To Free the Truth

Nearly everyone who hears my story asks, “How could they give you 99 years when you weren’t the murder and you were just 15 when it happened?” Unfortunately, that’s a question that will probably never be answered. A jury isn’t required to explain why it votes a certain way. Apparently, they thought I was beyond rehabilitation, that the solution was to throw me away forever.

Think about this for a second. Society places countless restrictions on minors because they aren’t mature enough to make certain decisions. Studies have shown that the parts of the brain related to cognitive reasoning don’t fully develop until the mid-20s. At 15, I wasn’t old enough to decide to be outside alone after 10 p.m. watching R rated movies alone, smoke, vote, get a tattoo, own a gun, drink, or even drive, yet I was mature enough to make a decision to impact the rest of my life? That simply unfathomable, especially considering I wasn’t the actual murderer. My first reaction to my sentence was complete and utter shock. The district attorney only asked for 40 years. My brother thought I’d get half of whatever the jury gave him because of my age and the fact that he played a considerably larger role in Ray’s death.

After the shock wore off, denial crept it. It was incomprehensible that I would spend the rest of my life in prison for something my dad did. I began thinking my conviction and sentence would soon be overturned by some reasonable judge, that the people who run the system wouldn’t let me waste away. I started going to the law library to study the law and fight for my life. Every jailhouse lawyer I told my story to assured me things would work out and I’d “give that time back.”

In many ways, being arrested, convicted and sentenced to 99 years awakened me. For starters, I was off drugs for the first time in 8 years and reality truly sunk in. I’d been a selfish, reckless screw-up most of my life. I thought about the crimes I’d committed and the people I’d hurt. My stomach would turn when I thought about the people who’d return to their homes to find them robbed and trashed; I felt dirty knowing I was perpetuating a disease by selling drugs; I still tear up to this day when I think of Ray’s wife and kids. I’m disgusted with the person I was back then.

GED 01/07 with Mom who is holding my niece

So, I made every effort to change. Not only because I wanted to show the courts I could change–which I partly did–but more so because I wanted to be a better person. The first thing I did upon arriving in prison was request to be placed in education programs. By January of 1996, I had my GED and several months later, I had my plumbing vocational. Next, I signed up for college academics. My free time was mostly spent reading. I read lots of self help books and also read a lot of novels. Prior to my incarceration, I’d read one book. To date, that number has exceeded 3500. An old convict told me that the penitentiary doesn’t rehabilitate anyone. You’ve got to do it yourself. I took that to heart. In every way, I worked to better myself and grow as a human being. In my heart, I believed I would one day regain my freedom and so I had to prepare for life in the free world.