I have been called so many things in my life: a thief, a drug dealer, an inmate, a thug. And you know what, at one point in time those things were true. Like the saying goes: hurt people hurt people. I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. When I was doing what most people would call “thuggin”, I didn’t really care who ended up getting hurt. Literally anybody could get it. I was running the streets with a crew that was just as ruthless as I was. We grew up too fast and too hard. I never thought I would see age 49. Truthfully, we all lived in the moment back then because we expected to be dead long before we got the daily aches and pains that are so familiar to me now. We didn’t talk about it, but we all felt it. I guess I was about 13 years old when I felt that I would go to prison one day if I lived long enough.
At that time I lived in one of the roughest neighborhoods of Atlanta, which was a housing project called Four Seasons. It was mostly a rundown hood with a lot of violence and poverty, but it was fun to me because we had a recreation center and a playground. Every day after school I would meet my guys on that concrete playground to throw horseshoes. A rock’s throw away right across the street was a prison, the Atlanta Federal Penitentiary. The prisoners would be behind a razor-wire fence playing baseball while me and my boys would be on our playground. We looked at them, and they looked at us. Those men taught me how to curse, spit, and look tough day after day. Subconsciously I felt that I might grow up and be like them. I was right.
My family moved from place to place all over Atlanta as my mom struggled to raise her five kids alone. I was never in any one place long enough to start and finish a school year at the same school until I reached 5th grade. Chaos was normal. Poverty stings. As soon as I was old enough to call my own shots, I started dealing drugs like so many other guys who wanted some type of better life without a clue how to get it. It was risky, but at least I wasn’t hungry and with money to buy all of the right clothes and a crew who was as crazy as I was, I felt something close to respect when I went through the neighborhood. I met a cute girl who I was crazy about at the time. I had three sons with her before my 22nd birthday. I wouldn’t be around long enough to raise them.
When I went to prison, I spent years feeling angry then numb. It took me a long time to start thinking about life after incarceration. How would that feel? What would I do? What would my kids be like? Would I be accepted? What would it be like in the free world? By the grace of God, I was released and could start to find the answers to those questions. I reconnected with the man within who had lost his way so long ago. Instead of being a thief, a drug dealer, an inmate, or a hoodlum, I am a version of myself that I couldn’t have imagined in my wildest dreams. I have known for a couple of years now that I want to help other men who are returning to society just like I had to do. I want you to know that it is possible to reach ALL of your dreams, even after jail. Even without a high school diploma. Even if you’re older now. Even if people don’t believe you. Even with old labels like ‘felon’ on your record. Even if you have moments that take you back to that place. Even if you’re scared. You can do it. I did it. I want to help you. Welcome to the Free World.
Free World 