Finally Free (23 page)

I guess he didn't trust this other person when they were making demands for large amounts of my money. But I gave this person orders to do so.

Maybe he saw potential problems and was trying to protect me. Maybe that was the reason, but no one told me. Still, there was no reason for him to seemingly disappear.

Ultimately, in 2009, a bankruptcy judge ordered me to follow the advice of a court-appointed financial consultant and repay my creditors $20 million. That's also when I had to surrender my assets, like the boats and houses. I was put on a budget. For
example, in 2010, I was given $300,000 to live on out of my $5.2 million salary with the Philadelphia Eagles. I don't mind living on a budget. It has helped me develop a better understanding about material things.

Money is still important. It's going to be important; you can't live without it. But I don't dwell on how much money I lost—particularly because I know I didn't spend it all, and I didn't put it all in jeopardy. I just look at it as making poor decisions in picking people to manage my money.

I don't live my life or play the game of football saying, “I need to make this much money.” I think about enjoying what I do, achieving success personally and professionally, then maybe the money comes later. I think you need that type of attitude, and within those guidelines, things happen.

Most of all, more than ever, I've come to understand that money comes from God as a blessing, and I need to be a good steward of what He gives me.

Part III:

The Redemption

Chapter Ten

Coming Home

“I became focused on being a family man.”

 

F
ree from Leavenworth, I was thrilled by the simplest sights as Kijafa and I drove home to Hampton, Virginia. It was one of the best days of my life—May 20, 2009.

Being on the open road after eighteen months in prison—simply seeing McDonald's and hotels—was like living a brand-new life. It was awesome. For almost two years, I was a caged bird. Now, I was free.

My probation officer called and asked us to drive straight home, which would take almost a full day. Already, my house in Virginia was surrounded by media awaiting my return.

I decided against the option to fly home or ride a bus, so Kijafa and I took turns driving. It went faster than you'd think. I was just so excited to get behind the wheel of a car. I wanted to do something different. I wanted to get away—to see the world, the trees, the interstate, and stop signs. I had to free up my mind and just enjoy life again.

In prison, I was so limited in the time I could talk with Kijafa, whether it was on the phone or during her twice-a-month visits. But now we had what seemed like endless time to share our thoughts and hearts with each other. We talked about me coming home and seeing our daughters and my son—the chance to get to know London, our youngest daughter, and to see how she would respond. I wondered if she would be receptive to me.

We talked about the jobs that were part of my release program—about me doing construction for a few weeks and going to work at the Boys & Girls Club. I knew the construction job was going to be different. It was going to be a humbling experience.

While driving through Indiana, we got out of the car and gazed at a cornfield in the middle of nowhere—just to look at things. Freedom felt so good.

I was intrigued just to be in the car again. It was great to work a CD player and listen to music. It was nice to find out what was going on in the world, in Kijafa's family and in my family—just things that were important. At the same time, I was in disbelief that I was out. I said to myself,
I can't believe I'm free! I can't believe I'm free!

Part of that freedom brought the opportunity to enjoy certain types of food—fun food—things I hadn't been able to eat in almost two years. Our first stop was a Pizza Hut in St. Louis. I ordered a pizza with cheese only. I like it plain. Later, we stopped at a Dairy Queen for a hot dog with chili, onions, ketchup, mustard, and relish—with French fries, of course. And the trip wouldn't have
been complete without a visit to McDonald's, where I ordered a Big Mac.

Kijafa kept getting phone calls on our trip back.

“Do you know what your house looks like outside?” friends asked, referring to the television trucks, reporters, and cameras sitting in the cul-de-sac in front of the house.

“I can only imagine,” she said. “I can only imagine.”

When we arrived, we had to pull right into the garage to dodge the media circus. I walked into the house and saw my daughters. I hadn't seen them in six months. It was an extraordinary moment.

Jada ran into my arms. “My baby!” I said, picking her up. “I missed my baby.” To be reunited with her seemed like I never left. She was three when I left and five when I came home.

London—who was two at the time—was only a month old when I went to prison, so she had no experience of me living at home as her father. It took her a few days to warm up to the idea. I had seen her only about five times during prison visits.

She was scared of me at first. She had only seen me behind the glass, and she would kiss the glass. Now, she didn't even recognize me. For the first two days, she didn't want to come to me. Kijafa was sad about it and cried. I remember picking London up when I first saw her, pointing at myself, and saying, “My daddy. My daddy,” trying to tell her who I was.

I figured it would just take time. It's like taking a child who's used to being in one house, and you put her in another house around a
totally different group of people. She's going to be shy unless she's extremely outgoing. It's just the way it is. Still, we wondered if I could ever make up for the two years of absence in her life.

I had to talk to her, kiss her, and let her know that Daddy was home. After about two days, I was chasing the kids around the house—not pushing London too much, just giving her space, but at the same time letting her know that I'm her daddy and that I love her. I'll never forget it; out of the blue, out of nowhere, she said, “I missed you, Daddy. Daddy, I missed you.”

She basically told me everything she had been feeling. She knew who I was. She didn't hear anyone else say that; it came from her. Right then and there, I resolved,
I can never leave my family again
. When London realized I was her father, it was one of the greatest moments of my life. This was where I was supposed to be.

It was great being around close friends again, like my pastor, Domeka Kelley. He visited me when I was at the Warsaw Regional Jail, and we wrote one another while I was in Kansas.

He has always looked out for what God wanted in my life. He was thrilled I was home, but he also knew it would be tough.

Pastor Kelley said in an interview: “I wanted [Michael] home, but I knew it was going to be a difficult road ahead of him. We live in a cruel world. I can't expect everyone to be forgiving. I knew society wasn't going to welcome him back or embrace him because of the mistakes he made. By the grace of God, he made it. One thing about Michael, he is tough.”

Being with Pastor Kelley in those early days after my release was key for me in my faith journey as I transitioned from being in prison to being back home. He gave me a Bible, one called a parallel Bible because it has two versions—in this case, the King James Version and the Amplified Bible—presented side-by-side so you can compare how the verses were translated. It meant a lot that he gave it to me and wanted me to believe it and understand it. He just wanted me to get closer to God. I try my best to read it regularly, and I can call him if I need help understanding something. Pastor Kelley likes to say we “dive” into the Scripture in order to gain a deep and lasting understanding.

He says he looks back on my life and thinks about the verse that says, “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God” (Matthew 19:24
KJV
). He understood the temptations I faced on a daily basis and the challenges that came with living a life in the spotlight.

I love Pastor Kelley. He has invested so much in me, my family, and my relationship with God. Like Coach Dungy, he has believed in me. I can tell you without a doubt that my faith in God is what's gotten me through everything I've endured.

Two months of home confinement was much better than prison. I liked being in the house. I could stay in the house all day and find a ton of things to do with my kids. My friends and brother would come over, and we would have a good time. But, make no mistake about it, it was confining.

I was only able to leave the house for work. I worked the construction job for about three weeks and later worked about three weeks more at a local Boys & Girls Club. I was getting paid and then donating the money right back to the Boys & Girls Club. It's something I enjoyed and still enjoy doing. And it was only fitting to be starting all over at the place that changed my life to begin with. Because of Mr. James “Poo” Johnson, my life stayed on the right track when I was younger, while so many of my peers strayed. And here we were again. Mr. Johnson and I were together.