"Derrick Sweat Returns In All New Adventure

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Stone Cold Dead

By

George Wilder Jr.

 

 To my surprise, I was a movie real live superstar, as I was labeled by my adoring

 

public.  It was a great feeling getting paid for doing something I loved. Mr. Jackie

 

Williams Jr. Hey, that’s me, I’m a handsome, African-American male of twenty-eight

 

years old. Here I am stepping fresh out of a long black leased limousine, go figure. I’m

 

about to walk the infamous Hollywood Red Carpet with a beautiful young lady from a

 

nearby escort service was gleefully hanging on my well stabled arms. She was just here

 

to make me look good. And she did just that. 

 

This was the one and only annual Oscar Night. The once a year gala party for

 

Hollywood actors, actresses, producers, directors, and a host of others were only

 

moments away from getting underway.  This thing was being telecast around the world

 

from the Famous Sunshine Theatre in star-studded  Hollywood, California. This would be

 

the 100^th Academy Awards Ceremony of the century.

 

People were calling me a movie star, unbelievable.  I wasn’t just someone

 

in the movies but a movie star.   I could never get use too all the cheering, yelling, and

 

frantically waving of hands  on both sides of the isles.  It made me realize even more just

 

how much I really do love being an actor. And how I truly do appreciate each and every

 

fan who have spent that hard earn twelve bucks or more just to go see a movie of mine.

 

Even if the movie was rotten, hey, let me tell you that it’s my fans that keeps a roof over

 

my head and food on my table. And fine clothes on my back. Therefore, I would never

 

take them for granted. I love my fans. I think they’re just great.

 

Digital cameras and with their flutters were illuminating all over the place. Cell

 

and video phones were non-ending when coming from screaming and yelling fans who

 

wanted take as many pictures and gather much live footage as possible of their favorite

 

personalities.  And now, I was one of them, a personality.

 

            Even though, I was here to be nominated for my recent movie work, I was most in

 

awe of all the famous beautiful and talented movies stars, producers, directors, writers

 

and others in the audience. I was a big movie fan myself who happened to be in the

 

acting profession. This is the crazy business we actors have chosen. This was a dream

 

come true for me, Jackie Williams Jr. I just happened to be a movie star, whom was star

 

struck, too. I had gotten to work with people whom I loved and admired as a child, by

 

watching them on the big wide movie screen in my north side community in Chicago.  

 

            I wasn’t the first African-American male to walk this famous carpet. There were

 

plenty before me and will be many more after, as you may know.  I continued to walk

 

that magnificent carpet. I was still marveling at all the wonderful faces wishing me the

 

best of luck. It all felt like a dream, but it was all too real. I was still in disbelief that my

 

peers had chosen me to win the Oscar for playing a notorious killer. A part some say that

 

I had played all too well.

 

 I was this single guy and I didn’t even have a real girlfriend. The escort was my

 

agent’s idea. He suggested a girl from a questionable organization that was not too far

 

from this gala event. My guess would be that this place provided escorts for quite a few

 

actors who were dateless for special events such as this. I didn’t mine. My escort’s name

 

was Nia Booth. She could have a movie star in her own right, if only, because she was so

 

beautiful. Every time she looked at me and smiled, I could have melted in my

 

tracks, and that’s for real.

 

            “Killer Man,” wasn’t my first movie nor my personal favorite, however, it was

 

my first real starring role. However, still they seem to say continually that it was a role

 

that I was born to play. And because of that, I was being hailed by my peers, fans, and

 

critics as the one of the greatest actor of my generation. I had become very humble at

 

everything that was happening to me. I began signing autographs for my fans. Acting to

 

me was work. But I have to admit it was a little different from a regular nine to five. But

 

work, nevertheless. I had always loved playing the bad guy and most actors will agree,

 

that playing a villain is always more fun. We get to say some nasty things to each other.

 

            As I continued to walked arm in arm with a woman that I only met a couple of

 

hours ago, I could see that she enjoying every bit of massive attention. She got paid

 

thousands of dollars just to stand next to a man’s side just to make him look good. Again,

 

she did her job very well. However, I decided to break free her arm and go sign a few

 

autographs of the fans I love.  It was fun. Some of the girls were throwing kisses my way,

 

and then wished me all the luck in world on winning my very first Oscar. I was so happy

 

to be a part of this big party.

