I am a criminal, I heard that so often that I believed it. My mother told me that my father was killed in a shootout with the police, so I grew up with this idea in my head of who I was based on things I was told. Turns out that my father died almost thirty years after my mother told me that he did. I grew up dirt poor and my step father was physically abusive to me and my sister. We moved to a new city every couple of years, I always felt that I did not fit in. Kids, being who they are, would tease me about my Goodwill clothes and my parents ugly car. I started to steal candy from the local store early on and I learned that if I gave candy to the kids that they would like me or at least pretend to. As I got older I began to associate money with acceptance. I never felt like I was good enough for people to just like me, so I bought friends often by stealing and hustling.