I was fortunate...I grew up with a mother and father and some aren’t able to have this foundation of parental guidance. However, me being the only son with three sisters, I believe a small boy craves his father’s attention and more importantly those father and son moments. I’m not sure exactly when I realized that my father wasn’t gonna be much of a father to me but something had to have clicked in my young brain to realize this. 

If I was to guess I’d say it had to be in my late elementary school years, possibly 6th grade to maybe more accurately 7th grade, which was junior high, when I essentially allowed myself to be shaped, guided, trained, tutored or mentored by everybody and everything else besides my father. It wasn’t hard to do either because literally every other house in our neighborhood was involved in some type of way with drugs. Whether it was selling, using or even making the drugs, the lifestyle was always there. I still recall the name of my hood..”The Varrio” or “The V” for short. We all even had a hand gesture or sign we’d make with our hands/fingers. At first it was just throwing up the “peace” sign but horizontally, to where it looked way cooler than just a peace sign. Over the years, the way to throw up the “V” became more extravagant you could say. This is the hood I grew up in. Back in the 80’s it was lowriders, trimmed in gold, dipped in gold, Dayton Rims-100 spokes, hydraulics with cars turning corners with one wheel in the air...3 wheel motion.

As the era changed it went to who had the biggest rims. Yea you know first it was 20 inch rims then it just went up from there, 24”, 26”, etc. At an early age, I saw all this but I also saw “the cut”. Where on a particular street called, “Fairview”, everyone gathered to sell dope. Slanging as it was dubbed. Aye back in the 80’s it was free reign and the only threat you had to worry about was the cops. Jackers? Naw they didn’t exist back then, so I took all this in. I mean we all were young kids, 12, 13, 14, etc. All these kids had a pocketful of money. There was no day that there wasn’t money to be had. You know that saying, “Do you think money grows on trees”, when you ask your parents for a dollar? Well they are right, money sure doesn’t grow on trees but it seemed to me that, “it flew out of car windows” and that had to be the next best thing according to my young perspective.  Have you ever seen one of those drive throughs where the line backed up and there is constant traffic? That’s how it was on Fairview. I mean there were cars coming for everyone to run up to and some cars even asked for certain dope dealers by name, if you had done them right from previous purchases or transactions.

Looking at all this I began formulating a plan. My good friend was already in the game so I most definitely had to come alongside him but I had two issues to address. I had to beat the cops and most importantly I had to beat my dad, who was a strict disciplinarian who’d beat me silly if he caught me. But if I beat the cops my dad would never find out, killing two birds w/one stone isn’t that what it’s called? I sat back and looked at what everyone was putting their dope packs in. There were those that kept their $20 individual packs of dope in empty prescription pill bottles, empty camera film bottles or in tissue paper balled up to look like trash, so that when the cops rolled up they’d just throw it on the ground amidst the other trash that was always present to blend in. I told myself I’d better come up with a can't miss idea cuz what if I didn’t get a chance to throw the dope? So that's what I did and I brought out the trusty marks-a-lot type marker, taking out the foam ink dispenser inside and filling the marker with something more useful..dope! Taking my new device on the cut I was now making money like everyone else, while always watching for the cops. These were my first dealings in the dope game and ultimately, unbeknownst to me at the time, it was shaping me, it was mentoring me. The principles were mentoring me, the street code was mentoring me, the dopeman was mentoring me, the lifestyle was mentoring me, etc. You notice something here? I had a lot of “mentors” but they were all the wrong ones! During the course of my first stint into the dope game I’d go on to learn other intricacies of the dope game, including how to cook crack and sell other kinds of drugs to fatten my pocket faster. 

To cut to the chase, I’d ultimately finally go to prison with a 5 year sentence and subsequently I’d do the whole 5 years. At first it was an awakening and a tough one at that. However, over the years in prison and getting tied up with a prison clique, I adjusted - just not in a good way. The time served hardened my heart and my mind to where I realized I could do time and it wasn’t much of a deal. This mindframe only served to integrate myself back into the dope game, upon my release, which I was eager to get back to. Sticking to my plan I do just that and I lasted for about 5 years before catching a slew of dope and gun cases and headed back to prison. This time with a 12 year sentence. I did get back out even after making parole on this 12 year sentence, but guess what I did again? Yep, pick back up the dope sack and again what do you think happens? Yep, you got it right, I go back to prison with a 20 year sentence but this time it’s a federal prison sentence. Which means, I gotta do 85% of my time. You may ask, “Why did you keep doing that”? Shoot I asked myself that but I just asked a lil’ bit too late and found the answer even later. 

The answer being that I was conformed to a certain mold…shaped. Let me give you an example. If you pour liquid metal into a cast that is made in the shape of a hammer, when that liquid metal hardens or cools, what’s a hammer gonna do? Bang nails, right? It was shaped to do just that, cuz it’s a hammer. Well I was cast too. When those principles I picked up hardened in me I became a dope dealer, so I sold dope cuz that is what I was. I needed to be recast, remolded, re-conformed, reshaped. But how? How do you recast a living person? Can’t melt that down, that’s for sure, so how? I’ll tell you how, I needed re-mentoring!! 

Sad to say that it took me spending 20 years in prison to find that answer and it’s a relatively simple answer, but often we do not want to embrace it. 

Why is that? 

Stubbornness…dumbness…slow learner? Nah it’s none of that, not the root of the problem that is. Friends, the cool crowd, popular culture, that's what is calling after us. All those things were holding me back from being recast. I wish I would have tackled this during my younger years, when I was a teenager or young adult…man… it woulda been much easier. But nope, I do things the hardest way possible. When habits, principles and beliefs are deeply ingrained in me that way I can fight those epic grueling battles…yea they suck. Nevertheless I’m not picking and choosing my fights no more. My former habits, my old filthy principles and corrupt beliefs want to tussle, want to fight?  Well they are in for a bloodbath and gonna get all they can handle. Right now they losing badly. It took me employing hanging with new friends and listening to new music and worshiping God but let me tell you…I’ve been recast! 

I’ve been mentored by all these new things not to be no stinky dope dealer, nah, been recast to be a soldier with a sword. I’m talking ‘sword’ to mean the word of God. Yea and guess what, I’m one cool soldier. Aww man, it’s just a joy to really get to know God and to allow Him to reveal His grand presence to you individually, to where it moves you to tears to know personally and intimately that a great big God loves me and he loves you too and wants you to feel his love. There is a lot of ‘news’ to being recast and we run from that don’t we?  I did and I always considered myself cream of the crop when it comes to being cool and tough. Stop running from it. Run to the new, embrace it and let it be your own close friend, dare yourself, challenge yourself, fight and watch what happens. 

- Xavier #54847-177