           

Most of the movie stars, including myself were finally inside the spectacular

 

amazing structure. It was too beautiful, I could have just wrapped it up and took the entire

 

place home. Everyone was impeccably dressed. I hoped no one realized that I was

 

wearing a rented tuxedo. Did it matter? Almost everyone in the place could have been

 

wearing something they had leased. I could clearly see that some of the actresses were

 

artificial to the hilt. Some were wearing fake breast, fake eyes lashes, fake asses, and so

 

forth.  But they were all beautiful. I continued to be floored by the gigantic State of the

 

Art Theatre. I could only wonder what my friends at home were thinking of me on this

 

night. They were proud of me, I think.

 

            As we all were guided inside to our assigned chrome black leather seats, I flashed

 

back momentarily over my young life and thought about all the people who treated me

 

like a non-person. So many of my enemies and false friends were hoping in all their glory

 

that I would never make anything of myself. Everything I tried to do, they tried to derail.

 

For every friend I made, they tried to turn that person into an enemy. For every truth I

 

told, they told a lie. They belittled my every hard fought accomplishment. They also

 

stolen away everything that I had taught them and gleefully laugh in my face.  But this

 

something they could not touch. I had withstood their shit, and now I was famous. Not

 

them. Now they’re saying they had loved me all the time. And that I’m the one who’s

 

taking things to the some extreme. I just smiled.

           

Well let’s get back to the ceremony. There I was, a former nobody among the

 

very rich and famous. I knew that Mom and Dad, friends and other family, were saying

 

win or lose, that all were proud of me. Finally, we were all packed in after the long funky

 

musical number. Soon the announcer introduced the emcee for the evening’s world wide

 

ceremony. His name was, well he called himself, Jerkwater Smith. He was a young

 

famous Mexican comedian who made it big in Hollywood movies.  He was at the

 

controls of this elaborate and massive event of the evening. After listening to him for a

 

while I have to admit he was very funny. The opening of the show just was as spectacular

 

as the ones I use to watch on television as a big lip kid, while at the same time shelving

 

down a double barrel hot dog down my long throat. Then washing it all down with a coke

 

            The music was loud but it sounded so great. I just loved watching those old

 

movies clips, it was when the academy began paying tribute to entertainers of the past.

 

As I looked around in my seat, I saw so many happy and gleeful expressions on the faces

 

of the so many beautiful people. I was now one of the beautiful people. It felt great. No

 

more worrying and crying about money, no more worrying what people thought of me,

 

and no more having to kiss ass take jobs that I hate. I was finally free.

 

            Suddenly the presenting of the covenant one was underway. The category was

 

best male actor, and I was among this group who was slated to have a

 

chance at actually winning something. I thought I would have to wait hours before my

 

name was even mentioned. However, I was up immediately. I had retrieved my

 

handwritten acceptance speech ready just in case I became the actual winner, and had to

 

walk on the stage in front of the world. Nia was also so excited that she gave me a light

 

kiss on the cheek. Maybe if I win tonight, she might give me a big long sloppy one on the

 

mouth. That was only wishful thinking. I turned my thoughts back to the event. The two

 

lovely actresses on stage were totally over dressed, but they beautiful.

 

 I was in the great company of superstar nominees such as, Clint Eastwood,

 

Johnny Depp, Morgan Freeman, Brad Pitt, Justin Timberlake, and Denzel Washington,

 

and they were all sitting somewhere in their perspective seats tonight. The envelope had

 

been passed. And was about to be opened. The winner about to be announced, I silently

 

broke wind in my chair. I was very nervous. The tuxedos and evening gowns that sat all

 

around me moaned and groaned. Some were wondering, who was the person who let out

 

a bomb of a fart. I looked around and thought who could have done something like that in

 

such a immaculate place like this?    

 

            “And the winner is Jackie Williams,” for “Killer Man,” came a booming female

 

voice.   I was visibly stunned, I didn’t expect to win in all this star-studded company. I

 

wanted to kiss the ground again and again. I refused.  I had been thankful for just being

 

nominated.  I was the winner.  How was I supposed to act?  It was too late to ask

 

someone.  I received another kiss from Nia. Thunderous applause was coming at me from

 

all directions. I could see dollar signs all in my pretty little escort’s eyes. I didn’t care.

 

This was wonderful.

