Charles Bradley: Soul of America Page #3

I have no life.

My life is her.

For me to be with someone,

I don't even know how to do it.

When Charles' mother first left Florida to go to new York,

Charles was only eight months of age.

Eight months old.

And she stayed away so long that when she came back for the first time,

he didn't recognise her, he didn't know she was his mother.

He thought that his grandmother really was his mother.

She abandoned, actually, in a way, her children

to follow...

..a man who had a wife

that she was very crazy about.

Otherwise, she probably would never have gone to New York.

I was about the age of seven or eight years old.

My mother told my grandmother, "I want him to come back to New York with me."

My grandmother said, "No, let them stay here. They'll get a better education if they stay with me."

So my mother says, "No."

My grandmother says, "You're not taking them," so my mother stole us.

That's what I did.

I really hate to say this, but I think at that time,

it was hard to find jobs,

so there was only one way if you had some kind of dependents

that you can get some welfare.

And I feel like that's what she was doing to get the welfare

by having those kids there.

During his infancy,

now, he was the favourite child.

He received all the love and care from his older brothers and sisters and his grandmother

and his uncles and all of us because he was the baby.

When Charles went to New York, that's when he lost all of that.

I was living with my mom and I was afraid she would hurt me, so I left.

We couldn't see eye to eye. I was getting blamed for everything.

I was very bitter. It seemed like everything was rationed to us.

I was in a basement worse than this one.

You know, it was this sand basement. It was no concrete basement.

A 15-watt bulb of light and I said, "No, I can't take this."

I said, "I don't want it, I'm going." So I left.

I was 14 years old.

My home was the subway train. That's where I'd keep warm.

I'd get on the subway train some nights, winter nights, cold, riding the A-Train back up and down.

The police would hit the darn thing real hard and say, "Kids, you got to get off."

I'd go across the platform and get another train going back.

I'd sleep, get me a little corner.

I'd get the stick real hard and it'd penetrate through my head.

He'd say, "Get up. You can't sleep here."

So, I'd just keep going different routes

to get a night's sleep before daylight come.

And I'd see myself what's going down

because everybody in those days was getting high using hard drugs.

I'd be watching while they're shooting up and they'd try to give it to me.

I got scared and I was afraid of needles. I'd say, "No, no, no."

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