2003
DO NOT WAKE UP YET!
Please Daniel…whatever you do…just don’t…wake…up…. Enjoy the serenity of your peaceful dream… It will be your Last one…ever….
I awaken to the eerie sound of silence, as thin rays of sunlight shine through the tan mini-blinds of the Motel. Immediately, I sense something’s wrong….
Why’s it so quiet?
Too quiet?
Why didn’t my baby boy wake me up today? Where is my son? “Dai- Dai?”
He’s usually up early…playing paddy-cake on my sleeping face, then I wake up and tickle him. I just recently taught him how to walk, so he couldn’t have gotten too far…right? Last night I was holding his little hand as he fell asleep on my gray sweater…same one he always uses as a bianky…. I feel the area where I last saw him and his bed space is now cold as concrete!
My heart drops…
I sit up to slide on my brown corduroy slippers and see my wallet on the floor with cash sticking out! Suddenly a strange, almost supernatural sensation washes over my body, as realization rapidly sets in…she took him!
I pick it up and see that the majority of my money has been stolen, then walk into the living room where my vial of PCP is laying on the red carpet by the couch with half the liquid missing. At this point, I already know my white Nissan Sentra will be gone but I still peek outside to confirm my suspicions….
I quickly kick off my slippers to put on my black Sharktooth FILAS. As I tie my laces, I begin having visions of my little boy worriedly looking out of the car’s back window, wondering “where his Daddy is?,” while being driven further and further away…! I then flashback to my own kidnapping, when I was seven years old…watching out the window, wondering where my Daddy
was? So worried and confused….
I now solemnly stare down at my Cheetah Model P-85 .380 Beretta with an attached laser beam wired to a pressure-grip on the handle. I give my gun a kiss and say, “It’s just me and you today, so let’s go get my Son back!” I’ve always assumed that when this day arrived, I’d have an arsenal of assault weapons – Full Metal Jacket – so I now find humor in that I only have a little .380, but it’s equalized by the decisive determination contained in my cranium. I smile as I slide two-extended magazines in the back pocket of my blue jeans.
I look up towards the heavens and speak to Johnnie Mae, “Grandma, please watch over me while I go find my Son.” I sit on the sofa and dip a Camel non-filter into my bottle of PCP, light it, inhale deeply, then slowly blow out the smoke as I formulate a plan….
Suddenly, I have a thought! Shires (Shy-Ruh) may stop to say good-bye to her cousin Shavon, before getting on the freeway with my Son? She’s only a ten minute drive away, in the Perry Street Housing Projects, so if I can quickly catch a ride over there, I might be able to recover my Baby!
I become excitedly energetic, as I hurry and holster the black Beretta behind my belt-buckle, before covering it with my long white shirt. I then open the yellow front door, and think about The Wizard of Oz…as I take my first step out onto the yellow-brick-road….
My second step places me outside the Motel room in a trance, as if the doorway just transported me back to a primitive time…. A mental metamorphosis occurs…. I’ve become a Barbarian with a battle-axe behind my beltbuckle and on behalf of my baby boy I begin to barge like a bulldozer through barricades!
The blinding brightness of the sun pierces scorching heat through the cracked concrete and pitted parking lot pavement. I stare at the steamy oil stain where my car was last seen, then up towards the red and white “SUPER SUITES” sign, sentimentally symbolic, since my Son was conceived here three years earlier…… With a sense of sadness, I take a deep breath of the morning air – unaware I overslept til noon.
I pass the front entrance, speedily stepping south on Boulder Highway, where I see a trail of traversing traffic, mysteriously mimicking a manic Monday instead of a sleepy Saturday sunrise? My mind momentarily meditates on the strangeness of the scenery, then dismisses the feeling to fully focus on the search and recovery mission of the moment.
I scan my surroundings for a vehicle with a Terminator-like laser eye…. My vision is indeed shaded red from the frantic-father-factors, but mainly from the sun shining through my freshly woken eyelids. I glance left to right like an Army General leading his troops through a minefield and within minutes I see a self-serving car wash, which instantly inspires optimism!
My soliloquy speaks to me, “You’ll get a ride to Perry Street and everything will be okay…you’ll get your Son back and be on your merry way….”
