I was definitely a changed man, or so I was convinced. My heart was good now, I knew it and when someone said other I just felt like breaking down. My days in the gang, 18^th Street Latinos, was over.

            I had done bad things as a youngster. I started out slinging drugs and beating people up. I was as loyal as they came in my teen years. Soon I became a man and at 20 years old I killed my first man, and I was proud.

            Now thinking of the 50 some people I removed from LA permanently scared my soul, and it wasn’t the kind of scar that healed. I hadn’t even been to the hood in 6 months since my friends killed the two black guys on the bypass, and the Cee guy who slung drugs.

            It was hard being Latino and a former gangster but the church completely changed my life, and the day I went back to the hood I remembered all the pain I inflicted on people.

            It was a warm June day. Not hot enough to be miserable but warm enough to make you say you where thankful for being alive. My 4 year old daughter and my 7 year old son where riding with me to their grandmothers house.

            Jason remembered his daddy being a gangster, but know that I was in his life more as a positive influence, he has had a better attitude. Jasmine, my daughter, was young and innocent and always made me forget my past.

            I was at a stop light whenever an old friend of mine approached me, and all I wanted him to do was keep walking.

            “ Pedro Ganzaga. What is up hombre.” He asked.

            He said hello to my kids and asked if I was doing well know. While he asked I noticed a black gangster approaching. Then one from behind. Then one from the street beside us. I panicked and hit the gas.

            The one in front shot and it hit my shoulder, and I wrecked into a wall. “ Get down kids” I yelled.

            My arm was bleeding and it hurt horribly. All I thought of at that minute was my kids. My daughter screamed and cried, and Jason got in the back to comfort her. I had a gun in case of emergencies in the back, and with my good arm I grabbed it.

            I hadn’t held a gun since the night I killed those two black gangsters in a car wreck, and their drug dealing homie was the last person I shot. I aimed the gun at one of the blacks and the shot me in the chest. My aim was still good and I hit one in the head. My friend I had ran off from lay in the street dead, shot three or four times.

            The blood poured and I was just worried bout protecting Jason and Jasmine. They where my life. Someone shot my hand and I dropped the gun and fell to my knees. I heard Jason yell for his daddy and I began to cry.

            I tried crawling to the car, but I was shot in the leg when I got there. The three blacks still alive ran to my car and opened the door. They dragged out Jason and Jasmine.

            “ NO PLEASE LET THEM GO.” I yelled and pleaded. One shot Jasmine and the other shot Jason twice. I began to bawl. It was like my whole life had been stripped from me. I could see the torment on Jason’s face and I couldn’t believe what was happening.

            One of the gangsters kicked me to my back and held a gun at face.

            “ You remember me? You thought I was dead. You caused T to kill himself and thought I died in the crash. When I got out of that coma I swore you would die, and it looks like I got more than I bargained for.” He said. All I could do was cry. My past choices had killed my kids. My beautiful, precious, innocent, good hearted, young kids. They didn’t ask for daddy to be a gangster or to kill people. And now I had caused their death.

            The gun barrel was at my head. “ Payback sucks, don’t it hombre.”

            LA heard another gunshot, and I joined my kids once again.