***WARNING: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, DRUG USE AND SEXUAL SITUATIONS…***

FALLING (by Randy E. Halprin)

A memoir on drugs

When most addicts give their accounts or testimonies on how drug use began
for them it usually starts with smoking, then weed and it snow balls into
bigger and more dangerous drugs.. Some start out of peer pressure, some out
of curiosity or deeper more emotional reasons. For me, it started out of
boredom. It was purely recreational and I didn’t even intend for it to go
beyond that. I pretty much disdained any association of being called a drug
user. Drug users were people like my biological parents. I was not one of
those people.

In 1994 things in my life began to shift dramatically. I was at the stage
in my teenage life where I didn’t know who I was, or who I wanted to be. I
had just broken up with the girl who I gave my virginity to and my best
friend Wayne and I began to argue regularly. This had a lot to do with the
fact that he stayed friends with my ex (They lived near each other in Ohio)
and I considered this a betrayal to me. I was tired of hanging around
preppier students and began to hang out with a more ‘alternative’ crowd.

Wayne and me had been best friends at Oneida for two years. We were pretty
much inseparable. Thanksgivings would be spent with him and his family and
he came to Texas with me one summer. We both had a crazy sense of humor and
loved pulling pranks together. I remember one time this guy Billy was
accusing him of trying to steal a girl Billy was trying to win over. I was
the one who was trying to steal the girl (And successfully did..) and heard
the argument outside my room door. I stepped out into the hallway and saw
they guy pushing Wayne. I was surprised that Wayne was not fighting back,
but seeing him being pushed brought out my protective side and I stepped in
the middle of them. “What’s your problem, Billy?” I said. “Stay out of
this Randy. He’s trying to steal my girl.” He said. “Are you an idiot?
He’s not trying to steal your girl. I am. Dude, she likes me not you. Get
over it.” This made him mad and he tried to swing at me. I blocked the
punch and hit him hard in the mouth. He was stunned and held his lip.
Wayne grabbed me and said, “Dude, just let him go. You’ll just end up
kicking his ass.”

It was tearing me up inside that we were losing our closeness and were
letting it slip away. Adolescence is like a kaleidoscope, it’s always
changing. Our friendship pretty much came to an end on a night I had a
break from work. I was a hall monitor and was lucky if I could get into bed
before two in the morning, so I planned on going to bed early this
particular night. We hadn’t really talked in days and every time I did see
him he was with my ex.

As I had been dozing off, he walked into the room and turned on the lights.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Oh, I just had to grab something real
quick.” He said. He did whatever he had to do and then left without
turning off the lights. I got up, turned off the lights and tried to go
back to sleep. About twenty minutes later he came back in, turned the
lights on and sat on our couch and began to play Nintendo. “What the fuck,
man?” I said. “I’m just taking a break. Chill.” “C’mon, dude! We don’t
get any sleep as it is, can you let me sleep? I gotta go meet Tracy at
breakfast.” “Sure. Yeah. So, what’s the deal with you two anyways? You
trying to go out with her?” He said.
“No. We’re just friends. Can I go to sleep or what?”
“Alright. I’m gone.” He got up, turned off the lights and walked out.

I guess I finally fell asleep, because about an hour later he comes back in,
turns on the light and begins to make all sorts of noise. I’d had enough.
I was going to use my ‘authority’ as a hall monitor and put my foot down.
Wayne was only a dorm clean up crew supervisor, so technically I could tell
him what to do.” Look, man, I told you a billion times. I’m trying to
sleep. If you’ve got a problem with me, we’ll take it up tomorrow. Please.
Please let me sleep? If not, I’m going to write your ass up.”
“Mr. Garret said I could have the lights on to study.”
“You’re playing the freakin’ Nintendo. I could give a shit if you do that,
just turn off the lights.”
“Nope. Mr. Garret said it was okay to study.” Wayne said.
“Fuck! We’ll just find out!” I jumped out of bed, put on some jeans and
stormed into the hallway. I had no intentions of going to tell and so I
walked around the hallway, came back into the room, grabbed a couple of
quarters and headed down stairs to the soda machine to get a Mountain Dew.
There would be no sleep tonight.

When I got the soda, I headed outside to clear my head. There was something
calming about a crisp Kentucky autumn- especially at night. When I went
outside I saw Wayne talking with one of our Dorm Deans, Mr. Heffelfinger.
For some reason this made me really mad, so I walked over to them and said,
“Hey, Mr. Heffelfinger? Do you know if Wayne has permission to turn on the
lights or not?” Wayne gave me a look that said, ‘snitch’ and I smirked back
at him.

What happened next is a bit foggy, but I remember Mr. Heffelfinger saying
something and then Wayne said a real smart assed comment. Next thing I know
me and him are fighting, rolling around on the grass. Mr. Heffelfinger and
another student grabbed us, the student saying, “What the hell? You guys
are best friends! What’s y’alls problem?” I thought Mr. Heffelfinger would
write us up and have us suspended, but he told us to both go to our room. I
went back in, grabbed my towel and shower stuff and went to take a shower.

The next few days we never muttered a word to each other. I spent most of
the afternoons after school with Tracy and her friends. During my hall
monitor shift at night I’d hang out with two guys who were in the
‘alternative’ crowd, Matt and Tom. We all liked the same music and got
along great. They asked me if I was interested in being a roommate.
“Are you kidding? I’d love to.” I replied. “Well, we weren’t sure, being
that you and Wayne are so tight.” Matt said. “Were.” I said. “Who else
you trying to get to move in with you?” I asked.
“You know Demetrius?” Tom said.
“Yeah, the black dude who people make fun of ‘cause he acts white. Sure.”
“Him. He’s real laid back and a trip. We’re going to have the best room
ever. Fuckin’ A. You smoke weed?” Tom said.
“No. I don’t do drugs. Sorry.” I replied.
“Oh. Well, it’s cool. You’ll drink, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve had alcohol before, but I’m pretty much against that all. I
don’t see any harm in it though.”
“It’ll be a kick ass room. 202! Woohoo!” Matt said.
“Hey, what’s up with you and Tracy? You trying to get with her?”
“For the last time..No!” I said.
“Is it true you fucked Amy?” Tom asked. And the night went on. I had my
new friends.

I moved into room 202 and it was insanely fun. I hadn’t had this much fun
in a long time. One night one of my friends, Jim came into our room with
some bottles of cough syrup. “Dude! Look what we just scored!” Jim said,
excitedly. Matt looked at the bottles. “Cough syrup? What the hell are we
gonna do with some couch syrup? The shit ain’t got no alcohol.”
“Trust me, this shit will fuck you up.” Jim said.
I grabbed a bottle and looked at the dark liquid inside. “What does it do
to you?” I asked. “Dude, it’s like trippin’ without the visuals.” Jim
replied. “Fuck..There’s nothing else to do tonight. Got no homework, free
time is shut down. We could drink it and then go to the grill..” Tom said.
“How did you get this stuff anyways? Dude, look, the shit is almost past
it’s expiration date..Is it safe?”

“Yeah. It’s cool. We drank a bottle the other night. The warehouse has a
shit load of this stuff and Mike works there so he just grabbed a bunch.”

