P. and Sia
In the comic books that I loved so much as a kid, as in Greek and Roman mythology, superheroes often make a mess of trying to do good. Screwing up at one point—even hurting somebody they love—is a central part of many of these stories. All we can do is aspire to make it right, and do our damnedest, and hope that things will work out for the better. And they often do. It turns out that all superheroes, even in the comic books, are broken in some way. It is their brokenness, not their perfection, that connects them to a broken world. Their zeal to heal the world is really a reflection of their own inner desire to heal themselves.
On more than a few occasions, Michael has told me point blank that if he hadn’t had a big brother investing and believing in him, particularly in those early years, he would have never made the choice to leave the streets behind and that it made the critical difference between his life and those of many of his other friends who weren’t able to avoid prison or the cemetery. All those years, Michael had someone who directly or indirectly challenged him to do something with his life, to introduce some measure of accountability where absolutely none existed, to strive for something better. And perhaps that is the best lesson to draw from my long relationship with Michael Mattocks: that any human being, with all our faults and warts, can make a difference in another person’s life if we take a risk and make a commitment. No matter how flawed and inconsistent my connection was with him, somehow it was never broken, and that little light may have helped him navigate at times when he needed it most. That’s what Michael believes, and looking back, so do I.
24. “You Know You Not About to Do That”
MICHAEL MATTOCKS
I got word the other day that Gomez got fifty-one years for aggravated murder. Gomez! He was just a kid a little older than me when he introduced me to the drug-dealing life. I owe him a lot; he showed me the way into a life that worked for me for a long time. Gomez was a straight-up dude.
But I can’t help thinking: There, but for the grace of God, go I. At any time during those ten years I dealt drugs, I could have been shot, killed, paralyzed, or sent to prison for thirty years. Why am I living happily in the suburbs now with my wife and my five sons, instead of dead on the street or in prison?
I like to say that I’m a blessed man, that God watches over me and protects me. But deep down I know that’s not the whole answer. Why would God take special care of me—a no-count drug dealer—when any number of young men like me are shot down or locked up every year?
Part of the answer is my mother and my sister Sabrina. Lord knows they’ve had hard times of their own, but there is a strength in those women, and a steady love that came through even in their darkest hours, that I always knew I could count on.
Part of the answer is J.P. Even when we were the farthest apart—when I was so deep into the life that I wouldn’t go fishing with him, and he was a million miles away in Africa—his love for me, and his confidence in me, kept some part of me straight. A big brother is a powerful thing to have, especially a brother who isn’t just part of your family by birth, but who chooses to be, and then lives by that choice—even when it’s hard—year after year. I don’t know if I would have believed in myself enough to get out of the life, without him believing in me all these years.
What messes with my head, though, is my brother James, who had me, my mom, Sabrina, and J.P. in his life too, but who couldn’t escape the streets and his temper even though he was getting his life together. After all the things he survived, James gets killed over a firecracker.
Without Nikki, I’d be in some real shit today. She showed me and told me what I needed to do to be a real man, and she helped me get out of the life. When Nikki met me, she wrote down a vision for what could happen between us. She never stopped believing in that vision, and it all came true.
But when it comes down to it, I’ve also just had a lot of good luck. Any one of a thousand bullets could have taken me out. Any one of a thousand cops could have put his hand on me and sent me away forever. Maybe God really has decided to keep me safe for my boys.
After all the drugs, guns, and crime, I’m still alive. When I look back on it, while I was still a juvenile, I had already caught three gun charges, two cocaine charges, two marijuana charges, two robbery charges, an assault charge, and a PCP charge. Not one of them motherfucking charges stuck, and I probably had to serve no more than two months in jail all told. God had other plans for me.
I’m no millionaire. This is a different kind of rags-to-riches story, because there is nothing richer than taking care of my family. It’s a rags-to-respect story, I guess.
I work a job every day, but being a dad now is what I do. It takes all my energy, and all my time. I like taking my boys fishing over on Chesapeake Bay, or to the amusement park. Sometimes we just stay home and play a game or watch a movie together. What I’ve found is that there are lots of ways to be a good father; it doesn’t have to look like it does on Leave It To Beaver or The Cosby Show. I am still Michael Mattocks from North Capitol Street and Georgia Avenue. I don’t live the stupid, dangerous, illegal life anymore, but I still wear the cornrows. I don’t have to deny who I am to be a good father. In fact, I’d argue the opposite is true: That the only way for me to be a good father to my boys is to love them as the man I am.
