Jared Villery - A Path to Redemption
Chapter 1: One Man’s Story of Evolution, from Young Thug to Warrior Scholar
This is a guest post from Jared Villery, a man with whom I bonded instantly from the moment I met him. You will read some of Jared’s writing here, and you will see him make an impact in California and beyond in the years to come as he walks his Path to Redemption. — Justin
In many ways, my story is both unique and all too common. Excluding that of the Menendez brothers, few tales begin in Beverly Hills and land in the place where I spent more than half of my life. I'm a California native who spent over twenty years in prison for a crime I did not commit. Few people, including myself, could've looked at my beginning and predicted where my path would lead.
Born in Los Angeles, I spent the first nineteen years of my life in Beverly Hills, surrounded by wealth typically reserved for the silver screen. Raised in a family of modest means, this juxtaposition played a significant role in my life going awry. Most of us strive for acceptance in our youth—that's no secret—and I was no different. Growing up in an enclave of the world's elite, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I wore cheap clothes, lived in a one-bedroom apartment with my parents and little sister, and was picked up from school in a family car that was always older than me (and far more broken down). I was the polar opposite of those around me and never fit in, leading to significant bullying in my early years and acting as a catalyst for my anger and resentment towards those around me.
One thing about me? I've always been tough, much tougher than I had any right to be. I channelled this strength into fighting—growing to be feared, if not always liked. The distinction between “like” and fear held little difference when, in the end, I was accepted and respected. I was the person you'd much rather have as an ally than an enemy, which was fine by me. I also grew into a skilled basketball player, eventually contributing to my acceptance by those I despised. But, as I approached my teens, it wasn't enough for me. I wanted more. I wanted what those around me had. The problem with my desires was that they required a lot of money, and without the privilege that was seemingly the birthright of my peers, I had to find another way. If you can picture a naive fifteen-year-old trying to make money fast, I'm sure you can imagine how this chapter in my life led me down a dark path.
It was never that I was inherently bad—few kids are. In fact, I didn't fit in because of my substance and integrity. One of my dad's favorite lines, which sticks with me to this day, was his definition of integrity. He described it as "the change you give a blind man." I spent most of my childhood around my father and other adults, becoming more serious than the average kid my age. I didn't agree with or understand what motivated my peers to tease others, which played a part in my role as an outcast. But as I grew angrier, I largely suppressed a better side of myself. Coupled with my immaturity, I began to believe I was invincible. Stupid choices couldn't be stupid because I was slick enough to outsmart school officials and the law.
My metamorphosis into the worst version of myself didn't happen all at once. It was more of a cascade of events ending in the loss of my athletic pursuits. At fifteen, playing for my high school basketball team, I also happened to be a talented quarterback. I had a sit-down conversation with the varsity basketball and football coaches. They saw my potential and conveyed in no uncertain terms that if I wanted to make the varsity basketball team by sophomore year, I had to become a three-sport athlete, which included joining the football team. The up-and-coming quarterback on the freshman squad left much to be desired, and they wanted to build someone up for varsity over the next year. I was that person. Of course, I was on board, but the final choice wasn't mine to make. A parent had to sign a liability waiver if I were to play football, and my pops wasn't going for it.
To be clear, this is not an assignment of blame against my dad. My father is the best man I will ever know, and he was overly cautious. He loved me. And the last thing he was going to do was risk his only son being severely injured, especially when health insurance was a luxury that we could not afford. Once the coaches understood that I wouldn't be allowed to play football, they gave up on me, claiming that I lacked the dedication of a true athlete. I went from starting small forward to sixth man to barely getting any playing time. I was cut from the team by the beginning of my sophomore season. This was it, this was my true breaking point. I'd lived for basketball since the age of six, and in an instant, all of my dreams surrounding my athletic abilities evaporated. I no longer saw any reason to live a clean life, so I decided to start smoking weed.
Obviously, weed in and of itself isn't exactly a gateway to criminal activity like the media of old would have you believe—despite the best efforts of Reefer Madness. My problem is my inherent entrepreneurial spirit. Weed presented me with the product I'd long sought to provide a means of making money quickly. Some might find it humorous, but after buying my very first sack of chronic at fifteen, I turned right back around and sold it to a friend of mine. Only after smoking some of it myself, of course. Within a few months, I was selling regularly, making thousands of dollars a week. As such stories usually go, someone eventually snitched, leading to my arrest at school and my later expulsion.
One would think this shocking turn of events would have scared me straight, right? I obviously don't come from a dysfunctional family, well, at least not that dysfunctional. My neighborhood was not one plagued by crime. Plus, I'm more intelligent than many and modest to a fault. Alas, my delusions of invincibility persisted. I was convinced I could do things better, be more cautious about who I did business with, and avoid keeping large quantities on me. All the things that dealers believe will make them untouchable. Suffice it to say, I wasn't the only person in the history of the world who'd figured out the perfect way to sell drugs—far from it.
For the next four years, I continued selling, occasionally adding mushrooms and ecstasy to the inventory. I was arrested several more times for possession and possession with the intent to distribute, among other things. The damnedest thing about it was that every time I was arrested, the charges would end up getting dropped because of some fuck up by the cops. This did not help to minimize my belief that I was untouchable. Despite all of the arrests, along with a second expulsion during my junior year (yes, you heard that right), I continued down the road to perdition.
Between the ages of sixteen and seventeen, I got the great idea that it would be just brilliant to begin robbing other drug dealers. I can't say this was motivated by any outside influences. Rather, it stemmed from the progressive warping of my inner moral values. As someone who sold drugs, I understood that there were certain risks one had to accept if they wanted to "play the game." Chief among those risks was the ever-present chance that someone would try to swindle you out of your product. This came with the territory. By extension, my logic led me to the conclusion that since drug dealers accept this risk and are already morally questionable, it would be okay for me to be the one who robbed them. It all cancelled each other out, like some screwed-up version of Robin Hood. Only, instead of giving my ill-gotten gains to the poor, I used them to elevate my own iniquities.
For several years, I lived a high life, partying all the time and sleeping with lots of women. I thought I had it made. But remember, as Murphy's Law says, "If something can go wrong, it will." Man, is that ever true. As I approached my eighteenth birthday, I started to have serious reservations about engaging in robberies, but I still wanted the benefits. My solution: Sell fake weed. Just remember, Karma's a bitch, and this is just the beginning of the tale that led to my unjust incarceration.
Stay tuned.
— Jared Villery
Instagram: @creole__lawman