I thought about it for a second and though; well, it is (only) cough syrup.
What harm could it do? I think I was more intrigued than anything and I
know it wasn’t peer pressure because nobody had ever given me a hard time
for turning down weed or anything else.

“Alright. I’ll do it. We drink it now?” I said.
“Yeah. Hell yeah. Then we’ll all go to the grill.” Matt said.
“Dude, I don’t want to be messed up with your sister there.” I said.
“She’s at play practice. Besides, she wouldn’t care. What’s the deal
between you town anyways?” Jim said. I shrugged my shoulders.

We drank the cough syrup. It was the nastiest thing I’d ever tasted. Four
ounces of a thick sickly sweet syrup disguised to taste like cherries. I
almost puked. After about forty five minutes or so, my face began to feel
hot. My scalp began to itch. It felt like a thousand ants crawling all
over me. When I stood up I felt incredibly light. “Whoa!” I cried.
Everyone began to laugh. “I feel like I can jump to the moon!” And like an
idiot I tried. The feeling was euphoric and amazing. If this was what
getting high was, I knew I’d probably do it more often. Maybe just on
weekends. Purely recreational. (Of course)

I still didn’t like the association with being a ‘drug user’. I still
didn’t consider myself as using drugs, even though I’d began to huff freon
and lighter fluid. I’d even smoked pot a few times.

Tracy and I began to go out and she would come back from weekend breaks high
sometimes. It used to always frustrate me, because I wanted the love and
affection to be focused on me. If she was high, I couldn’t get that
affection, and when I was with her, I never had a desire to be high.

It was very hypocritical of me, to look down on others-even my own ‘friends’
when I was doing what could be considered drug use, but I didn’t call myself
a user because I still had control. I had no desire or even temptation to
use drugs. I didn’t particularly like weed, because I hated smoking. I
thought it was disgusting and as crazy as it sounds, paranoid about my
lungs.

I think the first time I ever had an argument with Tracy over the issue of
drug use was our first Valentines together. She was going home that weekend
and so we worked it out so that I could go to Louisville with a friend. His
girlfriends, Celeste would be going home with Tracy. It would be my first
time ever to go to Louisville, Kentucky.

So far, that weekend had been amazing. The Friday night drive to Louisville
was full of making out. I really thought we’d be having sex before we
returned to Oneida and so Travis and I bought some condoms. The plan was,
that on Saturday we’d all meet up and Celeste and Travis would go one way,
and ten Tracy and me would go the other way. We’d been talking about a
picnic for the longest time and I really wanted to do it. In my mind, after
we ate our picnic, we’d spend the rest of the evening making love. I had it
all worked out!

Instead, some of Tracy’s neighborhood friends met up and everyone decided to
get high. I did not want to get high. I wanted to go on my picnic and make
love. I wasn’t pleased at all.

This was the first time I ever gave into peer pressure. I didn’t want
Theresa to be angry with me and so I followed the group in a sulk. In her
neighborhood there was a little strip mall and so we went behind it to this
little alley. Someone made a pipe out of a coke can by making an indention
into the can, then poking tiny little breathing holes. They placed the week
onto the indention and brought a lighter to it. You would smoke from the
mouth of the can.

My turn came and Tracy handed the can to me. “Here you go, honey.” She
said. I hesitated, but didn’t want to disappoint her so took a couple of
half hearted tokes.

I didn’t really get a buzz. If anything it had only made me more agitated.
We went to a Chinese diner after that, called Nan King. Everyone sat at the
table goofing around. The people running the diner were annoyed at a bunch
of teenagers making a ruckus in their fine establishment. On one of the
walls was a mural of a Chinese dragon dancing across a blue sky. Some of
the friends were looking at it and laughing, “Dude.. check it out.. it’s
freaking blowing my mind..” “Hahahahahaha!” I played with a salt shaker,
anger building up.

The day passed and my chance for a picnic was slowly slipping away and so I
got the nerve and confronted Tracy.. “Can I talk to you?” I asked. “Sure,
honey.” We walked away from the crowd and I told her how I felt- sort of.
“I thought we were going to have a picnic. It was just going to be you and
me.” I said.
“Randy..I don’t ever get to see my friends anymore. Why can’t I spend time
with my friends?” She said.
“Yeah, but we talked about a picnic. We don’t ever get this time at school.
We can’t ever kiss.. I just want it to be you and me.”
“Honey, I promise we will tonight. We’ll go to the park or something.”
“Yeah, but..”
She wrapped her arms around me and then kissed me. “I promise tonight. I
love you!”
“I love you, too.” I said, returning her kiss.

We did go to the park that night… We spent a lot of the time making out and
rolling around on cold, soggy grass. I was trying to build up the nerve to
let her know I wanted to have sex, but couldn’t figure out how to do it. We
kissed and my hands caressed her body. After fingering her and pulling my
head from under her shirt I kissed her and said, “I knot this sounds crazy,
but I want to make love to you.” We kept kissing, but she said nothing.
“What do you want?” I asked. “I…I wish I could say yes.” She replied. I
admit, I was a bit surprised, but wanting to respect her wishes I said,
“It’s okay. Maybe it is a bit too soon.” We spent the rest of the time
looking at the stars.

As the school year went on, I became more needy and unsure of who I was. I
started to become depressed because my father and I were no longer like we
were. A distance was building between us and it was crushing me. I was
confused religiously and was seriously considering becoming a Christian. In
fact, one night during a revival, I went up to our youth minister crying,
saying I wanted to accept Jesus. I wasn’t sure if I was serious, but I did
get caught up in the emotion of the service. Then my dad had a heart
attack, this freaked me out. Really bothered me. When my dad called up, he
wasn’t too happy about my choice.

“You know, Randy, you’re the last Jewish person in our family. I don’t want
you to get baptized until you really think about this. At least wait until
after I have heart surgery. I just want to know why you want to do this.”
“I don’t know, dad.. It’s just a feeling I got. I heard something call me.”
“Hmm. Well, you know Christian services can be very emotional. I don’t
want you to be responding to a religious fervor. Think about it, but don’t
get baptized.” I could sense the disappointment in his voice, despite him
saying he stood by whatever I chose to do.
“Dad, you promise the heart attack wasn’t something I caused?” I asked.
“Yes, son. It wasn’t you.”
I still felt it was. I still feel it was. I felt like I turned my back on
him. Betrayed him in someway.

I never did get baptized and events that would happen later caused me to
pretty much hate Christianity at one point (No, I don’t hate it now.)

I started lying more frequently. I’d lie to Tracy about everything. As our
relationship became more intense, I became more afraid to lose her. She was
the first person I’d ever been “In” love with and the first person to ever
shower with me the same amount of affection. We were the couple that people
would say would never break up. Matt was kicked out of school along with
Jim, Tracys brother for drug use. Tom left our clique to hang out with some
rednecks and I was beginning to start a rock band with my new roommate Dan.
We made a tape of us covering some Cure songs and a few originals we wrote
and I gave this tape to Tracy. She loved it and let others listen to it. I
decided at that point- whatever I did in my future life it would revolve
around music.

Dad did not like that at all. He wanted me to focus on something real. It
only distanced us more.

I began to huff more and even smoke more week. In time I began to use more
drugs and the fall of 1995 began to do acid. This drug was something like
never before. I felt it opened my mind up in ways I could never imagine. I
was in love with it.