 

            I rose up out of my seat and walked down the long isle amid on going thunderous

 

applause and mild shouts to the large spiraling stage. Finally on stage, one of the

 

smiling overdressed young actresses handed me the golden statuette. It felt heavy and

 

thick and looked to be pure gold. And now it was my turn to talk to the world. I was so

 

frighten standing and facing all those people out there that I could have quaked in my

 

pants. My legs waggled all the way.

 

I never had so much attention in my life. Everyone was still applauding. Shut up,

 

so I  say what I have to say and leave. “I would like to thank the Academy of  Motions

 

Pictures and Arts and Sciences for an elegant evening, and for giving me this great

 

opportunity. I want to thank everyone who thought I had an ounce of talent and voted for

 

me.”  More thunderous applause, “I am truly, truly honored. Again, thank you very much.

 

I want thank everyone involved in getting the movie made, right down to man who swept

 

the floor in my dressing room.” 

 

            I was just about to mention the names of everyone involved in the actual making

 

of me into  star, when suddenly my lights went out, literally. I felt hot lead entered and

 

exited my average size frame. I counted five times that I had been hit. Three times in the

 

chest, and twice in the head. I was so weaken that I could no longer hold my award. The

 

statue hit the stage floor with a loud thug. I soon followed with my knees impacting first.

 

Blood gushed from my body, drenching my two lovely presenters. Screaming and

 

pandemonium were all too evident. Everyone started rushing towards the entrances to

 

exit, trampling more people to death in pursuit to get out of the place to safety. 

 

More blood poured from my mouth. My head had split wide opened after hitting

 

the glossy marbled and granite floor. And now my body lay flatly on the stage floor of

 

the Academy Awards of Motion Pictures. There I was, stone, cold, and dead. I had been

 

killed. FBI Agent, Derrick Sweat was on the case. .

 

            Soon there were the local police, FBI, Terrorists Task Force, firefighters, and

 

others all around me. Later I heard someone from medical examiner’s office officially

 

pronounced me dead. As if I didn’t know that. There were a couple of detectives standing

 

over me talking about a motive for my killing. Derrick Sweat was also asking questions. I

 

was about to be taken out and put in the waiting ambulance, with my entire body covered

 

with a white sheet from head to toe.  “The shooter’s name was Nia Booth, she was his

 

beautiful escort for the evening” Special Agent Derrick Sweat replied.

 

“Her motive for killing him was that she didn’t feel he was worthy of being

 

successful so she shot him with a .357 magnum handgun.

 

 How could she say that?  Yes, I’m worthy of being somebody, we all are.

 

“I thought places like this had metal detectors,” some cop, said.

 

 So it was Nia, the person who was hired to make me look good, put five bullets into me.

 

Why did she hate me so, I didn’t even know her?  I hope they get her some help. For a

 

while everything went blank. The pain had long past from my body. Suddenly I wasn’t

 

hurting anymore.

 

Wait a minute, what’s this?  Suddenly I felt enclosed and very small. Something

 

was felt tight and enclosed.  I started to feel like I was being crushed, but yet I wasn’t in

 

any danger at all.  I was in a curled position. I wasn’t five-foot-eight anymore. I had

 

shrunken, somehow. I was coming into some kind of form. I felt alive. Not dead. It

 

appeared day by day my brain and everything else about me was getting stronger, not

 

weaker.  My heart had came into its own, liver, my stomach, intestines, kidneys, bladder,

 

all were forming. My legs, arms, fingers, nails, nose, eyelids, lips, and ears were coming

 

into full focus. I felt so clean inside with no more impurities.

 

            My ovaries and testicles were also forming, as everything, internally. It seemed

 

after a few months for some reason I felt like whole person. I was brand new. I actually

 

felt extraordinary young. Why did I feel like? It seemed like only yesterday, I was shot

 

down like a dog. Now I ‘m in a dark cave waiting for the day somebody comes and open

 

the door to set me free. My wish was about to come true.

 

Suddenly it was like the Red Sea was parting. I saw a tiny bit of distant light that

 

was gradually getting brighter all the time as this Red Sea continued to widen. Something

 

was happening to me. But what? I was immediately frightened out of my wits. Then I

 

saw two giant white gloved hands penetrate what appeared to be dark walls surrounding

 

me as I remained in a balled position. The hands plunged at my head and shoulders.

