This book is a work of realistic fiction, based on the factual life conditions of countless individuals to provide reading enlightenment. It is my hope and prayer that after reading this book society will commit to rethinking its look at ex-offenders and what positive impact they can bring to society--- if they are given a fair chance.

Danielle grew up confused and feeling abandoned. She moved from place to place; first with her mother, then a group home, then her grandmother, then her father. She grew up feeling that she was unwanted by everyone. Her father and step mother struggled with addiction; her biological mother may have struggled with the same types of issues. She had to live with the guilt of fatal choices she made in her young life which carried through to her adulthood. Danielle struggled with addiction and criminal activity throughout her own life. She spent a large portion of her life in battling the judicial system. She endured physical abuse as a child and as an adult. Death seemed to frequent her life and all those she thought loved and care about her seem to pass away. Her life events seem to finally open her eyes to making a change in her life. When Danielle lost her father she wanted to get high for the first time since her release from prison. She didn't know what to do with her emotions. She sat in the cold hospital emergency room and thought about her life and what using drugs again would mean for her. She had come so far and she didn't want to lose everything she had worked so hard for. Since her release from prison she had gained her family's trust and learned to trust herself. Rather than jump up and give in to her moment of weakness..... she waited....

Danielle discovered that taking away the drugs was only half of her battle. She realized that living life without drugs and criminal activity was the small step to changing her thoughts feelings and actions. She just had to figure out how to make those changes successfully.

Inside Out

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

Pulling my life together has been one incredible journey. It's amazing to think that I spent the latter portion of my teens in prison and the major portion of my twenties, in prison. People ask what brought about a change in me when all signs pointed to my life ending in tragedy. I was tired of feeling like I was spectator in my own life. I was ashamed to have judges tell me I was a menace to society especially when my heart didn't fit that assumption. I was angry that a state paid attorney could tell me my life would never amount to anything even when I knew it would and I'd I would have to accept it. Some of these people say I created the monstrosity of what used to be my life. I don't agree with that. I am responsible for the choices I made but I am not responsible for what was inevitably the circumstance of a life I was born into without a choice. I just want to tell my story so that maybe people will believe that everyone that suffers through addiction, incarceration and other "not so normal" life conditions, are not lost forever. My name is Danielle Marie Parker and this is my life.

I remember being with my mother in a basement apartment. It always seemed so shadowy, dank, and cold. Mother said the décor was "early orange and milk crate." Our living room was small; we had off white crates that served as end tables to hold up the lamps without shades to cover the bulbs. There was one long couch in the living room that had to be covered with a sheet because it was red in color and tattered. The television sat atop four sturdy milk crates that were all different shades of blue. Mother draped an off white sheet across the milk crates so the color would not clash with the room. Our kitchen was a stone's throw away from the living room with nothing to divide the two rooms. The kitchen table was a piece of board that straddled six off white orange creates with a white sheet covering the wood. We had to be extra careful when eating at the table otherwise it would tip over with too much weight on either side. There was one bedroom with two single beds and one dresser with two broken drawers which I shared with my sister Bernadine. Mother and I would watch television and eat Ho- Ho's until my sister Bernadine came home from school or sometimes we would go next door to visit with my grandmother Burney, who was my mother's mother.

Next door at Burney's house it was well lit with sound and movement. It was airy and welcoming. The living room had matching furniture; a gold couch and love seat. There was recliner in the living room positioned directly in front of the floor model television set which belonged to my grandfather, Papa. The carpeting was plush and a lighter shade of gold than the furniture. There were two bedrooms located directly across from one another. Each bedroom had queen sized beds along with matching dressers. The kitchen was located toward the rear of the house. This was my favorite room. There was a huge oak wood table with matching chairs. The curtains were olive green and the floor was hard wood. The refrigerator and deep freezer were light green in color. In the basement there was a billiard room and a bar with high barstools. There was a floor model television back by the bar also. In the basement and off to the side was a huge laundry room with a table to fold clothes.

My grandmother worked 3rd shift as a nurse. I loved to see her in her all white uniform and white shoes. I made it a habit of playing doctor with her blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. She had the most gorgeous salt and pepper hair I have ever seen and moles all over her face. She was fair skinned and had a smile to light up a room. Papa was a retired railroad worker. He was so skinny. I never understood why, because he ate a lot. Papa was dark skinned with gray hair and wore glasses. He was kind and quiet until Burney and he started arguing. Papa sat around watching sports and drinking beer all day. Occasionally he would cook a t-bone steak. I have never, since his passing, tasted a steak as delicious—and he cooked it in a toaster oven. He said it taste better than broiling it in the stove. Burney was the greatest. I remember her cooking all the time while she sipped on her Christian Brothers brandy-a little "nip er snort" is what she called it. Whenever either of them sent me in the kitchen to fix them a drink, or grab a beer, I would be sure to taste it first to make sure it met their standards.

