Continuing Education Credits and Clinical Consulting Hub

I have experienced 58 years on this planet, and like the changing seasons that shape the Earth, my journey has profoundly impacted and molded the person I am today. I resorted to theft in order to survive and sold drugs to support the habits that developed as a result of my corrupted path towards social mobility. Growing up, I found myself trapped on a dead-end street, shaped by the influences of an alcoholic mother and a drug-addicted father, both of whom have now found peace on the other side of the life they lived.
Addiction left a permanent mark on my formative years, as I learned to navigate life through the turbulent mood swings of my parents. When my mother lacked alcohol to drink, our home could descend into hellish chaos. It became my responsibility to protect her intoxicated body from the advances of her male companions. We were a God-fearing family, my mother, my siblings, and I. In 1970, when I was only five years old, we moved from New York to North Carolina. My mother remarried an Army man named J Williams, who later transitioned to driving 18-wheeler trucks. While he seemed like a decent man, my mother couldn't hold onto him for herself or for us children. As a result, she spiraled into heavy drinking. Throughout it all, rhythm and blues always filled our home.
My maternal grandmother, Grannie, was deeply devoted to the church and the appearance of righteousness. She served as the backbone of our large family, consisting of numerous cousins, aunts, and uncles. We grew up in a working-class community called Gold Ridge, located in Shelby, North Carolina. In the 1970s, we were bused into predominantly white schools, leaving behind the segregated communities we had known. I attended Latimore Elementary School and Crest Junior High School before, at the request of my mother, returning to New York at the age of 13 to live with my father and his mother. I firmly believe that communities play a significant role in shaping a person's path.
I was sent to New York because my mother couldn't afford to support me, my brother James, and my sister Jackie. At 15 years old, I was the oldest male child. I had several fantasies about the type of man I wished my father to be, but the reality was far from the idealized figure I had hoped for.
In October 1978, amidst a massive snowstorm, I returned to New York. When I was torn away from my siblings and mother, it was during what we called "Indian Summer" in North Carolina. So, I boarded a plane to JFK airport wearing nothing more than a thin sweat jacket. At JFK, my father and his mother, Nanna, greeted me. We left the airport and went straight to Macy's department store to get me a proper winter coat. My grandmother instructed me to choose a coat, and once I found one, she adjusted it to fit me perfectly. She tore off the tag and told me to act normal as we walked towards the exit. This act of theft was sanctioned by my grandmother, and it was a culture shock for which my mother hadn't prepared me.
I found myself amid a melting pot, surrounded by the neon lights of an 8-million-story metropolis. Through the eyes of a 15-year-old, I viewed this prism with wonder. Our home in Far Rockaway, Queens, served as a shooting gallery for drug addicts during the week and weekends. I learned how to revive people who had overdosed in our house. I gained insights into the lives of parents and relatives from my community through a hole in the door where they would come to purchase a $3 bag of he**in from us. I grew up on Beach 12th Street in Far Rockaway, Queens, right behind the Redfern Housing Projects. Moving there was an extreme culture shock. I was a country boy, and the boys my age seemed much more streetwise and survival-savvy. Black Nationalism was on the rise, and many teenage boys, including myself, aspired to convert to the Nation of Islam as espoused by the Honorable Elijah Muhammad, Malcolm X, and Clarence 13X.
I became a loosely committed convert, shedding my slave name and adopting a new identity as Barkim Universal God, Supreme Being Blackman, owner, maker, cream of the planet Earth, and father of Civilization. However, this belief system eventually fell like scales from my eyes when I was formally and generationally introduced to capitalism via the distribution of co***ne, crack co***ne, crimes that pay to accelerate community disability from within would be a major political goal of the opposition. Make no mistake, progress has opposition.
The allure of money had a strong grip on impoverished youth like me. Hip Hop was emerging as a popular cultural movement, and break dancing and partying became the rage. I became entangled in smoking ma*****na, drinking alcohol, popping all kinds of pills with older adults in their mid-twenties, sniffing’ airplane glue reminded me of the same punch in the face I experience sniffing’ gas with my cousin “Buck” in North Carolina prior. Around this time, the movie Scarface, starring Al Pacino, was released—a cult classic depicting a rise from nothing to great wealth. This film inadvertently fueled the violence and devastation caused by the growing crack co***ne epidemic in our communities. The “Scarface” character was definitely identifiable for the instinctual hunger to possess the world against all odds because the grit and option of it all required that some kind of action be taken even if its no action at all, it is a action.
Movies and popular culture played a significant role in influencing the poor choices made by a generation that aspired for more under dire poverty-stricken conditions. To escape this destructive path, I took the test to join the Marines when I turned 18 but I failed the test and when it was time to meet with the recruiter again to retest, I was fully into the streets, ultimately I became a crack head hustler who watched my father and three uncle die of AIDS, I caught a 12 year term for first degree robbery, while serving those 12 years, I was granted work release for good behavior, and while on leave, I committed a car jacketing that tacked on another 3 years to my sentence. I served 9 years out of the 15 before I was granted parole on February 22, 1996. I was angry at the world, soon September 19, 1996, less than six months later, I was charged with several home invasions and given a sentence of 34 ½ to 54 years in prison at age 31. I remember the time.
I spent my time in the law library and in transitional services. I was blessed to have my time modified to 15 years and I served 12 years 8 months and 10 days on that sentence. I came home from prison July 24, 2009. I am a better man as a result of human accountability. I am thankful to the Justice System and Department of Corrections for saving the rest of my life. I entered the system at age 22, and I came home from prison at age 44. Since that time, I have obtained my BA in psychology, a master’s in human administration, and I am a Qualified Help Provider, a CASAC in the State of New York. I am no longer on Parole; I was released from Parole in 2013 instead of 2022. My parole officer worked with me. I saw them as helpers, and I conducted my interaction with them accordingly. They help me get into school so out of courtesy, I would ask to stay out beyond curfew, I earned what I ask for and this mythology worked for me because my goals was to get off of Parole and become free. I remembered the time I spent in prison and the new definitions of friendships help me cut ties with people that I got high with because we no longer had anything in common anymore. I remembered the time. I have therefore remained faithful to the me I found in prison. And he deserves better.

Continuing Education Credits and Clinical Consulting Hub updated their phone number.

Continuing Education Credits and Clinical Consulting Hub updated their business hours.

Continuing Education Credits and Clinical Consulting Hub updated their address.

Continuing Education Credits and Clinical Consulting Hub updated their website address.