White People Problems | Noah’s Story

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Hey guys, Noah, here.

The struggle is real, white people have problems, and that is a fact. Especially here in prison.

But how does that struggle compare to other races who are dealing with their issues, such as poverty at a higher level? Or, how about those being separated from their family members because they are not legal citizens and are being deported back to Mexico because they didn’t follow proper protocol to stay here? 

Kids are struggling to break the cycle and not go into a life of crime, which is the case for the vast majority of the people that grew up with them. How about when selling drugs and committing crimes is the family business, what chance does that individual have of doing something else or finding a career?

These are just a few of the stories I hear in prison, and then I think about myself. Where is my excuse for ending up in the same spot?

Well, of course I can’t help myself but to make fun of my own situation, when explaining to new fellow inmates how I ended up in here.

I often go on rants that are encouraged by my friends in here who have heard the performance many times before. I don’t skip a beat as I tell this newcomer how I grew up poor, with nowhere to turn but the game.

It starts in high school, of course, my parents loved me, but they made me work for everything, like the grueling 6-hour shift I had to put in every Sunday. Even though Sunday was the only day I worked, it affected my mood for the rest of the week as I often spent most of my free time anticipating my next shift the following week. I had to be there by 9 am so forget sleeping in and had to sit there all day, or at least till 3 pm when we closed.

Then my parents sold the restaurant, and I had to get a job a Dairy Queen where I worked 20 hours a week and mostly on the weekend, which only interfered with my partying. Then I turned sixteen, and did I get a car like my two siblings before me? No, I had to wait almost to seventeen before I got my first vehicle — one whole year. I think my parents felt so terrible that they bought me a second vehicle for college since the sweet ass baby blue truck they bought me was simply not practical. It was too late though and the damage was already done and I was already in the downward spiral heading towards a prison sentence.

This is where they ask me about college, “you went to college?”

I cut them off there before they can finish and tell them, ya, I went to college! And of course my parents paid for it, assuming that there aren’t kids out there whose parents don’t pay for their college, but they didn’t give me extra money to go on spring break, so I had to take out student loans for those trips, and now I am in debt like everyone else. On top of that, they refused to pay my cell phone bill and extra money for booze. They only paid for room and board, tuition, books, and all my food.

By this time…they usually start to look at me a little weird because they don’t know if I am joking, and I am so far into character by now, they have no choice but to assume I am dead serious.

I go on telling them how the free ride ended after I graduated from college. So, what the hell was I going to do, go get a real job? I had no choice but to turn to selling drugs.

This is usually where my buddies can’t contain themselves and burst out laughing, and everyone who didn’t know before knows now, I’m joking. 

The irony behind it is the whole story is true, except for my family being poor. My dumb ass did turn to selling drugs after graduating from a fairly prestigious university where I was well taken care of by my family, who also showed a lot of love besides just the money.

What else can I do at this point but to look back and laugh at how foolish I was to make the choices I made with so much opportunity in front of me. Well, I can only learn from my mistakes and take what I know now and get back out there and make it right. Every time I hear about white people problems, also called first world problems, I laugh and think about the people I have met over the last six years.

My buddy Alonzo was hooked on heroin by 8th grade because that is what his brother and uncle were doing. He was indicted within a few months after graduating from high school and has now been in prison ever since, going on 10 years.

So many times, I hear about how individuals learned everything they knew from their mom and dad, who are their co-defendants on the case for which they’re serving time.

The guy who showed me his paperwork when I first got into the system and it read 396 months, his mom received the exact same sentence, and his dad probably would have as well if he would have ever known him.

I have met so many Mexicans who were catered to at such a young age by the cartels that by the time they were old enough to drive, there was no other option then to start trafficking different substances into the United States.

When most of my friends hear about my upbringing, who my Grandfather was, how successful my siblings are, the fact that I have a bachelor’s degree, and I had every opportunity to do something else…they end up feeling sorry for me, and that is the sad truth.

These stories teach me a lot about what I have to be grateful for, such as a home and job waiting for me upon release.

So, if this blog speaks to you because you are having white people problems, maybe take a closer look and put things into perspective. 🙂 Take a look at the people around you. And my guess is, they aren’t making you feel unsafe. 

Thanks for listening!
Noah