“When my dad died, he was just 41. He left behind my mom and five kids. I was the oldest at 16. The youngest was 3. The toughest part was just trying to go on with life.

“Mom was in such a state, figuring out what she was going to do. She had her high school education from a small town, and she was a very smart lady. But she had never been out there in the working world. She ended up getting remarried about a year and a half later.

“That was really hard for me and my brothers. All our family traditions were kind of turned upside down. He was a whole different kind of man. He was a truck driver. But he was a good man. He was good to my mom.

“Looking back on it all, I think one of the worst parts for me was that she wouldn’t even talk about what happened. I had nobody to talk to. Nowadays, there is plenty of help for people in that regard. But back then, you were expected to just get over it and move on.

“Well, I think it’s played out all through my life. I was kind of a loner. I was insecure about relationships. Never had a counselor to help me. Although I did at one point go through depression, and spent two weeks in the hospital. They never really broached the subject too much with me. I think I still deal with it. Probably every day, something enters my mind about it.

“One of my brothers got involved with hard drugs. He died of an overdose at 36. It just seemed like he never could get his life back together.

“My other brother battled alcoholism. He and I were separated by that for many years. He’s 71 now, and has been in recovery with the help of Alcoholics Anonymous. Through his AA work, he has helped so many other people with their struggles. It might sound strange, but you almost feel like it was his purpose in life.

“I live close to him now. And I’m happy to say that we see each other nearly every day.”

— Eugene Harrott

(Note: Eugene Harrott passed away on May 27, 2023.)

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The post Dad’s death has lasting impact on children appeared first on The Baytown Project.

(2 of 3) “I was an alcoholic for many years. I’m not blaming it on Pedro. He had to move around for his work as a pipefitter. We were away from each other a lot, until I started traveling with him. When I was in my mid-to-late 20s and we lived in Florida, I was alone a lot with our two young kids. And I just started drinking.

“We both partied a lot. We started using cocaine. After we moved to Texas, we were using even more. Pedro was basically a gangster back in the day. Like, his young, rough days before we met. And all of those people were still around. We’re not blaming them for what we did. It was just that the ease, the access, the environment was there.

“Pedro was making crazy good money, and we spent it almost as fast as he made it. Those are kind of dark times that are still hard to talk about. The kids knew that payday was when they got to pick out whatever they wanted at Walmart. They would get their Happy Meal. And they could do their thing at the house, while Mom and Dad would do their thing. It was not like we had big parties. It was just Pedro and me.

“Looking back on those days, it was ugly. It was terrible. We were very irresponsible.

“We were living here about a year and a half before he had the accident. We had quit drinking and everything about three weeks before that. But while he was in the hospital for three months, I went back to drinking. I don’t know, maybe I thought it helped me cope. It was a really strange and dark time for me personally.

“When he came home, I was going to be his caregiver. I knew I would have to be straight thinking and organized, and prepared to work hard because of all the responsibilities that came with that. So the day before he came home from the hospital was the last time I’ve had a drink.

“My number one gift to myself, to my children, to my family, is my sobriety. I no longer have those chains that held me down for so long.”

— Kimberly Infante

Kimberly got a good job after earning an accounting degree from Lee College with a 3.7 grade point average. “There’s no way I would have had it in me to do all this pre-accident.”

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The post ‘My number one gift to my family is my sobriety’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“The first time I started coming to this church, I just let a few little things get to me, and I fell right back into the old me. I was having a hard time reading the Bible. I didn’t really even know how to pray or talk to God that well. This time, it’s come so much easier. I’m totally ready for it now.

“I don’t care what anybody thinks when I walk out in those streets. I haven’t really left too much. One time I did leave to take one of the leaders here and another lady to the bus stop. On the way there and on the way back, there were at least five people who wanted something related to Kush or blunts. After they got on that bus, I could not get back here fast enough. I ran back like a little kid.

“I’m not ready to go back out there yet for good. I ask for patience. But be careful what you ask for because I’ve had test after test after test. And I find myself getting mad over the littlest stuff. I know it’s the devil just eating at me, saying, ‘You’re not going to do it. You can’t do it this time.’ Yes, I am, man. I’m doing it. This is the longest I’ve ever been clean since I really started smoking weed around 19 or 20. Now, I’m just taking it one day at a time. All I know is that I don’t want to be the old me. I know that for a fact. I want to be better.

“I have a son who’s going to turn 19 on Dec. 30. I haven’t gotten to be around him very much because of the drugs and the alcohol and just being ignorant. I have pretty much neglected my son through all of this. But I don’t think he’s ready for me to come see him yet. I want to be totally clean. I want to be good. I want to have a job. I want to be a good dad. I want my son to see the change in me. For so many years, I was good at being bad. Now I want to be real good at being good.”

— Larry Pool Jr.

