Forging Titans
Birds chirp and sing, as blossoming cherry trees, apple trees, and roses, reign in spring. The beautiful hues of the plants and trees, dance in the breeze of the children’s symphony of laughter. An idyllic scene, but the choices of family members eliminate the possibility for a particular child to experience the happiness that other children are experiencing. This child is Andrew Carnegie, and he wasn’t allowed to play at Pittencrieff Estate Park with the rest of the kids because of his Uncle Tom Morrison’s Social Justice Advocacy. A 150-years later, a similar scenario will play out again for another child — that child was me, and I was allowed to play with the other kids at wretched 10th St. Park filled with beer and wine bottles.
Whether born in Scotland in the mid-19th Century, or born in the American 80’s, the decisions of our parents, extended family, and the rest of the world, either beneficently or malevolently affects us.
Andrew Carnegie was the oldest child of two, and he had to watch his unemployed father, whom was a weaver, struggle to provide. While I was the youngest child of two, and had to watch my unemployed mother struggle with crack-cocaine addiction. Both of us grew to have a disdain for the obstacles of poverty, and the mistreatment of people at the lowest socio-economic tier by everyone. Hardships made his mother convince his father to emigrate with her and the kids to America. While my mother’s drug addiction convinced her to neglect all parental responsibility, forcing my brother and I to live in a wretched house without running water or electricity.
Understanding that a person must ‘work’ to survive a capitalistic society — especially the segment of it that’s exploited and oppressed the harshest — Andrew and I both start working as pre-teens. The fire that burned inside us could’ve incinerated us or propelled us, turning us into ashes or into stars.
Sad that he was leaving Scotland, Andrew found comfort helping the sailors during the long voyage. Sad because of the holes in my shoes and the stench of my clothes, I found comfort hanging around the teenagers as they hustled. The Scottish boy, now an American, decided to work in a factory, then as a telegraph messenger, which created the opportunity for him to become an assistant to a railroad owner named Thomas A. Scott. Too young to work for a corporation, I decided to cut grass, shoot dice, sell weed, and after becoming a juvenile detainee, upon my release I decided to become a dope-boy and a gangsta, which created the opportunity for me to become a regional facilitator for a ‘Brick-Man’.
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Conquering our ambition, multiplied the amount in our savings. We both stepped on and mistreated those that were at the bottom with us. The very people we related to, were the people we hurt as we ascended, because our industries were destructive to humanity.
Andrew replaced his father as ‘the bread winner’, and I replaced the vacancy left by my sperm donor and mother. Ambition drove our teenage engines at full throttle, propelling us ahead. Him towards the throne of American Industry, and me to warehouses that are the gruesome underbelly of American Industry.
Before Andrew completely ascended to his throne, he found out that pens have power, The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you’ll go. I was a few months into, what would become a life sentence, before I learned these immutable truths.
Andrew Carnegie’s ascent wasn’t without disturbance and confusion. He had to witness his father struggle with pride and failure, just like I had to bear witness to with my brother. Watching the unraveling of someone you love, respect, and admire, doesn’t happening without mental Olympics taking place inside your head. Time and time again, I wanted to heal and kill my brother. His pain became my pain, and because I was failing at helping him shake his pain, I quadrupled the load of pain I was carrying around in myself.
Andrew would eventually suffer the death of his father from poor health at the age of 19. While I on the other hand, found my brother dead from a self-inflicted gun-shot to the head when I was 18. My brother’s death was a human caldera, a crater inside my magma filled heart.
Thomas Scott continued to mentor and invest in Carnegie as he navigated his 20’s. Scott loaned a young Andrew Carnegie what equates to $23,000 today, to invest in a company. While in my 20’s, I was locked inside a federal penitentiary, sentenced to stay there until I die, and learning how to make and sharpen knives.
Carnegie’s investments and utilization of the almighty pen, firmly rooted him in the American Pantheon. While my morals and utilization of imagination and belief, led to people believing in me. Judge Sharp’s advocacy and Taylor Dolven’s compassion, alchemized into Brittany K. Barnett saving me.
Unlike the results of Carnegie’s uncle Tom Morrison being a Social Justice Advocate, Brittany’s work has touched, morphed, and birth hundreds of new lives. To those who’ve experienced the worst that America has to offer its citizens, my release and current journey of being a published author, entrepreneur, and futurist, forged me into a Titan — one that gives hope, motivation, and inspiration.
