I am at a very painful place in my life, Its the moment that you realize nothing that you have been doing is working for you and your not exactly sure how to change. I have this beautiful, happy, intelligent child who is quickly growing right before my eyes. I look at her and I want to be so much more for her. Right now I feel like I’m fighting my past to obtain my future. How does one overcome a lifetime full of having nothing, being nothing, and doing nothing? Poverty is an infectious disease. I would even go as far as to say that it is genetic. There is a cure but its not easy to obtain. A person has to be driven to break the chains and step outside of the picture that has been painted for them.
In my current situation I am at the point of wanting change. I don’t have the tools to break the chains yet but I know it can be done. My daughter can not grow up and think that abuse is normal. My daughter can not think that the answer to everything that she wants is “No we can’t afford it.” My daughter will not be ok with receiving government assistance in order to eat and maintain stable housing. I really feel let down by all the organizations that are set up to “help” those who are living in poverty. Every place that I have ever gone asking for help has only directed me to where I could go to receive a handout. As an HIV positive youth I would ask for information on GED programs and HIV peer counselor trainings or training to become an HIV testing specialist so that I could qualify to help others get through the difficulty of testing positive, I’m no longer considered a youth but I still haven’t been pointed in the direction of where I could be trained for any of the things I’m interested in. At this point I know that the places that appear to be there to help us get ahead are really there to help us have just enough to survive. Every Social worker I’ve ever dealt with only has information that will help me stay poor. The system is not designed to change lives it’s set up to keep everyone exactly where they are.
I call this transforming victims into survivors. Victims are not happy with where they are. Victims see a problem and want to fix it. Survivors acknowledge the problem but they don’t give it any power to make them feel negative. Being a survivor is a good thing when there is nothing that you can do about whatever the issue is. THEY want you to think there is nothing you can do about living in poverty so they offer you food stamps so you can be poor and still buy food. They offer you a few hundred dollars every month so that you can be poor and pay a bill or two. There is low-income housing which encourages you to remain below the poverty line because if you make too much money then you no longer qualify for the nice apartment that you live in. There are perks to being poor so that you can be a survivor.
My goal is to overcome, and defeat poverty. Im at a place in my life where I know it is possible but I’m not certain where to start. It makes me sick to my stomach to know that it took me so long to realize that I’m capable of so much more. I can be a champion. I look at my daughter and see a champion in her. I made her so why don’t I see a champion when I look at myself? She is just a baby and I know there is nothing that she can’t do. I have to do better so she can have a chance to see her own potential before she gets to be my age and relive my story. I love my mother but I hate the fact that I have allowed history to repeat it self by reliving her story. I have given up my power, my joy, my love, and my potential by holding on to the chains of what I saw growing up.
I’m happy to say that my mother is now doing better then she was when my siblings and I were kids but I wish I would have seen her doing well when I was a child so that I would have nurtured the spirit of a champion instead of aiming to survive.
I’m standing at the gates, still on the side of poverty, trying to discover how to make it to the other side. I don’t think its going to be easy. As I get started I plan on documenting the journey so that others can pull strength form my struggle. I believe it all starts with education. I have earned my GED about 3 years ago. I haven’t done anything with it yet but that was the start. I have a few college courses under my belt but right now my focus is finding a source of steady income. I give myself 6 more months to make this happen. I’m hoping that should be more then enough time. I’m not sure if this is the right thing to be focused on right now but that’s the beauty of being in control of my own destiny. If my plan isn’t working out I have the power to change it and try something new.
I have been without a computer for a few month now but I haven’t stopped forward movement. I have a few major acomplishments to fill you guys in on. If you have been following me then you know about my last relationship. The last thing a wrote regarding my love life was the fact that it was over. Well like most relationships we tried to give it a second chance but Im happy to say it has ended FOR GOOD! I was sad about the fact that I was alone for a minute but you know what they say “misery loves company.” Once I decided that I no longer had time for misery I started to move forward and I didn’t need company to do that! At the end of last summer my best friend gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. His existence prompted me to get started on the self work that I had to do in order to make myself some one that a child would be proud to look up to. After all, she did ask me to be his God Mother, a role I accepted with honor and pride!
