I am a father to two kids (one passed away) whom I love dearly. I dropped out of high school in the tenth grade even though I had plenty of potential to be somebody one day. Instead, I dove head-first into the streets. I was gang bangin’ to the fullest, break-n-entering, being in shootouts. I was a lost soul.
I never showed my bad side to my parents or other family members, so everybody felt I was a saint who could do no wrong. I was in love with drugs, money, and the streets. I was a horrible man to women, but I wasn’t a woman hater because my mother raised me better than that.
I stopped caring about everything after my mother died because I felt I didn’t have anything to live for. That is until I met my baby’s mother, and we had two kids. Then I lost all compassion. One morning, I woke up to find my two-month-old baby dead, two years after I ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was involved in a shootout and hit an innocent bystander in the head. I was charged and sentenced for first-degree attempted murder.
I was the youngest raised in a house with two brothers and four sisters. My parents did their best to raise us right, but everybody is their own person. We were born with flaws, nobody is perfect. We try to make the best out of what we have. Like a good suspense mystery, life is full of twists and turns. All in all, we are blessed to wake up every day. Allah Akbar!!!
