My Journal

Prologue

The first memory I can truly recall is sitting in a playpen, my grandmother sitting on the couch, my mother and father dressed up nice getting ready to leave the house. My baby sister is sitting in one of those bouncy things that helps babies leg strength or something. It was really dark out, but cloudy at 6 PM dark, not midnight black sky.

Marie bounced in her little play place and my other siblings were nowhere to be found. They were my half siblings, there was Erica, John, and Sierra. Sierra was probably less than a year old when their dad died. I only found out how because the death certificate was in a file cabinet in an office, which my whole family referred to as the homework room.

The second thing I can just barely remember was my grandfathers funeral. It was very nice, and I guess I didn't get it, because I didn't know he was dead and I hadn't known him too long. He died when I was three.

Third memory is coming home from a walk with my dog, Trent, and seeing a little girl and what was probably her mother sat on the door step in the front yard of the home across the street, replacing the elderly woman and the 60 cats who'd lived there before. I was forced to go over and introduce myself. Her name was Felicia. She appeared to be black, but when she introduced her mother to me, her mother was white.

I hadn't been introduced to this concept yet in my life, considering I was only around four at the time, but I was later informed that she was mixed. I thought she was nice, so we became friends. We played pretend and walked our build-a-bears and baby dolls around the neighborhood, played bratz dolls in the front yard, and rode our bikes to the park.

We were also introduced to the Davidsons and the Browns. The Davidsons oldest son, Brian, was a drug dealer and a 'rapper'. He wasn't a good rapper and was arrested often, but Felicia and I were friends with the youngest son, Kevin. We would always go in the huge field behind their backyard and pretend to fish and occasionally, run away from the rabid dog that kept getting back there (ah, memories).

The Browns (which I've named the family for ironic comedy), were huge racists. I'm not changing the daughters first name here because she was a huge asshole. Her name was Skylar, and all of us called her skyturd. We were her friend but only because she wouldn't leave Felicia alone. Her dad was awful. Felicia and I would go bounce on the trampoline and her dad would play "Felicia's out". He'd throw the ball at her as hard as possible. I never realized it was racist until recently (I know, I'm a fucking dumbass).

The neighbor nextdoor was a woman my mother's age. Except she talked to ghosts. She owns a store now where she sells ghost hunting stuff and she hunts ghosts herself. No, I'm not shitting you, it's real. In 1997, my mom was best friends with a lady who lived in the house before Martha the ghost woman. The lady that lived there before murdered her husband in cold blood.

The other nextdoor house was what my friends and I referred to as the bad luck rental. Most of the people who rented the home ended up arrested for drugs and one man even got arrested for beating the shit out of his ex girlfriend. My mom and dad had police scanners when I was growing up because they were firefighters, EMT's, and 911 call-takers when I was a kid. So we were always the first to know when the cops were called.

The neighbor who lived behind us was possibly the worst. his name was Michael, and he and his wife were awful. They did an array of deadly drugs, threatened my parents and my siblings, and even hit my mother once. When they moved, it was a blessing.

I think I've given you the accurate overview of my childhood.