“We were going into Houston for dinner with some good friends. Because we expected to have a drink or two, we asked our daughter to be our Uber driver. She was a college student. She was home. She needed the money. So we had her drop us off, and we were going to call her when we were ready to be picked up.

“After dinner, we took a different Uber to this new bar we wanted to check out. We drank some. We danced. And it was around 12:30 when our daughter came to get us. After dropping off our friends at their house in Crosby, we headed home.

“John was in the front passenger seat, and I was on the bench seat in back. I remember telling them that I was going to lie down, and that Whataburger sounded good. The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital, and telling my mother, ‘I can’t feel my legs.’

“I learned that we had been hit by a woman in a Hummer. She was driving drunk and texting. Thank God that John and my daughter were OK. He said that I didn’t have my seat belt on. I could not believe that I had taken it off. Because if you know me, I was always the seat belt police.”

She ended up with her head resting on the floor board, and her feet over the back of the seat. Her arm was stuck between the edge of the seat and the door, which had caved in on her shoulder.

“I broke my sternum and the ribs around it. And my spinal cord was injured. I had two surgeries.

“I don’t recall when they told me that I was paralyzed. Maybe I just knew. I would try to move my legs, and nothing happened. I thought, ‘Am I ever going to walk again?’

“I was in the hospital 43 days. It was a roller coaster of emotions. One day I would be OK, and the next I would curse everybody. I didn’t want to go to therapy. I started having major anxiety attacks because I couldn’t move. I was getting claustrophobic. And I was just mad. Mad at the world. Mad at God. Mad at the lady who put me in a wheelchair.

Husband her biggest advocate

“When I found out that I was never going to walk again, I just cried. And I asked God, ‘Why? Why me?’ To be honest, I wanted to die. I hate saying that, because I was the lucky one. There are mothers who would give anything to have their child in a wheelchair, instead of having to bury them.

“But when I finally got home from the hospital, we were all scared. I’m paralyzed from the chest down. I have severe nerve pain that never goes away. How were we going to adapt to this new life? It was tough. Especially that first year, when I was in a hospital bed in what’s supposed to be our dining room.

“But I’ve gradually made progress. Every day I don’t go, ‘Oh my gosh, I’m never going to walk again.’ I continue telling my brain, ‘Pick up your leg and take a step. Now it’s the other leg’s turn.’ I still believe in miracles. I want to believe that I may eventually walk one day. If not, I’m finally adapting to life in a wheelchair.

“For the first 2 1/2 years after the wreck, though, I pretty much stayed home. I didn’t want to go anywhere. Then John began nudging me and said, ‘It’s time. You can’t stay inside all day. You’re going to wind up even more depressed.’ So we’d go to a restaurant. We went to the museum. My son played college football, so we traveled to his games.

“And I’m trying to be that cheerful person I used to be: saying hello, meeting new people. I do that at church, where I feel really comfortable. A little bit more of the old me is coming out. And I don’t feel as trapped inside my body.

“But I could not do this without the support of family and friends. My mother and sister-in-law take care of me during the day. When John gets off work, his other job is to come home and help me. He’s never wavered. We’ll be married 27 years in May. And I feel like our relationship is stronger than ever.

“That part of our marriage vows, in sickness and in health, really means a lot. When I got out of the Shock Trauma Intensive Care Unit, he held my hand and said, ‘We’re going to get through this. I’m here for you. I’ll be here for you forever, until the day I die.’

‘It doesn’t seem fair’

“It wasn’t until several weeks after the accident that they arrested the woman who hit us. The wreck happened in 2018. In 2019, she was finally sentenced to five years.

“We were there for the sentencing. Passing her in the hallway with her standing up and me in a wheelchair, I really wanted to lunge at her. I could feel the rage inside me. She looked at me and then looked away, like no big deal.

“In my impact statement, I said, ‘Look at me. Look what you’ve done to me. I’m not supposed to be in this chair. Because of your actions, I can no longer be a nurse. I can no longer sit and work an eight-hour day.’ I also said, ‘What you did to me, you can do to your own family. You could kill your husband, your children, your grandchild, your mother. Then how are you going to feel?’ I said, ‘If I can save one person by putting you away, then I’m good with that.’ But still, no remorse. She couldn’t even look at me and just say, ‘I’m sorry.’ She never took responsibility for driving drunk.

