Ese to Master Jefe (eBook)

From street gang life in South Central Los Angeles to US Navy Master Chief

Raul R. Ramos (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2022 | 1. Auflage
178 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-6678-2872-5 (ISBN)

Infos

Raul Ramos brings you his emotional, raw, and inspiring autobiography. Follow along on his uplifting journey from street gang life in South Central Los Angeles to earning the rank of Master Chief in the United States Navy. His one-of-a-kind story is certain to motivate and remind you that you control your destiny - no matter what hand you were dealt.

Raul was born and raised in Los Angeles California. He has two beautiful children, Emily, and Raulito. A part of a hardcore street gang in South Central Los Angeles at an early age, he was one of the lucky ones to make it out alive. The military gave Raul another chance in life and allowed him to join in 1998 despite his past. He has been serving for just under 24 years and made it to the top of the enlisted ranks, E9, Master Chief, A.K.A. Master Jefe.

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Raul Ramos brings you his emotional, raw, and inspiring autobiography. Follow along on his uplifting journey from street gang life in South Central Los Angeles to earning the rank of Master Chief in the United States Navy. His one-of-a-kind story is certain to motivate and remind you that you control your destiny - no matter what hand you were dealt. Raul's story reminds us that we are in control of our lives and success is not pre-determined. As a young boy, Raul joined a hardcore street gang and faced profound adversity and obstacles. Yet, he never let his past destroy his future. In fact, he managed to rise to the top of military ranks. Throughout his book, he shares his trials and tribulations, along with his moments of success and gratification, all while elaborating on the memories of each step. Filled with inspiration, motivation, and truth, this is a must-read for people of all backgrounds. Get ready to follow one man's journey like no other as he goes from "e;Ese to Master Jefe"e;.

Textauszug

CHAPTER 3

I was 5 years old and could barely speak English. I learned some words from watching TV at home and from having conversations with people in my neighborhood. My mother enrolled me in the local elementary school about two miles away from our apartment. I absolutely loved going to school. It didn’t take me long to learn English, and I was very strong in math. I remember being proud when my teacher praised me for picking it up so fast. The positive feedback felt incredibly good, considering how little of it I was used to getting.

I would walk to school and back, alone more days than not. My mother had asked our neighbor to take me in the morning, and also to pick me up and watch over me until she made it home from work. This lady was like two different people. Around my mother she was friendly and nice, but as soon as mom left, she instantly changed and became mean and nasty. I never told my mom. I don’t know why. Maybe I was trying to protect her, and not make her life any harder than it already was. I knew if I told her, she’d be forced to confront the problem, and she’d lose a babysitter she desperately needed. The woman rarely walked me to and from school, but lied to my mom and let her think she did.

One day I was waiting on the playground for the babysitter to come and get me. As usual she didn’t, so I left on my own and began to walk to her house. I was about to cross the street when I noticed the light had turned yellow. I thought I needed to hurry up and cross before it turned red. I started to run as fast as I could to beat the light, when a kid from school stuck his foot out to trip me. I flew face first onto the street and slammed into the pavement. As I lay in the street, I could feel that my hands and arms were scraped and bleeding. No one bothered to come and help me and the cars waiting at the light were honking their horns at me as I tried to pick myself up. My nose was leaking like a faucet and blood began to run down my shirt and pants. I walked the two miles to the neighbor’s house. Somewhere along the way, I took my shirt off and pinched my nose with it, trying to stop the bleeding as I trudged home.

When I finally knocked on the babysitter’s door, she began to yell at me, and it was clear she was more worried about me getting blood in her apartment than she was about me bleeding in the first place. She didn’t let me inside, so I sat on her porch while she continued screaming at me. She finally asked me what happened. I told her the story while my head and nose were throbbing and I tried not to think of how much pain I was in. She didn’t even bother to help clean me up. When my mother arrived a few hours later, she freaked out when she saw me. I am more than positive my nose was broken. We went home, I showered up, and put ice on my face. The thing I remember most is the burning anger I felt deep down. I felt as if I was completely alone in the world and that no one gave a shit about me. I thought about my father and what he would have done if he was around. And I was all the more angry, because he wasn’t.

It wasn’t just tough for me at home with my father gone. I noticed my mother was extremely sad and I often caught her crying. I don’t know if she was missing my father, or if she was just overwhelmed raising two young children on her own. I believe without even realizing it, she began to distance herself emotionally from my sister and me. Money was really tight. With all the financial stress, she wasn’t very maternal or nurturing. She had been working a temporary job when my father left, but got laid off. After that, she bounced from one temporary position to another.

We found ourselves living on government assistance. Welfare consisted of a small check that barely covered the rent, and food stamps that got us some groceries, but not everything two growing kids needed. It wasn’t enough to get us through the month. Typical meals in our house were eggs, beans and rice, and tortillas. There was often Kool-Aid with no sugar, butter with no bread, cereal with no milk, and peanut butter with no jelly. But there was no shortage of a thick block of that government cheese. That shit was delicious. I still think about how good it was.