I started my journey to become a better person. Don’t get me wrong I know I was already awesome but there is always room for growth and improvement. I found a free GED program and I went to do the practice test. To my surprise I was told that I did so well on the that I didn’t need to come in for tutoring. I put my name on the list to take the real test that following weekend. The test was done on two consecutive Fridays. I was an hour early both days and I sat outside the room asking God to help me through what I thought was going to be a difficult experience. Day one was the english, writing, and social studies portion of the exam. I was the second person done and I left the room feeling confident. Day two was the math and science portion. I was sure I would do well but at the same time I found it hard to ignor the small nagging doubtful voice in the back of my head. I was maybe the fourth or fifth to finish and I left the room nervous yet relieved that it was over. It seem to take forever for the 5 days to pass but Wednesday morning finally came and I called the school for my results. I PASSED!!!! I finally finished something that I started and it felt amazing!
I did what I had to do to prove to myself that I was actually smart! I spent so long doing things for everyone eles that I didn’t know how it felt to do for myself. Im glad I started working on me because now I cant stop. I signed up for classes at the a community college and I have been going since fall semester 2013. I finished that semester with a 3.5 GPA which qualified me for the Dean Honors Award. Im so excited about what Im going to create next for myself. Life is so great right now and something tells me it can only get better!!!!!
Yesterday was awful. I started to feel sick on Sunday. I ate oatmeal for breakfast and my stomach didn’t feel right then. I skipped lunch and at 3pm all the oatmeal that I had for breakfast graced my taste buds with and unwelcomed encore. There was a tornado brewing in my tummy. I convinced my body to sleep that night but the next morning at 4:30 am the tornado made its way to my head concentrating all its force on my left temple. I couldn’t take it. I made 6 trips to the bathroom before 5am. I didn’t know what to do. Being HIV positive and now single and living alone who could I call at 5am? I waited until I thought she might be awake and called my mother…. no answer. I don’t have a car so my options were call 911 or chance it on the bus. Hours went by as I attempted to get dressed so I could take the bus to see my Dr. by the time I had my clothes on it was around 2pm and I was sure that I wouldn’t make it to my clinic on time. I changed my destination and planned on going to the E.R. Just as I was walking out the door my mom called me to ask me to accompany her to her appointment for lab work. God is always looking out for me. once she heard my voice she knew something was wrong and came right over. I made it in time to see my Dr. and avoided the hours of waiting in the E.R.
Today I still don’t feel well at all so I’ve bundled up in front of my T.V. and I don’t plan on moving until I feel better. But I can’t help but think about the fact that I’m here alone and my mind keeps wondering to the last person who was there for me the last time I got sick.
Breaking up is always hard but the times when you need that person makes it hurt even more. I was the one to end it but once you notice that saying good bye means your giving it all up, the good and the bad, its too late. I think about her all the times. I loved taking care of her. It made me feel needed. There was so many little things that she said she never had before and I made it my goal to give it to her. Its been a month so the break up is still fresh and I still worry about her. What hurts the most is the fact that I know she isn’t worried about me. No one is. If my mom weren’t going in that direction I would have been on a bus going to the E.R. If I died last night no one would even know. Its hard to feel Positively Beautiful when your alone kneeling over a toilet bowl.