“She’s up for parole in May. And I’ve been asking family and friends if they’d be willing to write a protest letter to the parole board on my behalf. I mean, she’s only served 2 1/2 years of her five-year sentence, while I have to serve a life sentence with my injuries in a wheelchair. It makes my blood boil.

“I hope she’s learned something from the whole experience. But from what we’ve seen online, her family is just ready for her to get out so they can have a big party. It doesn’t seem fair at all.”

— Patti Pequeno Farris

The post Drunk driver forever changes her life appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“You see where you found me. I’m here at a basketball court, shooting hoops, listening to music. In the past, I probably would have been at a friend’s house, figuring out how I’m going to make my next buck. Or I would have been somewhere smoking weed with my friends, trying to figure out where the chicks are for tonight.

“But now I know they can strip that freedom from me at any time. Now, whenever I get pulled over by cops, it’s no longer, ‘Hey, put your hands up.’ It’s automatically weapons drawn, because I’m a felon. So all the decisions I make are based upon that.

“Now when my friend hits me up and asks if I want to go to a bar, I’m like, ‘I’m cool. I’m going to be at the house.’ Now when my friend asks, ‘Hey, bro, you want to make some money?’ I’m like, ‘No, I’m cool. I got a job.’

“A lot of that is hard to break because of the connection you have with these people. Since the playground, I’ve been with these guys. So for them, it’s like I’m turning my back on them. But I’m trying to look out for me.

“They may not understand that. But it’s because they’ve never been put in the position I was in. They didn’t get everything stripped from them in 2.5 seconds. And it’s hard to come back from that.

“Right now, I’m unemployed. If you have a theft on your record, it’s especially hard. They don’t know if they can put trust in you. That’s totally understandable. I can’t be mad at that. I mean, I put myself in that position.

“Even though it’s been hard for me to find a job, I’ve been blessed to have people in my life who are not constantly saying, ‘You need to find a job. You need to find a job.’ Instead, I have people telling me, ‘You need to find what you love, and do that. You need to find what you want to do in this life, and you need to do that. You need to find your niche, whatever that is, and follow it.’

“Right now, as a 24-year-old, I’m still trying to find myself. Trying to find where I can fit in as a productive member of society.”

— Sergio Yepez

Related:

• Staying strong key to surviving in jail

• Gang tattoos lead to jail confrontations

The post Finding a job, while trying to find himself appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“Before I went to state jail, I knew that two of these tattoos were affiliated with gangs. The dog paw print is for the Bloods. The star is for Tango Blast. But I was never gang affiliated. That’s never been my M.O.

“They told me, ‘You know what this means, right? If you get these, and if you ever get put down, they’re going to take them from you.’

“The paw print is for a dog I had named Diablo. Someone shot and killed him. I had another dog named Ava. Someone ran over her. My people are real dog lovers. That’s why I got the tattoo. And the star, I just liked it. It looked cool.

“So I knew going in that I’d have to fight for the right to keep them. When I got there, I decided to find out who the boss of each gang was, and talk to them. I told them, ‘Look, I’m not gang affiliated. But you’re not taking my tattoo. Whatever we’ve got to do, we can rock and roll.’

“What they did was put me in a restroom with three other guys, and we had to fight for 30 seconds. Then a second group of guys came in for another 30 seconds. I had to take a beating for carrying that tattoo without being gang affiliated.

“I fought back. Because if you just sit there and get your ass beat, they’ll know you’re weak. That’s called a heart check. I had to do that for one gang, and then the same thing for the other gang.

“The way they put it to me was, you knew what you had to do to get that mark off you. Now they let every group in the pod know, hey, he already got his 60 seconds. So anybody else who sees me with that tattoo, and they try to shake my hand but I don’t shake properly, they’re not going to look at me no crazy way. They’re going to be like, OK, he’s the guy from that pod who already got his 60 seconds.

“To be honest, it went a lot better than I thought it would. Some people were like, ‘You just got in here. Why are you already fighting?’ Well, because I got these tattoos, and I’d rather get it all out of the way early on.

“Although I was just a young guy, I was able to handle my business. People came up to me after that with a lot more respect. It made my time go by a lot easier.”

— Sergio Yepez

Related:

• Staying strong key to surviving in jail

• Finding a job, while trying to find himself

The post Gang tattoos lead to jail confrontations appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“In my 24 years, I’ve been to state jail twice. The first time, I was 16 or 17. My mother had three other kids to worry about. I started hanging around with the wrong people. Started making some decisions I shouldn’t have made. I ended up doing 16 months.