 

These enormous creatures were covered with rubber or something.

 

            These hands were starting to pull and tug at my neck and shoulders. Let me go.

 

And to more of my surprise they were treating me very gently, as if they didn’t want to

 

harm me. I was been pulled towards that light, as if I was being rescued. I could see the

 

clear opening but still I didn’t understand.  The giant hands were engulfed around what

 

appeared to my whole little body. I felt naked. I was naked. The tugging at me stopped

 

but soon started again.

 

            Finally I was out but not totally, where was I? What was this.  The bright dome

 

lights were blinding me, they caused my eyes to become squinted. I could feel something

 

hindering me from being totally free, it was at my navel. Soon something had been cut

 

away from me, therefore, I was hindered no more. Suddenly I was turned upside and

 

spanked. I started crying. I sounded like an INFANT.  A BABY. With my eyes still

 

squinted, I felt my naked body had been wrapped in something warm . And now I was

 

lying comfortably in someone’s arms. She was being very careful with me. The woman

 

was smiling through her tears as peered at me constantly. I wasn’t crying anymore. I felt

 

loved. I opened my eyes and saw people standing around me wearing masks, and light

 

blue uniforms. I quickly noticed that I was now in a bright white room with more lights

 

hanging over me , along with  machines, tubes, wires, beds, tools, equipment, and other

 

things, while  strange people were looking down at me, and smiling. Most of them look

 

like doctors. I started crying again.

 

            HEY, this looks a bright white hospital room and those people that were yanking

 

on me appear to be doctors. What am I doing in a hospital room? Who is the person, who

 

has me all struggled in her arms and smiling? Why can’t I speak? I really need answers to

 

these questions.

 

            Holy goddamn, I’m being born again!!! Okay, I’m calmed down. I hope no one

 

steals my Oscar. “Hey ma, go get my award!”

  Outrageous

 

 . Our government and others are trying to lay the blame of high prices on almost everything, especially, hurricanes in the gulf. Some of their arguments may have some merit. However, prices were spiraling out of control before the hurricanes. The destruction caused by hurricanes are now being used as an excuse, by those who wanted to raise their prices, in the first place. And they are basically saying for us to grin and bare it. 

       The high gas prices, has caused massive and on going inflation in everything possible, and this has turned some middle class and working class Americans into dirt poor citizens. Most of us are not millionaires and the high gas prices have brought us to our knees. Foreclosures are up and will remain high, people are being evicted from their homes because they can no longer afford to pay the high bills that keeps on getting higher, even though they have jobs. And some blame gas prices.

       America and its lifestyle has changed, more people have fallen beneath poverty level then ever before. Deep poverty has forced most politicians to pay attention to the people this time. On the other hand, the work place has become a fierce domain for some Americans. Some are being fired without explanation. Others are taking huge and deep pay cuts. Working Americans, are being mistreated by some managers, and they are also being told to take the bullshit or get out.

Prices are rising so fast, our heads are spinning out of control. Individual budgets are tight. Public transportation are raising fares far out of reach of some of their riders. Everything is up or soon will be. What do we do?  We are the consumers, we can choose whether to buy or not. Only you know your individual situation. If they are going to stick to us, we have got to stick to them right back. Don't sit back and take this shit.   

       We as law-abiding Americans, must stand up and fight these ever rising high prices that appear to have no ending. It affects us all, including the news media. We cannot sit back while gas prices reach six dollars or more a gallon, and they will. Some places it is just that. The higher the gas prices go, the higher everything else will go. We must protest, just like most Americans are protesting against the Iraq war, we need to do the same against ongoing out of control gas prices, if we want to continue to drive our cars and make a decent living for ourselves and our children. I can envision Americans shooting and killing other Americans for the right to a drop of gasoline. This is very real. Gas prices will never be back at the prices they once were, but why not? But that will not happen as long as the bureaucrats continue with their on personal red tape. We must act. We are not helpless. We are the people, and we are strong.

Read Derrick Sweat Sings The Blues, This is no Musical

© Parenting, A Full Time Job

George Wilder Jr.

