Life of a Changed Thugg

By Yusuf Hanif Salaam aka Joseph H Dixson

About the Book
Life of a Changed Thugg is the turbulent true story of Yusuf Hanif Salaam and his struggles growing up in a dangerous neighborhood. Through many ups and downs, Salaam eventually finds peace and truth in Islam which sees him through all his dark times.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Jul 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798888129456

Book preview

DIARY OF A PRISONER

January 7, 1991,

One week has raced by already and I am still in prison for at least thirty-five more days. I try to keep my mind occupied with positive thoughts at all times. I’m surrounded by negative people as well and negative responses. I changed dorms Saturday (1\5\91) because I slept in the middle of two brothers (one a headache and the other one was very disrespectful). The only time I could sleep was at night because the two of them were loud, rude, and ignorant. We argued all the time, so I thought it was best if I switched dorms before I done something I would have regretted. A lot of the fellows here admire me a lot! I often receive compliments on my artwork as well as my verbal opinion about the opposite sex; some of us were known as playboys, hustlers, gamblers, and thugs on the streets, but when the bars are closed behind us, we can see the part of each other no one has noticed on the streets because of our coolness. Seventy five percent of the brothers that come through this system cannot read or write; brothers who thought they were playboys can’t even receive a response from a female. I have seen so many brothers break down, refuse to accept defeat, and too weak to let go of someone he knows is gone. I had my pain also and I don’t fake defeat, I’ve hurt in the past, but that pain gave me strength and patients, I love females but I love me more, I can’t make anyone love me, but I can look forward to better and brighter days. Now all I have is a vision, so I must keep my hopes of a better future.

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Joseph Dixson born to Mae Katherine Dixson on August 19, 1963, in Jackson, Tennessee

I have children (beautiful children), my children are a special part of my future, and they have influenced me mentally by loving me even though I have not been there. I know I have neglected them for some beautiful years of their life, but I love them and now I know what a father is. I know how to be that father and I’m going to try to be the best I can. Prison (through self-observation) has shown me the way to be there for my children. I mean I had time to think, observe, and evaluate the merry-go-round that has kept my head spinning all these years. All I cared about was staying high and sharp, clean from head to toe. Nothing else mattered. I hurt so many people with my carelessness but most of all I hurt myself because I felt and still feel the aftershock. My eyes often become watery; I somehow always manage to fight back the tears. Strength is important in this environment; one sign of weakness could make your sentence very hard. I often raise my voice to fight off the bullshit before it gets started, a lot of my fellow inmates say I’m bitchy because I often fight off company by the way I will ignore them, or I’ll eat alone instead of feeding them or I’ll go off when one starts to play bullshit ass games. I just like to be left alone with my artwork and my thoughts; they just can’t seem to understand that. Right now, I’m in school studying for my GED test, a test I have studied for often, only to be led into a corner of depression.

Every time I come close, I run into an obstacle. Either I’ll get put out of school for some dumb reason or I would be transferred to another prison before I was scheduled to take the test. My grade average was fifty-two percent in which you must have a fifty-five percent grade point average to even take the GED test. The test only requires a forty-five percent grade point average to pass. The prison has a standard to keep up. To allow a student to take the test and fail would put the prison’s reputation in jeopardy. Their image is very important, and they would not even attempt to jeopardize their reputation for an inmate who would be going home in a few days. The system would rather send him home with nothing instead of giving him a chance to take a test that would enable him to get a jump start on re-entering society with something positive under his belt.

January 8, 1991

I had a very restless night. Breakfast was not worth going to get so I chose not to go. Since I gave up the coffee, I had to settle for a cup of hot chocolate this morning. I talked to Tammy yesterday, it really eased my mind, she loves me dearly, but I have to get used to her way of showing it because after two years she has not changed one bit. I still love her, so I guess that means I have begun to accept her just as she is. We have experienced some rough times these last eighteen months, there have been some days when I didn’t think we would last, but we have a son together and we both want him to have a chance with us. It is important that we let go of the pain and think of Jessie first. He is a handsome little boy and I know that he deserves a father who loves him and his mother. So, the past will not determine our future, our future will start February 12, ‘91 when I get out. Then all the hurt, time, and arguments will hopefully make us stronger and more appreciative of what we manage to hold on to.