I am so blessed to have had my experiences in life. I thank god that I don’t look like what I been through. There is alot about me that I keep to myself. I’m starting to learn that my past has value. If my words can stop another person from going through the pain that I have gone through then I need to take the key and unlock the vault that I hide all the bad stuff in. Like I stated in a post in the past I could have easily been that young woman in Texas who was killed by her lover. he blamed his rage on her positive diagnosis. People fail to do the research on transmission from woman to man so alot of the times women are hurt out of ignorance and fear of something that is a slim possibility to begin with. when you think about sex I can honestly say I have been there done that. I didn’t care about myself for a minute. I let others tell me what I should do and even when I insisted on condoms I wasn’t strong enough to enforce my wishes. At my lowest point I was one of those women who allowed a man to control my body and and my finances. For 2 months I rejected my own intelligence. I allowed him to dress me up and take pictures of me and sell me on the internet. All because he looked at me and said I was beautiful and that he loved me. I now look at that sad little girl that I use to be and I know what her issue was. She had to learn to love her self. She had to see her own beauty. She had to wake up and determine her own worth. I never really thought he loved me. I never really believed him when he called me beautiful. I was just a soul-less shell of a body aimlessly wondering the earth waiting to live. I can now say I’m proud to have had the experiences that he gave me. One day I just packed my stuff, got in my car and drove away. He called me asking me to come back promising it would be different. He had his other girls calling me trying to talk me into coming back but God made it easy for me to leave with no harm and no trouble the first time. I was not going to fall into the same hole a second time.
Your the instructor, the student, and the dean. Take a note of what grade your in at this moment.
As the student did you get moved up, held back or are you right where you should be? Do you ask for help? Once you understand the topic do you keep the information to yourself or do you lend a helping hand to the other life students that made be struggling? Are you teachable?
As the teacher are you effectively using all the tools at your disposal to educate? Are you stuck with those tools or do you create and invent new tools and techniques to teach the lesson? Do you settle in to the role of teacher or do you believe that you have to step back and learn from other? Are you teachable?
As the dean do you feel your able to speak to both the student and the teacher effectively? When a problem is bought your way do you act immediately? Or do you consider multiple solutions until the best one is found? Are you fair? Are you mean? Are you teachable?
There is one question that is present in all three roles. Are you teachable? I feel that no matter what role you are playing Life is a lesson and you MUST remain teachable. No mater what second of the day it is there is something that you can be learning. even during your sleep you dream, sometimes of things of which you have little to no knowledge. It was during a dream that I learned that I find beauty in bon fires at the beach. It was one of the most poetic dreams I’ve ever had. I was at one with all the elements. Sand was the earth, ocean was the water, the breezy wind licked the flames of the fire and I just sat there watching spirit dance. It was positively beautiful. I woke up with a sense of peace and serenity. the same peace and serinity that I get when ever I take a spur the moment trip to purchase fire wood and head west to watch the sunset as the heat from the fire warms my soul.
I’m extremely teachable.
I’ve looked up some catchy quotes on this topic that I would love to share with my readers.
“What I believe is that all clear-minded people should remain two things throughout their lifetimes: Curious and teachable.” ― Roger Ebert
“Be willing to be a beginner every single morning.” ― Meister Eckhart
“To hold the same views at forty as we held at twenty is to have been stupefied for a score of years, and take rank, not as a prophet, but as an non-teachable brat, well birched and none the wiser”
We moved from the 2 bedroom house behind my granny in south-central LA, to a 3 bedroom apartment on the west side of LA on the outskirts of Beverly Hills. It was another major change. I went from a place where I didn’t have many friends to a place where everyone smiled and said hello. My school was in walking distance. The first day I thought my mom was going to drive us to school but she didn’t she told us to pay attention to what she did and where she turned because she wasn’t going to come pick us up and she expected us to be home within 30 minutes of school letting out.
My older sister, older brother and I were afraid that we would get lost so we drew maps of the neighborhood as we walked to school with my mom. As the days went on we would take different turns just to see what was where and to add to our maps. We marked streets, the homes of our new friends, the candy stores, and streets with hills that we could ride our bikes down, big trees, parks, libraries, and strange looking buildings. By the time we finished making our maps the first pages were torn or lost.
