Your Son Sells Drugs. You Benefit. It's Alright With You!

What do you all think about [the]mothers who know their children are selling drugs? Have you ever thought about why they go along with it? (Note: I'm not ignoring fathers. But this fight is between me and my "sisters" who are laying back, living large from the money they receive from their kid selling drugs.)

The answer is a "no-brainer:" Mothers benefit from their sons [and daughters]selling drugs. That's right! They receive cash money. Regular big money! They're "alright" with it, which means they're alright with the daily shootings and murders of innocent people, mostly our children throughout their (our)communities,totalling 20, 30, 40, 50, and 60+ people every week.--all year, every year, for years. These statistics are shocking, horrifying, and mind and heart-numbing.

What will it take for these mothers to arrive at a point of not being "alright" with this?

When are we as communities going to come together as mothers to put a plan of action into play to give our sons [and daughters] economic alternatives to selling drugs, gang-banging,dying in the streets, and killing [other]human-beings?

What is it going to take for us to arrive at the point of wanting to help our own children?

We (us, our people, our communities) have exceeded critical-mass and are currently in a state of clear and ever present danger; and we must began the process to save this present up-and-coming generation of children, and generations to come.

I don't have all of the answers, but if you haven't read the articles I have written in this blog pryor to this one, you should. Why? Because I've covered what we must do as a people. I'll be writing more about what we must do as women to steer our people into change-for-the-better. We just simply have to get [it] started.

The Fate of Drug-Dealers and Gang-Bangers in My Family: In our family, we turn[ed]family gang members and drug-dealers in to the authorities--and their mamas' to if they were in our way. These were hard choices, but necessary to save the "whole," i.e., the lives of us as well as those in and around [their/our] communities. We had already lost one really brilliant 3-year old girl (in our family)to murder on a street corner in 1992. After that, there were no "sacred cows" in our family. Those who engaged in vice, we turned them, their drugs, and their guns in to law enforcement--as a measure to save them from themselves and save us from them.

We advocate and offer family-member young people support for educational pursuits, and hire them to do odd jobs for us until they find gainful employment. If they don't go along with the family plan and they get in trouble, we engage "tough-love" by not making one effort to get them out of trouble. We allow them suffer the consequences of their actions by experiencing what it's like not to have taken our advise to follow the positive path we tried to lead them to and steer them on; as well as what it's like to "be out there" in trouble with no one to turn to, especially among their so-called, no-good, gang-banging, drug-dealing, murdering friends. In every instance, when we engaged this strategy, we had no more problems with the gang-banging, drug dealers in our family. They got on the "straight."


Example of How Effective The "Family Plan" Worked: One of my nephews while going to school is Mississippi went to jail for selling drugs at the age of 17 (in Mississippi--of all places. Imagine that!). My sister, living here in Chicago flew straight into panic mode. She called me first--the family "purse"--and I flew straight into her butt telling her "you must be out of your damn mind if you think I'm going to help you get your son out of jail after I promised him that I've never spend a dime for a lawyer or to get him or any of them out of jail--even my own." (Tough-love in play.)

Then she had another one of our sisters call me, and I not only flew into her face, I flew all-the-way-up-her-butt because she was a drug addict--didn't qualify to talk to me. She never called me back to discuss the subject after that.

Next, a Mississippi-located relative called in a conference call with my mother and my sister (whose son was in jail). I singled my mother out first saying to her: "Mama! You know where I'm headed with this, right?"

Mama responded: "I tried to tell them before they called you."

"Okay," I said to her. "Hang-up now, because I'm going to have to be nasty because no-in-the-nice isn't working right through here." My mother, having an excellent sense of when to hold them and "when to fold them," hung-up.

I went on to remind my sister and my nephew's paternal grandmother that since he was a little boy (9/10 years old), I told him many times that if he or any of our kids decide to sell drugs and go to jail, I, nor my mother would be there to help him/them. Now that he had made good on what he was not suppose to do, I'm making good on what I promised him I would not do. After that, I ran my long-distance phone bill up to an unimaginable proportion by calling all the monied-up people in the family demanding that they let him stay in jail (this was his first offense).

My sister was devastated. She was "my girl." This is the sister that taught me how to fight--how to physically accomplish knocking people out. We were real close. We hung-out together more than with anybody else in the family. But then, she was madder [at me] than an untamed rabid dog. She didn't speak to me for months because I told her "the purse" is closed and my bank is on "lockdown."

When my nephew called me from jail, and asked me: "Auntie: How can you tell people not to help me.?"

My reply was: "With my mouth fueled by determination. And, how could you have the nerve to sell drugs to an undercover police officer--in Mississippi--, get caught, go to jail, then expect me to help you? I'm person who promised you I'd never help you get out of jail for anything illegal you've done. And when you get out, don't call me until you graduate from high-school, then college. My best advice is for you to call your friends. Better yet: Call your supplier. He's pursed-up. Ask him to post your bail and get you a lawyer. Call me back and let know what he says."

He stated: "What friends? They're not going to help me."

My response: "Now that you know it, I hope you benefit from knowing it. Good-bye."

He spent 120 days in jail; released on 1 year probation; and has since never gotten into any more trouble with the law.

Just suppose my family lacked the resolve to allow him to stay in jail, without a lawyer, during his "first" offense. He would have gotten out of jail and continued selling drugs. But because we did have the necessary mental fortitude and courage to let him suffer the consequences of his actions without our assistance, he abandoned his drug-dealing life-style (and his enabling paternal grandmother was broke--once again.)

End of story.

Saishe Brokesom on the real! Holla-back!