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          Trill grew up in a poor, drug-ridden community in Baltimore Maryland, like many other children. Family nicknamed him " Piggy"! Although he didn't know he was poor because all of his needs were taken care of, food, shelter, clothing, toys and most of all unconditional love. He was a good and quiet baby, he only cried when he was hungry or wet. As his father, I was the one who got up in the middle of the night to feed and rock him back to sleep. It was my privilege to do so! Both his mother and I had drug addictions, but between his grandmother and us, there was no lack of anything, thank God.

          As he grew up, social toxins and adverse childhood experiences set in. I wasn't there to protect him as I should have been. I was off fighting my demons, so he wouldn't see the lifestyle that I lived. My insane way of "protecting" him. I would never leave him more than a few months at a time. I didn't care where he was, I went to get my baby! We had our bond, but my demons were keeping me occupied. We did get to travel the United States together, he, I and my other son.They were "Irish Twins", for one day they were the same age. Piggy was the oldest. During the summer I would take them both with me as I worked on a Magazine Crew. The summer before he died, he told me that those times together were the best days of his life.

           During my times of absence in his life as a youth, he joined a gang. He did what gangsters did. He went to juvie, he was in and out of prison as a young man and it became a way of life for him. His mother had three more children so he felt like he had to protect them and show them how to manuver the streets. Poor baby, he never had a chance, like so many other kids that are poor, black and in real trouble.

In 2015, I finally get clean and take up residence on Maryland's Eastern Shore, away from the madness of Baltimore City. Piggy got out of prison in June 2016 and had to beg him to come live with me. Which, eventually, he did. I was happy. Little did I know that he was not that misguided teenager I used to know! He was a 26 year old, who couldn't get a job and social services would only give him insurance, thanks to Obama! He had intestinal problems and could hardly eat. Prison food messed him up. He was "institutionalized", living life on life's terms was just too much for him. I took care of him. He was a man-child! I was working to be patient with and for him. He wanted a beer every morning to start his day. He would pop pills at times, smoke K-2 and some more stuff. He had quite a few full grown demons he battled daily, I stayed worried for him. I couldn't sleep until he came in, which was late most nights, if not all night. I would feed him and help him lie down. He said he wasn't going back to prison, he would die first. His probation officer would't let him work up the street in Delaware which is the only job The Salvation Army offered him. Trill was the epitome of what the "System" was designed to do to young black boys and men. It was destroying him! I was Chairman of the Trustee Board at Church and all I could do was pray and provide as God provided for me. I did get him in Church and he gave his life to Christ.

Whenever he wanted money I asked him to read a chapter out of the Bible out loud. Which he was delighted to do, to my surprise!

I wasn't afraid of him because I knew he wouldn't hurt me, but I was afraid of hurting him. Which I almost did. On November 8th, 2016; I went to jail for 30 days for 1st and 2nd degree assault. Which was thrown out eventually.

But the police was going to take one of us. So I went. My Brother died 5 days later of a heart attack! I was stuck in jail with a high bond. I finally got out the night of December 8th. The Church bailed me out. The next morning we, Piggy, his girl and myself were on our way across the Bay to get some closure with my family.

I dropped him off at his mother's on the west side, around 3:30 pm. I went to Aberdeen. I called him around 10 pm to say goodnight and to see where he was. He was with in the house with his mom. Little did I know that was the last time I would talk to him or even see him alive again, for that matter.

          The next morning I could not get up with him and no one had heard from him or knew where he was. His girl looked at the website MurderInc and a 26 year old man had been shot and killed on the east side in our old neighborhood. My heart broke instantly. I called the police and a detective asked me to describe some tattoo's and it was Piggy! My whole world fell apart in small little pieces! OMG!! (To hear more, you are going to have to buy my book) Demons In My Dungeon! An Autobiography of My Life. Thank you very much! Gregory E. Riddick, Sr.

(50% of the Books Proceeds Goes To Help Finance The Trill Foundation!)

Gregory E. Riddick, Jr.

08/14/1990 -12/10/2016

Street name: "Trill" or "P"