After returning to school from a long suspension (I was kicked out that
summer for being “Suicidal”) I began to actually drop acid during the school
days. Something I’d never done before. I never realized that it was
becoming a crutch. Tracy and I were engaged and still close. It remained
so until after I was kicked out of school again for stealing a credit card
on a Christmas break.

I became homeless and so stole a friend of hers camcorder. When she found
out about this we never talked again. Even though it was my fault; my lies
and my actions that caused the end for us still crushed me. Changed me in
ways unexplainable. Losing my family and her- I gave up on unconditional
love. And so my life continued to spiral. I continued to lost who I was
and I never realized until it was too late that what was once just for “fun”
became more to me. It was my escape. It was the only thing I knew that
could take me away from insanity of my life. It was the only constant. A
false comfort that began to destroy my life.

When I was homeless and staying at a shelter called “The Hope Center” in
Lexington, Kentucky I met a guy named Bill. He turned me onto the college
drug scene and pretty much scored my drugs. While I thought I was having
fun, the life was far from glamorous. Sure, I got to have some sex with
random college girls and I went to some crazy parties, but there were a lot
of moments I was not proud of and look back on with disgust.

There were also a few scary moments. One night I was walking back to the
shelter after having seeing a midnight movie at the Kentucky Theater. Bill
had wanted to go to Tally Ho’s, one of our hang out spots, but I was feeling
burned out. I had been tripping for almost two days and had no sleep. My
feet ached and I felt dirty. I just wanted to go back, take a shower and
sleep for a week.

There was a short cut you could take from downtown Lexington that would take
you through a poor neighborhood and then you would cross some train tracks,
jump a fence and you were right at the Hope Center. Going this way only
took about fifteen minutes, opposed to about thirty minutes going the proper
way.

Walking down the neighborhood road was scary enough. The houses were old
and decrepit. Small fenced in yards with barking dogs in front of each
home. Most porch lights were off and the street lamps had a few busted
bulbs. So, there were sections of the road that were dark and with a burnt
orange glow that casted scary shadows against the black of the night.

I got to the train tracks and began to cross them when a man with a knife
jumped out at me. I froze in place. I’d never been confronted with a
weapon in my life. I was confident in my own self defense skills, but a
knife? I could feel my body began to tremble. I just wanted to get to bed.
“Give me your money.” The man said. It was too dark to pick out a face,
but I’ll never forget the voice. It was gravely and the man was drunk. I
could smell the hard liquor in the cold air. “Say, dude..” I hesitated.
“Look fucker,” He slurred. “I’ve just got ten bucks, but it’s yours. Just
calm down.” I said. I reached into my pocket slowly and pulled out my
wallet. I grabbed the money and then handed it to him with shaking hands.
He yanked it out and then took off running. I could hear the crunch of
gravel as he ran away. Still frightened I whispered, “Holy shit..I gotta
get out of this place.” And then I began to cry. I took off running, tears
streaming down my face. I got to the fence and jumped over and was at the
Hope Center. My heart was pounding. I had to calm myself before going
inside.

After going back into the shelter I stayed in the shower a long time.

A moment I’m not too proud of was when Bill had come by my apartment. I had
been out of the Hope Center for a short while and trying to get back on my
feet. I had a roommate named Ronnie, who was a security guard at night
time. Bill stopped by with some weed and asked if I wanted to go out.
“What do you have in mind?” I said in between tokes. “I was thinking about
going to this meth bitches place. She’s usually got a couple of girls with
her. Whatdya say?”
“Sure. I guess.”

We left and headed off to the poorer part of Lexington. The house we showed
up to looked like it was about to fall over. The windows had been blackened
out with what appeared to be trash bags. Trash littered the front yard.
Bill knocked on the door a few times and a wirey, but cute lady opened the
door. Bill and the lady hugged and we walked in. I noticed she was the
only one in the house. I sat on the couch and she went and got a couple of
beers. I’m not a very big beer person, but took it out of politeness and
started drinking. I sat passively as Bill and she talked.

I don’t know why, but it always seemed that when I was In these situations I
was always the observer. Not really there. I’ve seen so much and been a
part of so much, yet never really in on the action so that when I see her
grab a syringe and shoot up meth I watch with a sort of amazement and
wonder. I’ve never shot up any sort of dope, I think more because I’ve
always been afraid of contacting diseases (doesn’t make sense in light that
I used to have unprotected sex..) She offered me and Bill some, but we
passed.

I can’t remember how much time had passed, but a couple more girls showed up
and some dude. They all shot up, too. Bill kind of pulled me off to the
side and said, “Dude, you see that one chick? She gives some mean head.
All you have to do is imply that you’ll give her some dope and she’ll do
whatever you want.”

“I don’t think I could do that, man. That’s not me.” I said.
“Are you a fruit? Every time I try to get you some, you make a lame excuse.
This is like the billionth time you’ve done that. You couldn’t been
fucking that stripper chick, you idiot! She was hot. But noooo, candy
Randy has standards. Jesus! Live, dude.”

I don’t know what happened, but Bill told her something. Maybe he did imply
drugs. I’m not sure, but later that night I was receiving oral sex from
her. Bill seemed proud of the fact he had that done. I look back and I’m
not proud at all.

I left Kentucky with the intentions of asking my parents for help. That
didn’t turn out to well. I landed in another shelter and back on drugs. I
was a functioning addict, I guess.

In the shelter I met a cute girl, who was doing community service for
stealing her dad’s car. She had blonde hair with green streaks. I was
eighteen and she was sixteen or seventeen. We would hang out together at
night and talk and such. She said she did a few drugs, also. We had sex in
one of the shelters classrooms one night.

Another night she brought a bottle of pills called “Mini Thins”. I’d done
them before. I’m not sure what their actual function was for. It was sort
of a diet pill or asthma pill. Those days you could buy it right off the
shelter, but because they have a met amphetamine quality that’s what addicts
used it for. A few years ago I heard that you can only buy them from behind
the counter.

“You want to do these?” She said shaking the bottle. Then she leaned into
my ear, “The we could fuck. I’ve never fucked on speed.” She giggled. I
could tell she was a little drunk. I think we popped like twenty pills
each.

As the pills were taking affect we made out on this couch that was in the
“living room” area of the shelter. I started to feel pretty sick after a
while. My body was sore and instead of feeling speeded up, I felt drained.
Over amped. I told the girl I wasn’t feeling good, that I Just wanted to
sleep so she went and got me a blanket. I laid down on the couch and soon
was asleep. I’m pretty sure what happened is I overdosed. About an hour
later the girl woke me up. “Randy..Randy..I think you need to go clean up.”
I still felt sick. “Huh?” I said in a daze.
“Randy..Oh my god, are you okay?”
“What? Yeah..” I said weakly. I got up and headed to the restrooms. My
stomach was aching so bad. I felt like I had diarrhea..I went into a stall
and pulled my pants down when I noticed that I had soiled myself. It was
everywhere. “Oh shit..” Yeah, shit.

I felt so ashamed of myself. Embarrassed. Humiliated. I took a shower and
threw those clothes away. The girl kept apologizing to me, saying it was
her fault, but I ease her worries. But that ’relationship’ was pretty much
over. When her community service time was over, I was supposed to call her
and we would hook up, but I never did.

