I dedicate this book to Junior.

If your bike was left in front of the store for more than five minutes, it was gone.

Junior and Robert were Batman and Robin in the neighborhood. They stole so many bikes that they ended up with five different bikes, all mismatched. They didn’t want anyone to recognize the bikes they stole, so they broke them down and rebuilt them with mixed parts.

Nothing was better than a long bike ride on a hot summer day with a quarter juice, a bag of Dipsy Doodles or Doritos, a brownie, and a pack of Now and Later candies. Everything felt free. Who needed money when you could just walk into the store and take what you wanted?

Robert had a strategy: “When you go into the store, don’t look around. Just snatch the candy real fast. Don’t even stop. If you see what you want going down the aisle, that’s the only time you look.

But on your way back, just grab it…don’t look around. Put it right in your pocket.” This was before cameras. All you had to worry about was the store clerk. And it was easy to stay out of their view.

Even though they didn’t have cameras, Junior and Robert still got caught a few times. But back in the early ’90s, when you were 10 or 11 years old, they’d just take you to the station, call your parents, and let you go. But when things went smoothly, it was all part of the rush, the excitement.

Robert was Junior’s first role model, the first person he looked up to. Even though Robert taught Junior the wrong things, Junior was just excited to have someone by his side someone to give him a sense of direction. Because before that, Junior had never had any positive or negative male influences. And at 10 or 11 years old, you don’t really know what a negative influence is. Junior was in desperate need of mentorship, bonding, and connection.

One summer day, Junior and Robert went into an A&P store to steal some candy bars.

Everything went smooth…in and out really fast without a care in the world…until Junior took a quarter and went into a laundromat to get some gum. They had on Jason masks. The clerk, startled by two masked kids, just so happen to call the police.

Unaware of the situation, Junior and Robert slipped through a hole in a gate behind the laundromat, which led to the next block. They heard the sound of walkie talkies. Robert turned and said, “Hey! They called the police!”

They ran.

Their getaway route took them into the sewer, something they had done many times before. The sewer led them a block closer to home, and they knew the way like the back of their hands. They ran with candy in their pockets, breathing hard, heart pounding. Freedom.

As Robert jumped over a rock, water splashed the bottom of his sneaker. He landed on a dry spot. Junior tried to do the same, but slipped on the slick green moss, falling hard into the water and hitting his head.

Dizzy, lying in the sewer water with it splashing against his shirt and hair, Junior looked up to see Robert’s concerned face. Robert rushed to pull him up, not quite a hug, but close. A simple gesture, but for Junior, it meant the world. No one had ever shown up for him like that

Later, Robert would tease him: “Man, you hit the ground so hard and just laid there with your hands open like you wanted a hug, saying, ‘My head hurts.’ It was so funny, you should’ve seen it.” It was embarrassing.

But in that moment, Junior felt seen. Cared for.

But the freedom was short lived. The police figured out where the sewer let out and by the time Junior and Robert ran home, the cops were right behind them, grabbing them by their shirts and carrying them out of the house. Just another day in Junior’s life.

The same Junior who walked around with holes in his sneakers, not because they were worn out, but from stopping his bike with the soles of his shoes, because many of their stolen, mismatched bikes had no brakes.

He would press the back of his foot to the tire to stop, and it burned a hole through the bottom of his sneaker.

And that quarter juice? It wasn’t just to drink; it was the juice carton he’d wedge into the back tire so his bike would sound like a motorcycle when he rode down a hill. That sound, that ride, that was his escape.

So maybe you would’ve looked at Junior and said he was a bad kid. Maybe you’d say he wasn’t the kind of young man you’d want your children hanging around.

But here’s the deeper truth. The reason I know so much about Junior is because Junior is me.

I was the little boy…the young man running from pain. From heartbreak. From the feeling that didn’t matter. Everything I did on the outside was me trying to escape what I was feeling inside.

I was named after my father. That’s why they called me Junior. But for me, “Junior” carries the weight of everything I had to endure. There’s something about the house you grow up in.

I always say: your household will have a hold on you for the rest of your life.

I still remember the sounds. The music. The visuals. My mother in her favorite polka dot shirts, dancing to her record player: “I’m not your superwoman…” “Friday night just got paid…” That was the soundtrack to my earliest pain. I had no father. No face. No emotion. No connection to the man who created me. I loved him, and I hated him at the same time. I hated the void. The emptiness. The not being chosen. The not feeling loved.

I hated feeling forgotten.

The only time I consistently heard the word “love” was when my mother was beating me. “I’m doing this because I love you.” I understand her now. But back then? That kind of love didn’t make sense. I wasn’t allowed to cry. I wasn’t allowed to feel. If I did cry, she’d beat me until I stopped. My voice was taken, and my emotions were trapped in my body. Even on one of the most traumatic days of my life. I was molested on my way to school. I never said a word.

I held it in until I was 24 years old. That pain still lives with me.

When the little boy is healed, the man will show up.

We can’t erase our pain. We can’t erase our feelings. We can’t erase the emptiness. But this book? This book gives Junior a voice.

Junior represents every little boy in the world and every man who still has a broken little boy inside of him. This book is the clarity. The closure. The insight I never had. The words I needed to hear. The understanding that would’ve changed everything.

Every page, every word, was written with intention to help you understand body language is a conversation. It’s easy to judge someone’s behavior. But when you take the time to have empathy, to listen, to look deeper, you’ll begin to understand why someone shows up the way they do.

These are my tears, written out loud. To help every man and every young man find their voice.