Having struggled for years with drugs and alcohol, Larry believes he’s on a better path in life thanks to House of Mercy. He’s currently staying at the local church, which is planning its second annual Christmas banquet on Dec. 7 for those without homes. It hopes to help 300 people from Baytown and surrounding communities by providing dinner, gifts, clothes, shoes, haircuts and showers. To learn how you can support this effort, contact Teresa McCartney Hoffart at 713-702-2848.

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The post Church helps on way to turning life around appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“After all I’ve been through, I’m fortunate to be here alive today. I’ve had heart surgery. I’ve been shot multiple times. I’ve lost close friends. It got to the point where I didn’t care about life anymore. I was done. I turned to drugs, alcohol and all that because I wanted to feel numb. Just numb the pain.

“I used to think it was just me, and that God didn’t really have a hand in any of it. But now, it’s the biggest part of me changing my life. It’s the biggest part of me still being here.

“One time, I was in the middle of a drug deal, where I was on my hands and knees. I just looked up and started praying. And out of nowhere, the idiot on one side with a .45 to my head and the idiot on the other side with a 9 millimeter, they put their guns down and began arguing. As they got into a little wrestling match, I started crawling backwards. As soon as I hit that door, I was gone. Now that I look back at it, there’s not a doubt in my mind that was God.

“Many times when I was in jail or prison, I would promise, ‘Hey, man, if you can just get me out of this, I’ll be good.’ When I got out, I was good for about two weeks. Then, bam, back to the same old stuff. I just don’t think that was right. I spit in God’s face a lot. It hasn’t been cool.

“I believe he has a calling on my life. I just don’t know what it is. I should be gone, but I’m still here. Now I’m trying to identify what my calling is and move ahead in a more positive way.”

— Larry Pool Jr.

Having struggled for years with drugs and alcohol, Larry believes he’s on a better path in life thanks to House of Mercy. He’s currently staying at the local church, which is planning its second annual Christmas banquet on Dec. 7 for those without homes. It hopes to help 300 people from Baytown and surrounding communities by providing dinner, gifts, clothes, shoes, haircuts and showers. To learn how you can support this effort, contact Teresa McCartney Hoffart at 713-702-2848.

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• After friend’s death, ‘I just let go of the wheel’

• Church helps on way to turning life around

The post ‘I should be gone, but I’m still here’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I grew up with messed-up feet. They were real club-footed, like turned in. To help fix them, I had to wear these casts that went all the way up my legs. When I was 8, they cut them down to below my knees. I also had to wear what I call Forrest Gump shoes with the bar in the middle to kind of force my feet out. When you’re the only one in school looking like that, other kids can be pretty mean. But I didn’t let it stop me. I wanted to play baseball. At first, when I would hit the ball, someone else would run for me. I got tired of that. I wanted to do it myself. And I did. But because I ran stiff-legged, I had to hit the ball all the way to the fence just to get to first base. I made the all-star team that season as the second-string pitcher. In the championship game, there were two runners on base, and I tattooed one and got a home run. That was the first time I got to touch all the bases.

“I was a pretty decent pitcher at La Porte High School. I threw a 93 miles-per-hour fastball, and I could put it anywhere: three inches off the plate, right on the plate, right at your face. I was offered a contract by the Cincinnati Reds. But my dad told me that getting an education was the most important thing. So I signed to play at Louisiana State University. After I got there, I started acting stupid and got caught twice with weed in my room. The second time, they kicked me off the team, took away my scholarship, and I had to go home. Needless to say, my dad was pretty disappointed in me. But he helped me get a tryout at San Jacinto College. I ended up making the team, along with a buddy of mine who was a catcher from Deer Park.

“When we were told that we had made the last cut, we went out to celebrate with our girlfriends. His girlfriend drove. On the way home, she dropped off my girlfriend first and then me. I was taking a shower when the phone rang. My dad said that a Hispanic lady on the line was really distraught about something, but he couldn’t understand what she was saying. I jumped out of the shower and figured out it was my buddy’s mom. I didn’t know exactly what was going on, so I got in my Camaro and raced over to their house. When I pulled up, I saw firetrucks, ambulances and police cars. I ran up to the porch, and all his mother could do was point. I turned around to look, and I saw my buddy pinned between his girlfriend’s car and another car. While he had been leaning in the window to give her a kiss, a drunk driver came around the corner and T-boned him. He waited about 15 minutes for me to get there, to tell me goodbye before he passed.

“That hit me real hard. I thought, that’s it, I’m done. I got in my car, drove to Last Drop Liquor, and bought two fifths of Jim Beam. I drank one in the parking lot. I finished the second one before I got to Highway 225. I jumped on 225 and just took off, about 120 miles an hour. I wasn’t stopping. I didn’t care anymore. I was done. As I got to where you’re supposed to turn onto the 610 Loop, I just let go of the wheel. It turned, and I ended up hitting one of the concrete poles or the wall at the end. I hit so hard that the engine ended up in my lap. The last thing I remember is getting into the ambulance. I woke up on a gurney in the emergency room, and I knew I wasn’t staying. So I took everything off. Just got up and walked out.

