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The thing about being born with an old soul is that an old soul can’t tell you all the things you weren’t supposed to do all the things that went wrong all the things that will make it right again
And we stepped onto the tipping scales of Lady Justice with her eyes blindfolded, peeking through slits because that rag is so fucking old worn-out, stretched thin, barely even there Amal Shahid to the leftJeremy Mathis to the right perfectly imbalanced because where I come from jail or death were the two options she handed to us because where he comes from the American Dream was the one option she handed to them
There is nothing left to do now but to think about God my country’s Money my mother’s Allah my grandmother’s Jesus my father’s American Dream my uncle’s Foreign Cars my teacher’s College Education my lawyer’s Time
Ms. Samuel wants us to spread our wings and fly wants us to reach our full potential College, it was all about college, so of course she repeated, We have a zero-tolerance policy
The idea that the only way to reach your full potial is by going to college
Ever since that day in the fifth grade my teachers watched me so hard, so close that I felt like I was trying to break out of prison even though it was just school Every dumb shit I did they thought it was because of trouble at home an absent father a tired mother not enough books not enough vegetables not enough sleep
Danger of a single story
They believed those lies about me and made themselves a whole other boy in their minds and replaced me with him
On the day of my conviction I memorize my inmate number my crime my time On the day of my conviction I forget my school ID number my top three colleges my class schedule
I used to line up like this in kindergarten except with a finger on my lips walking buddy next to me If I turned around or spoke or stepped out of line I got in trouble I always got in trouble because I always had a friend in front, in back, and next to me There was always something to sayto ask There was always a joke to tell to laugh at But here and now it’s not a classroom, it’s a cell block it’s not a restroom, it’s open stalls and showers it’s not a lunchroom, it’s the mess hall it’s not friends, it’s inmates, felons, and delinquents If I squint I almost can’t tell the difference
school preparing him for what is to come
This is your programIt’s like a class schedule You have the option of taking classes for credit and receiving your high school diploma or wasting time, not doing anything to improve your skills while you’re in hereIt’s your choice just like all the other choices you had but if you abstain from going to class you have to stay in your cell for the entire day so I say, I’ll take the classes
education is freedom but choice is just an illusion in this situation
In middle school I wanted to be a hallway monitor so badbut there were rules You had to have at least an eighty-five average barely absent from school perfect uniform every single day and a mom who brings cookies to PTA meetings I didn’t check off any of those boxes so me and my boys clowned all the hallway monitors even the girls We threw balled-up paper at them smacked the backs of their heads threatened them if they snitched So when one of them did tell on us we got suspended for a week and were assigned our own monitors for another week because we were on probation You have to learn to
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Last summer Ms. Rinaldi helped me with my art portfolio to get into a fancy fine arts summer program That fine arts program was supposed to help me work on my art portfolio for college An art college Why can’t I just do a mural snap a pic and send it to them? I had asked her You dream big, Amal Don’t ever stop dreaming big But for now, put that dream on paper It’s easier to carry around she said
dream too big? make it fit her guidlines
no matter how dark it gets in here no matter how lonely I start to feel I can still be the light no matter how scared I get in here I start to remember my name is Amal and Amal means hope means there is still a tomorrow
I felt safe at East Hills High School for the Arts Nobody was trying to mess with some art kids carrying around portfolios Kids with piercings and tats boys wearing nail polish and girls wearing bow ties Black kids who listen to metal and white kids who listen to trap We were weird and free— a bubble in the world that would burst open at the end of the school when we all walked out of its doors But still Ms. Rinaldi gave me hell because I didn’t fit into her definition of weird I was a different kind of weird my hair too wild my skin too dark my voice too deep my paintings too colorful my art
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the idea that you need to break (fail) the child in order to build them back up (save them)
Promising college student they called him as if the life he was expected to live wasn’t a guarantee Quiet kid with no problems they said as if his yearbook picture painted his whole life story They don’t knowthey don’t know that it all started with him starting with me
All because we were in the wrong place we were in the wrong skins we were in the wrong time we were in the wrong bodies we were in the wrong country we were in the wrong were in the wrong in the wrong the wrong wrong All because they were in the right place they were in the right skins they were in the right time they were in the right bodies they were in the right country they were in the right were in the right in the right the right right
We were a mob a gang ghetto a pack of wolves animals thugs hoodlums men They were kids having fun home loved supported protected full of potential boys
That’s what Uncle Rashon always says That school teaches you what to think not how to think and nobody raises their hands except to give the right answer The teacher only asks questions to hear the right answer
!!!
We had to memorize the artist’s name and the year it was painted Extra credit for naming the style and country like Michelangelo and the Renaissance in Italy Monet and Impressionism in France Picasso and Cubism in Spain Halfway through the slides I raised my hand and asked Did other people around the world paint or just old white men from Europe?
importance of seeing representation
Every day I lose my mind Every fucking day But you know what? I find it again That’s the thing about being locked up Whatever you lose you’ll find it again over and over You know, like the lost-and-found at school Some cardboard box that all the shit gets dumped into The shit that people forget Yeah, we’re that box— a fucking lost-and-found
A Note from the Authors
Excerpt from "In Conversation: Ibi Zoboi and Yusef Salaam"
Salaam: There’s a certain kind of nurturing and caring that you brought to the story—a mother’s perspective. Mothers are the first teachers and healers. My mother was my rock. She was there before anyone else showed up. In situations like mine, mothers have to become warriors. My mother had to fight for me. She trained me to become our ancestors’ wildest dreams despite having gone through the system. My mother leaned on a power larger than herself while I was incarcerated so that I was able to lean on her. You brought that warrior mother energy to the story. That was Amal’s mother, too. She fought for him like my mother fought for me.
Zoboi: Thank you! Our society tends to leave women out of the conversation, even though we are the mother warriors, sisters, aunts, cousins. We’re not just fighting for the boys and men in our lives, we are fighting for our community and our people.
