on the West Coast.
Daddy was a very handsome man. He stood about five foot eleven with the physique of a boxer—not buff, but very well built. His skin was the color of a Hershey Bar and he wore his haircut very low. He had a very strong presence about him. At home, he would laugh and tell jokes and run around playing with me, but he was a completely different man outside of the house. While my dad was in the streets conducting business, he had the intimidating presence of a pit bull. When he was angry, his teeth would clench so hard that his jawbone would flex and broaden, just like the vicious dog. His older brother, my Uncle Junior, was his right hand man. If you saw my father, you saw him. Uncle Junior didn’t only look mean, he was mean. He never played with me or even spoke to me. I don’t think he liked my mother and he took that out on me. He always kept his distance from me like he didn’t like little kids.
My father met my mother when she was in her second year of college. He was 22 and she was 20. She was impressed by his money and the nice clothes he wore. Since she came from money and grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, she couldn’t picture herself being with anyone who couldn’t take care of her as well as her parents. They married a year after they met, against her parent’s wishes. She dropped out of school and moved with him to a San Francisco suburb. They lived there for two years before she got pregnant with me. They decided to come back to LA before she gave birth because he wanted to be closer to his family. My mother’s family disowned her, so she only had my father’s family to count on throughout her pregnancy.
My mother was miserable when my father wasn’t around. She treated me like I wasn’t her child. I basically took care of myself, combing my own hair and getting myself dressed, all at the young age of five. At least when my aunts were around, I felt like someone other than my father loved and cared about me.
While I was growing up, my mother hardly ever said more than a few words to me unless she had to and, when she did, you could easily hear the dislike in her voice. I knew she couldn’t stand the sight of me. I remember, on my eighth birthday, my dad threw me a party and bought me the prettiest diamond earrings. I’m not sure if it was the diamonds or the two-karat weight that pissed my mother off, but she sure was mad. You could see the anger in her face and the jealousy in her eyes. I was beyond confused by her reaction, but I was totally shocked when she stormed away from the party and no one saw her for the rest of the day. She wasn’t even there when they sang happy birthday to me…and I didn’t miss her ass, either. As long as my daddy was there, I was good. That was the last birthday I had with my father and the last present he ever gave me. I cherish those diamond earrings to this day.
I remember waking up to chaos one Sunday morning. I heard my mother screaming and crying as I got out of my bed and ran out of my room to see what was going on. My mother was yelling and completely tripping out. When my Uncle Junior saw me, he picked me up and carried me back into my bedroom.
“What’s wrong with my mother?” I asked him.
“Your father was killed last night. He won’t be coming back home ever again,” he stated, looking directly in my eyes with no trace of emotion. I thought he was joking, but why else would my mother be crying like that? A few days later, we buried my father at Inglewood Cemetery , amongst hundreds of people who came to pay their last respects.
We stayed in The Palisades for a couple more years until my mother decided that she didn’t want to be secluded in the suburbs any longer. My father left us a lot of money and had created a trust fund that I couldn’t touch until I turned 18. When we left the Palisades , we moved to a three-bedroom house in Windsor Hills. I never really saw any of my cousins anymore; my aunts
Daddy was a very handsome man. He stood about five foot eleven with the physique of a boxer—not buff, but very well built. His skin was the color of a Hershey Bar and he wore his haircut very low. He had a very strong presence about him. At home, he would laugh and tell jokes and run around playing with me, but he was a completely different man outside of the house. While my dad was in the streets conducting business, he had the intimidating presence of a pit bull. When he was angry, his teeth would clench so hard that his jawbone would flex and broaden, just like the vicious dog. His older brother, my Uncle Junior, was his right hand man. If you saw my father, you saw him. Uncle Junior didn’t only look mean, he was mean. He never played with me or even spoke to me. I don’t think he liked my mother and he took that out on me. He always kept his distance from me like he didn’t like little kids.
My father met my mother when she was in her second year of college. He was 22 and she was 20. She was impressed by his money and the nice clothes he wore. Since she came from money and grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, she couldn’t picture herself being with anyone who couldn’t take care of her as well as her parents. They married a year after they met, against her parent’s wishes. She dropped out of school and moved with him to a San Francisco suburb. They lived there for two years before she got pregnant with me. They decided to come back to LA before she gave birth because he wanted to be closer to his family. My mother’s family disowned her, so she only had my father’s family to count on throughout her pregnancy.
My mother was miserable when my father wasn’t around. She treated me like I wasn’t her child. I basically took care of myself, combing my own hair and getting myself dressed, all at the young age of five. At least when my aunts were around, I felt like someone other than my father loved and cared about me.
While I was growing up, my mother hardly ever said more than a few words to me unless she had to and, when she did, you could easily hear the dislike in her voice. I knew she couldn’t stand the sight of me. I remember, on my eighth birthday, my dad threw me a party and bought me the prettiest diamond earrings. I’m not sure if it was the diamonds or the two-karat weight that pissed my mother off, but she sure was mad. You could see the anger in her face and the jealousy in her eyes. I was beyond confused by her reaction, but I was totally shocked when she stormed away from the party and no one saw her for the rest of the day. She wasn’t even there when they sang happy birthday to me…and I didn’t miss her ass, either. As long as my daddy was there, I was good. That was the last birthday I had with my father and the last present he ever gave me. I cherish those diamond earrings to this day.
I remember waking up to chaos one Sunday morning. I heard my mother screaming and crying as I got out of my bed and ran out of my room to see what was going on. My mother was yelling and completely tripping out. When my Uncle Junior saw me, he picked me up and carried me back into my bedroom.
“What’s wrong with my mother?” I asked him.
“Your father was killed last night. He won’t be coming back home ever again,” he stated, looking directly in my eyes with no trace of emotion. I thought he was joking, but why else would my mother be crying like that? A few days later, we buried my father at Inglewood Cemetery , amongst hundreds of people who came to pay their last respects.
We stayed in The Palisades for a couple more years until my mother decided that she didn’t want to be secluded in the suburbs any longer. My father left us a lot of money and had created a trust fund that I couldn’t touch until I turned 18. When we left the Palisades , we moved to a three-bedroom house in Windsor Hills. I never really saw any of my cousins anymore; my aunts
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