“Besides hitting a few balls and tossing it around with some buddies in the years since then, I left baseball behind. Because of all that happened, I just figured I wasn’t supposed to do it anymore. That part of my life was over.”

— Larry Pool Jr.

Having struggled for years with drugs and alcohol, Larry believes he’s on a better path in life thanks to House of Mercy. He’s currently staying at the local church, which is planning its second annual Christmas banquet on Dec. 7 for those without homes. It hopes to help 300 people from Baytown and surrounding communities by providing dinner, gifts, clothes, shoes, haircuts and showers. To learn how you can support this event, contact Teresa McCartney Hoffart at 713-702-2848.

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• ‘I should be gone, but I’m still here’

• Church helps on way to turning life around

The post After friend’s death, ‘I just let go of the wheel’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“Drugs, alcoholism, domestic violence — all of that was in our life growing up.

“My dad was a salesman. He made a lot of money, but he spent it on alcohol and drugs. He beat my mom often. They ended up splitting up.

“My mom worked in bars. That’s where I spent a lot of time at an early age. Some of her friends had boys who were 4-5 years older than me. They would leave them there to babysit me, so they could go out to drink, chase men, and chase that dream of being loved. Often, those boys would molest me when nobody knew. I didn’t tell my mom until I was a little bit older.

“My childhood consisted of rape, molestation, beatings and bruises. It was really, really hell. How I handled it was by being a bully. I beat up my brother often. I’ve asked for his forgiveness, but that’s something I’ve got to live with.

“I was the oldest of my mom’s four kids, and I had to take care of the others. That’s where the bullying came out. I had to act like a parent long before becoming a parent. I started at 9 years old, changing my twin brother and sister’s diapers. I was beaten because I wanted to go outside and play. The boyfriend wanted me to stay in there taking care of the children, while my mom was at work. She was always on that search for being loved by somebody. But she searched for it in the wrong places, and we all suffered because of it.

“There were a lot of secrets in our home. My mom would be like, ‘You can’t tell this person this’ or ‘You can’t do that.’ I went to my grandfather once when I was about 12, and I just balled my eyes out. I told him the type of hell that I was living. But he said that was not to leave the house. It was to stay within our four walls.

“There were a lot of things that were hidden. I found myself feeling that I was to be hidden, too. I began hiding from my own self. It was like, who you are should not be seen. I functioned like that all the way until I left my mom’s house when I was 19.”

— Rebekah Mansker

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The post Her childhood was ‘really, really hell’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I was driving to Columbus, Texas. I was going up there to work. Back then I was drinking, and I ran my truck head on into a tree. It was at night, and I had gone to sleep. I’m pretty sure that drinking had a whole lot to do with it.

“When the law finally arrived, they took me to the hospital. My bottom lip was hanging there. I guess it hit the steering wheel. After they sewed it back together, they took me to the jailhouse.

“There was a woman deputy on duty, and she said, ‘I’m the only person with you tonight. There’s nobody else on this floor but you.’ She said, ‘If you need anything, just holler.’ I didn’t say a word. When she locked those doors, I was holding onto the bars.

“Then I heard an audible voice, just like I’m talking now. It said that if I didn’t quit doing what I was doing, I wouldn’t get another chance. I heard that just as plain as day. I’m thinking maybe I was hallucinating at the time from all the alcohol.

“Anyway, I laid down and went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I had sobered up a little bit. And those exact words came back to me again, just like I heard the night before. So I fell on my knees and said, ‘Lord, I need help.’

“I kept trying to reason and make out why I heard those words. In the end, I have to believe that was the lord talking to me. All I know is that I don’t mess with the stuff anymore. That’s when I quit drinking. I left it alone after that night.”

— Glen Henson

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The post He makes the most of second chance at life appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I was 20 when I got married. We were together for 10 years, and we had three children. Actually, I have four children, but my sister raised my youngest. I had my baby girl until she was 6. She’s been with my sister ever since. I have no relationship with her now, and my relationship with my sister is damaged. We still struggle with that.

“My oldest three pretty much know everything about my past, the issues I had with drugs and alcohol. I know that we’re probably not as close as we could be because of my past, because I just wasn’t there. I bailed on them. But they love me and I love them.

The post ‘I have great kids; I guess I did something right’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“We got divorced in 1994, and it was like everything hit the fan. Instead of bucking up and doing the right things, I fell off. That’s when I really got into the alcohol, drugs and stuff. I struggled for years, and I went to rehab in 2008.

“When the police stop you and you ask them to give you one more chance and they say you’ve had enough chances, then you know it’s serious. I faced either six months of rehab and four years of probation, or I could do four years at TDC. That was a pretty easy decision.

“I knew I couldn’t fix things by myself. I needed help. One of the programs I went through was Brigid’s Hope at The Beacon in Houston. That’s when I realized I needed to deal with me. It wasn’t an alcohol problem, a drug problem, sex, money, whatever. It was me.

The post Life experiences help with homeless, marginalized appeared first on The Baytown Project.

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The post ‘Being able to help people again makes a big difference’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.