Of course, later I landed in prison and you would think I would’ve had a
reality check and stopped doing drugs, but I didn’t. I drank cough syrup
and popped cold pills. Some guys took various psychiatric pills and I would
pop those. Though, after snorting some pill that nearly caused me to go
blind, I stopped.

I finally realized one day that if I didn’t stop now, I would probably never
stop. One day I would be up for parole and nothing would’ve changed. And
in spite of making some of the most horrible non- drug induced choices in my
life, I did feel so much better to finally be clean.

At times, I still feel those pangs of addiction. I’ll always be an addict.
They come when I feel hopeless or really depressed, but I told a friend I
don’t have a desire to do them anymore. Maybe tempted, but no desire.
Temptation can lie in anything. It’s when you desire, have that want to do
something that makes it so dangerous. I can’t lie and say I haven’t had
some prison wine in the past couple of years, ’cause I have, but that is
more of the culture of being in prison. It’s not a want or desire. Yet, I
do admit it can be a thin line to walk. I was always fortunate that I never
liked the feeling of being drunk.

I really wish I could go back in time and tell my fifteen year old self what
is to come If he chose to do drugs. Events can snow ball into an avalanche,
even if you don’t intend to become an addict, or intend to hurt people.

Drugs can turn you into a person you never though you were even capable of
being. Even if it just starts out as fun.
 

CANCER (by Randy E. Halprin)

A memoir

At age thirteen what do we understand about death? We’re told of heaven and hell. Our parents tell us to close our eyes and pray that our long lost family members are in heaven. We do this with a faith that somewhere they’re watching over us. We believe that a life on this planet isn’t all there is; that we will live on and not just disappear, identity vanishing into the cosmic unknown.

I received my first experience of death with my grandfather. I wouldn’t be confronted by death again until it ate it’s way through my aunts exuberant life. I don’t think there’s a disease on earth that is as evil- or has as many faces as cancer.

Much about my aunt Carol is fuzzy. My memories a childs, but it was her pure joy and spirit that thrives in those lost dark vaults. Like a blinding ray of light, burning itself into my memory.

Aunt Carol was the youngest of three. My fathers sister. She was the glue that kept our family together after grandpa Lester passed away from complications of a stroke. While we no longer had our Thanksgivings in Pennsylvania, the home of my grandfather, we would all still get together in either Grand Rapids, Michigan, where my uncle Mike lived, Arlington, Texas, where my family lived or Arlington Virginia Where Aunt Carol lived. Everywhere we went she was at the center of it.

I remember when she was about to be married. We all went to Arlington, Virginia and stayed at her home. My brother Wesley and me would sleep in her basement and she’d join us to watch movies and to play video games. I remember going to a beautiful forest or park and playing touch football with her and her soon to be husband.

One day she asked us if there was anything we wanted that our dad absolutely didn’t want us to have. I’d been dying to get these special batman logo printed converses. I would beg and plead with dad, but every answer was always, "No. You’ll tear them up in a week and I’m not shelling out a God awful amount of money for shoes that aren’t going to last you." So, when I told aunt Carol this she promised to get them for me.

We went to the mall a day or two later and as promised, I was wearing the shoes and had an extra pair with the joker printed on. When my dad saw the batman shoes he about lost it. "Where did you get those? I told you no!" My aunt Carol came to my rescue "Calm down…let him be a kid for petes sake. I bought them for him and in the advent he does tear them up I bought an extra pair" "You what?" dad protested. But aunt Carol already won. Dad had to concede and let it go.

I’d see aunt Carol off and on and then dad told me she was diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t quite understand what it was, only that she would fight it with poisonous chemicals. When she came to our house for a Thanksgiving in 1990 she was still her joyous self. She hadn’t lost an ounce of energy.

As the year progressed we could detect a slow deterioration. I’d talk to her on the phone and her words would be slower, yet she had the strength to retain her whit and good naturedness. "Give your dad hell" she’d say and laugh weakly.

The year of 1991 was the year of my Bar Mitzvah. A Bar Mitzvah is a Jewish custom in which a thirteen year old boy becomes a man. You spend the whole year studying to read from the Torah, in Hebrew and lead your Synagogues congregation in Friday night and Saturday Shabbat (Sabbath) services. My dad had told me that aunt Carol was now on chemotherapy that the chance of her coming to attend my Bar Mitzvah was slim, but she expressed her desire to be there for me.

When the time for my Bar Mitzvah finally came I was under intense pressure. Family members from all over the U.S. would be coming down. People I’d never met before in my life. I was very nervous and scared but didn’t want to disappoint.

I remember the day of the Friday night services. In school I became sick and threw up. My nerves had overcome me. Yet, I still wanted to show everyone I could do it. I pushed on the rest of the day, not even telling dad I threw up. After school he picked me up in his red suburban and said "Aunt Carol made it down. She’s very fragile so no horse playing with Wesley around her…I want to warn you of her physical appearance. She’s in a wheel chair and most of her hair has fallen out. Be gentle, Randy. She used all of her strength to come see you so make us all proud."

I went home, took a shower and put on my Friday night service clothes. Because it wasn’t the actual Bar Mitzvah service, I didn’t have to get fully dressed up. To my surprise, when I walked out to the living room aunt Carol was sitting in her wheel chair. At first, I was intimidated by her state, but her eyes lit up and you could see her spirit shine. "C’mere! Look at you! Such a handsome man. You must’ve grown a few inches since the last time I saw you" Her arms and hands out stretched I walked up and gave her a hug as gently as I could. "Come on! Give me a better hug than that! I’m not as delicate as I look."

Before the service we all went out to eat. Uncle Eddy, my great uncle- and my grandfathers last surviving brother raised his glass, "L’chaim!" (To life) he toasted "L’chaim!" Everyone else repeated and clinked their glasses together.

The Friday night service was a success and I had my first kiss with a girl from my Hebrew class, Shoshana. Saturday would be the big day.

That morning I had to get dressed up; suit, tie, the works. We all left for my synagogue which was packed completely. I was all nerves. Before the service started aunt Carol wished me luck and so I began. It ended successfully and after that everyone congratulated me and would give a gift or a blessing. Aunt Carol waited for me, holding something in her hands. "Mazel Tov, Randy" and she handed me something square and soft like a pillow. "Thanks" I said and gave her a hug. "it’s handmade. I’ve been using all my time and energy to make it for you". " I know I’ll love it." I replied.

After the ceremony was over we all returned home. On the drive back to our house I opened aunt Carols gift. It was a beautiful tallith- prayer shawl- bag. Hand sewn with a beautiful menorah stitches into the bag. "Take care of that bag, Randy she used all of her energy to make that" "I will dad. I’ll treasure it." And I did. I had put it on a shelf all by itself in my closet.

The year went by and my grades gradually grew worse in school. Dad had put me in tutoring classes in hopes of improving my grades, but to be honest I didn’t care much for school. I was enjoying a new found popularity I didn’t have in elementary school! Girls actually found me cute instead of the nerd I had been.