I pick up the pace while turning left towards the blue 2-door sports car, sitting by the chrome canisters connected to the vacuums. I approach the passenger side to talk to a stocky young man with a tan-complexion and curly short hair. He appears readying to leave, so I urgently insist through the slightly opened tinted-window, “Hey man, please help me! I need a ride!?” In response, he scornfully scowls at me with an air of animosity…. My eyes desperately search his, praying to perceive the smallest sign of sympathy or hint of a heart…? To my dismay, I only discern the grim glare of a man who hates being bothered….
I cling to my rapidly receding hope and plead, “My baby-Momma stole my Son! I gotta get him back before she gets him on the freeway to Long Beach! They’re probably in the Perry Street Projects! Please, we gotta hurry!?” His scowl slowly transitions into a smug-smirk, as he shifts the gear into drive, while placing a foot on the brake. I detect a crude callousness in his voice when he replies, “Not…my…problem….” Suddenly my world goes quiet, as his words reverberate through my brain like an evil echo – not-not-not… my-my-my… problem-problem-problem….”
Ultimate understanding of what’s obviously occurring ominously sets in….
I will NOT receive help….
This man is unkind…a non-friendly….
He’s unconcerned with the reunification and recovery of a stolen Son by a distraught Dad in despair. I press my lips to pronounce, “Please,” as he simultaneously says, “Fuck off!” His rear tire causes a pulsating pain to pound through my toes, as the roaring rev of his engine is swiftly silenced by a succession of single shots…. Like an out-of-body experience, it takes a second to realize the shooting sounds are coming from the barrel of a black Beretta, being held by my hand….
In slow-motion, I see the car drift out onto Boulder Highway….
The humming noise from his horn seems far off in the distance….
He hugs the steering wheel like a Teddy Bear, while the left side of his face lays on the dashboard like a pillow….
We look at each other, and for a brief moment, I see remorseful regret in his eyes…. He then stares straight, so he can steer forward…on his rough road to recovery….
I snap out of the surreal sleepwalk as clairvoyance quickly clicks in…. I race across eight lanes of traffic, then cut through a small sandlot next to a nicely nestled neighborhood. I skillfully scale a high-wall before leaping onto the lawn, landing like a leopard. Then, I cleverly creep through a cul-de-sac called “Casa Blanca,” where I commence closing-in on a clean-cut chicano sitting in a black truck. His speakers are blaring as he mindlessly moves his head to the melody of Mariachi.
I ponder how previous problems at the car wash proved that my polite powers of persuasion only produced the prevention of progress…. I begged for benevolence from a belligerent buffoon, and it back-fired, prolonging my parental purpose of securing my Son….
So! To minimize anymore mishaps with malicious motorists, I now move with the might of a military marksman and the prowess of a paratrooper!
I accelerate my advance as my left hand reaches for the handle on the passenger door…. I brazenly burst into this man’s music-mobile brandishing my Beretta, as the beam blasts a red dot above his brow like a bullseye! Before he can speak, I sternly state, “I need a ride to Perry Street! I gotta get my Son back!” To my relief, he calmly complies by shifting his idling truck into drive. He then pauses, appearing puzzled, looks over at me with child-like awe, and curiously asks, “Who arrre you?” With a smile, I sharply say, “I’m the last Mohican mutha-fucka, now drive!”
We cruise past dozens of 1-storey homes, while making a couple lefts to exit the housing development. We soon turn right, and once again I’m on Boulder Highway heading south. I see a chaotic crowd of confused cop-callers at the car wash across the street, some are performing ridiculous reenactments, so I shake my head with a chuckle, while changing the radio station to Power 98.5. A song by a new artist named, 50 Cent, played in midverse…”many men… wish death upon me, blood in my eye dog and I can’t see….”
Through my periphery, I notice that Mr. Mariachi is deeply disturbed by this intrusion on his music. He was cool as can be with giving me a ride at gunpoint, no problemo! But now I’ve clearly crossed a line. It appears that he keeps attempting to utter an objection and reach over to turn the dial back to what was apparently his favorite station, however, every time he peeks at the polished pistol in my possession, he forcibly stops himself. This results in a variety of hilarious facial expressions, grunts and awkward body movements. This man was funny and I couldn’t help but to laugh. His gestures remind me of the 3 Stooges, as I struggle to stop smiling.
