Excerpts from "Stand For Something OR Stand For Nothing"
IN THE BEGINNING
I was born in 1974 to Kandynce Griggs-Jones and Ernest Jones in Los Angeles, CA on a Tuesday in May. Now, at 41 years of age, the mother of a 21 year old college student, and a newlywed to one of the most wonderful men that I have ever encountered in my life, I am ready to share this story.
From the start, my childhood was unique, complex, challenging, fun and sad… all at the same time.
My family history is a bit convoluted, but as I understand it, my mother was originally from St. Ann, Jamaica and came to the United States with her father when she was in her pre-teen years; her mother having passed away when she was still very young. My grandfather was a tall man with strong African features and it was shared with me that my grandmother had been a beautiful fair-skinned West Indian woman who possessed high cheekbones. Once in the U.S., my grandfather married a woman named Mary Griggs, who was of mixed race; her parents being African-American and Choctaw Indian. As Mary already had two daughters, she didn’t make much room for another within her heart. Nevertheless, my mother instantly had two sisters; my Aunt Feda and Aunt Mary.
because you didn’t want her to have to tell you more than once!
So, after having had Chucky and being rejected by Mary, mom made her way to L.A.
Mom and Chucky were exceptionally close and it wasn’t surprising that they had a very strong bond with each other; considering that the two of them had struggled together for years prior to her marriage to my father, as my mom worked hard to build a decent life for the two of them. At one point, they were homeless and without anywhere else to turn or go, my mom joined the Nation of Islam, which is where she met and a short time later, married my father.
Dad was a very handsome dark skin man, who at just over six feet tall was strong and physically well-built. It was no secret that my father had been incarcerated when he was in his 20’s due to drugs and alcohol. But, once he found the Nation of Islam, he cleaned himself up and got an education. From what I understood, he was an Electrical Engineer who had his own electronic repair shop, which I can remember visiting as a young child.
hard to build a decent life for the two of them. At one point, they were homeless and without anywhere else to turn or go, my mom joined the Nation of Islam, which is where she met and a short time later, married my father.
PREFACE
Well… I’m still here. And I’m certainly stronger…a lot stronger.
But it was close.
So, this is my story. It’s a story about a strong brother who loved me and took care of me until tragedy struck.
It’s a story about a strong will-powered mother who showed incredible courage in challenging one of the richest, most powerful men in the world.
It is a story of battling injustice.
And, though there isn’t a Knight in Shining Armor or ‘Happily Ever After’ in this story, it is absolutely a story of hope and strength and empowerment. It is my desire that this story will help you to overcome your own obstacles.
Because, sometimes… Just knowing that one person beat the odds is enough to give you the encouragement you need to try it for yourself.
Early Years
At the early part of the decade I was born into, Sam Yorty was mayor, taking credit for the city’s largest years of growth. Not surprisingly, he was quick to reject any claim that he was also responsible for the Watts riots of 1965 and Sen. Robert F. Kennedy’s assassination in 1968.
In 1973, the year before I was born, Tom Bradley became the first African-American mayor of Los Angeles, and the second African-American mayor of a major city in the United States. He would go on to serve in that office for the next twenty years.
I don’t remember exactly when the three of us moved into the Princess apartments, though I do know that it was shortly after my parents separated and sold our home. It was a well-maintained building and many professional African-American, Africans and people from the Islands made the Princess their home. I loved it there because everyone knew each other. My first best friend was Ethiopian who lived in the apartments, whom we called Mimi. Mimi and her family always invited me over to eat injera, which was a large sourdough flatbread and beef wat which is similar to stew. It was a good place to be.
Unfortunately, one day when I was outdoors playing with one of my friends, an older neighbor, who happened to be a family friend, called to me to come over to his apartment; saying that he had a gift to give me.
Being six years old at the time, I didn’t think twice about it and excitedly went over to him.
As soon as I stepped into the doorway, he grabbed me and put his hand around my mouth to keep me from crying out and attracting the attention of other neighbors. He then began putting his hands all over my still prepubescent body. I struggled and fought against him with everything I had, eventually freeing myself long enough to get away and flee. As I was running up the stairs to my apartment, my screams could be easily heard by not only my mother, but also my brother, who promptly confronted the man and beat him up.
You have to remember, in the 70’s,
child molestation wasn’t necessarily a huge concern for the police; at least not in the majority of black neighborhoods. Nevertheless, my mother called the police later that day and he was arrested.
This is the world I was brought into; a world of violence and confusion. Nothing was ever straight forward and neat. It seemed as if everything surrounding me was in a constant state of change or flux.
Nevertheless, I had my mother… and I had my brother, Chucky.
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