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At times I sit here and wonder how I came to be Marvin Bing. A boy whose mother was taken from him at a very young age due to drugoverdose. A boy whose father was incarcerated most of his life. A boy who feels alone in his family. A boy who doesn’t remember almostanything before the age of 13. A boy who doesn’t have many baby pictures. A boy who has been through foster care, the juvenile justicesystem, welfare, and homeless care. I guess it’s almost foreign have grown up with the heart only to help others. It’s just a mystery, with no explanation of how it all happened. I can’t give you a story or interview on how I changed. It’s all truly only divineconversion by whatever religious foundation you interpret. Growing up, I was never taught about the Civil Rights movement, Jim Crow, Freedom, Race, and Struggle. I only realized struggle when I watched TV and saw things I didn’t have or that weren’t in my environment. I remember my grandmother Margaret Bing; a woman whose sacrifice in the name of her family I will forever hold dear to my heart. Truthfully, it was her that taught me the meaning of sacrifice and love. I remember her living in New Jersey—I used to go over there with my dad. I remember her playing with me, taking me to the store, buying me anything I even smiled at, kissing me and hugging me all throughout the day. I just remember her showing me agape love. I also remembered where she lived, in a Pennsauken suburb, a lot of trees and non-colored folks, and a whole house with a yard and an air-conditioned system outside the back door. I remember life felt good. I also remember Richard Allen Projects in Philly. Where movies like New Jack City, Boyz and the Hood, New Jersey Drive, Deep Cover, Menace to Society, Above the Rim all seemed to fit into one glass. I remember wearing no shoes outside because I didn’t have any. I remember syrup sandwiches because we didn’t have meat; I remember drinking cold water out the toilet because we didn’t have running cold water. I remember all these things and yet I still didn’t know what my history was and how I even came to be produced unto this earth. Two different worlds, two different understandings, two different meanings, two very different outcomes. I am fast-forwarding because I’m getting a bit emotional. It was when I was in foster care that I first realized what life was really about. I remember the family: David and Geneva Sumter in Pine Forge Academy in Pennsylvania. I remember having to cut down and chop trees in the yard to make wood for the fireplace. I remember getting dropped off at the bus stop in the middle of a dirt road. I remember being the only person of color in a classroom. I remember having to ask when I got home to use the bathroom, get water, and come outside of my room. I remember being blamed for things that their daughters did on purpose to get me into trouble. I remember them getting the “foster care kid check”. I remember going to see my caseworker once a month and her evaluating me. I remember feeling like something I would throw into the trash rather than something I would water and put into the sunlight. That’s when I remembered starting to become resistant. I then was arrested for the first time at the age of 13. I took a weapon to school and showed it to a classmate who told on me. I rememberhaving to go to the principal’s office and then the police came and took me to a station. I remember then I was not free. I rememberwaking up at 5 am, having to stand outside in the cold holding my legs at 6 inches off the ground, having to run 1 mile, having to stand in the rain and cold of a winter in the mountains; all at the age of 13. I wasn’t free by any standard—and I now understood slavery. Not by a teacher, but by the experience. And trust me, I fully understand my situation was nothing in comparison to slavery but it’s my personal account from my personal experience. I remember it well. As I have made the transition to where I am today, I marvel at it all myself. How and why or even when did all this take over my heart andsoul—that my life was not of my own and belonged to the people? I can’t tell you in any knee jerk response what it was or what it means even today. All I know is, whatever it is, I only ask of you to do one thing: help me understand my purpose. It’s like my life has been up to this point educational, based off my personal experiences. It been good and bad all meshed into one. I am daily trying to grasp it and dissect it—to no avail—but it existed nonetheless.
This is just the beginning of my understanding, I will write more as we all get to know each other. The Bing Family, Politics, High School,New York, and more…
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