I'll never forget the day my father came home angry and scared.  That day would change our lives forever.   I'd never seen him like that before.   He said he'd been laid off from work and although he had more seniority,  the boss kept the white guy because he had more education.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

My father looked for jobs but everyone told him that he was either over-qualified or under-qualified.
As time went by people would tell him it was his attitude,  that he was tempermental and an angry man.  After a while,  he began to look for work less and less,  most times he just sat in his chair staring at the TV while my mother worked all day.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

There were no more mornings at the breakfast table.  No more fun times in our home,  and no more family that was alive with love and hope.   I remember government blocks of cheese, butter and big bags of beans and rice.  This is what we got when my mother asked for help becase it was growing harder and harder to take care of her family.   My father just sat in the chair staring, no agenda, no will.   You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

I remember I began seeing a lot of alcohol bottles in the house,  most of them were labelled,  Brandy.   I thought we were collecting them,  like pop bottles.   My mother cries a lot more now,   silent tears stream down her face,  tears that carry the pain of my fathers fist,  inflicted on her behind closed doors.   I'm powerless to intervene . . .You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

My mother's bruises are both visible and invisible,  she hardly notices her family. My childhood ends when I started taking care of my younger brother and ister.   We ate a lot of cheese sandwiches because most of the time that's all there was.  My father had stopped looking at the TV,  because now he was rarely at home.  You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

I remember the day a man came to our house and said we had to move,  that the bank sold our house to someone else.   We were scared because we had nowhere to go My father's rage blamed my mother and he beat her,  putting her in the hospital.  I tried to help her but my strength was not strong enough to save her or my family.   You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

We went from relative to relative to eat,  sleep and shower,  always moving on.  The government assistance stopped,  they said it was because we didn't have an address.  Then one day the police came and took me,  and my brother and sister away from my mother.   They told her we belonged to the court system and if she wanted us back she would have to get herself together.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

Bpth my parents slipped into the darkest corners of denial and depression,  they drank heavily,  smoked excessively,  and partied almost nightly.  Though the beatings my mother withstood from my father stopped,  there was no motivation,  no life,  only the shattered reminants of what was.   Wefare,  kept my mother partially afloat but a torn heart always drowned her.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

Eventually my mother got the court to give us back to her.   Though it was mostly because of an overcrowded juvenille system.  But it was good just to be with her again,  despite her mood swing,  the dringing and the tiny apartment we now lived in.   I used to race the sun,  getting up before its rays came over the rooftops.   I would quickly, but quietly dress, then clinb out of my window.   I would walk the streets with no destination in mind,  just thinking about my father. Looking for his face in doorways,  around the corners, in windows.   My mother had told me my father was killed by a white man but her explanation left me with too many unanswered questions,  so I walked.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

I remember learning in elementary school about how this was the land of opportunity,  the land of liberty. Yet there were no businessess in my neighborhood,  except dope dealing, thievery, and a liquor store on every corner right next to the storefront church.   You could hear shouts of "Amen" ringing out every Sunday,  while reality suffocated its voice through the week.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

By the age of twelve the streets became my home.  I started stealing and selling whatever I could get my hands on.  I understood my condition, my opportunies and my alternatives.  Moreover,  I understood money was the key to my survival, and I risked my life, my soul to acquire it but in the process jail became my home.   You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

I dropped out of school,  receiving instead a degree in street mentality and jail etiquette.   As my family moved from city to city in search of the "American Dream"  I found mine in the gang life.
You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

Now my home is San Quentin State Prison and I am condemned to die.  I think about my father,  his life,  his death and how black men in many ways are born with a death sentence.   My mother still cries,  yet in the twelve years I have been on death row she has not come to visit me,  not once.  I wonder if any of those tears fall for me.   Why is it that the most simple things are often the most difficult.   You wonder why ?  I wonder why ?

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