Photo Journal Mondays: Armando Ferrari
Project: The Boxers
I was born in Florida but my mom brought me and my brother back to Scotland when I was ten months old. I lived there until I was seven. My mom died a couple of days before my holy communion; she was cursed with breast cancer. Then my father came and got us and took us back to America; New Roads, Louisiana. I met all my dad’s family for the first time; I was terrified because, at this point, I had never seen black people other than my father so right away I was bullied and tormented. I loved being in a small town that was prodominately black.
I was a coward; very often I was bullied and beat up until I ran home crying and then I got whip for coming home crying. At that point my brother was popular; he played sports, he was the guy all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be, I was just the little coward that followed him around. Shorty after that my brother was almost murdered in front of me and I just cried as I saw his nearly lifeless body hit the ground. He was my hero in America; I was no one and no body so on my 14th birthday I punched a guy in the back of the head and knocked him out but then he got up and we fought for about forty minutes straight. I was exhausted, I shattered my hand so I was out of school for a couple of days and I realized how hard I could punch so I decided enough was enough.
So I started looking for a fight my first day back at school, I had a stookie (orthopedic cast) on. I didn't want to be at school and our school had a zero tolerance policy because it was plagued with gang violence so I walked up to these three guys, who were bigger than me, and I struck one of them with my stookie and his head bust wide open so they started jumping on me and my brother appeared from his wood work class with a 2x4. He smashed it over one of their heads, the whole school erupted, we got expelled and could not go to any school In the state so we were sent back to Scotland by my dad. When I got back to Scotland I started fighting with everyone, shortly after I was respected by all; my name was everywhere. I was probably in the police station every weekend for an assault I got away with because my friends came to court and lied for me. I just got out of jail on a Monday and I was arrested again so Judge Herald told me he would loose me in the system so I booked a flight and went back to America.
Back in America I had the same mind frame. I was fighting, having shoot outs, selling drugs, and still having a name on the streets. My nana died so I got depressed and started using drugs and just gave up on myself. I was a prisoner for some serious crimes and was facing fifty years in prison. I sat in prison for a long period of time but would later be found not guilty and I was released and vowed to change my life but I fell back into my old ways the first year. I was acting recklessly, then I was shot and stabbed several times, I had four attempts on my life in three weeks. I survived all of them so I started to realize that maybe God had a plan for me so I got myself together. I fought one of America’s top boxing prospects and he was supposed to beat me easy he hit the canvas several times before I knocked him out. I was back and since then I have found people hated who I am as a person and I have destroyed everyone I’ve been in the ring with since. So here I am, a train’s coming, I'm coming for everything they said I couldnt have!
You can find more of Armando’s work here.