The Silent Dreamer
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About this ebook
Trusting in something bigger than yourself and putting your faith into action, this story is for the person who is at the point of throwing in the towel on their goals. You can start right where you are and climb out of that pit. You can do great things with the right attitude and support of others. This story is about Johnny Martinez-Carroll, high school dropout to college graduate achieving goals in his life that were not even possible as a kid growing up in poverty.
This story will inspire you to hang in there and go for your dreams. Make them come true with hard work and believing in yourself no matter what the obstacles are. Use them as stepping stones.
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The Silent Dreamer - Johnny Martinez-Carroll
The Silent Dreamer
Johnny Martinez-Carroll
Copyright © 2020 Johnny Martinez-Carroll
All rights reserved
First Edition
NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING
320 Broad Street
Red Bank, NJ 07701
First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020
ISBN 978-1-64801-196-2 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-64801-197-9 (Digital)
Printed in the United States of America
Table of Contents
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This book is dedicated to my mother and father, Sanie Martinez and Mason Carroll. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you both. You still remain the biggest influences in my life! This book is to honor you, and it’s the best tribute to you both for loving me so much. You gave me what you could with what you had. For that, I love you forever!
My family and friends have been a constant love and support for me during these two years of working on this project. Thank you!
Introduction
I can say that this book is another story about a guy who grew up with nothing and suddenly became rich! That he made it to the top and now he is taking the world by storm, but that is not the case in my story at all. No, my story is different; it is a story filled with hard work and lots of tears. There are many people in my life who helped pave the way for me. My parents were the most important people in my life—my mom who worked the cotton fields for very little money just to help put food on our table and my dad who worked the same farm. They would be so vital in my life; they taught me about being a good person.
I am happy to announce that the kid with nothing growing up made something of himself. He grew up helping others; he grew up making a difference in people’s lives. In my opinion, that is a rich life! Humble beginnings seem like such a small word to use to describe my life. It’s so much more than anyone could ever imagine. The house was not even worth living in. The house was cold in the winters and very hot in the summers; it was not made for the elements, but then neither was I. I was not made for anything easy; nothing came easy to me. When I say nothing, I mean nothing! Growing up poor can really have an effect on you. It really makes you feel so inadequate, and it makes you feel like you really don’t belong.
When you grow up with nothing, it is embarrassing to even invite friends over to your house, but then again, the friends that I grew up around has just as little as I did—if not even less! My story is more about survival than anything else, making things work with what you had. I can, to this very day, make a meal out of literally anything! I can fix just about anything that I can put my hands on! I am the guy that you want around in chaos. I am good under pressure, so they say! I want my story to encourage and inspire others to soar high, to look for the silver lining; and even when you don’t see the silver lining, keep looking up. Keep pressing forward; never stop dreaming and reach for the sky. Go for the things that others say you will never achieve, but you know deep down, you were made for greatness. I can say that all my life even from a kid at an early age, I wanted to do great things, make a difference, and make the world that I live in a better place to leave my mark!
Maybe this book will do so. Maybe this book will leave an impression on the reader that they see the real me. I know that I have been misunderstood many times. My quiet nature isn’t the best first impression. I know that I come across being a jerk at times. At least that’s what I have always thought of myself: the classic introvert. I can assure you of one thing about my story—I have come to where I am, the long way around, the hard way. I have worked to be the best me that I can be. Dreams come true to those who work at making them reality. It takes a lot of hard work, a great attitude, and people in your corner who believe in you. That is what it takes to be a winner in this society, to be a success. Poverty has a way of making you who you are in life. For example, to this very day, I worry about having enough food in the house even when the fridge is full! I find myself buying groceries all the time, making sure that I never run out of anything. I worry about money even when I have it, not wanting to spend it on things that I don’t need and being very careful of how spend it.
This book is filled with dreams that came true, doors that were closed in my face, and how some were opened. This story is about hope; this is my story!
1
The house was old, and it was a wooden frame structure. I can hardly remember how many rooms were in the house—three, maybe four. The house had no running water, meaning, no indoor plumbing. I had no clue what it was like to have indoor running water until I was maybe eighteen years old. I can remember a picture of Jesus walking on water that hanged in the hallway. I always felt we were safe with that picture in the house. We hauled water to use for cooking and bathing. I can remember always wondering what simple indoor plumbing would be like. I would visit my cousin who lived in town just to experience what taking a shower and using the bathroom would feel like. It’s always been the simple things with me. In our front yard stood a chinaberry tree. The tree still stands there today. In that same tree, I built many tree houses that I would play in. The dirt road in front of our house was always dusty, and when it rained, it was muddy. This house was on a cotton farm, a former cotton plantation. It was in rural Central Texas. The front door had no lock, no deadbolt. We had no worries of being robbed. That was life on the farm in the late ’60s. I remember going to bed, and we slept with no worries. On the front porch during the summer, we always had watermelons that lined up. My uncle grew the best and biggest garden I had ever seen. Even until this day, his garden would be the best—the biggest tomatoes, squash, okra, you name it. He could grow it. The summers were hot, but I never remember wearing shoes the entire summer. Walking to the bus stop seemed likes miles, especially for a young kid on a cold rainy day. I would wear my rain boots and leave them there and change shoes.
Waiting on the bus seemed like hours. I would live in this small house for many years until I was eleven or twelve years old. If you worked on this farm, you could live there rent free. You only paid for utilities. My uncle worked there, and we lived with him—my mother and my two sisters. People lived there, worked there, and some never moved away. If they did, it wasn’t far. I would be one of those who didn’t go far. I would remain close by for many years; eventually, I would move away from the farm.
When it would rain, it rained for days, a slow rain that would last throughout the night. I cannot ever remember it raining in the house. The roof was metal, so you could hear it all night. I can still hear that sound. It never rains like that anymore. My mother would cook tortillas every day; the smell of them burning on the stove top would welcome us home from school. I remember eating them hot straight from the stove with butter spread on them! We would eat in the living room, on the couch, or on the floor watching television. We had no dining room area in the house. Winters would be very cold in the house. The living room would be the warmest room in the house. The heater which was butane gas would burn all day long, and if it was cold, it would burn also all night. I can remember it being so cold that a pail of water that was on the kitchen table for drinking would freeze solid on the table inside the house. I can remember that this was not a house you would invite friends to come over for the night. Mother did the best she could to provide for us. We