One February evening I had been at a tutorers house when my dad suddenly showed up. "I’m sorry, but I’ve got to pull Randy out tonight. My sister died." I was stunned, sitting at the table looking at a math book. I dropped the pencil "Dad, aunt Carol died?" I asked. "Randy, go out to the suburban. I need to talk to your teacher." I got up, grabbed my things and went to the car. I closed the door and began to cry. Suddenly, I understood death more than ever. The news of her dying had really upset me. I mean, she was gone. Never more. Dead. I’d spent the whole past year praying and believing, preparing to become a "man" in front of a great and awesome God. A God who just took my aunt away from me. Allowed her to be killed by a disease I didn’t even understand.

I think that’s one of the points in my life I really began to question God. My "faith" diminished greatly.

Dad came back out and got into the car. "I’ve got to fly out to Washington D.C. tonight and prepare for the funeral." He said. As we drove back home I sat quietly and then asked "Dad, can I come with you?" "No. You need to stay in school. You’re in danger of failing" "Please dad. Aunt Carol was important to me, too." I pleaded. "No. You’re staying at home. Besides, your mom will need your help with Jimmy and Kevin."

I was mad. Mad and hurt. I think in a way at that point, purposely did even worse in school as a soft of defiance. Aunt Carols death really affected me and dad acted like I wasn’t even able to understand her death.

I remember snapping at my friend Mindi in one of our classes. She had been teasing me about something and I said "leave me alone, my aunt died." she apologized and felt bad about that for a long time.

Even to this day, I get upset at my dad for not allowing me to attend the funeral. I believe he had only good intentions in his decision, but I felt marginalized like, because I was only thirteen, death shouldn’t affect me.

Several years later when I was going down hill, I had a small apartment in Lexington, Kentucky. My mom and dad had sent me most of everything from my room at home, except the tallith bag my aunt made me. "Dad," I said "how come you didn’t send my tallith bag?" "Because I don’t want anything to happen to it" he replied. "Dad, I’ve always taken care of it. You know how important it is to me." "No. When your condition improves I’ll consider it, but not now. It’s the last thing she probably ever made" "But it’s mind, dad!" I protested. "No." 11 years later, sitting here on death row, I’m glad- relieved he said no back then. Because with the way my life was headed something would’ve happened to it. It would most surely be lost of destroyed.

*Warning! This contains foul language and sexual situations*

TUMULTUOUS (by Randy E. Halprin)

A memoir

I’ve written about a few things in my journal about the summer of 1996. (Not to be confused with the equally crazy summer of 1995). I’d been in and out of homeless shelters and my drug usage was increasing. At one point in the summer it seemed I was doing acid every couple of days.

I left Kentucky to hopefully start over. I thought, Hey, I’d show up on my parents front porch and sincerely ask them for help. I’d get a job; pay them rent if I had to, I just truly wanted to get better. Mentally, I could feel myself on the edge of some great abyss. Barely in reality, I had become a pathological liar, I was a thief and an addict. I was no longer the cute, clean cut Randy- I had an edge now. I was becoming angry/bitter at the "hand that life had dealt me" - And I was very conscious of this "thing"- growing inside of me.

When my parents rejected my plea I landed in the Arlington Night Shelter. I made another conscious effort to try to better myself. "Fine," I thought. "If I’ve got to do this on my own I will. I will prove to my family; my father that I can do this- and be successful."

I began to search for a job and I had stopped drugs cold turkey- it was hard, because I was in an environment where drugs ran rampant. But I did. A fog seemed to lift. And then I began to have a stretch of good luck.

Because I was only 18, I was the "kid" at the shelter. I bonded with everyone awesomely. Some of the folks in the shelter had just fallen on bad luck. It was a tragedy that their kids had to suffer, also. I began to play with everyone’s children. When parents would leave the shelter to work, I would watch over them, never taking money for my services. It was something I did with a pure joy of heart.

One black lady who was staying at the shelter would call me her "son". She worked at Six Flags over Texas, an amusement park in Arlington, and would bring me back all sorts of stuff from there. All sorts of foods; giant pretzels, a little bit of everything.

I had trouble finding a job, because no one wanted to hire a homeless person (nice society we have right?) and so I took to selling my plasma for cash at a plasma center and doing some temporary labor here and there. I had no form of transit so I had to walk everywhere I went, but I was doing okay. I was determined to impress my family.

One afternoon, the black lady who called me "Son" told me she could get me into Six Flags for free. She thought I could use a break so I said, "Sure I’d love to go." A few days later she got me in and I spent the day walking around riding rides, etc. She told me to be at some snack place around five in the afternoon and she’d hook me up with a meal. I showed up and boy did she! I can still remember this gigantic plate of bean and cheese nachos covered in guacamole, diced tomatoes and onions. I was so full!

When I finished we agreed to meet back up right when the park was closing so I could go back to the shelter with her. I returned to walking around the park, walking off some of the food. There is an area in Six Flags in between rides full of little booths and games and as I was walking by a photo booth I noticed a blond girl looking quite bored, head resting on her hands at the counter. I stopped, thinking, "man she looks familiar." I turned around to walk by the booth again, "Mindi?" I asked. "Randy!" she said. "Holy shit!" I replied. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

I’ve known Mindi my whole life, practically. I met her when my parentsfirst adopted me. Her family and my father were founding members of our Synagogue in Arlingtons small Jewish congregation. I grew up with her, went to Hebrew school and Sunday school. Dated her and kissed her in the seventh grade. Had a few of the same classes as her in our first year of junior high. However, once I went to school in Kentucky we drifted apart. I was lucky to see her once a year. It’d been about a year and a half since I last talked to her.

"Oh…I’m here with a friend who works here. She got me in for free." I said.

"Are you back at home? Where are you staying, I heard about some troubles."

"Uhhh…I’m kind of in the Arlington Nighter Shelter." I said ashamed.

"What?"

"It’s a long story."

"Well, you can’t go there tonight. Come back home with me- I’ll call my parents and let them know."

"Spend the night?" I asked.

"Yeah."

We made plans to meet up at the amusement parks closing and I took off to tell the black lady (forgive me for constantly calling her that- I can no longer remember her name). I told her and thanked her for getting me in. "Don’t you go getting in no trouble. I ain’t afraid to put a whuppin’ on yo’ ass." she joked.

That night I did spend the night with her. We caught up on everything (well, most everything; I left most of what had happened over the past year out of the mix) I did mention my drug abuse, but told her I’d been off of it since I left Kentucky. She went on to tell me about all the crazy rumors that had circled around about me: I’d supposedly tried to kill myself, I’d gotten my girlfriend pregnant and on and on.

Over the next few days I hung out with Mindi. I met up with her parents. God bless them, truly some of the kindest (us Jews use the term ‘mensch’) I’ve ever known. They were truly concerned about me- and while I’d not fully given up my manipulative ways I could never even think about trying to manipulate them. They offered me money and I turned it down. I guess I wasn’t totally lost- yet.

Things were good and looking up for me. I’d somehow managed to suppress this thing that was eating me from within. Until one night back at the shelter I decided to contact my parents talk to them, seek their help one more time. The conversation started off well enough. I gave my parents an update and talked to my mom.

"Well, that’s good Randy…your father and I want to make you aware of something though" she said. I thought, okay she’s going to give me a lecture etc. But never expected the bomb shell she was about to drop on me.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"We’ve decided to remove you from our will."

"Huh?" What did she say?

"We’ve taken you from the will. You’ve lied to us, stolen from us-"

"But Mom, I’m trying to do better! I’m asking for help!" I cried.