When I am released, I’m going to stay at my sister’s house. We used to be really close when we were younger, for the last six years it has been hard for us to have a rational conversation, so hopefully this will give us a time to know each other again. We love one another, we just have not showed it in so long a time that we have forgotten how important it is. By me making the first step, I think we can get our family back together, drugs have pulled us so far apart that someone has to pull out the jumping cables and recharge the dead cells in the other’s brain. I haven’t been high in at least six months, and I don’t need to get out and pick the habit back up. If I do, my time wouldn’t have served a cause.

January 9, 1991

I made it through another day! In here you can only live day by day because today is the most important day of your life, today determines tomorrow so you must think today over very carefully because tomorrow can be pushed off for years just by making one little mistake. In 1985, I had a friend serving twenty years minimum, he had three years left to go. One day he heard one of his fellow inmates had been beaten up by some guards. Without thinking, he grabbed a shank, ran to the officers building and stabbed three guards, ran out of there, and stabbed two more guards on the prison grounds, ran into a cell house (after recruiting some helpers) and took over. He held staff and inmates hostage for about twenty-two hours while negotiations were being made. When it was over, there were severe casualties and he added eighty years to his twenty-year sentence. His main helper had about eight months; he ended up with about 100 years added to his sentence. That is just one of many reasons why you live your life day by day when you are incarcerated in this system, so much can happen today by the way you think, guys put so much pressure on themselves that they can’t think.

Since 1982, I have done almost seven years in prison (including jails); I have seen a lot of very talented brothers, intelligent and artistic brothers. I have also seen some of the most ignorant men on the earth. I’ve seen men who I thought were all the way gone (crazy) I mean no marbles upstairs at all regardless of what I see or experience no one is more important than I am, no one cares when, or if, I go home, no one cares about how many children I have or how my woman feels about me. Everyone here is for himself. So, you can’t feel sorry for the mistreatment of someone else, it could cost you some time or even your life in one way or another.

I have been strong throughout my incarceration even though at times I felt like putting some officers in check myself. Correctional officers can really push a person to his limit; they will call you names, play with the television, or strip your bed down for no reason. They will harass you. For instance, I grew a goatee about three inches long and sometimes I used to braid it up. The lieutenant, captain, or major never said anything.

Then one day this private approached me and complained about my beard being braided. He said, Your I.D. does not show your beard being braided so you need to take them down or cut your beard.

It pissed me off because he could have found something else to do besides meddle with my goatee. I kept braiding it until he started complaining to the sergeant. He was jealous of my goatee and to this day I don’t know why.

January 10, 1991

Another day another sixty-five cents, that is how much I get paid a day for my confinement. It is hardly enough to purchase monthly hygiene and when we don’t have no support from our parents, family or loved ones, we have no choice but to settle for the monthly state pay. At sixty-five cents a day, my pay usually averaged out to $13.65 a month. My first year in prison, I found arts and crafts to be a very good way to pass away most of my time. More importantly, I used the skill to make extra money to help my incarceration be a little bit easier. I became a big distributor of my own product and I also employed other people to help me get the product out quicker. When you make money here you earn respect, and you attract a lot of people who want to be your friend. I always wondered why so many people respected me, and then I noticed the artists received respect, the barbers, laundry workers, and the kitchen employees all received respect. All of us were making money outside of the prison pay that we were getting. I know I made at least one hundred dollars every two weeks easily. Being confined has showed me that I can make an honest living if I only take my time and do things the right way. I never cared about how I would make my money or how fast it would accumulate, all I cared about was finding a buyer for whatever I had to sell. Sometimes I didn’t even know what I had.

Arts and crafts take time to make so I can take my time to think of a price that is comfortable with me as well as certifiable with the customer. Arts and crafts are skills that I have learned to cherish! In the future, I would like to be able to establish a business, hire my children and grandchildren, and strive hard to be successful.

January 11, 1991

Today is Friday so I can now say another week is behind me, the weekend usually goes by quickly. Last night was depressing, I watched television (A Different World) and it was about a black soldier who was in college. He was just short of his bachelor’s degree, now he has to put everything on hold so he can report to the Middle East (Saudi Arabia). It touched me because I know there are a lot of upset families. I can’t see us (Blacks) fighting a war that is not benefiting us in no kind of way. Oil seems to be the bottom line, it was never ours and it has never proven to be less available for use in the U.S. When Iraq invaded Kuwait, they never said cut off the United States. Bush doesn’t care about how far we have come; he does not seem to see how the U.S. has developed over the last twenty years. He refused to sign the civil rights bill so that shows the Black community that he does not want to see us continue to advance. This war could be more severe than Vietnam. Who can say it will end quickly? We do not know, all we know is if there is a war, we will lose a lot of Americans before it is over, then we will spend the next decade talking about how we could have prevented it when we should be doing this now. If I was not incarcerated and I was called to the Middle East, I would then be incarcerated because I could not go. I would not leave my family under such peer pressure. In here they know I am safer than I might be on a battlefield.

