When Redneck and Ghetto clash

Chapter 1: Ghetto

Chapter 1: Ghetto

I bet you've heard of ghetto people. I bet you 10 dollars you even heard of  

rednecks.

But I bet you ain't never heard of a person who's redneck AND ghetto!

Well, that's me. Laquandria.

15 years old and I live in a sorry excuse of a home(which is really just a worn out shack) in Alabama with my father Bobby Joe, my sister Casey, and my two twin brothers Buck and Cletus.

My mother, Shanaynay left us when I was only 6 years old.

She walked right out our pathetic shack with her middle finger in the air shaking her big bum as she walked away. 

I don't know much 'bout her but I do know I hate her.

She just left me. 

Me.

Her own daughter!

Oh and another reason I despise her is because she named me.

She left me with this cursed name.

When anyone hears it, they automatically assume I'm just another stupid mistake from a corrupted home. 

That's not the case though. I'm actually very bright.

I taught myself to read at two years old, but ain't no one in the shack cared at all.  

Mainly 'cause none of 'em could read .

I'd always find blown away newspapers on the floor or old tossed away magazines at the road sides from the rich folk.

Now. I guess you're wondering about that ghetto and redneck thing I mentioned earlier. Well, ya see, I consider myself a mix of ghetto and redneck.

Why?

Well, my mother is a black skimpy woman from the toughest streets of Baltimore in Maryland.

Everything about her was ghetto.

The way she spoke, looked,and acted was ghetto.

She even slept in a ghetto way.

If you've ever heard her snore you know it sounds like a truck crossed with a cow in pain.

The most ghetto thing about her though was how she always got into fights over the littlest of things at stores we always went to.

We've been banned from a total of 70 stores(394 times average in each). But here's an example of the first time I went out to a store.

She took me along with her to the city once when I was 3 and we went to a nice fancy store she called WalMart.

I didn't really see nothing fancy there, just bad service and stinky babies. But anyway, we were gon' buy some cornflakes for din din but some chubby old grandma got there first.

The right to do woulda been to give her the last box because she was a fellow senior.

Is that what mama did?

Nope.

She didn't give a damn!

Young or old, she was gettin that box.

I remember when I was told, " Hold my earrings Laquandria, shit bout to go down!".

She then proceeded to hand me her big fake gold earrings and I watched a gruesome scene I don't even want to recap in my head.

In the end, the grandma was in the hospital and my mom experienced a cell for the night.

And poor lil' me was left in Walmart unattended.

I found my way back to the shack on my own though!

Pretty amazing right?

Now that you know my ma's ghetto and made half of me, lets talk about my hillbilly, no- good, redneck father, Bobby Joe, also known as Pa.