Once upon a life

I carry three sets of people in my heart who are already waiting for me in heaven: my blood family, my gang family, and my recovery family. Each group holds pieces of my story—pieces that made me who I am. When I imagine the moment I finally see them again, it isn’t a quiet walk through pearly gates. It feels more like baseball under the lights. It’s the ninth inning, two outs, the crowd holding its breath. Then—crack—the bat connects, and the ball soars. I’m rounding third after a walk-off home run, the way Kirk Gibson limped and pumped his fist or the way Freddie Freeman grins when he knows the game is over. The stadium erupts. Joy hits you so hard it almost knocks you over. November of ’95 is burned into me. That was the first time I was shot and then run over by a car. I woke up sprawled behind my homie’s truck with Wicked gripping my hand. When my eyes opened, he slammed his fist on the window and screamed, “He’s alive! Big Mike’s alive! Drive faster!” But before that moment, I wa...

There are nights that never leave you, no matter how far you travel or how much time has passed. For me, that night was Veterans Day—1995. Or better yet, Veterans Night. The night I got shot. The night I got ran over. The night I died—and somehow lived to tell it. Woods and Verona We were deep in East L.A., at a Maravilla party on Woods and Verona, kicking it with the homegirls from the Rascals, the music thumping, the streetlights painting everything gold and shadow. It was one of those nights when you thought nothing bad could happen—until it did. Steve wanted to smoke some of the Indo I had come up on in Hollywood. Two pounds of it. “Let me go grab it,” I told him. “Then we’ll roll by your pad and pick up some skante.” I was about to leave with my .380 when my homie Corn Nut stopped me, begging for that strap. At first, I told him no, but he kept pushing, wouldn’t shut up. So I handed it over just to quiet him down. That turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. Because if I’d s...

God, In moments when my name is spoken in darkness and my character is questioned, I ask You to stand with me. You know my heart. You know the work I do, the love I put into this community, and the intentions behind every step I take. When others come against me, protect my spirit from bitterness, anger, and retaliation. Let no lies take root, and no negativity steal my peace. Cover me in grace. Give me the strength to respond with wisdom, the patience to stay grounded, and the courage to keep walking in the light You’ve given me. Turn every attack into fuel, every shadow into testimony, and let my character speak louder than any rumor ever could. Bless those who misunderstand me or speak on me without knowing my heart,  for I will not curse what You may still be trying to heal. Keep me humble, keep me focused, and keep my feet planted in love, truth, and purpose. Amen.