Next month I will step out of prison into the front line of a multi-million-dollar war; I will be in the environment of crack cocaine, dope heads, crack babies, hookers, homosexuals, and robbers; etc. The war I am going to will be my biggest fight because this is the environment that I am a part of. All my teenage and young adult years I supplied the pot head (including myself), I learned to rob, steal and fight in this environment. Now I feel I am not a part of this anymore. Everyday temptation will be there, and I will be tested repeatedly. I never used crack or cocaine or popped pills or acid; all I ever did was smoke pot. I’m not proud because smoking marijuana has set my life back so far that I have been digging my way out of hell for the last ten years only to get deeper involved in the fire. I have been burned so many times until I feel the heat automatically now, for the first time in my life all I can see is education, hard work, and determination. I know I can make an honest living, now I must prove to myself that I can leave the streets behind me while I look forward to a brighter future. The way things are looking I may have to take my GED test on the streets; the demand here is too high for me to allow things to get me upset about this test, which is so important to me. Once I pass the test, I will go to cosmetology school and try hard to become a hairstylist. I want to have my own shops once I get myself situated; I want to try to establish a successful business in which I can get my family involved. My oldest son will be ready for college in seven years, so I must really start laying the path so he can walk more comfortably than I did.

January 12, 1991

My son will be twelve in four months, time really flew by! I remember how bad I was at his age; I was taken into custody by the Indianapolis police department for the first time in my life. I wasn’t charged because they were really only after my uncle and the other guys, he had working for him. My uncle sold marijuana and I was at his house when they raided it, and I had stolen some marijuana from him which I tried to throw when I saw the cops. They (the police) saw me throw the weed and they told me that they had to take me downtown until my parents picked me up. My father lived across the hall, so he followed the cops downtown and they released me to his custody. My father did not discipline me at all; I guess I had gotten too bad for him to even consider doing anything to me. I know around that time I began to smoke weed with my father. I do not know if it was before my arrest or after it. I guess it all started that year because I was locked up every year after that for something or another.

If there was a year I did not get arrested, it was because I was already in jail or prison. I was bad as hell as a kid; always into something or always in taking something that did not belong to me. When I was thirteen years old, my friend and I was robbing, stealing, gang banging, and burglarizing people property and houses. We took other kids’ money when their parents sent them to the store and after the older teenagers stole cars, we would steal the cars from them. I learned to drive at thirteen in a stolen van. My friend James and I were in a van he had stolen from his brother (after he had stolen the van). I asked to drive, and he questioned my ability to drive. Well, I lied myself into this one and I was given a chance to drive.

James said, If you see the police, do not panic. Just keep driving like nothing is wrong.

Well, after the lecture, he moved over and got me in gear, and I pulled out of the parking spot. I did not even know how to put the car in gear. As I began to drive down the street a couple of blocks, I saw the police and completely panicked. I pushed the gas paddle all the way down to the ground and floored the van down a steep three lane street. I was riding the curve so close you could have sworn I was going to run up on the sidewalk and crash (but I did not). I drove to the corner and turned, slammed on brakes and tried to get out of the van with the vehicle still running. James jumped out of the passenger side and fled. I had to think fast and since I did not know how to put the van in park, I had to jump out on the passenger side (because my door was jammed) and run in front of the moving vehicle (which slightly hit me) and down the alley. The police could not turn down the alley because the van was slowly rolling by the alley, blocking it so the police had to wait before they pursued me. Before we knew it, there were several police cars on our tracks. James had a head start so I could hardly follow his path; I ended up running through someone’s back yard only to be clothes lined. If you have never been clothes lined before, I’ll tell you this, it is embarrassing. It hurts really bad and it will probably never happen to you twice in a life time, you will always remember the first time you were clothes lined forever.

