The day I was born? Dooms Day is what my mom calls it. I call it my Berfday. Anyway, it was April 1, 1980 -- Martin Luther King Jr. Hospital, Los Angeles, Ca. The first April Fool's day of the 1980's. A fact, my mom says, proves my specialness. Anyway, I guess my story doesn't really begin for another 6 days. It wasnt until April 7th that my parents
actually agreed on a name for me. Legend has it that my mother -- whom I call, Mama -- was insistent on the name Robert. My pop was completely against it. My dad - affectionately known in the streets as 'Spin Move' - thought Robert sounded like a cop's name. "This boy will be named Bobby!", he told my mom. Finally, after 6 long days, and a massive smack fight, they reached a compromise. My name would be Bobby, but I could use Robert as a nickname. My dad was satisfied, but my mom never truly got over the 6 days of namelessness. She used to say, "having no name was a name that only the devil could pronounce.
" I never really understood what she meant by that.
Unfortunately, my father passed away before they could ever make up. Apparently, he was killed by dope dealers in a crack house while conducting research on drug purchases. I was only 8 days old at the time. Due to that, I can't say I ever missed him, but out of respect, I've never allowed anyone to call me by my streetname, Robert. Bobby, and at some points OG, is all I've ever gone by. I heard that some of my dad's croanies immortalized him with a mural on the side of a market on MLK Boulevard. It said, "Spin Move, may your spirit live forever through this wall."
Unfortunately, the building was demolished days later to make way for a mall, but still, he was missed and the point was made. With my dad dead and my mother growing bitchier by the day, I took to the streets.
At 13, I joined the gang Duece. Duece was a gang that came out of Hoover Street in South Central. Joining the gang made perfect sense,considering I had been kicking ass all up and down Hoover Street for years. With my new homies
, I would finally be able to kick ass and
take names. And that's exactly what I did. Ray-Ray, Bear and Loco are a few of the names that I pounded into my book of chumps. It wasn't long after the Loco ass-grassing that I wound up in the jig house on a 4 month - 10 year sentence. I quickly learned that being in prison is a lot different than not being in prison.
First, I learned that Messican inmates are not your friends. Maybe on the outs they are, but up in the beast, those dudes are viscious. If you're not careful -- like, really careful -- they'll try to touch you while you're sleeping. Or in some cases, even in the lunch line. This one dude, La Bunny
, would never let me drink from any of the fucking water fountains. Not everyone...just me. I didn't really get it. Dude was an asshole to the billionth power.
Anyway, the second thing I learned was Cereals. Like, all different kinds of Cereals. Believe it or not, but this was actually the first time I had ever had it. This is fucking cool, I thought. Well of course, that didn't last long. Even with all those different breakfast's, the novelty of prison wore off fast. I decided to lay back, mind my business, and get the fuck outta there. I was up for parole in just under 4 months and I planned on getting it. But, my mom told me a long time ago..."Plants die. And, if you take the 't' out of plants, you have plans, which also die."
She was right. For one reason or another, I ended up doing the whole 10 years.
Note: 6 months into my stretch I learned that my son was born. I named him Jimmy
. His mom wanted to name him James, but I think James is a crap name. Jimmy was much better.
Anyway, while I was locked back, I had a lot of time to reflect. I thought about my girl
. I thought about Loco
. Did he really deserve to have the shit beat out of him? I decided that he did, but not in church; not on Sunday. That was wrong of me. I had turned a corner. Using my time wisely, I taught myself many special skills like reading, writing and discussion. I also learned web design, silk screening and how to make pizza. High on confidence, I was ready to find and raise my son. I was anxious to teach him the things my dad
wasn't able to teach me. Skills like conversation or how to hop a fence. I hit the block a new man with locating Jimmy at the top of my list.
First things first, I went to get some ass
. Then some more ass
. Then even more ass
. After like, 3 or 4 weeks of chasing ass and fine dining, I started thinking about my skills. I was wasting them. I knew it was time to find Jimmy. That night was long. Word on the street was that he was a 10 year-old, full-time, gang banging thief. It had been 3 hours of searching and I was hurtin for a meal. I stopped at a local restaurant to get a bite to eat. After finishing my McChicken, I racked my brain about where my boy could be. He wasn't in the McDonalds on Hoover Street. He wasn't at the bus stop either. I didn't know where else to look.
Walking back to my ride
, I noticed my car door was ajar with a pair of legs hanging out. I snapped, resorted to the OG Bobby J way and thoroughly Rodney King'd that sucka. It wasn't until I cooled off that I was able to recognize the features of his face. Features I couldn't mistake. As you've probably guessed...yes, it was Loco. What a sorry sack of shit.
He claimed that he was an author now and was writing a book on auto theft. This was simply, a "case-study", he said. "Just research." I had never heard a more ridonkulous story in my life. I gave him another royal working over for having such a crap excuse. He started to pee his pants like a frightened child. I suddenly felt something. Something that I had never felt prior to my decade in the can. What had just happened here? How could a grown man defer to such pansy activity? It incensed me. I gave him two more kicks to the gut and a chop to the throat for punishment. In the end, I let him go, but not without applying conversation. I asked if he knew of a young boy in the neighborhood named Jimmy Johnson. He said no. I was tired of trying. I had reached my limit. I had spent at least 3 hours searching for that incognegro.
My hopes are, that with this website, maybe he will find me. If you're out there, Jimmy...I'm your daddy...and they call me Bobby