When I first became a single dad of a two and a half-year-old energetic baby boy, I knew it was not going to be a piece of cake. However, I didn’t think I would lose two jobs and get fired from another because of him. But I did. I never ventured out to be a stay at home dad. However, being at home full time with my son was something I soon learned to appreciate. At first, I was wondering what others would think of me, a very healthy mature man sitting around the house everyday. However, I was not just sitting around house everyday, I was cooking dinner, washing dishes, doing the laundry, cleaning house, going to the supermarket, struggling paying the bills, changing diapers, disciplining, teaching, and in the course of time dealing more with his behavior problems as he grew. I was learning a new job along with new skills through on my hand

experiences.

       I had soon given up on the horrors of having some stranger care for my son while I was away at work. Actually, when he was with babysitters it seemed that his behavior had gotten even worse. I soon learned that just because other people have children of their own, that does not mean that they can take care of some else’s child. I soon learn that a few people who called themselves caregivers of small children, some of them may not like children. Therefore, in some of my meetings with them, I found some, not all, to have attitudes, and also they were mostly about overcharging parents whom they thought were in desperate need for their childcare services. For them, it was a easy job to make a few dollars, and some of those folks seemed to have forgotten that they should have taken  few parenting classes to understand small children and their needs.

       I have had many job offers during my stay at home ordeal, However, I reluctantly turned them all down for lots of reasons relating to my young son and his care. However, notably it was because I could not concentrate and focus on what they were paying me to do. My thoughts would always be on my young son, his needs, and what the caregivers were doing to him, or what they were not doing for him. Also, I was going through a nasty divorce; that didn’t help anything either. But I had to make a decision once in for all.

       The decision I make would impact my income, my stature in the community, and maybe myself esteem. I would have to put off relocating, buying a house, and a better car. I would used the my savings that I had in bank for our needs, so therefore I finally made the decision to stay with my son and give him the father that he needed. I talked to everyone I could and they all concurred with me, and wished me a lot of luck.So there I was a stay at home dad. Most of the single parents in my community were young mothers, some were surprise and even supportive when they found out that I was a single dad and caring for my young son. It was unusual for some of them to see a male actually being a father to his son.

       Some of the older single parents were very friendly also, especially whenever my son and I went to the nearby playground. My son’s name is Denver Wilder and he has long been started school now. However, it took him a while to become settled into the everyday routine there, because at first he had much difficulty separating from me. Therefore, I had to sit with him in one of his pre-school classes everyday, so that he’d behave and adjust to everyday classroom activities. He still has some behavior problems, but nowhere near as bad as before. He is getting better all the time. However, I have learned a valued lesson and that is children need their parents to be full time fathers and mothers.

      After learning my lesson, I can’t understand why some parents would want to let strangers and even relatives raise their children. When those people may not give a hoot about their child or anyone else’s. Parents, whether single or married, should give children the individual and undivided attention when they need it. Parents should be at home especially with their young children. I know some parents will say that they need to work in order to pay bills, buy food and clothes. That is true, however, they must find away to be with the kids or lose out on all fun of watching their children grow and learn.

      No one can be a part-time parent. It’s actually called, no parent at all. Some parents may feel guilty of being away from their children for so long and try to make up to them by showering that child or those children with gifts, and maybe some pizza, thinking that those things will make them happy. A few parents may think that pretty presents will make up for all the time that he or she had been away from home and from their children. What those children want and need are their parents all the time. If parents keep dumping their young children off at daycare and babysitters, they will lose their children in many ways.

      For example, most of those kids will not act responsively to their parents. They will have no respect for their parents or other adults. They will refuse to do household chores and become demanding. In the long run, they will misbehave and get into trouble. Some children may even grow up to dislike their parents for not being there when they were needed. As mentioned, some babysitters don’t know jack about the needs of small children. If child starts crying or misbehaves, the babysitter is dumbfounded, and soon calls the busy mother or father at their jobs to tell them that she can no longer do the job that they are paying her to do.

      I do not have too much against caregivers of children, I know that there are some good ones out here. However, the bad caregivers, they know who they are. Some parents with small young children should give up their nine to five jobs, and stay at home with their kids, I know that is easier said than done. However, again children need their parents, not a full-time or part-time stranger for care. We all can re-enter the workforce at a later time. I know are quite a few stay-at-home parents, whom are glad that they made the decision to be with their kids. Children learn better from their parents than anyone else, including schoolteachers. Kids learn and do better in school, when they know that their parents are always there giving them hands on love, and they can see that the parents are clearly supportive of all their efforts.