“I’d been to Harris County and the Baytown precinct, but not state. People were telling me, they’ve got nothing but time on their hands down there. All they do is fight.

“Obviously, you get a little nervous. But I couldn’t let it show. I had to act a little tougher, that there was no fear in me. If you don’t, people will take advantage. Like, we can apply a little pressure, and he’s going to break.

“That’s not something you want to happen. Especially in a place where you’re supposed to be protected, but you’re really not. There’s nobody in there to actually hear you. Anybody you tell, they’re all employees. You think they’re going to look out for you? The other person might be in the wrong, and they may tell him to stop, but that’s as far as it goes. He’s going to continue doing what he wants. So you just have to be in survival mode. You have to focus on making it through until you get out.

“I have a couple friends in there right now. They weren’t the friends who lived over here. They were from the good area, in the good houses. They saw how me and my friends lived, and they thought that was the thing to be in. And it cost them a good part of their lives.

“One of my friends is sitting in there for 24 years. The first car he got was a Mercedes-Benz that his mama gave him. All the good things. But he saw the type of lifestyle we were living, and he thought it was cool.

“It hurts me because he calls and says, ‘Hey, bro, I want to come home.’ All I can tell him is, ‘You’ve got to be strong. You can’t show emotion while you’re in there.’ I’ve got to keep him in that mentality where you show no weakness. Because if you do, they’ll take advantage of you.

“It’s definitely hard. Nobody’s really trained to be in an environment like that. But to survive in there, you’ve got to stay strong.”

— Sergio Yepez

Related:

• Gang tattoos lead to jail confrontations

• Finding a job, while trying to find himself

The post Staying strong key to surviving in jail appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I volunteered to do some teaching in a juvenile detention center in Hemphill County one summer. That was a real eye-opener, going behind locked doors to work with those kids. The youngest was 11 or 12 and the oldest was 17. They were in there for everything from petty theft to attempted murder to murder. I was mainly teaching things like math, reading and writing in classrooms, where the kids were placed by level of ability. When I was in solitary confinement with a couple kids, that was different. It was just me and the guard. They would let one kid at a time out of the cells. I would work with him at a table until the lesson was over, then they would let the next one come in.

“The kids would bring letters that they received from home, and some of them would just sit there and cry. They would tell me what they had done wrong. Some felt remorse and some did not. When there was a stabbing involved, some of them felt no remorse. They believed that the person deserved it. We’d try to talk about it, like, ‘Why do you think that?’ It was just really sad. Some of them had lived on the streets. Some had no structure at home. But overall, they were very respectful. It was, ‘Yes, mam. No, mam.’ Because if they didn’t, they knew there were consequences to their behavior. Sometimes they would have to dig a 6-foot-square ditch and then fill it back up. So for the most part, they were very well mannered.

“Really, they were just kids who needed someone to help them. They needed compassion and understanding. When I teach, I don’t see economic differences. I don’t see rich or poor. I don’t see black, white, Hispanic, Asian. I just see a kid who has a need to learn and wants to learn. Some kids just need that attention in different ways. I’ve always felt like teaching was a calling for me. Working at that detention center was one of those things that life throws out there for you and you think, yeah, I’d better take this opportunity. I never regretted it.”

— Nova Stippel

The post Teacher’s ‘calling’ extends to incarcerated youth appeared first on The Baytown Project.

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He was raised by a strong, loving mother who worked three jobs. She tried to make sure that he did the right things, and she disciplined him when he didn’t.

But as he got older, Allen drifted into waters that eventually led to a stint in jail and completion of a rehabilitation program for drug addiction.

It was during his time in rehab that the idea came to him. He wanted to do something with his life that would positively influence young men in the community.

“I came to the realization that I needed to change my life. My goal was to help others so that they didn’t make some of the same mistakes I made and didn’t have to go through some of the things that I went through,” Allen said.

That’s how YBS Mentoring was born. 

“YBS stands for young, blessed and saved. I was given another chance at life, and serving as a positive male role model for these young kids is the thing that drives me,” said Allen, who turns 31 in September.

Leading by example

He has been walking the talk the past four years as the non-profit organization’s leader.

Classes held two Saturdays a month in Baytown cover topics ranging from the basics of how to shave and tie a necktie, to taking a personal life inventory and the importance of respect.

Sessions also have touched on the dangers of drugs.