Now let me explain something here. I could care less about being on the receiving end of their will. As an 18 year old that was and had been the furthest thing from my mind. Who in their right mind thinks about what they’re going to get from a family members death? At eighteen you still believe your parents are going to live forever.

Those words were like a knife in the very depths of my soul. A hot searing blade cutting my heart into two. It meant that they were so finished with me that they had removed me from their own will. I might as well have not even existed. I stood with the phone pressed against my ear, hands beginning to tremble, tears pouring from my eyes… "But Mom…" I said holding back a shaking voice.

"Get better Randy"

"I’m trying. I can’t do it on my own"

"You’ve got no choice" she said.

I hung up the phone, walked into the restroom and into a bathroom stall, closed the door, sat on a toilet and cried. At that moment, my resolve to get off of drugs, better myself had been shattered. I became a broken man at that point.

I blew my nose, walked out of the stall to the sinks, splashed myself with cold water and stared at myself in the mirror. I felt so lost.

I began drugs again.

I met up with Mindi a few more times. We went out to see a movie and I remember going out to a restaurant one late night with a bunch of her friends. But she was preparing to get ready to go to college at Texas A & M and had a boyfriend so it became increasingly harder to see her. I was never high when I would go out with her.

During this time I met three people at the shelter one was a couple; Todd and Ramie and the other was a 20 year old single mom named Charity, with her child Jarred. We all met up through the plasma center- Todd and Ramie having a car. I would give them 5 dollars out of my plasma money and they’d drive me around wherever I needed to go. Me, Todd and Ramie bonded pretty tight during this time. Plus, Todd knew a lot of good connections for drugs.

I didn’t much care for Charity, but I was in love with her child. Charity took advantage of this and she’d always dump him off on me to go out and drink or disappear to only God knows where. I’m a person who at heart does like to help people out; it’s a trait embedded within me, but coming along with that is the problem of never being able to say "no" to people. And so, I was the go to guy to dump children onto.

At first I didn’t mind at all. It made me feel good, redeemable. I’ve always loved children. I have an uncanny ability with them- in fact, one of the few compliments my father ever paid to me was, "Randy- you’ll be a good dad one day" but then, Jarred began to have these crying fits. I’d try everything I could to calm him down and nothing would work- and Charity increasingly dumped him off on me. When I watched children I didn’t want to be high, so now she was cutting into my getting high time.

I look back in hindsight and notice some of the first signs I was beginning to "lose it". I tend to bottle up my anger, frustrations, pains, etc. until it reaches a blowing point; and when I blow- I blow.

When you don’t have a job during your stay at the shelter, during the day they have a place set up you can hang out at. A lot of times businesses will drive by looking for someone interested in doing temporary labor. If it was something I felt I could do, I’d go out and do it. I helped set up a Burlington Coat Factory; painting, putting together clothing racks, etc. Another time I helped a carpeting company tear out damaged carpet in an office building after rain had ruined it.

One morning one of the case workers from the shelter showed up. A pretty brown haired lady. I’d never seen her before, as my case worker was a male.

"I need 3 people who can drive to help out with the municipal services of Arlington and drive some garden trucks around. You’ll basically be towing around lawn mowers etc." She said explaining the job detail.

Two men immediately jumped up ready for work. The lady looked at me and said, "What’s your name?"

"Randy Halprin" she looked at her clip board and found my name.

"How about you- you wanna earn 10 dollars an hour?"

"I can’t. I don’t have my license"

"So you don’t want to work?" she asked making a note on her board.

"I can’t." I replied.

The day was long and boring and at evening I went back into the shelter. At about 7 p.m. my case worker called me into his office. "How you doing Randy?" he asked looking at my face. "I’m cool" I said.

"Hmmm…still having a hard time finding a job?"

"Yeah. Nobody wants to hire a homeless dude"

"Well, you had a chance to work today. How come you didn’t?"

"I don’t have a drivers license"

"Ms. So and so says you refused."

"What?"

"Well, according to these notes she asked if you wanted to work and you said ‘no, I’m going to stay here and that you used an aggressive tone towards her."

"That’s bullshit. I specifically told her I couldn’t do the job ‘cause I don’t have a license. She’s fucking lying."

"Calm down, calm down" he said.

"No. Fuck that shit. Here look- look at my goddamn wallet, I don’t have a fucking license!" I pulled my wallet out and threw it on the desk.

"Okay, Randy chill out. Maybe she just misunderstood." I was so mad I felt like punching a wall. I got up and walked out of the office.

The next day wasn’t much better. I was in a sour mood. At the end of each day, if you don’t go out to work, you have to clean up, do some chores, and so I cleaned the restroom. AS I was leaving one of the older black men who ran the little waiting place said, "Don’t come back tomorrow."

"Huh? Why?" I asked confused.

"You didn’t clean up."

"Yes I did", I protested.

"Well, what did you clean?" he asked.

"The bathroom."

"Well I did see you"

"That’s bullshit. I cleaned it. I know what I did."

"Listen, you young punk" he said more aggressively. "I don’t give a rats ass what you say you did. I didn’t see you and I run things around here."

My heart was pounding, the anger rushing through my veins.

"Fuck you! Suck my mother fucking dick!" I yelled.

"You’re banned from this place and I’ll make sure this goes in your file, too."

"You think I give a fuck about my goddamn file? Fuck you and this whole goddamn shelter. Just fuck you!" I screamed. "I’ll beat your black ass. You think I give a fuck? What? You gonna chase me off with a knife like you did someone else? Suck my did."

"I’m calling the police. You better leave now."

"How you gonna call the police? I’m on public fucking property."

My fists were balled and another second, I might’ve punched him. I felt something grab my arms from behind and pull me away. I tried to break lose, but the hold was too tight. "Calm down Randy. Chill the hell out or the cops will come". Slowly, I began to gain some composure by the time I had my senses back we were across the street in a church parking lot.

"Chill, dawg. Chill" This cool black guy had said.

"I’m cool. I’m cool. Let go of me, man"

I shrugged his hands off. "Damn Randy, you looked like one possessed white boy."

"I ain’t no boy."

"Okay, okay. Chill brother. You cool? All cool?"

"Yeah. He just…he tried to lie on me. It’s bullshit."

"Say, dawg, he’ll let you back in tomorrow. You’ll just have to apologize. He ain’t that bad really. It’s just a misunderstanding. C’mon, lets go smoke a joint."

I’d never erupted like that before. I tried to figure out where it came from. That was definitely not me. The ‘thing’ had taken another bite of my soul.

It’s ironic looking back, because I am once again in touch with my friend Ramie from the shelter. She told me that somehow during this time I had kept her from losing her mind. I wrote back and replied, "It’s odd ‘cause I felt like I was losing my mind during that time" and I was.

Shortly after that incident Todd’s, who was a gulf war veteran, VA check came through and they were finally able to move out of the shelter and into an apartment in Ft. Worth. Todd and Ramie invited me to stay with them. I jumped on the first chance to move in with them and to get the hell out of the shelter.

I tried repeatedly to get a hold of Mindi to let her know I was leaving the shelter, but never got a hold of her. I wouldn’t speak to her or her family again until 2002.