My days at Shenandoah Elementary were fun. I was still very shy but I had a few friends. No one messed with me and I did well in my class. I was the type of student who wanted to get all the answers right. I raised my hand to answer every question and I cried if I didn’t get the answer correct. I was in the third grade. Only seven years old and I had a secret. Like all kids I wanted to share my secret so I told a girl that I considered my best friend. This was the beginning of the discrimination. I told her I had a big secret and that I would tell her if she promised to keep it between us. I told her and she stepped back and said to me “Your gay and your gonna die. My uncle has that and my mom said hes gay and deserves it.”
“Gay? Whats that mean?”
She just ran off and I never talked to her again. I didn’t want to tell anyone that I told my secret so I kept this conversation to myself. I think that was the day I began to keep everything to myself I didn’t want anyone else rejecting me. I tried hard to fit in. I didn’t have an opinion and anytime any one asked me to make a choice my answer was either I don’t know, I don’t mind, or it don’t matter. I didn’t want to make any wrong choices and give anyone reason not to like me. It became my major goal in life to make others like me. I was always polite I always smiled and I never tried to stand out. I didn’t want anyone to notice me because I thought they would somehow discover that I had a secret.
I was in the 4th grade and I’m not sure why but my mom had to tell my teacher about my illness. Ms. Magana is one of the nicest teachers I ever had. Im not sure if she was so nice to me because I was HIV positive or if she was just that way by nature but I felt like she smiled just a little brighter when she looked at me. She was the first teacher who didn’t question my intelligence. I always felt smarter than the other kids in the class because in New York they teach you at a faster pace than in California. I knew how to multiply and divide in the first grade. Ms. Magana let me do work from the 5th grade books and she also let me help her grade papers. I was helping her make copies one day and I got a paper cut. She asked me if I could clean it and bandage it myself or if I needed her to help me. She didn’t want to send me to the nurse because she understood the stigma and rejection that may have followed. I told her I could do it myself. I washed my hands dried them and tried to put the band-aid on. She saw me trying and came over took the band-aid and put it on my cut. She explained to me the my blood had germs in it just like everyone else’s and any time anyone got a cut we should always make sure to protect ourselves from their blood. She explained to me that she was not afraid to help me clean and cover my cut because she could do it without touching my blood. She put the band-aid on me and said “see all don’t and I have nothing to worry about. She got a bottle of cleaning solution from the cabinet sprayed the table I was sitting at and wiped it down with a paper towel. That made me like her even more because now I felt like I had a friend.
This is different. I have had a few relationships in the past where I thought I was accepted despite my Positive status. I was so use to being accepted only in the shadows. I still have people in my life who are ok with having a friend who is HIV positive as long as no one else knows. I can remember being invited to share my story at a school and being told by the person that I was dating at the time that I can’t do it because they knew people who lived near that school. The fear was in the fact that somehow his friends would find out that the women he “loved” was HIV positive.
The relationship that I’m in now is so different from anything that I have ever experienced. I have been in relationships with women before but never anything that was truly open and honest so it was never serious. She took it upon herself to tell her friends all about me. I was afraid to accept them to my facebook page for fear of them finding out that she was dating an HIV positive woman. She told me that she had already told them and they were just as ok about it as she was. This relationship is one that allows me to be me. I don’t have to hide anymore and that feels amazing.
We went to the book store with a friend of hers who is now my friend as well. We will call her Ricky. Ricky shared a very intimate story about how she was once taken advantage of. This got me to thinking about the times in the past when I was in similar situations. Trying to keep my diagnosis a secret has often lead me to playing the role of the oblivious girl right on the verge of danger. I explained a situation to her that I worked really hard to forget.
