"Tre, chill," I would plead whilst laughing. I recall many instances like this growing up, rolling on the floor in laughter as my older brother tickled me to the brink of peeing on myself. " Fine, Fine." he would goofily respond. " How's life," he would then ask. This was always what he asked. I would see my big brother every day when we were growing up, but eventually, it became just weekends, then once a month, and now, rarely ever. I always looked up to my big brother. Despite his constant teasing about being the "white one", I knew he loved me. Despite us not being technically blood related at all, his dad, whom I call dad as well, raised me. Therefore, he is my brother.
When we were growing up, we would commonly have roast sessions. Picture this: a room full of dark skin, mostly male, cousins, and one very " white" little girl sitting somewhere in that circle of cousins. That girl was me. Of course, when the goofy teasing, and roasts would start, I was often called the " cracker" "not able to season my food" "pale as a cloud". Despite being none of these things, I got used to the jokes of my older cousins and big brother. Sure, when I was younger I felt left out, but as I grew older, I started firing back. " That's why your just mad because you blend in the dark. You close yo mouth and eyes in the dark and you gone." I would snicker back to my big brother and cousins.
My childhood, despite being the odd one out, was great in the family department. My big cousins and I had very close bonds, and despite being a few years younger, I would consider them all, some of my closest friends. Sure, at first we had to get used to each other when my mother had first married my dad. However we were young when we met, and once my cousins realized I wasn't just "white", that I was in fact mixed, with black, white and mexican, acceptance of me was easier for them. The teasing was there, sure, but it was in good fun. This is how me and my brother's relationship was for all of my life, just one big pile of jokes, that is, until he graduated from high school.
Living in the Bay Area, my brother and I were not clueless to real life. We had grew up in low income apartments, so crackheads, and shootouts were a common occurrence. My brother, Tre, and I were able to recognize a crackhead on sight. We knew what to do when people were shooting on the block. Lock the doors. Close the curtains, go in the back room closet if the shots lasts a while. We were used to these things. Gangs? We knew about them. We knew that's why people were shooting. We lived around gang members. That's why people were shooting the apartments. My brother and I knew about them, of course, but we didn't think it would be as big a deal as it turned out to be in our lives.
Tre moved to Sacramento. The Gangland Capital of Northern California (excluding the bay of course) . Hell Gang. Gunz Up Starz Down. GardenBlocc Crips. F.A.B. Oak Park Bloods. Valley Hi Crips. G Mobb. Meadowview Bloods. Stick Up Starz. Guttah Boiz. Valley Hi Piru. DPH. Just a few Sacramento gangs that I can recall from the time I spend there as well, and I didn't even live there. All I had to do was hang in a few crowds, a couple weekends, to realize how heavy the gang activity was. In Sacramento, hanging with the wrong people, or "suckaz" as the locals call them, can literally get you shot. I've been to a few parties that got shot up. The gang activity in Sacramento is really not a joke. It makes sense that my brother, got involved in gangs, drugs, and who knows what else.
Obviously, I started spending a lot of time in Sacramento as well. I saw how it was in Sac, and the Gangs were a lot worse compared to Vallejo, oddly. I saw the people my brother started hanging around. I wasn't there for it. I started trying to convince him to stay in the house anytime I saw him trying to leave. " Tre come play 2k with me". I would beg. He would never listen. Out he went, and when he came back he smelt like weed, and was acting very different from the big brother I had learned to love and know. I tried to help him hide it from my Auntie, whom we would stay with a lot. I would throw his clothes in the wash before anyone saw him. Force him to go take a shower. I tried and tried to talk sense into him. It never worked. I begged him to stay off the streets. Stay in the house. Stop hanging with those boys and men, your going to end up in jail. It never worked. Eventually, I stopped trying. It only got worse.
