Dear Friend,

My name is Emon Hilton. My ethnicity is half-African American and half-Persian. This means growing up, I was either stereotyped as a troublesome black kid or a terrorist!

I grew up in a lower-class household in a middle-class area. My single mom raised me by working two jobs, and we struggled to keep food on the table. At one point, we were living in my grandpa's garage.

I don't swear to God often.

I take God very seriously. 

However... I swear to God that what you're about to read is the most important thing you'll ever read in your life.

In the next few seconds, you'll realize what I'm talking about.

You see, I have no idea how you got to this page, but I believe you're not here by accident.

Maybe a friend sent you a link to this page.

Maybe you heard about it on social media.

Or, perhaps you got here by pure dumb luck. 

But no matter. It makes no difference how you got here.

The reason why centers on this fact:

You're about to learn something that will impact the rest of your life. Period.

I know that sounds like a bold statement, but I know it to be true.

Here's why...

In the past year, seven of my friends died.

It started with Miles. He grew up in a broken family, and he lived secretly out of a $60 per day hotel. The hotel sat across from a skatepark in Lake Forest, California. While he was at school, his parents were doing drugs. They considered him an "entrepreneur" because he made them money selling drugs. Then, one day he overdosed mixing cocaine and oxycodone, and he died.

Shortly after that, another friend did the same but with cocaine and fentanyl. Another friend did the same and died with Percocets.

Then came Andrew, a star football player. His future looked bright until he developed a habit of snorting Percocets. One day Andrew snorted them in his bathroom. He slipped and fell, hitting the back of his head on the blunt edge of the bathtub. His lights went out forever.

Then came Alex. While driving through Holy Jim Canyon in Southern California, his car drifted out of control, gravitating towards and then off a cliff. He miraculously survived yet found himself bed-ridden, prescribed with Percocets. One day his parents came into his bedroom, and he wouldn't wake up. He never woke up.

Then came Lewis, who shortly after that died from fentanyl. 

Then came Ian, who died mixing lean, codeine, and oxycodone and then snorting it. Seconds later, his heart refused, and it stopped beating.

Then came Raymond, aka, "Big Ray." He was running a mini-drug empire out of his home. One night, someone broke into his house while sleeping, tied him up, and then shot his body until it stopped moving.

The lucky ones in this story are those like Denzel and Isaeih, who are in jail. Or those who are scrimpin' away life with their addiction.

The environment I'm describing is the three-headed monster—that of death, jail, or addiction.

Almost every one of them saw the other die, right before the same thing happened to them.

It's no coincidence this happened. 

Why?

Perhaps it is because of the age-old principle that *you are your environment.*

Maybe, but probably not. If that were true, why am I still alive? 

I was in their environment, but I'm here right now, and I'm here writing this to you despite growing up in this environment.

So why did I not end up dead, jailed, or addicted?

I'll tell you in a moment. 

The reason why I'm telling you all this is because there's hope, and the solution is very simple. Despite my immediate environment of death, jail, and drugs, I ended up different.

I'll soon be the first one in my family to attend college and graduate from a world-class university. Mind you; I don't have a small family! On the Persian side of my family, I have 23 family members. I'll be graduating with a degree in Business and a certificate in Computer Science.

My education isn't the only thing I'm proud of; I also have a steady girlfriend and a loving relationship with my mom. I even repaired my relationship with my father, who I was estranged from for several years.

Recently I decided to reflect on my life.

I asked myself the following question: "What kept me alive, out of jail, and off of drugs?"

It wasn't the expensive computer she bought me. It wasn't the car she helped me out with. It wasn't the clothes or accessories.

What I realized was quite shocking.

What kept me alive, out of jail, and off drugs was a straightforward thing. 

My mom did one simple thing growing up every day before she left for work.

It was something that took her a few seconds to do every morning, and it cost virtually nothing.

It was one thing:

Post-it notes.

Yes, post-it notes.

Every morning before she would leave for work, my mom left a post-it note on the refrigerator. It would include a note of encouragement and anything she needed help with that day.

Believe it or not, doing this did two things:

It installed a new mindset in me, and it gave me a sense of purpose that day.

I didn't even realize it at the time, but I used it as my guide for the day because it was printed out in physical form.

Her post-it notes kept me on track and focused.

For instance, one of my habits was waking up and going to the kitchen. I would go to the refrigerator to eat a bowl of cereal. I would then see the post-it note on the refrigerator and bring it to my computer.

That post-it note served as my guide for the day and kept me on track. 

If my mom had merely sent me a text message, this wouldn't have worked. There was something magical about seeing my mom's handwriting and note of encouragement. It pulled me out of my digital world of distraction. It pulled me away from TikToks of goats screaming, and wacky viral videos.

It kept me focused.

All from this dead simple little tool: a notepad of post-it notes.

There are a few unique properties about the types of notes my mom wrote me. She wrote a note of encouragement. Reminding me that she loved me so much, and a quote of inspiration to guide me. She also gave me a list of items she needed help with that day.

While looking around online for post-it notes with the two properties described above, there wasn't anything like the format she used.

So what I did was this:

I called up a dozen suppliers and product manufacturing companies. I then solicited feedback from my closest friends and moms. In brief, I designed and built the perfect post-it notepad—like the format my mom used.

This super simple tool kept me alive, out of jail, and off drugs.

In brief, I hold that if you use this same tool with your son, he will have a greater chance of thriving in life.

So, here's the deal:

I've designed and built out a post-it notepad pre-loaded with the best ideas, quotes, and things to jump-start your son's day. It also includes a section to write your son anything, as well as a checklist.

I call them "Emonpads."

Here's what it looks like: