What triggered me to sell drugs, and break the law? Influence! That’s a strong word when growing up poor, and seeing family and friends living a better life than you – and wanting to be like them.
The summer of 1986, I was 11 going on 18. I was 6’0”, 190 lbs., and had a mustache. I had developed as a man. I had a fake ID from one of my cousins saying that I was 17. I knew how to drive, but was missing something…MONEY! Living in a low-income neighborhood, you see it’s all about prostitutes, murder, stealing, drug dealers.
My father worked, and made enough money to pay the bills. But we stayed broke. My mother worked jobs here and there, but primarily stayed home with my brother. All my older cousins had nice cars, designer clothing, pretty girls chasing them, and pockets full of money. My mind told me, “Leonard, go to your cousins, and ask them to put you on, and let you sell drugs with them.” I wanted to, but knew both my parents would put their foot in my behind, and I would taste shoe polish for years to come.
One Saturday night as I laid in bed contemplating how I was going to get into the drug game, I overheard my parents arguing. My mother was complaining that she wanted a new TV, and that my brother and I needed new school clothing for the school year that was about to start. My father tried to explain how his job worked him like a slave, and wasn’t paying him what they should. But my mother broke down, and I heard my father, in defeat, say that he would sign up for overtime. I could tell that his spirit was crushed, because he knew deep down that he had to find a second job. My mother didn’t get her new TV, but my brother and I got what she could afford of school clothing and supplies.
That overheard conversation changed my life, and motivated me to do something. It was the start of the entrepreneur in me. The next day, I went to one of my older cousins, and asked him to front me some crack. I flipped it five times, paid my cousin back, and started buying my own. I knew from watching other young street hustlers that I didn’t want to be working on street corners, or in a crew, as I didn’t want to report to anybody. Plus, I wanted to be my own boss. There were enough drug addicts in my neighborhood to make money, and I knew most of them. In no time I had the new Jordans, new clothes, and a new bike car. The police would drive my streets, but I knew when they were coming as other hustlers would yell, “5-0!” My parents never knew of my illegal activities, because I hid my new clothing in the bushes after school, and kept my same profile with them 24/7.
Six months passed. I was at home on the couch watching TV. I heard a car pull up, and I started to smile. I ran outside to my parents, who had just came back from the store, and said, “Mom, Dad! Look what I found in the trash dumpster!” My father’s eyes got big, and my mother stood there just shaking her head.
I handed my father $1,000 with mustard and ketchup stains all over it. I had to make it look like it came out of the trash can. I don’t condone selling drugs, or breaking the law, and I can’t change my past life. But the look on my mother’s face was priceless when my father bought her a new TV!
Advocate/Mentor
Leonard E. Love