     Parents need to give small children the foundation for success. Daycare centers cannot do that. It is a lot more to it then just dropping children off and picking them up at the end of a workday. Children need to experience the love that mom and dad should have for them, and being at a babysitter’s house or apartment everyday will not provide that. In fact, some babysitters and daycare centers, from my experiences, are ill equipped mentally and physically to deal with five, ten, and maybe more individual children personalities on a daily basis. Stay at home with the kids.

     They will love you for it, and you will find out how much fun it's to be around your young children on a full-time basis. Sure at times they may drive you crazy, however, they are children and it’s their job to make us a little insane. A good parent would understand that.

       At the writing of this, Denver is six years old now and I have been a full time parent for almost four years now, and I have loved every up and down moment of being with my son. Also, I’m learning to stop feeling guilty about being a stay at home dad. I use to feel so useless when I’d look out the window every morning and observed people of my neighborhood going to work each morning, while I was getting ready to do the weekly laundry and soon cart my son off to the school bus. But I became a stay-at home dad because my son loved being me, and I wanted to be with him. Again, I couldn’t spend all day or night at some job, knowing that my son needed me more than they did.

      Because of that we have gotten know each other a lot better. Since then he has become better in every aspect, he is responsible, he is respectable, and he has excelled academically. I’m very proud of him. My son and I spend a lot of time together, he learns from me and I learned from him. I taught my six-year old how to love and to be kind to others. I taught him how to hug at the age of two. I taught him to be helpful to others whom may not know as much as he does. His schoolteachers are calling him a young leader. I would like to say that I’m still a stay-at-dad, however, there may come a day when I will have to eat my own words.

       I may have to go out and work for someone else. However, if I do, I will make sure that my son is old enough, and has been given the foundation, skills, and knowledge to succeed while daddy is away.

I beg of You

George Wilder Jr

        I have lived in City of Chicago all my life, and I have, and always will acknowledge that Chicago is a great and beautiful city, because it’s so true. I have always loved to write about this city, whether it is fiction or non-fiction. However, what I want to write about has been covered, I’m sure, many times before. But this could never be a just a Chicago problem, it is also a national dilemma. And I just want to give my take on a subject that refuse go away, and that is the amount of begging done out on streets of this city by all sorts of people.

      I have noticed especially in my neighborhood, an increase in the amount of people out on the street demanding money from people whom they think should cough it up.

These people also have saturated some parts of the city, and to some of them begging is a job that they go to everyday. As most of us know, street people are standing outside supermarkets and other business establishments waiting for us to emerge, so they can pounce on us for money. It has gotten so out of control, that I ask myself daily, what could have brought on such an growth in street begging? I use to think that most of people out on the streets whom were begging for money were homeless, that is not true, anymore. They have homes, they have apartments, and some may even have jobs. However, there are still those who sleep in the nearby parks, and there are those people out on the streets who will try to make us feel guilty and responsible for their imposed plight. Some of those people may want something for nothing.

      I have still serious revelations about giving my hard earn money to someone who looks to be in better health than I. Some may get rude and even violent, if they don’t get the amount of money that they are asking for. It is obvious that they no longer asked politely for spare change, as mentioned, they demand it. I get the feeling that some of these people think that the working population owes them and their self-inflicted adversity a whopping financial obligation.

       I would like to share couple short stories involving aggressive street beggars and myself. One day I was driving north on Ashland Avenue in Chicago on a sun-drenched afternoon. I believe it was the third straight day of ninety-degree weather. I estimate the time to have been about 12:30 or maybe 1:00pm. That day I was caught up afternoon traffic, which resembled an evening rush hour drive home. As I crawled long with the rest of the slow moving vehicles, this weird looking guy came out of nowhere. He looked to be about 25 to 30 years old; with a weathered appearance about him, along with a strong odor. He darted up along the driver side of my car and kept pace with me and the slow moving traffic.

      In other words, he was on foot babbling to me, through my opened car window, as I drove. Getting over my stunned surprise at what he was doing, I began to try and listen to what he had to say, because I started to believe, that I was about to be car jacked. And all of a sudden, this guy yelled at the top of his voice, " Give me three dollars so that I can catch the bus." When I heard that I wanted to speed up, but the traffic build up would not allow for that. I immediately found confidence and yelled back at him, "you ignorant fool, "If I had three dollars I sure wouldn’t give it you, I’d put some gas in this car." Then he shot a glance at me as if I was stranger than he was. However, he continued to run and dart in and out of a massive backup of traffic, begging for money.