Anyway, I immediately jumped up and ran (in pain) at a low height until I was clear of the yard, by this time a helicopter was flying overhead with a spotlight beaming down looking for us. I avoided the spotlight several different times and continued to run, duck and hide at the same time wondering what happened to James. I finally made it to my street, but I could not cross the street because of the helicopter, so I hid under a car for about an hour and watched the police cars and helicopter circle the vicinities they assumed I were in. After I felt the coast was clear, I came from under the car, crossed the street, and made it upstairs to our apartment as if nothing had happened. I was still scared because I did not know if James had got caught or not and if he did get caught would he snitch on me?

My brother asked me, What are all the police and helicopters circling the hood for?

I said, I do not know.

The next morning, I rushed out of the house about seven a.m., running to James’ house only to bump into him halfway there (he was headed to my house to check on me). James and I were scared that one of us had got caught and the one who had gotten caught might tell on the other one. After we knew one another was alright, we began to laugh and joke about the whole situation. We started planning how we were going to sell the merchandise that we had took out of the van and how we were going to get high and trip over the whole situation. When I think back to those days, I pray to God that my past will be left behind and my sons’ future will be totally different than my childhood was. He will have my love, guidance, and support which is something I never had. Kids need both parents when dealing with these hard times day after day.

The ghetto is a survival course and you do not know which day your life could come to an end, all you know is, Today I am not taking your shit so get out of my face punk. You have to be tough mentally if not physically, I never was a fighter, but I was not any push over. I was just known to be a cool person. My brother (Jessie) was a fighter; he never folded up to a challenge, he was a tough kid who came out a winner. He started boxing in 1975 and won the Golden Gloves in 1977. His hands were good for his age. All he wanted was support from his family when he had a fight, our family didn’t know anything about support, and my father was not one who taught us to support each other. Jessie often wanted me to travel with him to different places and cities when he had a fight, but I would often disappear just before it was time for us to leave. Jessie kept coming home with trophies (another fight, another trophy). I did go to the 1977 Golden Gloves finals; he fought a friend from his school named Michael Essie. Essie was a senior and he had been fighting at a different gym than Jessie and he was a pretty good fighter. They had the school fired up about this fight; they were bragging and threatening each other about what one was going to do to the other.

On the day of the fight, Jessie had convinced his family to show up at the fight and we convinced some friends to come alone with us so we would have a loud section supporting Jessie. Jessie started out by dancing to the ring and dodging Michael’s punches like Ali and Sugar Ray Leonard. Essie never stood a chance from the beginning of round one to the end of round three. Jessie jabbed, hooked, danced, uppercut, and looked good the whole fight. We were pleased at his performance. I do not think I attended another fight until that following summer at the Black Expo. Jessie was the only one from his club to win against a bad ass Anderson, Indiana team. He had all the neighborhood friends there rooting for him and offering him some wine if he won the fight. Jessie showed off again and scored a unanimous decision over his opponent. He was confident he would win the second trophy (most outstanding fighter), but they gave it to another Jessie who boxed at the same club as my brother. His name was Jessie Jackson, and he got his ass kicked by this brother out of Anderson. I did not appreciate that shit at all because my brother was the only one who won, and he fought an outstanding fight. He knew that he was going to get the trophy for the most outstanding fighter.

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Jessie in 1978 after winning his  boxing match

I do not think I appeared at another fight until the Golden Gloves in 1978. Jessie was feeling kind of lonely by this time because our presence was really needed; he always asked us to come but we just never showed up. We decided we would show up at the Golden Gloves and support Jessie at this big event. The first round he didn’t throw but a few punches; he ducked, faded, ran and teased the opponent (a white boy named David Davis). The second and third round were dominated by Jessie; he took control of the fight and left David searching for a way to score The third round was totally Jessie’s. When the decision was announced, we were all shocked that Jessie was not the winner. I was shocked! Everybody was surprised and I had made up my mind that I had witnessed my last technicality in this field (concerning my brother).

Jessie came out of the ring crying, I won, I won that fight. They robbed me, Joe. They robbed me.

I said, Man, do not worry about it. You won, man. You won the fight.

And he said, I wanted to win it for you Joe; I wanted to win it for you!

How was I supposed to react to a statement like that? That was Jessie’s last Golden Glove fight. He died in a car accident eleven months later (one month shy of the Golden Gloves). For years I heard his cry, I wanted to win it for you, Joe over and over again. The night before he died, he taught me how to breathe when I jogged. We went to cop some weed from the dope man so Jessie could sell some joints in school the next day. Every day he would buy a dime bag and role it all up in joints to sell the next day in school, he would always keep a couple of joints for us to smoke or for him and his homeboys to smoke. It was a blizzard winter I will never forget. It was so cold that we had to jog to keep from freezing.