When I began school, I had to be around four years old during this time, I lived with my mother. Her real name was Charlotte but everyone called her Big Red. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. She had long straight hair, and skin so light it was almost white. She could sing well. Each morning she woke me up with a song. She liked Billie Holiday's, Good Morning Heartache. She played those songs on the old record player every day. My favorite song was, "My man don't love me, treats me oh so mean ..." I would sing that song all the time. To this day, especially when I have relationship issues, those words fill my head.

I enjoyed living next door to Burney and Papa. Mother often left us with them when she went out to do whatever it was she did. Most of the time, she would leave early and come home late. I don't remember her ever having a job, but she sure was gone a lot. Things were great during this time and all seemed right with the world. I would have liked mother to be around more often, but when she was around I felt close to her and loved.

One day my world changed. Mother and I were sitting in the living room while she braided my hair. A knock came at the door which interrupted our day. When mother opened the door there was a tall creepy looking dude standing there with a huge smile on his face. He wore a three piece suit and a fedora on top of his hair. He had scary looking eyes and a sinister mustache. Beneath his hat I could see his long hair was curled at the ends. Mother had not introduced us. Instead she sent me to my room where I stayed for the rest of the morning. They sat at the kitchen table and talked and laughed. I swear when I looked at him after he took his hat off he had horns atop his head and he was a frightening sight to me. From that day forward I was sent next door to Burney's every time he showed up. Bernadine and I named this creature, Dude.

Life was altered significantly for Bernadine and I after that man showed up at our door. We ended up moving across town far away from Burney and Papa. Dude moved in with us and now the room Bernadine and I shared had a lock on the outside of the door- and every night that door was locked. Our new house was decorated a little differently than the last. There were three bedrooms. Mother and dude shared a room and the other room was for Dude's business. I never quite knew what his business was but that room was off limits. The living room was another room that was off limits. It was decorated beautifully with all white furniture. Even the cocktail table and the end tables were white wood. There was a nice floor model television set in the living room that Bernadine and I never had the opportunity to turn on. As a matter of fact, Dude's orders were that we, the children, were never to enter the living room except to dust and clean up. We still had our same single twin beds and broken down dresser in our room. The only addition to our room was a small grey black and white television with a broken antenna. Mother and Dude had an enormous queen size bed with three matching dressers and a dressing table for mother. In the kitchen, stood a gigantic refrigerator with double doors and a glass table for eating, the chairs matched the table too.

My other grandmother, Nana started coming to that house more often. She was our father's mother. She had long blue-black hair and looked like one of those Indians I saw in the movies. Her skin was an olive color and very smooth. Nana walked with an air of regality and confidence. She lived in an entirely different city but it seemed like her and Burney showed up every day. Each time they showed up, they brought gifts for me and Bernadine. They sat around and talk to us at the kitchen table. They would ask questions about school, homework and what we did for fun. Nana would always lean across the table and ask "are they treating you right"? Our answer was always the same, "yes" Bernadine and I both knew that any other answer would cause us both a lot of trouble. It seemed like dude did not like it when my grandparents came over because when they left he and Mother would start yelling at each other.

We ended up moving again. This time we got two massive dogs; Afghans. They shared a room and bed with Bernadine and me even though we had three bedrooms. The dogs were pushy and took up too much space in our room. They slobbered everywhere, barked a lot and sometimes peed in the floor. We didn't dare complain about any of it though because we did not want to get into trouble. Bernadine had to wake up early in the morning and walk them by herself. Once Papa found out about this he parked his 1974 white Chevy Impala outside of the house every morning and walked the dogs while Bernadine sat safe and warm in his car.

I finally started kindergarten. Bernadine and I left for school at the same time but I returned home early in the afternoon. No one was allowed to come to our house, unless specifically requested to be there. Dude ruled the house. We could not eat, sleep, play, or do anything unless he said so. At night we would hear mother arguing with him and we would hear our names but then we would hear a slap or a bang and then mother crying. We could not come out of our room because the door was locked from the outside not to mention we were both afraid to try and jiggle the door because Dude might start yelling at us as he often did. One night Bernadine and I vowed to each other we would never have children of our own because we didn't want them to go through what we were going through with Mother and Dude. I got in a lot of trouble because I wet the bed at night. Bernadine always tried to save me from trouble so she blamed it on the dogs. This usually worked because the dogs never got into trouble. We both decided it would be safer to have dogs when we grew up rather than children.