We were at McDonald’s recently—me, Nikki, and all the boys. We were piled up in the minivan going through the drive-through. As I was sitting there waiting for my load of Happy Meals, I realized with a start that I’d been coming to that McDonald’s a long, long time. That was the same McDonald’s where Cool whipped out his oowop and let fly with a hundred bullets, then hopped in the car and started chewing his burger like it was nothing. And I remembered how much I’d loved that kind of thing back then. I suddenly felt really old, but in a good way. I felt like I’d tasted that dangerous life but then had outgrown it and found a happy and calm place to grow old.
As I was pulling out, this dude walked in front of the van, and I had to bump the brake hard. He looked up and pulled back his shoulders, like, What the fuck you looking at, you bitch motherfucker? I lifted my chin a hair—enough to say, Who the fuck are you? That’s all it takes, most of the time, for the guns to come out and the bullets to go every which way. Nikki looked over at me and said, “You know you not about to do that.” She’d lost her daddy to a moment like this, and she had no use for me getting us all into a spot. I glanced into my rearview mirror, saw all five of those boys in the back, and looked back at the dude in the driveway. I cracked a grin and nodded my head at the motherfucker, and he softened a little and walked on down the street.
I hit the gas and peeled out of the lot, flinging French fries all over the inside of the van. Nikki was hissing mad. But in the backseat I heard something that made me feel good: One of my boys, whispering to another one in awe:
“My daddy’s thorough.”
Front row, from left: Arturo, Marco, Michael Jr., and David. Back row, from left: J.P., Nino, Michael, Lando.
Acknowledgments
FROM J.P.
Though I failed at our marriage, Jean played a major role in my life as I slowly matured. Over the years, she has found faith and stability one day at a time, just like me. Though it is hard for her to forget the lost years, she has forgiven me, and we have maintained a bond that defies explanation. I thank her for all she has given me.
My best friend Samantha Power held my hand and never let go during the darkest phases of the last few years, when the weight of accumulated family and war zone traumas threatened my stability. Samantha and I worked together on what we called “the bats in our bat caves,” those crippling insecurities and cratering self-doubts that so undermined our ability to be fully ourselves, and to completely love another. We had many an all-night session full of tearful loss, blinding insight, shared fury, and compassionate empathy that more than anything helped us find our way out of our respective bat caves, finally.
FROM MICHAEL
I want to thank the good Lord for keeping me here and blessing my family. Of all the people in my life, I want to thank my mother-in-law, Miss Sandy (Sandra Jackson), who helps Nikki and me take care of our kids and was always looking out for us, taking us in when we had nowhere to go.
FROM BOTH OF US
We thank our precious mothers, without whose prayers and will we wouldn’t have made it far enough to write these words. And we appreciate Luke’s wife, Kim, who helped find many of the photographs in the book.
Dan Baum helped us write this book. He is the silent third author who skillfully took the huge lump of clay that was our lives, separate and together, and helped us mold it into the beginnings of a real narrative that made sense to us, and more importantly to others. We thank our friend Dan profusely for his dedication to our story, and to us. We also thank our agent Sarah Chalfant, who believed in our story and helped us find a home for this book after six publishing houses turned us down. And we thank our editor, Heather Lazare, who with patience and wisdom further molded the narrative into a real book that we hope will help others learn from our winding but honest journey.
Beyond Reading This Book
Our hope is that more people will realize they can be big brothers, big sisters, mentors, tutors, or whatever. More people will realize they can contribute to making the world a better place, even on something as seemingly far away as protecting human rights in Africa. If you don’t have time to volunteer, make a contribution. It all matters.
Here are five organizations we can vouch for:
Big Brothers/Big Sisters: www.bbbs.org
The Enough Project: www.enoughproject.org
Covenant House: www.covenanthouse.org
Equal Justice Initiative: www.eji.org
Darfur Dream Team Sister Schools Program: www.darfurdreamteam.org
John Prendergast is available for select readings and lectures. To inquire about a possible appearance, please contact the Random House Speakers Bureau at [email protected].
Michael Mattocks is also available upon request.
Unlikely Brothers Page 23