Before the song ended, we’re turning left on Flamingo Rd, and a minute later we finally turn onto Perry Street, where I instruct Mariachi Man to drive all the way to the back…. We slowly pass by rows of 2-storey cinder block housing projects with maroon doors to our right. Trash and tumbleweeds litter the area, resembling a desolate wasteland, which is well hidden from sightseers by a twelve-foot graffiti covered wall to your left. Alleyway-type parking areas lay in between every two buildings. Each of the six-lots are like their own little worlds, ranging from shirtless kids, playfully throwing water balloons, running and doing cartwheels on the concrete in one, teenagers slangin’, shooting dice and smokin’ weed in the next, to well dressed adults proudly displaying arsenals of weaponry, flags of tribalism, and cars with rims and hydraulic systems, in another.
Upon arriving at the designated building by the DEAD END sign, I notice my car is not here. I see light-skinned Shavon, her dark-complected boyfriend, Blue Ragg and several of their friends standing on the sidewalk. I yell out the window, “Have any of y’all seen Shirea or my Son?” Everyone shakes their heads, “No,” as they sense something serious in my tone, causing them to disperse in different directions. I look over at my new friend Mr. Music, and respectfully request he remove himself from the driver’s seat, relieve himself of his wallet and walk away, which he did….
I make a quick U-turn in my new Dodge Ram, before stopping to say to some stragglers who stayed, “She took my Son when I was asleep! So watch the news y’all, I’m getting him back and I’m ready to die about it!” The tires squeal as I speed down the street and bend a right on Flamingo going west. I soon see the I-95 sign up ahead and my foot receptively responds by pressing the pedal to the metal!
I begin to vividly visualize scenarios, where I catch up to MY car by the stateline and see the shock on Shirea’s face when I say something smart like, “Hey Cruella Deville…do you mind returning my stolen Dalmation?!” I giggle at the thought while turning onto the freeway on-ramp…at 50 miles per-hour….
My split-second decision to decelerate…comes just a little too late, so at first I fishtail, before fastly flying into a side-flip! As I go airborne, my sight shifts into slow-motion…. The Matrix…. With cat-like reflexes, I reposition my body during the roll-over, so my feet are now pressed inside the roof like an improvised skateboard, and the gray seat cushion becomes my helmet! I screechily skid several circular rotations, standing like a surfer in the upside down truck!
My life-long inner-comedian thinks, “Damn…and I ain’t even ate breakfast yet!”
When the sliding stops, I strenuously snatch my semi-automatic from where it’s caught in a crushed crevice between the dashboard and the windshield. I humorously hit the hazard lights, shake my head and smile. Then…like a venomous Vegas Viper, I gracefully glide down the gravel, passing startled Samaritans…and with the sly smoothness of sidewinder, I slither into the seat of a gold Infinity in front of speechless spectators!
The caucasian car owner – who looks like a college kid with a crew-cut – appears astonished that his automobile is being commandeered by an armed albino! I smirk, as I amicably assure the awe-struck adolescent, “Don’t worry …you’ll get your car back…I just have to go get my Son back first! He’s all that I got!”
I suddenly see admiration in his eyes, as if in this moment, he knows he’s encountering the presence of a man like no other…. The kind of man who ordinary citizens only get to see in Hollywood movies. Similar to the action hero, Liam Neeson, in Taken. Someone who will gladly give up their life in an effort to get their child back! The kind of a man who the Arnolds, Bruces and Sylvesters imitate to become movie stars….
I nod at my new fan, before wiggling around the wreckage, to once again proceed driving north on I-95. I stare in the rearview mirror, watching as the truck grows smaller and smaller, until it finally disappears…. I become relaxed, then I recline while reflecting on the elements of today’s earlier events…as well as my expectations for the inevitable ENCORE…
This is it…. Today is the day!
I’ve dreadfully known for years that this day would come….
