He was twelve. I was eighteen and had been on my own for like three years at that point. My mother was not a nice person. And yeah, it was that or the system. One of my aunts and one of my uncles said they’d help and then never returned my phone calls.
Tough to watch my friends today raising teenagers and making the same kind of stupid mistakes I did with my brother when I was young and crazy and clueless and believe in the mystical power of “when you have a kid, you just know.”
Same here, but remembering it also recalls the embarrassments, and angers, and humiliations associated with the time, and most people understandably want to part ways with what is no more. I personally feel like I need to remember if I’m going to break my family cycle and get the kids on a higher level.
Feel you. I try not to lose the drive that got me out of the ghetto either. The fact that I might not make it out never even occurred to me back then. I didn’t get all self reflective and emotional about that ■■■■ until I was if not bougie, at least solidly blue collar.
Yea I did but me and the others I hung with were brought up to respect others property and not tear ■■■■ up. If I did that my ass would be grass when my dad found out.