I grew up in a town called Yakima, and as a kid I always wanted to be like my brother. Everything he did, I did, and I followed him everywhere even though he didn't like it very much.

I was about 12 when I got into gangs. At first I was just hanging out with them because all my brother's friends were members. I thought they were cool, beating up people, not going to school, and staying out late. I wanted to be just like them, so on my thirteenth birthday, I told my brother I wanted to get into his gang. He told me no but I didn't listen. I went to his friend's house and told him I wanted to get in. When he asked if my brother knew what I was doing, I lied and told him he did.

So he called up some of his friends. By the time they got there I was thinking about forgetting the whole thing, but if I did, they would think I was a punk. When they took me into the back yard, I knew what was going to happen. I had seen what happened when other kids got into the gang, and it didn't look like fun. They surrounded me and told me that when I get in the gang, I'm in for life. And then all of a sudden, somebody punched me in the face. I fell down. I thought about just lying there and letting them beat me up, but I'd been told that if I fall down to get right back up. So I did. Every time I got knocked down, I got up. I was starting to think that they weren't going to stop until they killed me. After a while, they let me up.

I wasn't sure if I should keep punching or if it was over. I got up, and everybody just stood there looking at me. I guess they expected me to cry. Finally the leader shook my hand and said I was one of them now and there was no turning back. They asked me what I wanted to be called. I told them I wanted to be called Smokey, but they said I would have to be Little Smokey until I earned my stripes.

I didn't want to go home, because I knew by then my brother had heard. Sure enough, he was waiting and started yelling but I ignored him. I tried to walk away, but he grabbed me and said, "You want to be down for the gang? Then come outside and fight me." I knew my brother would beat me up, but I also knew that if I backed down, my brother would tell everybody.

So I worked up the guts to go outside. Just as I got off the porch, we started fighting. I got beat up, of course. Afterward, he told me I didn't know what I had gotten into. The next morning I woke up so sore I could barely get out of bed, and from then on I was going out to beat people up and get beat up. I thought it was a game at first, but I was wrong.

I knew that I had messed up, but there was nothing I could do. I was in for life. The first time I started thinking about getting out was when I got hit in the head with a rock. I spent a day in the hospital. I made a promise to my mom that I would get rushed out, but I didn't.

A week later I was out there just like before: drugs, partying, not coming home. I thought I was bad. This went on for two years.

I had just turned 15 when I came home one night, and my mom was in the hospital. I figured she was sick, but it was me who had put her there - she'd had a nervous breakdown.

It was then that I realized what I was doing not only affected me but those who cared about me. I stayed in the hospital that whole day apologizing to her, but those were just words. So I told myself I would not do any more of this crap. I was tired of hurting my family, and the person I love the most, my mom.

The day my mom got out of the hospital, I went to one of my homie's house. I asked him to call a meeting, so he did. I told all of them what I was going to do. I already knew what they had to do, so I took off my sweater and started throwing punches. This time it was worse than getting in. There were a lot more people beating me up. They weren't going to stop. My brother had to stop them. I got up off the floor, smiled at them, and said good-bye.

It wasn't the last time I got beat up by them. Every time they saw me, they'd call me a ranker and start beating me up. This went on for about two months, and finally it just stopped. I'm glad I'm out of the gang. I don't have to watch my back all the time. I can talk to anyone I want, and most of all, I made my mom proud.

So when you think about getting into a gang, think before you act. If you join a gang because you feel that you're not wanted, don't believe yourself because it's going to get you six feet underground.