My life is unimportant…my Son is all that matters now….
.
Today I will carry out the Oath I took on the day of his birth….
When we first made eye contact….
The Oath to protect him with my life…without hesitation….
I will use all my knowledge from life experiences and childhood action movies.
TODAY I am John Rambo.
I am Arnold in Commando…The Terminator…Shermanator.
Sadly, I know today may end like Latifah in Set It Off.
Today is Saturday, April 19th 2003, 1:32p.m.
Today, I, Daniel James Sigler (Armstrong) have gone past the point of No Return…and I will not stop until my Son is found….
LAS VEGAS, NV 89101
(702) 229-3111 Incident Number: LLV030419001250
Narratives
Entered date/time: 04/21/2003 Narrative type: INCIDENT CRIME REPORT
Subject: ATT RWDW/HOMICIDE Author: MCKENZIE, K 6746
VICTIM WAS DRYING HIS VEHICLE AT CAR WASH WHEN SUSPECT APPROACHED AND ASKED FOR A RIDE TO FLAMINGO/BOULDER HWY. VICTIM REFUSED. SUSPECT PULLED OUT A BLUE STEEL AUTO POSSIBLY .380. VICTIM GOT IN VEHICLE AND DROVE AWAY. VICTIM HEARD TWO GUNSHOTS AND ONLY REMEMBERS BEING STRUCK ONCE. VICTIM DROVE HOME AND CALLED 911. VICTIM TRANSPORTED TO UMC. PER DR OZOBIA; VICTIM HAS NON-LIFE THREATENING INJURIES. VICTIM HAS GUNSHOT WOUNDS MIDBACKNECK AND LEFT SHOULDER. A GRAZING WOUND ON THE LEFT UPPER ARM AND A POSSIBLE GRAZE ON THE LEFT SCAPULA. BULLETS WILL NOT BE REMOVED.
GENERAL ASSIGNMENT, ROBBERY, AND ID RESPONDED. AFTER SHOOTING VICTIM, SUSPECT RAN ACROSS STREET AND STOLE A CAR AT GUNPOINT WHICH HE CRASHED AT FLAMINGO/95, WHEN A CITIZEN STOPPED FOR HELP, HE STOLE THAT CAR. SEE EVENTS 030419-1353 AND 030419-1369.
Printed by: k57801
Printed date/time: 4/21/03 12:40
Incident Report
LAS VEGAS METROPOLITAN POLICE DEPARTMENT
400 E STEWART
LAS VEGAS, NV 89101
(702) 229-3111 Incident Number: LLV030419001369
Narratives
Entered date/time: 04/21/2003 11:31 Narrative type: INCIDENT CRIME REPORT
Subject: GLA/RWDW Author: GRIMMETT, J 7056
AT APPROXIMATELY 1300 HRS, DANIEL REPORTS HE HAD RETURNED HOME TO HIS RESIDENCE AT 4498 CASA BLANCA AFTER SHOPPING FOR MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS AT THE MOBIL GAS STATION AT BOULDER HWY/INDIOS. UPON HIS RETURN HOME, DANIEL REPORTS HE SAT IN HIS VEHICLE DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF HIS RESIDENCE WITH IT RUNNING AND WAS LISTENING TO MUSIC. DANIEL REPORTS A LIGHT SKINNED, POSSIBLY BLACK OR WHITE MALE APPROACHED HIS VEHICLE ON THE PASSENGER SIDE AND SAID “GIMME A RIDE.” DANIEL STATED HE REPLIED BACK BY STATING “NO! DON’T KNOW YOU.” THE MALE THEN PRODUCED A SEMI-AUTO HANDGUN WITH A LASER AND SAID “GIMME A RIDE OR I WILL KILL YOU.” DANIEL STATED THE MALE THEN ENTERED HIS VEHICLE ON THE PASSENGER SIDE AND DIRECTED HIM (DANIEL) TO DRIVE TO THE AREA OF FLAMINGO AND PERRY ST. ONCE THERE, DANIEL STATES THE SUSPECT SAID “STOP.” DANIEL REPORTS HE DID AND THEN ASKED THE SUSPECT TO GET OUT. THE SUSPECT THEN POINTED THE GUN AT DANIEL AGAIN AND SAID “NO YOU GET OUT AND GIVE ME WHAT YOU GOT.” DANIEL REPORTS HE THEN TOOK THE KEYS FROM THE IGNITION AND THREW THEM, ALONG WITH HIS WALLET ON THE FLOOR BOARD, AND DANIEL THEN FLED ON FOOT TO HIS RESIDENCE ON CASA BLANCA. DANIEL STATED HE HAD APPROXIMATELY $320, NV/DL, AND A NY STAT BANK CARD IN A BLACK WALLET.
