As far as I can remember, I believed two things. One, the police were wrong, and two the only way to make a living was to deal drugs.
My lifestyle was to be determined by just how much product I could move. My role models have been bikers, gangsters, and convicts since I was a young child. My father was a very successful meth cook and notorious hood star. I grew my first weed crop the summer between fifth and sixth grade. My uncles taught me to cook meth when I was in seventh grade in my dad’s large-scale dope lab. I’ve sold drugs since elementary school.
As a teenager, I sold drugs with, to, and from both my mom and dad. I supported myself whenever I was not in prison, solely on drug sales. I supported myself in prison through drug sales and smuggling. From 2002 to 2004, I went from selling a quarter ounce of meth to selling upwards of 100 pounds every couple of weeks. I dealt meth, various cannabis products, cocaine, X, and other psychedelics. Until a group I took in. the Fed halfway house in San Francisco.
I always thought of drug dealing as a victimless crime. Looking back, I guess that’s what I wanted to believe. I victimized my community by importing meth from Mexico. I victimized the Mexican community by sending large shipments of guns to Mexico. I think everything in life goes full circle.
The drug circle came complete on May 10th, 2024, when my wife brought me the most devastating news imaginable: my oldest son, James, had died of a fentanyl overdose. Did my son die for my transgressions? Was this Karma? Is this a nightmare? Will I wake up?
