When I was maybe six or seven years old, I fell asleep on the recliner watching a movie with all of my brothers, as I did many weekends. This night was different. I woke up in the middle of the night to someone touching me, inappropriately. I was so young, I didn’t know what was going on, so instead of WAKING UP, i started tossing and turning. As soon as I did my older brother slipped his hands out of my pants and ran back to the couch, very quickly. I rolled back over and tried to go back to sleep. Never said a word to anyone about it, except for my older sister but not for another 20 years. Only because that same brother had done the same thing to her when she was younger.

What sucked is this brother is my moms only son, so even after my parents divorced he was always around. Even though this happened well over 20 years ago, it has stuck with me, embedded in my brain. I would never let him watch my daughter when she was younger (Or ever, but as a heroin addict no one questions my reasoning anymore) I always feel extremely uncomfortable around him.

My brother, as I mentioned is a heroin addict. He has seen my nephew less times in ten years than i have fingers on one hand. My mother had custody of him at one point, and now she gets him for holidays, long weekends, summers. All of the times that he could be seeing him, my mom gets him. He is not aloud anywhere near him. Every time he gets sober for any small length of time, he relapses. He refuses to do the right thing when it comes to my nephew.

Everyone assumes that is why I have really distanced myself from him over the last five years. More distance than normal. I cant even bring myself to accept his FB request. I lost my baby brother to a heroin overdose three years ago this summer. If I could go back and be more present in his life, I WOULD. So, that cant be it.

This was not the only time my brother touched me inappropriately, but it is the first memory I have of the abuse. Its not like I could tell my mom next time hes sober and she tells me to give him a chance. I do not ever see a chance in his future.

until next time…



One Saturday I walked into our apartment and there sat my dad and little brother.

BACKSTORY: The man I  call my dad today is a white man who entered my life when I was almost 10. He gave me the best sibling i could ask for, my little brother. It wasn’t his child, it was a child he helped his ex raise. When they split up, he stayed in his life, the way his biological father never did. My biological father will from this point on be refereed to as Daddy Black, in real life I call him by his first name.

Little did I know this wasn’t some short term fling like the last few guys my mom had dated. Once I realized this guy was trying to stick around, I started doing everything I could to make him change his mind.

I started this earlier, I don’t feel like writing what i was going to write anymore.

until next time…


Btw… I remember having chicken pox…

When you’re a child, you pretty much believe everything that your parents tell you. I was nine years old when my mom uprooted my brother and I. My other brothers are all from previous relationships my dad had. We went straight from the slums to the proper. When my dad went to prison my mom flew with the opportunity to leave.

I was 9, ha, wow… my daughter is 9. I was across the street playing with the lice girls when the police knocked in my front door. I didn’t see it happen, I just remember a LOT of police cars surrounding my house, and me not being aloud to go home. After that…. blank. I have no idea what we did, where we went, how we got there, if my dad was out on bail, how long it was after that, that my mom moved us to a new town, nothing.

BACKSTORY: My dad told me a lie for nearly a decade, and I believed it. It is a seriously ridiculous lie. My dad robbed a bank. He lead me to believe that he gave a friend a ride to the bank. Next thing he knows he is running out of the bank with money flowing out of his clothing all over the street. He jumps in the car, and my dad didn’t know what else to do, but to drive away… Yes I believed that. Even after I didn’t believe it, I pretended to.

I moved from a predominately black neighborhood, to an all white one. There was one other black family where we moved. They had lived there their whole lives… I on the other hand was a new black girl with a white mom, and a dad in prison. Literally, everyone I met was afraid of me. I cant help but laugh at that.

It seriously never dawned on me how racist that is. Maybe I am missing the point.

until next time…