Now in Ft. Worth I was having a blast. Todd and Ramie had two kids, one six and one three. Their youngest, Kyle was my little partner- I was reminded recently by Ramie how Kyle and I would look for babes around the apartment complex. I could get acid easily and I was care free. I tried to bury the past year and a half in a drug induced haze. But my little pleasure island wouldn’t last much longer.

One night we received a phone call from Charity saying the shelter asked her to leave with Jarred because he had the chicken pox. She had nowhere to go. Feeling bad for Jarred more than Charity, Ramie invited her to stay with us until he was cleared up.

Once again, Charity would drop Jarred off on me to do her mothering job and once again I couldn’t say no. As much as I liked Jarred, he was becoming unbearable with his crying. Nothing; no amount of tender love and care would work. It was chipping away at any sanity I had remaining. I was down to threads- and I knew it.

One night, I decided to get shit faced drunk. I think at that time, it had been the most drunk I’d ever been. Todd and Ramie had gone to sleep and Charity was still watching T.V. on the couch. I stumbled from the kitchen to the bathroom, then back into the living room and onto the couch. I lifted my feet up and plopped them right onto Charity, my toes slightly resting on her breasts.

I don’t know- can’t remember if I initiated anything with her. It’s possible, but I had no physical attraction to her whatsoever. I’ve been drunk and have had woman hit on me before and had never wanted to have sex with someone who I was not attracted to- regardless of how much alcohol. Details are fuzzy here, but I believe I passed out. I came back to with her on top of me- both of us naked as she was riding me. I didn’t quite comprehend what was going on- it felt good, but it could’ve been a dream for all I knew. I had no protection on and was close to coming when I ‘snapped to’ and pushed her off of me. I don’t know why, but I got up, stumbled to the bathroom and began to wash my penis- hoping it was all a dream.

I woke up the next morning, my boxer shorts were on and I could vaguely remember something happening. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face- when I noticed a huge hickey on my neck. "Oh no…" I moaned.

Ramie was in the kitchen cooking some breakfast and so I went into Todds room. "Dude…" I said. He noticed the hickey on my neck and said, "Damn, she left her mark didn’t she?"

"Did I really? My god not her dude, she’s freaking fugly."

"Oh yeah! You sure as hell did! I was getting up to get some water when I saw the two of you. She was fucking the dog shit out of you"

"Oh God…" I moaned. I instantly got mad. I don’t know why, but I felt violated. I don’t want to say raped ‘cause I was drunk, so in fairness- I could have wanted it, but still I didn’t like it. Not at all.

I ignored Charity for the next few days. When she’d try to talk to me I’d be a total ass "is someone saying something to me? I don’t hear ugly people. I’m sorry" I completely degraded her. I’d never acted like this towards woman before in my life, but my language was becoming abusive.

I never liked to baby-sit high. I never did it. Well, one night as I was doing LSD Charity wanted Todd to take her out drinking. Ramie, not trusting Todd or Charity said she would be going with them. A little argument broke out, but Ramie won. That would leave the kids with me. I protested, but Charity and Todd were insistent on leaving. I was tripping pretty hard- but not to the point where I couldn’t function.

They left and I was along with two chilled out kids watching t.v. and a crying child, sick with chicken pox- his mother abandoning him to go party. I tried everything I could to calm Jarred down, but nothing seemed to work. I was growing frustrated- it seemed the more I tried the harder he cried. "C’mon kid. Work with me here. I’m trying. I really am." I’d say. More cries. I took him to a bedroom and tried putting him to sleep. He only kicked and screamed. I remember this sort of suffocating feeling come over me. My head was spinning. I just grew angrier and angrier. Now my mind raced with thoughts of everything that had happened over the past year; losing Theresa, betting kicked out of school, becoming homeless, losing my family and being abandoned. Spinning, spinning around.

I snapped.

I can’t fully understand what happened or what I did. I don’t know if my consciousness has purposely blocked that out or what, but I know I did hurt Jarred. The one thing I swore to myself growing up: to never hurt a child, having been an abused child myself, and I did. My world imploded around me.

The next few days things seemed fine, but then Jarred started to limp. I was horrified. I realized I’d caused harm. I hoped upon hopes it had all been in my head. Some sick adverse of the acid but it was reality.

He was taken to the hospital and I eventually became arrested and sentenced to thirty years in prison.

To this day I don’t know why I couldn’t control myself to prevent that. I don’t know why I did what I did. Became a monster in that moment. In my whole entire life I’ve always been a non-aggressive person. Sure, I’ve gotten in a few fights but that was more or less standing my ground over people perceiving I’m weak because of my passiveness. I do know, that no matter what- the one thing I’ll never be able to do is forgive myself of it. Maybe God will, maybe people, but not myself.

I believe it was September 5, 1996 when I was arrested and placed in jail. I tried calling my family time and time again, but my calls were not accepted. Finally, during the Thanksgiving holiday, my father accepted the call. The last time I would ever talk to my parents again. "The only reason I’m accepting this call is to tell you never to call again." My father said. "But dad." I stated. He cut me off. "You embarrassed this family’s name. You’re a disgrace. No Halprin has ever done something as horrible as you." He said. I was completely shocked- too shocked to even cry. I couldn’t figure out why I was receiving such a harsh comment. True, what I did was awful; and there is no justification, but I believed I hadn’t hurt Jarred that bad. They were acting as if I’d murdered him. Even more confusing was they had never spoken of my biological parents in such a harsh way- and Wesley and I were subjected to countless cases of abuse. All I ever heard about them was "They were young, troubled addicts" and now, my own father, whom I loved unconditionally was speaking to me as if I was Ted Bundy.

I briefly talked to my mom, and she seemed a little softer. Maybe conflicted. I honestly believe to this day, this was intimately my dads decision and no my moms.

Dad got back on. I had one more thing to say. "I love you, dad. Whether you choose to believe that or not, I truly do." "Goodbye, Randy" was all he said in return. I went back to my cell and cried.

The next few years I tried to reach out to them numerous times. Was I angry? Sure. I felt abandoned. Heck, I was abandoned. I sent letters asking for forgiveness, holiday cards, anything. I finally gave up around 2000. Despair soon grabbed a hold of me and I escaped.

All of those years, I couldn’t figure out why I received such a harsh reaction. Though during my capital murder trial I learned why. I’ll never forget that moment as the prosecutors detailed and embellished numerous injuries- preexisting injuries that happened; before I had ever known Charity and Jarred. Not only that, but they were trying to attribute a previous medically documented ruptured eardrum to me, fever blisters and I figure if they could’ve some how blamed me for the chicken pox they would’ve done that also. And so, I sat there stunned. I thought, "my God! Now I know why my parents reacted the way they did." I wanted to scream out, "It’s crap! It’s not true!" But every jurors eye looked at me with disgust. I felt like a shamed dog. You know, the dog that gets punished for a broken vase that it didn’t break at all. All I could do was drop my head in a stare at the table.

I tried to get my attorneys to bring up the fact that none of these embellishments, these straight up falsifications were ever in my original indictment, but they didn’t Fair enough, they did their best to show through previous x-rays and medical charts that I couldn’t have, but the damage was done. I’m sure all the jurors could see sitting in my seat was some creature, not human, out of this world. Ultimately, I believe that this is what got me the death sentence. Never mind the law of parties and the police officers death. I’m being killed, I honestly believe, for something long ago.