Printed by: k57801
Printed date/time: 4/21/03 12:43
Incident Report
LAS VEGAS METROPOLITAN POLICE DEPARTMENT
400 E STEWART
LAS VEGAS, NV 89101
(702) 229-3111 Incident Number: LLV030419001353
Narratives
Entered date/time: 04/21/2003 11:14 Narrative type: INCIDENT CRIME REPORT
Subject: RWDW/GLA Author: VILLANUEVA, O 5107
MADE CONTACT WITH THOMAS; SAID HE WAS ENTERING THE FLAMINGO ON RAMP/NORTH, WHEN HE CAME ACROSS A BLACK 1996 DODGE PICKUP TRUCK. THE TRUCK WAS TAKEN AT GUNPOINT A FEW MINUTES EARLIER. THOMAS SAID HE AND HIS PASSENGERS GOT OUT OF THE CAR AND APPROACHED THE TRUCK. HE SAID HE SAW A BLACK MALE BY THE VEHICLE PICKING UP ITEMS AND PUTTING IT IN A BLACK BACKPACK. THOMAS SAID THE MALE WAS SAYING HE NEEDED A CAR AND STARTED WALKING DOWN THE RAMP TOWARDS FLAMINGO. THOMAS SAID THE MALE THEN WALKED TO HIS 1994 INFINITY (UT) 693ZUX; OPENED THE DOOR AND SAT IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT. WHEN THOMAS CONFRONTED THE SUSPECT, THE MALE LIFTED HIS SHIRT, REVEALING A BLACK HANDGUN.
OJS KILLA CUZZIN
KILLER OR SURVIVOR? YOU DECIDE!
CHAPTER 1
22 YEARS & 19 DAYS EARLIER……..
- Story of a Survivor…The Son of Stan *
The year is 1981 and it’s unusually cold for a spring morning in Oakland, California. The atmosphere is dark and dreary as black clouds from the approaching thunderstorm creep across the sky like a massive eclipse….
The teenage girl’s thin-framed body is propped up on an adjustable bed, as she blankly stares through tearful green-eyes. Her golden hair lays matted to the sweat-soaked pillow, as she looks back down and notices the child’s dark eyes are in direct contrast with his pale complexion. She watches helplessly, while his eyelids open and close as he slips in and out of consciousness…. Bloody hair sticks to his scalp like thick curls of red paint.
The day is March 31st, and Robin Lynn Maclaren is giving birth while alone at Kaiser Hospital, in a run-down section of the city. Her baby is 21/2 months premature and the nurses sadly inform the first-time mother that this child will not survive. She watches in a trance-like state as they rush the baby from her womb, straight into an ICU incubator. Robin sits motionless, in disbelief at how comfortably her newborn fits in the palm of a doctor’s hand!
Suddenly, the child opened one eye and peeked at her, as if to say, “I’m alive Mom!” This brief moment deeply soothed young Robin, and she now felt certain of her son’s survival. It was as if the baby had a telepathic ability which gave her an unexplainable sense of calm? Once the preemie was placed in the incubator, medical staff proceeded to insert needles and other life-saving apparatus into his tiny head and body. These devices were being utilized as a matter of routine, since no one believed this child could actually survive….
Robin spontaneously sat up and started shouting, “He will survive! He will!” She repeated until her voice gradually became a raspy whisper, “He will….he….will….” The young mother felt trapped in a dream-world, as a random nurse gently patted her back and handed her a pen to write with…. She began filling out the birth certificate, while trying to prevent her flowing tears from dripping onto the precious document.