I kept falling back so Jessie fell back with me and said, Breathe out your nose and keep your mouth closed.

I did what he said, and we were able to run all the way to our father’s house. Once we were there and warmed up, we sat around and talked with our father. Jessie discussed his plans to box, finish school, and join the navy so he could save money for college and continue his boxing career. We slept together that night for the first time in years (it was also the first time in a few years that we had stayed all night with our father). Jessie was tall so I kept complaining about his feet in my face. The next morning, we ate breakfast and then we walked over to Annette’s house. She was pregnant with my son at the time. Jessie wanted to walk home, but I suggested we try to get a ride home from a friend. I walked across the street to my friend’s house and asked him if he would take us home. He told us to wait for a while and then he would take us home. I suggested that we go over to Leon’s house and ask him to take us home. Leon started talking about stealing cars and I was totally against that. Jessie and I were already on probation for getting caught riding in a stolen car, so I was not trying to go back to juvenile again. Leon had it all planned; I told Jessie I was going home, and I asked him if he was coming with me. Jessie tried to talk me into going with them, but I was totally against it. We all walked outside, and I asked Jessie not to go steal no cars, his mind was made up, so I left. He kept staring at me as I walked across the parking lot; I had no idea that I would never see him alive again. Losing Jessie really hurt me a lot and to this day I can still feel the pain I have not felt in years. I miss him and I will always miss him because he was special! He will always be with me.

January 14, 1991

Tomorrow is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday and President Bush has set a deadline for Iraq to pull out of Kuwait the same day. I guess this is his idea of respect for a man who gave the black man dignity, pride, and a dream. 365 days in a year and this country could possibly declare war on the Reverend King’s birthday. Our people are so busy being led by President Bush into a war that does not make much sense. We have not even taken the time to give our defense a chance to fight for peace on a man’s birthday that gave his life so that we can be free. If I were in Saudi Arabia, I would have stood up and protested for peace on Dr. King’s birthday. King fought for our civil rights for years. He had a dream that blacks and whites will be able to learn together, sleep together, eat together, and pray together. We have to stand up for ourselves and speak out or the white man will continue to lead us into wars and conflicts that will not benefit us, even if we won.

I feel the black man should not be fighting over oil. This is not our war. We are having so much trouble in our own country with prejudice, inflation, and tax hikes. We do not get the big breaks that an equal white man would get. In this environment (country), the white race had the black race beat by at least twelve to two and there are more black men in prison than there are white men. Not that there are more black criminals than whites, just more blacks are being incarcerated. Blacks are guilty for being black in this country, so when they appear in court, they are already given two strikes. Now how many batters escape strike three when they are under pressure? Well, I guess this explains why so many blacks are confined.

Dr. King’s birthday will be a day of peace for me and if a war is declared on his day, I pray that it will be declared after midnight. Dr. King gave me a dream and I will always respect him whenever his day comes around or whenever I hear one of his speeches.

January 15, 1991

Another sleepless night so I am up watching the news. Today is the day that so many soldiers really wished never came; the Persian Gulf situation could become a big nasty war within hours, days, or weeks. I still have not heard a legit reason why we are over there, and I doubt if there is a good enough reason. The first president I can recall ever to be in office is Nixon, then Ford, Carter, Reagan, and now Bush. I have seen times become worse than they were before every time one of those crooks gets in office. Reagan put the black community in a slum for eight years. Minimum wages stayed at $3.35 an hour for eight years, food prices went up, cost of living went up, and everything else went up except the wages. It is not fair to us that one man can hold us down.

Prejudice is all around us. I mean they smile in our face, invite a couple of athletics to the White House occasionally for an award. All we need to do is watch and we will see prejudice all around us working in all kinds of ways. Bush’s refusal to sign the civil rights bill, the court system and other government-run systems are the biggest forerunners in putting prejudice on the front line. Blacks are breaking the ice through education, music, acting, and other things; if you are a blue collar worker, you are getting a very small piece of the cake. Today is Dr. King’s birthday, we fought for this day to be a holiday and we prevailed even though Indiana celebrates King’s day on the 15th or whatever, Monday that comes after the 15th. I guess it would have been too easy to give us what we wanted.