      I don’t think he obtained very much money, and I think that most motorist that day thought of him as being a very obnoxious fellow. On another occasion, I was coming out of a north side Dominicks supermarket one evening after doing some heavy grocery shopping. There I was rolling the shopping cart filled with bags of food to the trunk of my car. I begun to load the groceries into the vehicle, when someone approached me from behind and said, "Hey mister, do you have a penny?" I turned around to see who was talking to me. I saw a young African-American woman between the ages of 25 and 30, wearing tattered clothing and acting a bit eccentric.

       "What are you going to do with a penny?" I asked. "Buy some food," she replied. Something told me that she was lying, however, I reached into my pocket and pulled out five dollars. She soon snatched the money from my hand and said thank you. I watched her as she quickly walked into the nearest liquor store, and then came out and broke opened what looked to be a bottle of cheap wine, raised up it to her perched lips and guzzled the brew down her raw throat until there was no more of the stuff left. She quickly walked back up to me and let out a massive belch directly in my face. I felt like dying. However, life goes on.

     Finally, I cannot offer a simple solution to an ever on going complex problem and I won’t try. I have always consider myself to be a giving, caring, and understanding individual. I have anticipated in many Chicago Charities other functions. However, I will never again give money to people out on the street begging. Because I think that is does them a disservice. Of course, they would never think so. Therefore, here are my own personal reasons for holding on to my own spare change.

      The more people give money to street people, the more it encourages them to beg and the more they will refuse to pull themselves up out of their current situation, therefore, it means the longer they will stand on that corner and beg profusely. Some street people purposely play on the emotions of working people, because they know that most of us are a giving source. If I gave money to every street person that I encountered in one day, I would have exhausted my entire bank account, then I would be the one out on the neighborhood streets begging. And still not have made a dent in street begging. I’m not advocating for people to stop giving recklessly to street people.   

      I just want them to analyzed the situation a bit closely. Some people give because it makes them feel better. Some people may give because they feel guilty for having so much while others have nothing. Some give to street people without being asked too. But again, they are just encouraging these people to be out on the streets. Some street people eat and sleep better than some of the people they are conning for their money. I do know that the police had cracked down some on aggressive begging in the city, however, it will not totally be eradicated until people start holding on to their spare change. If a street beggar knows that he or she will not get any money they would have no choice but to move on.

      There are so many great services in this city, that most of the street people begging can get. The City of Chicago will let no one starve. If they are getting city services, then the money that they are begging for and getting will no doubt be used to buy drugs and alcohol. Instead people of taking money directly out of their pockets, people should give that spare change to local charities and foundations for the needy, and most of them do, because those helpful places do much better job of making the sure that the money given, is geared towards the basic everyday necessities of those who are unfortunate. Americans are a giving people, hurricane Katrina proved that to true.

© It’s a private school for Denver

George Wilder Jr.

         I have written about this before in my other books and articles, but this time I think there has been a new twist in the outcome of all. It’s about my ongoing experiences with public schools. I have always felt in public were good for me, they were good for my children. If they were good for my friends, they were should be good for my son. Before, I allowed my son to attend city schools, I use hear so many negative things about public school, however, I would let the talk or what I read about the schools roll right off me. And I never believe much of anything I hear or read, until I witness or observe it for myself.

        But it’s true, some public schools are nightmares for some parents and their small children. But I can only speak from my own experiences. I sweated my balls off for months looking for a pre school for my son, then, four-year-old Denver Shumac Wilder. Almost giving up, suddenly, I found a public school that would take him.I happily cried from exhaustion. I will call that school, Bate School. I submitted all the needed documentation, including medical and birth records. The teacher who registered Denver seemed so very eager to have a black child in a most Hispanic school.

       Denver had problems separating from me, and there were times I had to sit with him in class sometimes in order to get him to behave. This was his first year in a school system he was afraid. The administrators gave him a not so good assessment. At the end of the school year, his teacher told me he was doing find and that he was a smart child. It was a thrill to watch him walk up to his teacher and received his pre school diploma. I had my camcorder and taped the entire ceremony. He was out of school for the summer. And I was very proud of him for progressing to the next level.