She named him Daniel James Armstrong. Armstrong for his father, Stan Armstrong. James, for his dad’s first cousin, Orenthal James Simpson – OJ. Stan had requested this prior to the birth, so they could call him DJ, and both parents agreed on Daniel, for the first name, inspired by the biblical story of “The Lion’s Den.”
During the birth of Little DJ, his father was at home in west Las Vegas. It was late in the evening when he received the call, notifying him that his baby boy had impatiently climbed out the womb two and a half months early and was now clinging to life in an ICU incubator!
Stan’s medium-complexion turned ghostly pale as he dropped the phone, hastily grabbed the car keys, a handful of clothes and his silver Afro-pick with the black handle. The first-time father frantically ran out the house, jumped in his 1976, 4-door Chevy Nova and traveled to Oakland, as tears slowly streamed down his face….
Upon arriving at Kaiser Hospital the following day, Stan dashed through the crowded waiting room and anxiously asked the dark-complected desk nurse for directions to the Intensive Care Unit. He then rapidly raced to the chrome doors of the elevator and repeatedly hit the buttons, while staring – somewhat shocked – at his disheveled reflection…. Stan suddenly sprinted to the stairwell, where he quickly climbed four flights fueled with adrenaline and anxiety!
He was out of breath by the time he reached the right room where he bursted in and saw his sixteen-year-old girlfriend strangely sitting calm and composed?! Mystified by her demeanor, he eagerly asked, “Where’s my baby boy?” They were then escorted to the ICU where Stan somberly stared into the incubator to see his creation….
Although the father was big and muscular, he suddenly seemed too enervated to even stand! Robin sensed his shakiness, so she squeezed his hand while reassuringly whispering, “Your son will survive.” The new dad was distraught and completely confused by her coolness, as he asked, “How do you know?”
She replied, “I can’t explain it, but please just believe me.”
Stan looked back down and was stunned by his son’s tiny appearance! The child’s head was the size of an egg at the grocery store, with a body slightly bigger than the father’s three fingers put together….
“God please help this living creature….”
They stayed at the Hospital off and on over the next few months, most days the new dad was worried sick, yet cautiously optimistic by Robin’s confidence and compelling sense of certainty regarding their son’s survival. He didn’t know “how” she knew, but she did know…somehow…mother-child connection maybe?
Then the moment came! The parents wishfully watched, anxious with anticipation as the tall dark-skinned doctor walked towards them with an unmistakable smile. Dr. Lewis cheerfully announced the words they’ve been waiting on, “You guys can take your baby home today!”
The young couple emotionally embraced, before carefully carrying their son outside. The big day had finally arrived! It was a warm afternoon in July and the sun was beginning to set. Little DJ looked up at the vermilion sky, then glanced around to take in the sights of trees, cars and buildings for the very first time….
The child then stared at his mother…intensely…
It was as if he could somehow sense or remember living inside of her?
As if he could remember kicking the inside of her belly to strengthen his tiny legs….
As if he could remember chewing on his umbilical cord out of boredom while strategically planning his escape….
As if he could remember forcefully pushing himself through an opening as soon as he saw the opportunity….
Maybe he even wanted to say, “Sorry for the early evacuation mom, but I had to choose freedom over confinement!”
OJS KILLA CUZZIN
CHAPTER 4
- What’s a Wigger? *
Around day seven, DJ sensed something strange was certainly going on and he was determined to find out what? When he was allowed to go outside, he left on foot, since he was now bikeless. He walked and wandered, exploring the new complex of his confinement, when he came around the corner and saw a fun game of marbles being played by three white kids! With excitement in his voice, he said, “Hi, I’m DJ, can I play with you guys?”
Suddenly, one of the boys pointed at him and yelled, “It’s a Wigger! Get him!” The confused child quickly glanced around, in hopes that they were referring to someone else, but when he felt the punch smash into the side of his skull, all hope was swiftly shattered…. He knew with painful certainty that he was the target, indeed….
