It's been a good while since I've sat down to do any writing of my thoughts. I'm sorry for the long delay. Since the last time I wrote, many things have taken place and changed. I've been moved around, and it took me a little time to get readjusted. There has been a feeling of change in the air around here, and so I have been trying to do what I can to help in that. It would seem that this would be the most unified place on earth, being that we are all facing a sentence of death, but the truth is that we are a very divided group. And some of us have even lost sight of why we are here. Now that's a thought, ain't it!!! But the truth of the matter is that it's easy to forget; some would rather forget because it's too hard to face the realities of life on death row for many…So some of us who have been here for a while and some who haven't are trying to open the eyes of everyone and get them to see that the way we are living is not the way…Right now, there is a movement of solidarity on death row…

We've had to deal with a few executions already this year, and there is a feeling that Texas will be trying to break it's own record this year. The idea that another state led the nation in executions last year don't sit well with this state in the least. So if in no other year, this is the year to try to bring death row together. One would think that after all these years on death row, having to deal with the loss of so many friends, it would become easier, that we would become 'desensitized,' but it has never gotten like that…Executions are very difficult, and sometimes I just think it actually gets harder to deal with…More so when we know the system in and out and know just how messed up the whole deal is. But then, that's now what I sat down to write about. Let me move on…

Ten years, ten whole years is how long I've been in this nightmare that has become my life. Throughout these long years I have often wondered about how and why my life could come to this, with me sitting on death row, waiting to hear news of my appeals or an execution date. That just about sums up what my life has become. In the meantime, I do other things, but the main thing at hand is that I am waiting to find out if they will go ahead and kill me or if I will receive a sentence of life somehow. My life, and I'm spending it in prison…

Throughout my life I've always felt that I've had some purpose of living, that God had placed me on this earth for a reason, that I was supposed to do something, that there was a reason for my living. I've always questioned that thought, wondering what it is that I am meant to do. I know that I can't be here for nothing, there has to be something that I am meant to do. But yet, at the same time, I've always felt feared that somehow I'd miss whatever it was that I was supposed to do, and then there would be no reason for my living. I have even wondered throughout the years if I was meant to spend my life on death row. I mean I'm here, and there has to be something to it all…But then I wonder how could my life come to this, for surely I'd much rather be free, living with my children, watching them grow, teaching them, protecting them. Just being a father to them…

I am one of the very rare death row inmates here in Texas. I am guilty of the crime of Capital Murder. I do not deny it and never have. I am not proud to be what some would call a killer. I have caused the death of only one person. No, I do not think that makes it less of a crime, but to say killer to me implies more than once. And that is not the case, although the D.A. working on my case would like the world to believe otherwise. Fact is, I've never been charged with, investigated of, or convicted of anything other than this violent crime.

But nevertheless, I did end up taking a life, and for that I understand that I should be punished. In the meantime, I want to somehow show others the path of life not to take, because like me, anyone could end up in prison or on death row. I don't know who'll end up reading these thoughts, but my hope is that in some way I can help someone stay clear, far clear of the criminal justice system.

As I look back on my life, I can't say that there was any one thing that led me to where I am today. I feel like it was more a series of events that med me into this. So it is my hope to try to build on the life that led me here, and then maybe someone will get to see how easy it is to see their dreams turn into nightmares…

I was born in 1973, and all that I know about my first few years of life was that I was a healthy child. I took sick and almost died when I was about 1 or 2 years old, but from talking with my mom I found out that it was something wrong with a batch of baby food, and that I wasn't the only child to get sick. I have the scars to this day showing where I had to be fed through my veins.

I was born to two young parents. Now looking back on the years, I find it hard to understand how their lives crossed. They were two very different people, even lived on different sides of town. But I guess the old saying "opposites attract" played a part in that union. My mom was the quiet schoolgirl type, so that tells you what my dad was…

Growing up, we had it rough, but not as hard as a lot of others from the ghetto. We were never able to stay in any one place for too long and moved often. I was told that my dad used to smoke weed and blow it in my face. This makes a child very tired, and so they'd get their kicks out of watching me walk about, falling down, and doing silly things until I went to sleep. I don't know when it stopped as I can't even recall it happening, but this is something I was told of.

Growing up, I guess I was like most children. I wanted to be like my dad who was a truck driver. I had dreams of growing up and having a family of my own. I had it all planned out in my mind too. I wanted a big house, a two-story house. All we ever lived in were apartments and small houses. So I wanted a big house. I wanted to have some children and I wanted to have four different cars. I wanted to have a truck for me to drive to work, that would be my work truck, and I wanted a car for myself. Back then I wanted a Cadillac or Lincoln, and I wanted to have a car for my wife so that she wouldn't have to worry about getting around. And finally I wanted to have one of those large custom vans. That was what I hoped to someday have…

What I didn't understand was that school was the key to getting that. I wasn't ever good in school. I don't know what it was, but for some reason school just never held my attention. Not even with the threat that I'd catch a whippin' come report card time or the fact that I'd get paid for each 'A' and 'B' I received. When it came close to time for report cards I'd try to get it right because I didn't want to get that whippin', but of course it was a little too latye to think about that. So I'd have to face the belt, and David Howard knew the fine skill of how to swing a belt. To this day I still have some marks on me from his belts, extension cord, and switches. One time he began to use tire rubber that he had cut out from one of those large trucking tires; I can say that he did try to be careful about how he hit us with that. Me and my cousin Melinda (who is like my older sister) caught some of that.

Anyway, I had my dreams of who I wanted to be, but like I said, I didn't understand that school was the key to becoming that so I never really cared for school. Other than not caring for school and getting whippin's all the time, I guess that I had an average childhood. That is, for a child living in the ghetto. By the way, that tire rubber didn't get used very long. While playing in the house one day, my cousin and I found it and hid it. The first time we hid it behind the washing machine, but something went wrong with the washing machine and my dad found it. We got it shortly after and hid it again. I think we found a way to get it inside one of the washroom walls, but I am not sure.

Things began to look up for my mom and dad when one of my aunties who owns diesel lent one to my dad. Now, having a truck, he was able to pick and choose his work and got better pay for that. We were able to move out from living with my dad's mother who we had been living with for about six months or so after my dad had fallen on some hard times. We moved into this nice-sized home which my mom and dad planned to buy. Life at this place was good as far as I was concerned, but then I wasn't but around eight or nine at this time (maybe close to ten, I really can't recall.) I had a nice-sized playhouse in the backyard and was learning, with my dad's guidance, how to work on 'his' truck; not all things, but he was teaching me and having me do certain jobs on the truck whenever he would come home. He got me a go-cart, I'll never forget that thing. It was the Lime Limo, a two-seater. And talking about having some fun on that thing, I had major fun with it. But still I wasn't doing all that good in school, so when the chain broke my dad figured that he would leave it broken for a while as a punishment.

And it stayed in the backyard by the playhouse until mid-summer. That is until the date of my birthday. My dad had told me that he was going to take me to the wrestling, but before it was time for us to go, he surprised me by telling me to go get the go-cart so that he could fix it. Running for all I was worth, I went to get it, but when I got there it wasn't where it was supposed to be, I couldn't believe it! So I went and asked my dad where it was, had he moved it or something? He came back with me and I showed him that it was not there. Well, it was clear to him that it had been stolen, but for me I continued to look for it; I even looked under the house for it a few times. I just didn't want to accept the fact that it was gone.