Our biological mother was using crack while pregnant with us and didn’t see a doctor until she went into labor. She didn’t even know she was carrying twins. I was born first, and moments later, the doctors discovered my brother Tavon stuck under her rib cage.
We each weighed about two pounds—so small, the doctors said, we could have fit together in a shoebox. Tests showed we had been exposed to crack in the womb. DSS immediately stepped in, preventing our mother from taking us home. We spent the next two years in foster care while our biological family fought for custody, but eventually, we were adopted by the Woods family.
A lot of people assume adoption is a happy ending for kids in foster care, but that wasn’t the case for us. Our childhood with our adoptive family was filled with fear and pain. We experienced physical and verbal abuse, were never given a voice, and never once heard the words “I love you.” It felt like we existed only as a paycheck. We were too young and too scared to tell anyone what was happening at home.
We had countless unanswered questions. In our minds, we created a story: our mom was white, and she lived in Alaska. But beyond that, we didn’t know who we really were, where we came from, or what our biological family was like. We didn’t even know much about our adoptive family beyond the abuse.
I tried to take my own life multiple times. I couldn’t bear the pain, the constant feeling of being unwanted, but I always stopped myself—I couldn’t leave my brother alone with them. By the age of 11, we were smoking and drinking to numb the hurt. By 18, we were selling drugs. We were drowning in unresolved pain, and we did anything we could to mask it: reckless drinking, drugs, casual sex—anything to survive the emptiness inside.
In 2016, tragedy struck again. Our younger brother was shot and killed at just 17. The loss shattered us. Hoping for a fresh start, we moved to Georgia, but we quickly got entangled in gang life. We witnessed shootings, had guns pointed at us, and came dangerously close to losing our lives. Then one day, our sister and brother-in-law invited us to church. We had been about to smoke, but we decided to go with them.
Everything changed in that moment. Meeting God gave us direction we had never had before. We realized we were loved in a way no human could ever offer, and slowly, He began filling the emptiness in our hearts. He also brought loving people into our lives who chose to become family.
After leaving the street life, I worked a series of jobs. One day, at a car dealership, I shared my story with the Wilkinson family while selling them a car. They were moved to tears, and we instantly connected—like the family bond I had always dreamed of. For my birthday, they took me out to dinner, and from that day forward, they adopted me into their family. I now spend holidays with them, and my children will never know the absence of family. It was an overwhelming and emotional experience—finally, love I had never received before.
Through them, I gained a mom and dad, brothers and sisters, and a niece. I gained the family I had imagined as a child. Their love showed me that family isn’t defined by blood or skin color—it’s defined by love.
Now, I see our story as a gift meant to bring hope. I often say, “I used to sell dope, now I sell hope.” We survived unimaginable pain and unanswered questions, and today, we know who we are: beloved sons of the King. And we want every child in foster care, every child feeling unloved and unwanted, to know the same truth.
Growing up without a family means there is no one to advocate for you, no one to shield you from abuse or neglect, no one to cheer you on, no one to celebrate your milestones. It’s why too many kids in foster care end up trafficked, incarcerated, or dead. It’s why children age out of the system without anyone to call family.
My brother Tavon and I are committed to being the voice for these powerless kids. Our mission is to build the largest facility in the world for children in foster care—a place where they can finally just be kids, feel safe, and experience love. We refuse to stand by while children suffer under a failing system. There is hope for a better future, and by any righteous means necessary, we will bring it to them.
