After Hunter Biden was found guilty Tuesday on two counts of falsely claiming he wasn’t a drug user when he purchased a gun and one count of illegally possessing a gun while using a narcotic, he issued a statement that said, in part, “Recovery is possible by the grace of God, and I am blessed to experience that gift one day at a time.” President Joe Biden separately issued a statement in support of his son, and what touched me most about it was his focus not on where Hunter Biden was in 2018, when he committed those crimes, but where he is now. As he eloquently put it: “So many families who have had loved ones battle addiction understand the feeling of pride seeing someone you love come out the other side and be so strong and resilient in recovery.”
I have known many Hunter Bidens in my lifetime. I was a Hunter Biden.
I have known many Hunter Bidens in my lifetime. I was a Hunter Biden. And I have been blessed to have a father who stood by me the same way Hunter Biden’s father has stood by him.
I was introduced to cocaine in 1981 in a dorm room at Howard University, the mecca of higher learning, and I did not stop using it until my last prison bid ended in 2000. I used it and sold it, all at the same time. I often tell people I went to the other Howard University, the one Ta-Nehisi Coates barely mentions in his widely acclaimed book “Between the World and Me.” When I was on campus, there was an invisible subculture fueled by a fascination with cocaine. It was accepted until it wasn’t.
I dropped out of college to sell drugs full time. Not even the murder of one of my closest friends, who was robbed of his supply in a Northwest D.C. apartment, shot seven times in the face with a .357 and then electrocuted in bathtub, gave me pause. I was not deterred when 10 men kicked in the door, pointed guns at me and my friend and robbed us of $15,000 in a run-down apartment in Miami. The lies I told my father — fictional stories of who I thought he wanted me to be — only complicated our relationship.
The truth is I stayed in denial even after I was convicted of three felony counts of theft and served 18 months in Fairfax County, Virginia. At that sentencing, my dad came from Birmingham to let me know he had not given up on me. In return, I promised I’d never be placed in a cell again. I knew he was terribly disappointed. I also knew he wanted to believe every lie I told him.
It wasn’t until years later, when I was sitting in a jail cell in Montgomery County, Maryland, facing nearly 15 years, did I even think about trying to change. Cocaine had that much of a hold on my life.
My father, a well-respected high school educator, was a mentor to so many students. Even after they were out of school, he helped them get jobs and negotiate a post-segregated Birmingham. I was always Mr. Horton’s son. His former students would always tell me the high regard in which they held my dad, a proud, stoic man who cared so much about people. Yet, he could not save his own son from a path of drugs, destruction and damn near death.
Clarence Horton and Randall Horton.Courtesy Randall Horton
Neither could Joe Biden, who even before he was president was one of the most well-positioned and influential men in the country. In 2022, Fox News seized upon a voicemail that the father left for his son in 2018: “It’s Dad. I’m calling to tell you I love you. I love you more than the whole world, pal. You gotta get some help. I don’t know what to do. I know you don’t either.”
Like Hunter Biden, I’ve heard such expressions of love from my dad. I know how hearing words like that can eat at you when you are in that invisible void of chaos that is drug addiction. But even if the power of drugs is formidable, the true love of a dad can be the foghorn out of the darkness.
While awaiting trial on four felony counts of theft in Maryland, I didn’t initially call my father. Because I’d let him down, again. Eventually, I was transferred to a special unit called Jail Addiction Services and placed in a group where we were required to write about the heartache we’d caused those closest to us. After writing about my dad in one of those sessions, I called him to let him know I had failed. But despite his obvious disappointment, he told me he loved me.
Then Dad placed his dignity before the court, broke down, began to tremble, and with a crack in his voice said, ‘Please save my boy, please. Please.’
At my motion for reconsideration of the sentence, the state prosecutor talked about me as if I were the worst human in the world. He made me feel less than zero. But then my dad, who again had traveled from Birmingham, served as my only character witness, and he gave the courtroom a narrative of me that changed everything.
He said I’d displayed so much potential as child, that I grew up respectful of others and made good grades in school, that I’d shown promise as a young adult and was not the sum of my mistakes. He told the judge I had a mother, father and sister to help me if I were released.
Then Dad placed his dignity before the court, broke down, began to tremble, and with a crack in his voice said, “Please save my boy, please. Please.” His river of tears became my tears, my lawyer’s tears, the people in the courtroom’s tears, and at that moment, I knew I would never go back to that life. To see my dad that vulnerable and begging another person to save his son in front of a room full of strangers is something I will never forget.
Even the judge was misty-eyed as she granted my motion. Back in the holding cell, the bailiff told me that in 30 years he’d never seen that judge do what she’d just done. He told me to never look back, because I’d just received a miracle. My dad will be 92 years old next month, and I am thankful he lived to see me become a better human being. Through all the adversity my behavior put our relationship through, our bond has become unbreakable.
Over the years, my dad has made the same kind of statement Joe Biden made Tuesday, that there’s a feeling of pride seeing somebody struggle and come out better. I don’t know Hunter Biden or Joe Biden. But I believe their father-son relationship to be representative of so many in this country. The only difference is, because Joe Biden is a public official, theirs unfolds in the public eye.
Everything is made into a political issue these days, but instead of politicizing this moment, maybe we should celebrate Joe Biden, who has lost multiple children, for trying to be a good dad. I think Hunter’s dad knows, like my dad does, that sometimes the prodigal son does return — and as a better person, a better human. But just like in the story of the prodigal son, we need the arms of a loving father to welcome us back.
Randall Horton
Randall Horton’s book “Dead Weight: A Memoir in Essays” is published by Northwestern University Press. He is also the author of “{#289-128}: Poems,” which received the American Book Award in 2020. He is the co-creator of Radical Reversal, a poetry/music band dedicated to challenging systemic injustice in the American legal system through the installation of recording studios and creative/performance spaces as well as programming in department of corrections facilities in the United States. Originally from Birmingham, Ala., he now resides in New Jersey and is a professor of English at the University of New Haven.
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