When I look at the picture of the boy smiling, I can't help but remember how I became friends with his mother. She read about my case in the S.F. Weekly about three years ago. She wrote a letter to the governor expressing her support for my parole and to me. We started corresponding. Then, she came to visit me in prison with her husband and son.
Friendships like that have shown me the beauty of the world. How can I ever go bad?