I was about 19 and in one of my depressed moods. I turned to my normal reckless behavior to get over it. I called the party line and hooked up a date with some random stranger. I had him pick me up at the library and we went to get something to eat. After that I expected to get dropped off back at the library. He said he wanted to show me something. He got on the freeway and drove to a city I was unfamiliar with I asked where he was taking me and he said “You will see soon it’s a surprise.” My heart beat quickened and I contemplated telling him about the fact that I was born positive as a way to make him change his mind if he had bad intentions. That could have ended very badly. He got off the freeway and I made up my mind that I was getting out of that car at the next possible chance. I slowly took off my seat belt, He stopped at a red light and I quickly jumped out the car and ran in the opposite direction. I looked back and saw him get out the car to close the door. I kept running and didn’t look back any more. I saw a city bus and I waved hysterically praying that it would stop. The driver opened the door and I jumped on board. I told the driver that I was on a date and I was afraid that he was going to try to hurt me. I was in tears as I explained that I had no idea where I was and I didn’t have any money but if I could get close to the Downtown Union Station I could get home. The driver gave me a day pass and told me he would tell me where to get off and what bus I needed to get to where I was going.
I asked Ricky if she knew about me being positive after sharing this story with her. She just shook her head yes. I told her that we all have reasons for doing reckless things but during those times we needed to turn to the people who we know we can trust. She was very clear about the fact that she was now one of those people for me and I was one of those people for her. She and I both dropped a few tears while sitting in the café of the book store and I could tell that she would be one of those people who would be in my life for a very long time. This relationship is bringing on more positive relationships and it’s pulling me out of the shadows.
For a really long time I found it hard to love and even harder to trust. She and I are not perfect people and we both have a lot to learn about the other but I don’t see us ever having a problem that we can’t work out.
I’m looking forward to reading a book titled The Five Love Languages. I was advised by a friend that it would benefit me in all situations when communicating with others. Look forward to the growth and strength I will gain from this book.
I feel like I almost have to trick people into being “o.k.” with me. I have started to work a normal 9-5 job and I’m deeply afraid of my HIV status being found out. I don’t know why I feel like I have to be secretive and private about something that is such a minor part of my life. HIV has been a major part of society for so long that I feel like I shouldn’t have to fear rejection any more. Its funny I started talking to a person that I am attracted to and have been for a while. I’ve known this person for a few years now and when I first met them the vibes were strong and I felt like they wanted to explore the possibilities of a relationship with me. This person even made comments about how much they like me. I was called attractive and sexy and the smile that was on my face was as bright and fake as a neon green sky because I felt like as soon as they found out about my illness they wouldn’t feel the same. That person ended up in a relationship that recently ended and I felt like the stars might still be there so with me being the new open and honest person that I am I spilled my guts one night after hanging out with that person. We have been talking daily since then but I am hurt about the fact that the vibes I got in the beginning are gone. No more stars. Just a friend.
I honestly do appreciate all my friends but they don’t fill the empty spaces in my heart. I am truly missing the kind of love that can only be filled by that special person. the one who will have your back no matter what, the one who will laugh and cry with you, talk and listen to you, love and hold you. My last relationship made me fill that space with concrete. but just like the sidewalks that concrete wears down and cracks over time. The emptiness hurts and after a while it will drive you crazy.
What is it about this virus that yells “BE MY FRIEND AND NOTHING MORE!” Positively Beautiful is my motto but sometimes I wish I could drop the “Positively ” and just be beautiful. As I type this out I realize tonight is going to be one of those long lonely nights. Despite the fact that I’m in a house full of people I feel like I’m at the bottom of a ditch screaming and crying but no one can hear me. The quick hugs and pats on the back are cute but not enough sometimes. I feel stupid for feeling like this but I think everybody need somebody.I know a few people who have had children to get the unconditional love that they desire. But for me to have a child would be the most selfish thing I could do. I know the risk of me infecting the man or baby are low as long as I adhere to my medication and keep my viral load at an undetectable level but I still know that I’m sick and may not be around long enough to raise my own child.