Next month (twenty-five days from now) I’ll be free of prison; somehow, I am not happy because I will not be in peace when I leave here. I do not know if I can be called upon to serve in the Middle East, I was in the National Guard, but I received some papers when I turned twenty-six informing me that I would no longer be called for the draft. I don’t know what that will mean if the draft is reinstated. I do not know if my discharge will be worth the paper it is on. I do know that I will not go willingly; maybe my imprisonment is not over because I can’t see myself going off to war for a country that has not done anything for my people except try to keep us down and challenge us whenever we rise. This country has attempted to rob us of our freedom (of speech) by banning two live crews’ music when white groups music is as crucial but more acceptable. Every time a black man/woman succeeds in this country, there is a but beside his recognition; when a white man achieves fame, he/she is considered the greatest this or that. Vanilla Ice released his first rap album and already he is considered the first Elvis of rap. Isn’t that about a bitch? Elvis never performed rap music; Vanilla Ice is nothing like Elvis, but he will accept the recognition because he will be paid for it.

Rap is black man’s music and now that rap music grosses each year is preventing the white man from touching our popularity. Hammer said you can’t touch this; this is true, so the white man decided to join the party and cash in for themselves. This country can fight their war but I cannot get involved in the fighting. I will support families and pray for early victory, but I cannot fight in this type of war. For the last seventeen years, I have been fighting to survive on the streets; I have only succeeded in staying alive, I have yet to own anything, and I have not established peace within myself. Every time I thought I had advanced, I was knocked back. Times have been hard for me. I am not a drug addict, gambler, or a devil, I am the best friend you can have and just your enemy if you have hatred for me. I am not a dangerous enemy, just a non-sociable enemy. I helped a lot of people in my life, but I never really felt appreciated. A lot of times I smiled even though I was hurting bad inside. I have broken some hearts (who has not?). Sometimes I have been considered a dog even though I am considered a dog catcher. I feel comfortable about my future, I feel I can and will be someone who will earn respect one day. I know my spot is preserved for me in this world and I am ready to fill it in as soon as possible. I love kids; I have children and hopefully I will have a few more (one day), I want to see my children excel. I want their teens to be exciting instead of dangerous. I want them to know I love them, and I want them to feel free to let me know that they love me. I did not know how to say (I love you to my parents) because I never heard it.

January 18, 1991

Today was a continuous day of fighting in the Middle East, seven soldiers have been confirmed missing in action and one soldier dead. Iraq has lost eight jets and so have the United States’ allies. Several families were interviewed on television today; some were talking to their loved ones on the phone. We did not see any black people get interviewed on television. It was like we did not even exist. White folks were crying on television and sending their love ones blessings. We are being over looked and deceived when we should be treated as equal as our Caucasian fighting soldiers. Someone will acknowledge this; I just hope it is not too late.

January 19, 1991

Iraq bombed Israel again, Israel still refuses to retaliate on the request that the president pleads them not to. I do not think they will be able to hold off much longer. My days are going by at a medium speed (not too fast and not too slow), I am now down to twenty-three days and a wake up. I am short as hell to all the other inmates. I will be leaving soon, but to me it is still a long wait. After three and a half years, freedom is just a word until it happens. When I do walk out this gate, I will be walking out for the last time; I have been in and out of this prison a few times after being released and I have always said, I am not coming back. I have never met anyone incarcerated that did not say he was not coming back. No one really wants to come back once he/she has witnessed this system, but once they are out, they get so involved in the everyday activities (stealing, robbing and smoking) that he seems to forget about what he has been through. The second is usually a longer sentence than the first time, the second incarceration usually opens a lot of eyes up to the point they realize they can use their time planning a strategy to succeed in the dope business.

The system has all kind of dreamers, I guess I was a dreamer for a long time, I felt that selling drugs was my future. I could not see myself staying in school and working hard to succeed in life; I mean, I sold marijuana for years and I kept money in my pockets. I thought this was the way I was supposed to do it because I knew no other way. When you put years of incarceration under your belt, you begin to get tired, tired of sitting around watching time fly knowing you do not deserve this kind of life. I have been in school for sixteen months of my incarceration; I know that I need education to fulfill my dream. I want to be one of the best cosmetologists around; I want to have my own shops all over town. I know I can accomplish this through hard work, determination, and patience. Nothing worth having comes easy and when you give