I want to back track and jump back into 1996. The irony in all of this is I could’ve and should’ve been on probation. I was eighteen years old and it was my first felony. My court appointed attorney was a very unethical man. He had been a vice cop for the Ft. Worth police, but under sketchy circumstances left and became a defense lawyer.

He was appointed by the courts to be my attorney and we went through everything "Oh yeah," he said. "I could easily get you probation" he learned that I came from a well to do family and you could literally see the dollar signs in his eyes. He contacted my family but the refused to offer any help. (On a side note here; I really didn’t care about legal support, but instead I wanted moral support- whereas my attorney only cared about financial support). After a few futile attempts my lawyer straight up said "Well, without money I can’t do a whole lot for you…" He sold me out.

Let me be very clear here- I don’t think I should’ve not been punished, but I do believe that I wasn’t lost. To lock up a teenager, for what is essentially half of his life seems, even now, extreme. I pleaded for counseling, drug addiction rehab; anything. Instead I was give a 30 year sentence. Without any moral support, without any real direct sense. A spoiled, self centered kid expected to survive amongst the ‘ills of society’. I did survive, but look where I am now. I can’t help but feel, at times, that this could’ve all been avoided.

Sure, the root of the blame is my fault, but society and justice system is seriously troubled and flawed.

These days it breaks my heart to see all of the 17/18 year old kids who are locked up without ever given a chance or the means to be a successful member of society. We don’t look at social back grounds, psychological or genetics. It’s not as simple as knowing right from wrong. It never has been- and hopefully one day we’ll wake up and realize that.

I was recently reading an article on California prisons. Did you know that they changed their corrections department name and now include the word rehabilitation in it’s title? I commend them on that, because I think true justice allows for the chance for one to be rehabilitated. Not just locked up and held. Our system is a system based upon vengeance and punishment. Justice is not vengeance. There is a distinction between the two.

The first four and a half years of my life were a blur of confusion, fright and abuse. I was placed up for adoption only after my biological mother and father realized, after already losing one child to the state, that they were too young and strung out on drugs to take care of me. My younger brother had been taken away from them as an infant. He was born with minor birth defects, arguably caused by drugs, and a severe case of asthma. Several trips to the hospital and a near death later, the state said, enough was enough and they took him away. Despite reports of abuse, I was left with them. So, I stayed in a perpetual state of confusion and loneliness. I didn't understand why the people who claimed to love me, the mom and dad who brought me into this world could cause so much harm to their only son. A scar from the physical abuse is still visible on my right wrist to this day.

Upon being placed up for adoption, I was shuffled around from foster home to foster home in the Dallas / Ft. Worth area. I was never in any particular home for more than two to three months at a time. I doubted I would ever have a permanent family, like my social worker constantly promised. The worst of it was that I didn't even remember having a brother.

A year passed and my file was turned over to a new social worker from the Edna Gladney Adoption Agency in Ft. Worth. She reviewed my case and was horrified to see that I had been separated from my brother for so long. She immediately took action to rejoin me with my brother and tracked him down to a foster home in the Dallas country. The foster family he was with protested against me staying in their home at first. They had plans of adopting my brother, whom they practically raised from infancy. They had already developed an emotional bond with him and I was interfering with their plans. This created a hostile environment.

Looking back, my memory has grown sharper as time has passed and I can see my brother in his crib. He's crying. In another room someone is yelling. I'm scared and confused, yet my first instinct is to run to his crib. A man, I don't remember if it was my father or not, comes barging into the room staggering drunk. I grab some sort of toy off the ground and stand guard like a pit-bull in front of the crib. The man yells for me to get out of the damn way. I stand my ground. I feel a hard slap against my face, it going numb as he reaches towards the crib. I swing the toy with all the might a three and a half year old has. It connects. I swing again, the man lunging for me a hard hit to the face. I can taste blood and see a tooth lying on the carpet. My mother, running in screaming, shouts at the man and grabs my brother out of the crib. Who knows, I could've saved my brothers life that day.

As I stood at the door of my new foster home, I was anxious to meet my brother. My social worker had shown me photos of him as an infant and current photos and I vaguely remembered him. Still, I couldn't wait to be reunited with him - a love only brothers could have for each other burned deep in my heart. I was told to push the door bell button again, so I did. A second or two later, the door opened and I was looking into the blue eyes of a little boy. "Who you?" he asked. The social worker squeezed my hand and I said, "I'm your big brother." He was holding a small guitar behind his back and it appeared he would not hesitate to hit me with it if I was lying. He looked at me in skepticism and he dropped the guitar. From that moment on we were brothers again.

As the social worker searched for a family for my brother and I, I was put through a rigorous educational boot camp. At five and a half years old, I couldn't count to ten or even say my ABC's. That summer I was also put through swim lessons that must have been taken from the NAVY SEAL's handbook. I had a fear of water at the time, and I also feared a Great White shark, named "Jaws", lurking behind my back each time I'd dive into the water. Soon my fears went away and with each stroke, I was closer to swimming into the arms of a new family.

A call was finally made to my brother's and my social worker saying a family had been all checked out and approved to adopt my brother and I. They would be coming from Arlington, Texas, to have a visit with us. A great buzz swarmed around the foster home and I believed the foster mom and dad conceded that they would not be adopting my brother. I think in that week of preparation, I hadn't ever done more chores in my short little life!

It was early August, 1983, when that joyous day came. I don't think my brother fully understood what was going on, or that we were reaching an apex in our young lives. Our foster mom and dad tried to explain that nothing was set in stone, but I believed in the depths of my heart this would be the final stop of a long journey.

My brother and I waited anxiously in the humid heat on our tricycles. I can see myself on my "Big Wheel", a big piece of molded plastic with one gigantic wheel in the front, and two smaller wheels in the back. The seat was bright yellow with fiery red flames trailing down the frame of black plastic. My brother was riding on his bright red Radio Flyer. He wore his favorite incredible shirt and I wore a multi striped tank top with matching red track shorts, and my favorite shoes that made me "run faster".

What seemed like forever to a five year old boy passed by. I'm sure a little doubt of whether they would come or not began to seep into my brain. I was excited and nervous and full of hope. As noon approached and the day grew hotter I began to sunburn a little, but refused to go back inside. I drove around on my big wheel doing figure eights on the hot drive way over and over, when in the distance I noticed a bright flash of light off something metallic. I stopped my bike and squinted my eyes, but could see nothing. Fortunately, I was staying in the country and the quietness allowed me to hear the distinct hum of a cars engine slowly approaching. My heart pounded as the hum turned into a growl as the car grew closer. Then, the sound of tires crunching on gravel.

The car slowed as it approached the house, and I watched breathlessly as a tinted window rolled down. A hand extended from the passenger side window and pointed to the mail box. Then, the window went back up and the car turned onto the very drive way I was on!

The tan colored automobile stopped and there was a brief pause as my brother and I waited. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. The drivers side door opened with a great swing and a big foot stepped onto the pavement, following the head of a bald man, as it poked out into open. The man stepped around the door and shut it gently, almost as if he were afraid to scare my brother and I. He took off his dark glasses and replaced them with a clear pair. We stared at each other nervously and then I jumped off my big wheel and ran to him in a mad dash. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" I yelled jumping into his big bear like arms and he picked me up as if we had been father and son forever.