I’m only fourteen and I’ve been through it all, in and out of Alder Juvenile Hall. They took my dad away when I was eight. Everything started when I was in sixth grade. Smoking, fighting, and skipping. I never really liked being told what to do. By the age of thirteen I was already providing for myself, getting my own clothes, shoes, and everything else. Only fourteen years old, I was already feeling grown. Out all night, smoking, drinking, and sippin lean. Nobody calling to check up on me.
One Thanksgiving morning my mom was up, cooking drunk. There was a knock on the door, thump, thump, thump. I opened my door to my cousins. We was funna get high but my mom put her arm out and told them, “Bye.” I told her my papa said they can come.
It started with an argument but ended in a fight. She choked me, punched me, and even spit her blood all over my face, then grabbed a pillow and smothered my face. All I wanted is for her to get off. No matter what I said she stayed on me. My granny called the police, they came in a hurry. I was sad, I was angry. So my mom told them to let me go. It took awhile for me and my mom to talk. Now everything’s back to normal, I just wish we never fought. But it only made our bond stronger.