I try to drown myself in work and activities to ignore the fact that I’m alone but when the sun goes down and the world is asleep I’m left alone with my thoughts and my nightmares. Dreams that I’m running away from and angry mob of people who wish me harm. I run out of places to hide and I’m tired of running. Ive spent my life hiding and running but what do I do now. I face the mob. Alone. Tired the sad part is that when I stop running they just run past me and I realize that it wasn’t me that they were after in the first place. I am nothing.
Today I sat and listened to 2 women talk about how sexual abuse played a role in their lives. I have always known that more women have suffered through being molested than those who have made the choice to talk about it but my question is why do we feel the need to be silent about the fact that we have been victimized? I myself honestly don’t know how I contracted HIV. Yes I could have been born with it but there is also the possibility that the father of my mom deceased 5th child gave it to me during one of the many night that he took advantage of me. My way of dealing with things thru out my life has been to forget. I’ve worked very hard at forgetting and I have gotten it down to a science. I’m so good at forgetting that I now do it with out trying. I’ve worked very hard to forget the scent of tobacco on his hands as covered my nose and mouth to silence my cries. I’ve worked very hard to forget the images of the naked women with “big girl bodies” that moaned and enjoyed the touch of the male supporting actors in the adult videos he showed me. It took years for me to forget the words he said to me “God is a man and he says you have to listen to me because I’m a man, if you tell you will never have a big girl body and your never going to grow up, this is normal I have to do it to you and you can’t tell your mom because if you do she’s going to be mad at you, the blood means its working”. In a way some of the things he told me was right. My mom found out and she was mad at me. I fell while sliding down the rail of the fire escape and I began to bleed between my legs. I only remember being less than 7 years old because by the time I was 7 I no longer lived in New York. My mom hurried me in the house and taught me that blood will stain so it was important to wash the blood from my clothes right away. She told me to undress while she went to run bath water and I did. I saw that the blood was in my panties and just like all my other blood stained panties I hid them in the closet because HE said I should. My mom came back in the room and asked for my clothes so I gave her my shirt and my shorts. She looked around and asked for my panties then she asked me to show her where I was bleeding from. I started to cry and she asked again. This time I went and got all the panties from the closet and told her everything. She got angry. She got her belt and spanked me. I remember this being the worst spanking I ever got in my life. She told me to go show Miss Ana how grown I was and she pushed me out into the hallway naked to knock on the neighbor’s door. I stood there crying and shaking with fear as I raised my hand to knock on the door. Before I could knock she grabbed my arm and pulled me back into our apartment. She put me in the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I could hear her crying in the next room and I just stood there afraid of what she might do next.
I believe this was after she knew she had HIV and I believe it was after her last child was found dead in his crib (sudden infant death syndrome, He was born positive, premature and had underdeveloped lungs) but as I said before I’ve worked hard at forgetting. I can’t recall dates but I have found the smell of cigarets brings me back to a place that I want to forget. Hearing a man speak with a Jamaican accent reminds me of the way it sounded when he would say to me “don’t tell or it wont work” hearing a young child cry reminds me of the way my mom hit me with her brown leather belt. Hearing a women cry reminds me of the way she sobbed while I stood in that bathroom. I now know she was just as confused as I. She was just as hurt as I. She now take full responsibility for my diagnosis. Even tho I feel it wasnt at all her fault. When any one asks the answer has always been that I’ve gotten it from birth. My dad isn’t any help at all. He avoided my question about his test results the 2 times I’ve gotten the nerves to ask him, and the abuser, Willy, is just a man whom I try to forget.