I remember being hungry a lot. But twice a month, when my mother picked up the food stamps, we got our favorite dessert as a treat. It was a package of six square danishes, three on each side. They had white frosting on top, cheese in the center, and the bread was so soft it just melted in our mouths. They were little squares of heaven to us. One day there was one last piece of this coveted sweet bread, and both my sister and I decided that we wanted to eat it without sharing. The argument started in the kitchen. I know I pushed Lisa first. She shoved me in return, I fell into the living room, and then the hands started throwing away. It wasn’t uncommon for us to fight, but we were both ready to bleed for that last danish.

Sometimes when I got hungry and there was no food at home, I would head to the local liquor store at the corner. I used to stroll in like I was just browsing, put a Twinkie in my pocket, and walk to the back of the store. I’d stuff my face with it, then walk out like nothing had interested me. Those Twinkies were bomb! When I think about it now, I’m pretty sure the owner was watching me and would simply let it go. He caught me once and didn’t give me a hard time about it. He just told me not to do it again.

As tough as the day to day was, it should come as no surprise that holidays didn’t exist in our home. Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthdays were never a thing. There were no Christmas trees or presents in our apartment. We simply couldn’t afford it. Forget about a Thanksgiving meal, we couldn’t even buy the turkey. A holiday was just like any other day to me. I still cringe when people sing the “Happy Birthday” song at parties.

And since money was tight, my moms would buy school clothes for my sister and I from the local Goodwill, a thrift shop. Now this was before thrift shops and vintage clothes got cool. Then it was just hand-me-down clothes and household items for cheap. The clothes she bought from there never fit us very well. My pants were usually “high waters.” They were so short it looked like I was prepared for the coming flood. The other kids at school always made fun of my clothes and shoes. I used to rock those no-name-brand, Payless shoe store shoes, while other kids got new and trendy footwear. Let me tell you man, kids are brutal. They used to clown the hell out of me. And every time it happened, I could feel the well of anger, deep down inside, burn and grow. I couldn’t control what was happening at home since my father left. And on top of it, I had to pay the price at school because I couldn’t afford to have cool stuff.

Back to school day was the worst. All the kids were excited to show off their new school gear: backpacks, outfits, shoes, folders, and lunch boxes. I never had any of that, and I remember feeling embarrassed in my same old clothes. We didn’t go back to school shopping. There was no money for new anything.

Every Friday we had a show-and-tell in our class. Most of the boys would bring the hottest new toys like GI Joe figurines and Transformers. They were all toys I wished I had, but my mom wasn’t able to buy them. But one day, I finally decided I was going to participate in show-and-tell. I remember I was so excited. At Goodwill, they had plastic bags filled with random toys that my moms would sometimes get for me. So before my big show-and-tell debut, I grabbed several toys from the bag, took them apart, and put them together as one. I presented my creation as if it were a new Transformer. One of the kids called me out and said it was NOT a Transformer, then all the others piled on and made fun of me. I felt so ashamed.

When I got home, I told my mom what happened and I could see the hurt in her face. I know she wished she could buy the toys my sister and I wanted. I never doubted she really wanted to provide for us. One day soon after, we all went to a department store in the local mall. Lisa found a Barbie doll she desperately wanted, and carried it all through the store. I was clutching a Voltron, a super robot made out of five lion robots that interlocked as one. This was one of my favorite cartoons that I watched on Saturday mornings. My mother told my sister and me to put both toys in a bag. Then we walked out of the department store without paying for them. The moment we stepped out the alarms went off. We picked up our step and didn’t look back until we were several hundred feet away in an adjacent parking lot. Fortunately, security didn’t come for us. Why, I have no idea.

I remember my heart pounding out of my chest. I think I was probably 7 years old. I couldn’t believe what had happened. No one spoke. We got in my mom’s car and went home. This is not easy to say, and it’s harder to remember. I know it was wrong, but it showed me that my mom wanted, more than anything, to give us everything our little hearts desired. This does not justify our actions. What we did was wrong, but my adult heart shatters for my mom when I think of it. Her desperation to make us happy in the midst of her own struggle is clear to me. And now that I’m older, I wish I had appreciated what I did have instead of worrying about what I didn’t. I wish I hadn’t paid so much attention to the other kids.

But I also need to cut that little guy some slack. I was just a kid, struggling with a less-than-ideal home life and growing more aware of our poverty. Gratitude wasn’t a lesson that was ever taught to me, but it’s one I’ve tried hard to instill...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 9.2.2022
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Biografien / Erfahrungsberichte
• ISBN-10: 1-6678-2872-X / 166782872X
• ISBN-13: 978-1-6678-2872-5 / 9781667828725