He was thrown to the ground, before they proceeded to enthusiastically kick his face and body. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, someone shouted, “Stop that!” resulting in the three assailants racing off…
DJ sat up and stared blankly as the ruby red blood flowed from his forehead soaking his Superman shirt with a crimson color. The child spit bloody dirt out of his mouth, before standing up and trying to walk through blurry vision, wondering if he could find his way back to Robin’s apartment….
He used to wrestle with kids in the projects for fun but he’d never been beat up like this before…this was a new one! He was perplexed, so many unanswered questions in his little brain…. For starters, “What the heck is a Wigger?, and why didn’t those guys want to play marbles with him?”
He finally found his way back and when Robin opened the door and saw him, she was bewildered beyond belief, frantically asking, “What happened? Oh my God, are you okay?” The child slowly strolled past her and the man, as he silently made his way to the bathroom sink, where he rubbed water on his bloody dirt face, in an ineffective effort to clean up.
Jay and Robin, followed him to the doorway and again asked, “What happened?” DJ wearily replied, “The kids in your apartments don’t want me to play marbles with them.” The mother was confused and couldn’t comprehend what her son was saying? After some silence, he looked up and innocently asked, “Mom, what’s a Wigger?” Robin’s heart dropped, as she stared into the deep dark eyes of her child, who appeared ever so lost, yet, oh so wanting to learn. She wet another towel and wiped out some blood which had dried inside his ear, responded, “Oh don’t worry, it’s just a bad word.” DJ was not satisfied with the incomplete answer, so he impatiently asked again, “But, what does it mean!?” Robin and Jay awkwardly walked off towards the kitchen mumbling something about lunch….
Next time DJ went outside, he made sure his mom’s stairwell was within eyesight, ensuring a predesignated escape route, in case other kids don’t want to play marbles with him either….
As time progressed, he began noticing that the people in the surrounding buildings didn’t have curly hair like him? And no one seemed to have dark skin like his Armstrong family? The child realized that he must be somewhere very far away, but he remained optimistic, assuring himself, “Grandpa will find me in his big gold car…certainly he must know where I’m at, right?”
The day suddenly came, when Jay and Robin began taking DJ toy shopping, to arcades and eating ice cream for about a week straight. The child felt like he was in Disneyland! After this masterful manipulation, they married and quickly had the kid in court, completely confounded! The newlyweds looked down at the little boy and insistently instructed him to, “Say yes, when they tell him to.” The child cluelessly complied with their commands….
Afterwards, they all walked out into the courtroom hallway, where Robin explained to him that his name is no longer Daniel James Armstrong, and that his last name is now, “Sigler.” DJ was dumbfounded as he rapidly retorted, “No it’s not! No it’s not!” He didn’t grasp the sinister significance of what actually occured…DJ’s name and identity had just been stolen, in the name of an ominous adoption. This was done mainly in an effort to hide him from his Armstrong family once he’s enrolled in school….
Daniel James Sigler was enrolled in Gene Ward elementary school in 1988, and the kid was definitely in for an education. He made it to his new classroom wearing his blue outfit, black backpack with a green Ninja Turtles lunchpail in hand. Everything appeared to be going wonderfully well…until the bell rang for recess. Once he saw everyone running out the door, he made mental plans which included, playing on the monkey bars and riding the swings. He was ready!
The child strolled past the 4-square game, hop- scotch and the basketball hoop…. He was passing the grassy area to his left and almost to the sandbox, when he was abruptly tackled from the side! At first, DJ thought that maybe someone wanted to fun wrestle? But when he felt the different shaped shoes stomping his stomach and kicking his kidneys, he knew this was going to be a bloody-dirt-face situation. The confused kid called out, “I didn’t ask to play marbles!?”
Throughout the duration of the beating, he kept hearing the word, “OREO!” And, he wondered why these boys were angrily calling him the name of a cookie that he enjoys with milk sometimes?
Where am I?
What am I?
Where is my Family?
These occurrences became a constant cycle, continuing over time….
Occasionally DJ would win during 1 on 1 fighting, but he was usually outnumbered. Robin eventually explained to her little boy, “That the kids beat him up because he’s Mixed with black & white, plus he has pale-skin with thick nappy-hair.”
DJ was in disbelief to finally learn that all the bloody-dirt-face episodes were due to the way he “Looks!”
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