I was asked a question today “When did you learn about sex?” I had to think deep. I thought it was those night that he had his way with me but I didn’t know that was sex. I thought it was exactly what Willy told me it was “Something he had to do.” As I think more about the question my mom never had the sex talk with me. Growing up HIV positive there was always an educational event or safe sex presentation going on somewhere and my mom went to many. I was normally right at her side even tho child care was provided. I heard it all starting at the age of 8. I also had a support group that I attended with other HIV positive girls. They were maybe 2-4 years older than me but I was always mature for my age so no one ever knew I was younger than the others. Sex was a command topic because we had all heard things and the group was our space. Nothing we said there ever got back to our parents. I guess my mom just made sure to put me around the information so I could get it from a source that could give it to me better than she could. I think about it now and that has been my moms approach to parenting. She didn’t teach me how to drive, she didn’t show much interest in my education. Of the 3 years That I played the trombone in middle school and all the school band concerts she managed to miss all of them. I can remember asking her to come to my parent teacher night at school each semester and she would always say she was tired
Don’t get me wrong I’m in no way bashing my mom because through all of that I know my mom did the best that she could. Raising 4 children on her own and fighting for her life everyday I can understand why she was tired. I don’t have any kids now and just trying to take care of myself makes me tired. She may have missed parent teacher night but She had me to every Dr. appointment on time. She may have missed the school band concerts but she cooked us dinner each and every night despite how she felt and despite how much money it took. She was too sick to work and stress from raising her kids made it damn near impossible for her to but she kept the lights on and the water running hot and we never went without. I never had torn clothes or holes in my shoes and now that I think about it I wasn’t even forced to wear my older sisters hand-me-down clothes. I had my own and so did both my brothers and my sister. We grew up blessed with a mom that made the hard look easy.
I sit here at the foot of my mother’s bed wondering what steps I could have taken to avoid the current situation I find myself in, jobless homeless broke and loveless. I guess it’s mostly due to the fact that I have spent my entire life waiting to die.
At the age of seven my sister informed me that I was blessed with a curse. How I came in contact with that curse remains a mystery to me. I was born in Los Angeles California my mom was 21 and my father, also a mystery to me. I know where he is and who he is but that’s about all I know about him. I can’t remember how old I was when he convinced my mom to pack up and move to New York but I do remember her talking about how she missed her family and home. I was so young that I didn’t know anything about California or how we got to New York. All I know was that the crowded streets and tall brick buildings were home to me. I was use to the cold winters and I had forgotten the sunshine. I looked forward to the mornings when my mom would dress me and my siblings in so many layers of clothes that we couldn’t bend our arms or legs. We would walk the best we could two blocks up and one block over to our school. Nothing like the schools in California named after the great presidents and historical icons. I remember the schools simply being called two letters followed by a number. My sister, older brother and I attended P.S.118 I was only there for pre k, kinder, and first grade.
With all the sweet memories I also remember a few bad things. We were walking to school one morning and I bent down and picked up a broken spoon. It was dirty and black. My older brother hit my hand and made me drop it he said to me “Don’t touch that. Those crazy people use that to take their medicine.”
I asked him “Is that why there are always needles on the ground?”
I never thought in a million years that my father was one of those crazy people but as I said before he was a mystery to me. Now that I’m an adult my mom tells me bits and pieces about him. He asked her to move with him to New York because he had an opportunity to work a better job and take better care of all of us. He told her he was under a lot of stress and that this move would ease a lot of it but she couldn’t tell her family because they would try to stop her. He also told her that they were fighting so much because of stress and after the move he wouldn’t be so stressed and he wouldn’t hit her any more. The truth was that there was no job, just drugs and a chance for him to get involved with selling. She agreed to the move but his promises of being able to care for all of us quickly went out the window. He was never allowed to get involved with dealing the way he wanted to because of the fact that he was an addict. He began to fight and argue with my mom about the fact that there wasn’t enough money coming into the house so he told her to go get a job and he would stay at home with the kids. This worked great up until he got his hands on some money. Then he would be gone until the next day.
When he and my mom fought she would tell my siblings to climb up the fire escape to our neighbor’s apartment. She was a Hispanic woman named Arlene. Whenever we tapped on her window she would open it up and let us in then turn the music up way loud so we wouldn’t hear the sound of our home being destroyed or our mother’s screams. The whole time she would be yelling and saying what she would do. I only understood about ten words that she would say because of her broken English.