I was raised in a tumultuous, single-parent household in Akron, Ohio. At the time, and I’m sure it still is, it was a poverty-stricken city. Two of my best best friends were murdered. My mother’s abusive behavior shaped much of my early years. Neglect and chaos were constants. At just 22 months old, I was involved in a near-fatal car accident that left me with a traumatic brain injury. As a result, I became very indecisive; one minute I wanted to do something and the next, I wanted to do the opposite. I also tended to be irrational, spur of the moment and impulsive.
From then on, I carried not only the emotional wounds of my upbringing but also the neurological scars of that tragedy. The world often seemed indifferent to my existence, and I learned early how to survive rather than live.
The worst decision of my life
In 2018, after cycling in and out of jail and prison, my family offered me a new start in Jacksonville, North Carolina. So, I transferred there on supervised release. I started a roofing company, and ended up in a relationship with my parole case manager and we moved into an apartment together a week before Hurricane Florence hit. It was devastating. Jasmine and I were stranded when the president ordered an emergency evacuation, I didn’t open the door to the rescuers because they were looters. The next day, we woke up and saw that not many people were left. The storm didn’t just wipe out homes; it wiped out any stability I had managed to build. I lost everything. I did start a roofing business, but I made the mistake of hiring family members, and my uncle was caught getting high at a job. Word of mouth spread, and that was that. I couldn’t find other work. I applied and applied, but being a convicted felon in a military town made it very difficult. I panicked and did what I felt I needed to do to provide for my family. I turned to selling drugs, a choice that would cost me greatly. Ultimately, I was sentenced to 260 months in the BOP for a nonviolent drug offense based on quantities that were 98% “ghost dope” – meaning drugs that were never physically found, just calculated based on witness testimony alone.
I now sit with the full weight of my decision to sell drugs, and the damage it caused not just to my sense of self-worth, but to my family and community. I carry the burden of regret for the harm that my actions inflicted. I daily reflect on those lives, and ponder how I might be able to make amends.
But I also have realized that I am not only the worst thing I’ve ever done. I have changed my narrative and no longer allow it to take over. This is not where my story ends; It is only the beginning.
The lessons I learned
While incarcerated, I made a conscious choice to change. I completed the Life Connections Program, a voluntary program rooted in character development and faith-based service. Within this program, I became a mentor in the Joseph Brother Project (like the Big Brother Big Sister program), where I helped guide the younger men around me, through their own individual journeys of growth and healing. This mentor-mentee relationship gave me, for the first time in my life, a sense of purpose and a feeling that I was building something greater than myself.
Over time, I came to recognize my trauma, and through that I realized that my pain and failures are not excuses but lessons. I became intrinsically motivated to use my past as a vehicle to help others avoid the same crashes that upended my life. I completed over 1,000 hours of community service, which you may be surprised to learn can be done even within prison. Our chaplain helped set up, with participants cleaning up around the prison and helping other inmates learn, like I did by tutoring someone who wanted to get their GED, for example. I also spent a lot of time crocheting baby hats that we donated to the babies at a local hospital. A woman named Sister Janice set that program up. Right now, community service is limited to participants in BOP programs like Life Connections, which is faith-based. But I have been working on implementing community service for everyone, so they can get it on record that they have that kind of track record. A lot of people here don’t have jobs, so this helps fill that gap.
I have six core values that guide my actions now: honesty, responsibility, open-mindedness, caring, willingness and humility. These values aren’t just slogans for me; they have become my guiding principles, which I follow like a moral compass pointing me home.
Dreams for the future
Once I am released, I know what my mission will be: To give back. I plan to launch a nonprofit organization called “Lost and Found”, aimed at mentoring at-risk youth. I believe I uniquely qualify for this mission. I am from the ghetto/streets and know that lifestyle. And I look the part; I’m covered in tattoos! I’m going to be hands-on with them, because that’s how I learn too. I am going to show them that there is a life that is better than gang banging, drugs and running the streets. I’m going to be there in the field with them. not just talking. Do you remember what Nipsey Nussle did for kids when he opened his Marathon stores? That’s going to be me! I am striving to continue that legacy! Our children are our future. I want to help young people who, like I did, feel invisible and powerless. I want to dissuade them from following a path of crime, by offering them something I never received: hope. I want to show them that there is another way forward, that they are more than the circumstances of their life and can transcend their mistakes.
I also want to shine a light on the injustice that so many have experienced, like I did: possession charges based on undocumented (ghost) drugs. Don’t get me wrong: I sold drugs. I admit it and I regret it. But the sentence (21 years and 8 months) compared to the small amount I actually had doesn’t add up. The case against me was based solely on an unsubstantiated claim. Cases such as mine are a burden on taxpayers. My sentence, and that of many others, was driven by overzealous prosecutors who are more interested in political capital and embellishing their resumes than they are in actual justice and reform. This system does not just punish people, it drains communities of precious resources that would be better spent on prevention, treatment and education.
My upbringing was troubled but my time in prison has ignited a fire inside of me. I have learned to lead, reflect and live my life with intention. I fully intend to make amends to my victims, including society as a whole. I know some of that damage cannot be undone, but I will spend the rest of my life trying to repair what I can through service and leadership. My goal is to live as a man of purpose, driven no more by greed and drugs, but instead by a heart of empathy, a sense of responsibility, and a head of hard-earned wisdom.
