by Larry Hernandez
Not long ago walking back to our housing unit, fresh from a lifer group meeting, a friend of mine asked a very serious question. He wanted to know, “How do you do it? I mean forgive after that?!” You see, we’ve all got a past. Unfortunately, mine defined me for most my life. But not anymore. In response to the homie’s questions, I had to first understand where he’s coming from. Like me he’s been incarcerated for nearly 25 years, was arrested as a teenager and spent the majority of the years on level IV prison yards. We share a lot more in common, but the one thing I have to emphasize is the mentality we are all too familiar with.
Prison culture groomed us for many years. Bringing us back to the question: How do you do it? Forgive? It’s almost impossible when you’re consumed in a lifestyle where there’s no room for weakness. However, what one may view as weak, another may see as strength, you tell me?
There are scars from my past I’m still learning to deal with. Suppressing them for so long only scare away any opportunity of a second chance. As a kid I didn’t know how to deal with being molested by a family member. Nor did I understand why my parents did nothing about the situation. My dad knew. Instead, as a boy, I had lost my voice, had no self-confidence, lost trust in the most important people in my life and ran from the truth – immerging myself into seclusion within a few years I had become disconnected, rebellious and accepted failure from the fifth grade on forward.
By age eleven I discovered how to deal with the emptiness within. Experimenting with drugs and alcohol. A year later the flood gates were opened. Mom busted us partying one evening. She didn’t even trip though. Her exact words were “Well, at least you’re doing it indoors rather than on the streets.” We proceeded, partying with mom for the following years to come. There was no foreseeable second chance in my future, life and drug use continued to worsen.
So how did I get or give that second chance? How could I forgive? Well, the situation would have to get worse before getting better. A hostile household is a set up for failure (I think) in that kid’s future. Failure isn’t the end of the road though. Second, third, fourth and even fifth chances will be there. I was simply too young, dumb and blind to seize the opportunities.
By age twelve I despised dad, didn’t respect mom, and could care less for the next person. Dad’s abuse toward mom and my four other siblings sent me into a world of anger and bitterness. The sad part is I chose to remain in that element out of spite.
I was all the more happy when mom divorced dad, keeping my sister and I with her. No way now. How did I believe dad deserved a second chance? Even then I was lying to myself, I still loved him, yet hated the fact I was incapable of voicing how severely hurt I was over his negligence in providing care or support after the molestation I suffered, a real dad would’ve (fill in the blank).
Life went on. Living with mom had it’s benefits. No boundaries. She couldn’t control me, although she tried. Our addictions dictated our relationship. Smoking P-Doos with mom became the norm. At times we couldn’t stand each other. Just to avoid her, my sister and I would climb up on the garage roof to hide and get high.
Eventually we became fed up and moved in with dad after this big fight sis and mom had. I lasted with dad for about a year. Neither one of us knew how to repair our relationship. Instead, we always resorted to violence.
A couple years later my dad would share something with my judge (who sentenced me to LWOP) that I’ll never forget. Dad wrote “I wish I had raised my son to fear God, rather than fear me.” My dad had given plenty chances. But in my own selfishness I chose not to forgive. I got kicked out of his house in 1993. The only chance I saw fit was calling and asking the homie if I could stay with him for a while.
Around this time, I had another brother who was locked up, who was due to get out in a short time. A lot of the homies would always play saying, “wait till your bro gets out, he’s going to smash you for hanging around us.” What did I care though? I was finally at home, away from those who had harmed me. Furthermore, I was hanging with my brother’s crew who were laying me up right. What could go wrong?
Well, upon his release nothing went wrong. Mom and I were there to pick him up, not knowing dad would be there too. If looks could kill, ‘cause we sure as hell weren’t speaking. I got to spend a brief moment with my bro’, handing him a wad of cash before he headed off with dad.
Later on that day we met up in the hood, I thought for sure this was the moment he’d check me, no longer allowing me to kick it with the fellas. Instead he says “you know there’s no turning back now, right?” He obviously didn’t know just how far along I had become. In that instant I couldn’t of been more relieved and happy to have my bros’ approval. I had chosen a path. One which included my big bro. I felt like he had given me a chance. A chance I wasn’t about to screw up.
You know what’s crazy? My brother and I got to spend nearly two years together before getting arrested. I can only recall fragments in that duration when we were actually having fun playing sports, at arcades, or at family members’ houses for an occasion. Most of the time we were lost in drunkenness and smoking P-Dogs – getting wasted – slanging and bangin’. It got to the point where my body could no longer tolerate “rock,” I had to quit smoking P-Dogs ‘cause I’d gag and vomit upon each exhale. My bro kept going though. Because I was three years younger than him, I didn’t have the sense, courage or rank to check him. Instead, I became an enabler. He could always stay at my pad, borrow money, dope or whatever. I loved him. He was my bro and homie. I couldn’t let him down. We had each other’s back, right? Absolutely not.
On June 9th 1995, we were arrested for felony murder of a peace officer. An unforgiving crime. I took away an innocent man’s life who was only performing his duty. Took him away from family, his fiancé, friends, an entire police department and community. I cannot fix that. Because I damaged and inflicted so much pain, I received the same in return. It was very difficult to endure this type of abuse. There was only one way I knew how to deal with it. Like before, to suppress all the pain, anger, shame and guilt – everything. Eventually I became numb to the situation – a dangerous place to be. Remorseless without emotion. As a kid I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, so why even bother. I knew I was going to prison for the rest of my life. Could it get any worse? It sure did. Months after our arrest, my “big” brother took a deal and testified against me and another co-defendant. That one hurt.
How do I forgive? I mean to forgive, including being forgiven. Because I chose neither for so long. I deprived myself of a healing process long overdue. Sticking to my guns trusting nobody, trying to figure things out on my own proved to be a waste of time. Things only got darker and deeper. I was a lost soul swimming in the depths of addiction and depression. I thought my walls were impenetrable, that I could keep pushing. Little did I know God had plans for me all along. The crazy part is the homie, Tony (A true friend), began sending chaplains to my door. Of course none of this occurred overnight. For two years I battled not wanting to let go of all the anguish that controlled most of my life. I had become so accustomed to it, it became part of me. I allowed my past to define me.
I had no real identity. “A solid homie” what does that really mean? On 04/17/17 I broke down in tears as I accepted Jesus, becoming a born again Christian.
I now understand what it means to be forgiven. I understand how He works by placing many people in my path, trusting I wouldn’t be judged when I finally opened up about my past and present. He showed me how to unburden, how to move forward and most importantly – how to live. It’s a process I am working to this date.
I’ve since apologized to my parents, brothers, and several family members for my actions against them, forgiving all those who offended me in the past. There was no use in carrying the pain around all these years. In forgiving others you’ll discover chances increase by way of healing and being able to demonstrate to other they also deserve a chance. Rehabilitation requires great effort and work. Because I have been given another chance, I am honored to share with other men the approach and course that can be set in overcoming obstacles.
I had to forgive in order to mature. I had to forgive in order to let go. Forgiveness meant reconciliation. Had I not, there’d be no accountability, no growth, no real relationships, no love, no rehabilitation, no future, whoever may be reading this today, whatever your situation may be. Always remember “you are loved” and worthy of another chance. We all are. Something awesome reaffirmed my faith today, “one of the most positive things you can do with your hurting is help someone else.” Your chances are endless when you forgive. I know….
Peace and Blessings.