Last night, I had the best dream of my kids. We were all together, happy, united. That hasn’t happened once in all my seven years of incarceration. I woke up with tears of joy.
Today is my son’s birthday.
Twenty-one years ago, a little soul came into this world and changed my life forever. I hope this letter gets published. I know I’ve sent a lot of memories and ideas to Humans of San Quentin, and you’ve all been so great to me. I owe you more than words can say, and I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. In college, I was once asked to write a final paper answering the question:
“Who are you now?” After everything and everyone, what defines you? I paused and thought deeply. I’m a lot of things… but above all, I want to be known as a great father. An awesome dad. A dad who puts his kids above everything else.
It’s a lesson I learned from the Bible—how God loves His children so much, He gave His life so they might live. That truth hit me harder than anything else. I took every lesson—good or bad—and used it to shape my kids. I made it my sole purpose to raise them to be champions of life. To share everything with them. I remember February 9th, 2018. It was a Sunday, and close to our birthday celebration. My daughter was born on the 28th, and I’m on the 15th. To save money, we’d celebrate together. Food was huge in our household: my ex-wife’s famous Russian potato salad, brownie cake, deviled eggs, Argentine-style empanadas with ground beef, raisins, and green olives. My daughter’s favorite—tacos, chips, and homemade dip. Everything was homemade. We had 7-Up, red wine, and good company.
Our neighbors, Jonathan and Violet joined us. Jonathan was doing 10 days in jail for unpaid tickets, so Violet was spending time with us. I believe she was around 21. I remember my daughter and I were playing Fight Night on the Xbox or PS3. We had all the consoles, so I forgot which one. Violet looked surprised and asked, “You play video games with your kids?”
Before I could answer, my daughter jumped in, “What? My dad plays video games, trains with us, we watch movies—my dad is cool.” I’ll never forget Violet’s face. She softly said, “You’re lucky to have a dad like that.” She looked sad. And my daughter? She had a Kool-Aid smile. At that moment, my heart swelled. I’ve always wanted my kids to have full hearts. I never wanted them to feel what it’s like to be me. I didn’t want them to ever have to fill my shoes. I was raised differently. Nobody really invested time or effort in me. I grew up lonely—even though I was tough. I taught myself everything. My VCR was my best friend. I’d record soccer and boxing matches. I had friends at school, but after that, it was just me, the park, and my soccer ball. I’d imagine the trees around me were spectators in a stadium.
They say it’s lonely at the top. I say it’s lonelier on the way up, because when you finally make it, the crowd is already there, waving fake hugs and smiles. That’s the truth. I always gave my kids options: stay in school, work with me in construction, or pursue boxing or MMA. But I always told them: Money doesn’t grow on trees, and it’s not worth chasing in illegal ways. I showed them videos of me cutting and framing wood, so they knew, Dad does this for you. I was their real-life Santa Claus. I wanted them to dream big but understand the grind. Hard work is the only way to reach your goals. I just want to be remembered as a great dad—and one day, a solid grandpa.
Thank you to my kids for letting me back into your lives. When I come home, I’ll do everything in my power to spend more time with you, as adults, and help you keep the Eye of the Tiger alive in your hearts. To become champions of life, in whatever path you choose. I just want to be beside you, present and proud.
Thank you to everyone at Humans of San Quentin for letting me speak to the world, and to my kids, through this platform. This is the new telephone. The new mail. The new way to connect. Here’s a picture of me and Franky, together again. That dog loves me. It’s cool to feel love, from any direction, especially in a cold country of hate. Somehow, life always finds a way to remind us: love is still out there. With gentle hands, I hold onto it.
All love,
Giovanny, 46
P.S.
Last night, I had the best dream of my kids. We were all together, happy, united. That hasn’t happened once in all my seven years of incarceration. I woke up with tears of joy. We were in the desert. Home sweet home. 1,095 days to go.
