It was the summer of August 1989 when I received the phone call that I so desperately had not wanted to get. I had spoken to my son earlier that day and told him not to hang out in the streets; I had a bad feeling about that night. He had just gotten out of jail for aggravated assault, disturbing the peace, and damaging private property. Nonetheless, he was eager to get back on the street corner.
I recall my brother, LC, telling me,
“Your son, Willie Gat, has the entire hood sewed up.”
“No one else hustles in Rockwood.”
Besides, one bad incident after another had occurred that week. It was around 1:00 a.m. when the phone rang.
It was my mother who said,
“Daula, Willie has shot and killed someone!”
I frantically asked my mother,
“Where is he?
“And what happen?”
She said to me, “Willie had a confrontation with three gang members at a house party in your old neighborhood off Scotland Avenue.”
“One gang member was shot and killed, another one was shot and injured, and the third guy was not hit!’
“Willie is at my house right now, and we are trying to get him to calm down. He has been yelling up a storm!”
“He is very angry and upset!”
"Daula, you need to come right away!”
After hearing that troubling news, I immediately jumped out the bed with my heart pounding, and rushed to my mother’s house. For the first time in my life, I was mad, nervous, and scared all at the same time. I was literally sick to my stomach and did not know what to do.
Mama had helped me raise my son. She would always talk to my boy and tell him positive things to do. She was the grandmother that all the grandchildren loved and adored. She always talked to Willie and he listened to her.
Once I reached my son, I did not know if I should have choked or hugged him. Nevertheless, he immediately explained to me what happened.
My son said...
