Dr Isaac Deas, II, lived in two worlds. One, a world of multiple degrees in education, a prestigious job in the juvenile justice system, with a wife, great friends, supporting relatives, and a brand new home. The other life was of drugs, partying, living on the streets, homelessness, divorce, job loss, and finally rehabilitation centers. Follow him through these live changes via the voice of him, his relatives, and friends.
Don't Let Go!
Rev. Dr. Isaac Deas was a very respected part of the juvenile justice system, his church, his community, and his extended family. But, he was hiding a dirty ugly destructive secret, drug addiction.
Finally, it all caught up with him. The drugs twisted their stealy, sickly fingers around all the facets of life and tore at the very essences of his soul. He was stripped of everything he had, his career, his extended family and friends, his church, dignity, respect, his newly built home, and his wife,
Dr. Deas' friends and family members lead you through the twists and turns of his desctruction and rehabilitation in their own words as you read the pages of his life story. Delve into the personal and gut wrenching admissions of his mother, sister, niece, former wife, colleagues, and friends as you leaf through the pages of this book.
We had chores. My job was to wash the dishes, my brother’s job was to dry them. No dishwasher in those days—not the mechanical kind, anyway. It was here that I lectured my brother on many occasions. Standing side-by-side at the sink was my forum. Since neither of us could escape this nightly chore, I certainly had a captive audience. As the washer, I controlled the pace. The faster I washed, the faster we finished. The slower I washed…
Our dad was the disciplinarian. Sadly, all egregious behavior was reported to him by our mom. Dad did not spare the rod. It was “painful” to watch my brother receive the spankings, very “painful” indeed.
There was the spanking for losing his new shoe, just one, mind you. One lost new shoe. One “not yet paid for” shoe. One shoe so recently added to our mom’s running credit with Gabe’s Shoes that we still had the box.
I grieved over those spankings. It was as if I was the one being spanked—well, not really, but I was sorry nonetheless. There was the time that my brother and his best friend took the mail from neighbors’ mailboxes and buried it in the big dirt piles on a nearby construction site. Some times, my brother was blamed for things done by other children, and he would not speak up for himself. He would not defend himself at all! This behavior got him (you guessed it) more spankings.
I could not take it. Thus began my lectures, while standing side-by-side at the sink. I would employ reason—“Don’t walk in the water with your new shoes on.” “Mommy works hard and those shoes cost a lot of money.” and, the mantra, “If you’re not bad, you won’t get a spanking.”
Truthfully, though he always listened politely, he never really committed to changing his ways. Children continued to blame him for things because he was such an easy target. He would never tattle on them. As much as I pleaded and lectured, however, the behavior continued, as did the spankings.
My brother, as it turned out, developed into a good student. He was a popular, polite, and easygoing young man with an inclusive, tolerant, and outgoing personality. What was “not to like” about that? He had friends all over our little town. Everyone knew him and he knew everyone.
College years seemed like a breeze for him. I always marveled at how it came so easily for him. I told him how I would agonize over what to say in ‘blue book’ essay assignments; he told me he loved that kind of testing. Being two years older I warned him not to wait until the last minute to write papers because he would bring stress on himself. Nevertheless, he was such a prolific writer that he could turn out awesome, insightful papers in one sitting. The lecturer was becoming irrelevant.
I do not know when his drug use started. I surmised years later that it was probably during his college years. I do not think it was with college mates in dormitories because he was never a resident student. I think the drug use started during those years but with non-collegiate friends. I never realized until now that I have never asked him about that. All I know is that he was very, very good at hiding it.