“You’d be surprised at how many young people in our area are smoking meth, doing cocaine and openly talking about it,” Allen said. “Some of these kids may have older siblings who think it’s cool. So we try to show them why it’s really not cool and why it’s important to make smarter decisions.”

While more than 60 boys have filled out applications and attended classes, YBS has a core group of about 20 active regulars. They meet at 2401 N. Alexander in a facility provided by Baytown Housing Authority.

With the help of parents and other interested individuals, and support from local businesses, YBS holds charity events throughout the year. Activities have included serving hot meals to homeless people, and collecting and delivering gifts to needy families for Christmas.

Proud moments

Allen is thrilled to watch kids grow from their YBS experiences. Topping his list is 17-year-old Chris Cerino, who now serves in a junior mentor role.

“I continue going to the classes to learn, but I also enjoy being a positive role model and someone the other kids can turn to for help,” said Chris, a Goose Creek Memorial High School student who is involved in more than a dozen clubs and organizations.

“One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned from YBS is the importance of staying humble, presenting yourself well, and being a respectable member of the community. When I hear people tell me, ‘You’re such a nice young man, I wish more young people were like you,’ it’s really a compliment to Mr. Allen for all the things he’s taught us.”

Allen emphasizes that his relationship with the young men in YBS is a two-way street.

“As a person, as a man, I still have my struggles. I still go through things in life every day, like everyone else. So these guys are really my therapy,” he said. “Some of these kids think I help them a lot. But honestly, they’re really helping me, inspiring me, at the same time.”

When Allen was growing up, he had what he calls a “weekend dad.” 

“Some weekends he was there and some he wasn’t. Sometimes I’d be sitting on the curb waiting for him to pick me up, like in the movies, but dad would never show up,” he said. 

“So my number one rule with YBS is that I will never leave your child’s life. I will stay involved. I won’t do what my dad did to me.”

Anyone interested in becoming involved with YBS Mentoring can contact Allen Guy through the organization’s Facebook page.

The post YBS Mentoring makes positive impact on youth 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.

“I hung out with people who used to do a lot of dope, sell a lot of dope. That’s why I left from down here back in the ‘80s. It was too fast. I was getting in trouble and just kept staying in trouble, so I went to this treatment facility for 28 days. It was rough, but it was something I needed to do. It helped at the time. I’ve been up and down over the years.

“I went to jail once for 18 months, another time for 30 months and a third time for a bunch of hot checks. That was the last time I was in jail, in 2005. I’ve been good when I want to be. I go to church now and I do some other things that help keep my mind relaxed.”

How do you view that earlier part of your life?
“I probably wouldn’t have done things any different. It’s just the way I lived at the time. I really wasn’t into the addiction part of the dope. I was into the addiction part of the money. I’m different now, though. When I was selling dope and doing dope, I was an animal. I’m not an animal today.”

— Kenneth Wayne Fulton

Related:

• Wife washes work clothes, dies from asbestosis

The post ‘I was into the addiction part of the money’ appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“I’m a changed person. I used to do messed-up things, get in trouble, break the law. But when I woke up in jail and was looking at 10 years, I knew it was time to grow up, to man up.

“It started my second semester in high school. That’s when I caught my first case. From there, it was just a lot of other stuff that led to me serving about a year.

“It was pretty bad in there. There was a fight for everything. I had to fight for my food, fight to send a letter out, fight for my bed. All that fighting wears you out.”

What helped you survive?
“The thought of freedom was really what kept me going. In jail, you’re constantly told what to do for everything and when to do it. The random checks were the worst. It’s not fun when they make you get butt-naked and bend over in front of everybody. That will motivate you to make a change.

“My ex-girlfriend was the number one person who wrote me all the time. That really helped, letting me know that I had her and others out there who care about me.”

— Kodi Reed

Related:

• He tries to stay strong following brother’s death

The post Prison life convinces him to change his ways appeared first on The Baytown Project.

“My babies are 34 and 27. My son had little bumps along the way, but he’s been sober for over three years now.

“It was tough. I was always so afraid for him, scared that I was going to get that phone call that he hadn’t made it. But he cleaned himself up and is doing well now. He called me yesterday to tell me he registered for school.”

What turned him around?
“The thought of spending a long time behind bars. The next time he went to jail, it was going to be for 25 years.”

The post Bumps in the road behind her son now appeared first on The Baytown Project.