      Suddenly, a month later I a thick letter in the mail, telling that my son needed to go and be evaluated before he could attend school in the following month.These people said my son needed special education and special one on one attention with therapists, social workers, speech teachers, and psychiatrists. I had always told them, if my son needed help, that I wanted to best for him. But secretly, I knew that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my son. They were acting like they knew so much than I did about my son. And I could not convince them either. They were acting like he from mars because he couldn’t tell a triangle from a rectangle. Once I told them that he was just four years old, and to give him a break.

       So they wrote up a lot of papers, basically saying that he shouldn’t go to Kindergarden, because he had a disability. Therefore, they sent him to a school, miles away from our home, another pre school. He would now be in a blended classroom. Which meant, he would be in a classroom with normal students and kids with that had same problems they thought he had. I had a problem with this school, I long thought the teachers were incompetent. However, Some of the administrators felt that Denver wrongly assessed back in the summer and I concurred with that. That he was actually a smart and bright little, and some wondered why was he there. I knew what they wanted to say but could not.

       They wanted to say that their colleagues had fucked up in evaluating my son for special education and all that other bullshit. Therefore, he missed a whole year of kindergarden because it. Maybe there was another reason for them not wanting him at the school. I teach my son all the time, he is smart enough learn anything. He is a leader. He knows everything he needs to know for his age, and more.

       Denver is six years old now, my ex-wife calls our son, smart. I call him intelligent, and school that he now attends calls him a genius. The public schools went from calling and labeling him with a learning and social disability to now calling him a genius. When I heard that, I thought it was a bit extreme, but I love it.

       They will never admit the fuck-up. They try and come up with every excuse in the world to his newfound progress. They will side with their colleagues and try come up with reasons to assure the parents the school is doing all it can. The teachers do care about the children, they care about their paychecks. The teachers are running scared of the principle. I think teachers who don’t have kids of their own, they should not be teaching someone else’ small child.

     If there is something wrong with public schools, it’s not the children. It is all those people who work at the school, who we parents feel should know what they are doing. It’s the teachers, administrators, and other personal that are suppose makes the school grow. Just because a person has a fancy title tacked to the front of their names, don’t make them someone I should know. It’s a private school for Denver.

Thank you.

Stop, I have a Child

by

George Wilder Jr 

Gas prices are still sky high, people are still driving, including myself. I want to talk about motorists and stop signs. I have a six year old son, and almost everyday during the Summer, I took him to the playground, because it helps his motor and social abilities. In turn it helps him to even while doing his school work. However, before we get the playground.the both of us have to try and get across two intersection with stop signs. Drivers are zooming by stop signs as if they were not there. Only some motorist do not want to stop to let us get across. Some drivers burn tire rubber trying to stop, to let a person cross. Some become very upset because they have to stop, and soon take off in a fury. When I first noticed this problem, it was unbelievable. Some drivers are refusing to stop at designated stop signs in some parts the City of Chicago. Trying to across the street with my four year old son has become a real hassle at times. Some drivers pretend not to see a stop sign. The mere fact is that some Drivers, of all races don’t want to obey the law. Some get furious at the thought of having to put on brakes at a stop sign to let other cross. Maybe I can understand some drivers might be running late for work, but that does not justify them not yielding the right-away-way to school children. I would informed them to slow down and obey traffic laws, and they just might make it to their jobs alive, without killing a child.

I have witness so many drivers running stop signs, and it’s very scary, I just felt I had to at least write about it. I have also, observed it first hand when others are trying to cross at an intersection with their small kids. Drivers have looked at me as if they wanted to curse me, all because they had to stop at a sign so that my son and I could cross. Some forget that there is even a stop posted, only to remember after they ran it.

The police can be guilty of this, too. I have also seen some of them, put on their emergency lights and sirens, when there is no emergency.Some do it just to run a red light or a stop sign only to turn them off once they are out of intersection. A moving violation they proudly give the rest of us expensive tickets for committing. Some Drivers just don’t care about others who want to get to the other side of the street. They just want to get where they are going. A few motorists will run stops signs because they like it. People will continued to run red lights and stop signs, as long as they feel they will never get caught. I would like to say to those drivers, slow down obey the law, the life you save just might be my young son.

 

 

 

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