Before school, he did not allow us to eat breakfast, he said children were spoiled and ate too much but he ate breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. Bernadine would sift through the garbage in the kitchen to find us something to eat since they were both still asleep when we left anyway. Bernadine took good care of me. She always found potato peels in the garbage and she would heat them with fire from the stove. The only other food we could eat that neither of them noticed was gone was the bread and butter. We would make butter sandwiches when mother and Dude were gone and play like Michael Jackson was going to come and rescue us. We played the game that way so much that Bernadine knew that whenever I said I wanted to play Michael Jackson; I was hungry.

I was a nosey, even with all the unspoken danger within the house. Anything we did, including breathing, had the potential to get us in trouble. I liked to snoop around though. I had done it in our old houses, in Burney and Papa's house, Nana's purse and anything else I thought needed exploration. I just wanted to see if I could discover something new. I went in Mother and Dude's bedroom one day when they were gone. I found a brown wood carved box with lots of rubber bands around it. I took off the rubber bands, opened the box, and found a spoon, a bottle cap and other stuff I could not identify. I put it all back just like I found it. I wondered what that stuff was. I continued to snoop around the house whenever I had the chance but I never opened that box again.

I came home from kindergarten one day, and found Mother gone. Dude was there and he let me in the house. I asked where Mother was and he simply said she was out taking care of business. I asked him if I could fix my peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he allowed me to have every day after school, but he said no. He told me to go to my room and don't come out. I started crying and I said to him, "I want my daddy." I said it, but truthfully I did not know who my Daddy was or what he looked like. Mother used to tell me about him but that stopped when Dude came around. The only other people that talked about my dad were my grandparents. They told me he was going to come and get us one day very soon. When I told Dude I wanted my Daddy he became furious. He said that I was an ungrateful little girl and that I needed to be punished. He went in his room and came back out with this thing that had lots of skinny straps attached to it. At the end of each of the straps there were silver beads. The part of the strap he held in his hand looked like it was braided or woven with a brown cap at the top. He instructed me to take off all my clothes. By then, I started to cry even harder, so he pushed me into his bedroom and made me lay across the bed. I slowly started to undress myself, it was difficult because I could not catch my breath. I was more afraid than I had ever been in my life. Once I was stark naked, he then began hitting me with the straps. It stung so badly and I continued to cry, but he kept saying "shut up daddy's girl, shut up." I could feel each bead one by one as it connected to my body; it felt like my skin was being ripped apart. Each time the the strap connected to my naked skin I left out a painful cry. I tried to stop crying, honest I did, but I couldn't stop the screams or the tears because it hurt so badly. The more I cried the more he hit me. The more I tried to stop crying, the more I cried. I kept thinking I was going to die. I kept trying, unsuccessfully, to catch my breath. I started wishing I were dead. I closed my eye tightly and imagined myself lying in a casket dead. I saw my sister and my grandparents standing over me. I did not see mother anywhere. In my mind, I wondered; where is Mother while this is happening to me? After a while, I could hardly feel the hits anymore.

I woke up in my bed with one of the dogs licking my face. I thought I dreamed the entire thing. When I attempted to move from my position in the bed I knew it had not been a dream. The aches and pains all over my body were unbearable. Bernadine came to my side, she was crying as she asked me if I was okay. I just nodded. I thought about the incident that happened and tears began to roll down my face. I felt the sting from the welts on my back. My skin felt as though it was a burning inferno. As I tried to sit up I felt like I was stuck to the sheets. I don't know if this was because I had been sweating or if the blood from my body dried on the sheets. Bernadine put her hands over my mouth and told me to be quiet. She started whispering and said that she came home from school and heard me screaming. She said she saw what Dude was doing and yelled at him to stop. When he did, he looked over his shoulder with evil in his eyes. She told me he raised the strap at her and said if she told anyone he would kill Mother and us. She promised she would keep quiet. She said she carried me to the bed. She said while I was sleeping Mother returned home. She told me she did not dare breathe a word of what happened and that I should keep quiet too. To my knowledge, mother knew nothing of Dude hitting me. I did not want him to kill her so I said nothing.

As time passed, we continued to hear yelling and hitting late at night when we were locked in our room. I thought that Dude was hitting mother with the same thing he used to hit me. There were other days like the first time he hit me, when mother was gone and he and I would be home. I would try to go straight to my room but he would come and stand in the doorway with that strap and say "come on daddy's little girl." I suppose I began to get used to the beatings. I would go to his room pull off my clothes and lay across the bed. I can't lie, it hurt so badly but I would cry silently, lots of tears, but no noise. I figured that would make the beating end quickly but I was wrong. I would imagine myself in a coffin with all my family looking down on me, everyone except mother. He beat me according to what he felt without any rhyme or reason that I could see, so I just took it.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Inside Outby MoDena Stinnette Copyright © 2010 by MoDena Stinnette. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.