My mom brought me up, and now we live with my grandparents in Philly. My mom and I have never had a real "mother/son" relationship. I lived most of my twenty-two years without parents and their supervision. At the age of fifteen I dropped out of high school and got a full-time job.
School was a joke to me. Every morning I would go the hill behind our school to smoke. I always carried two packs of cigarettes. One full with Camel filters and one filled with pre-rolled joints. Sometimes I"d skip classes to go smoke with friends. Other days I"d bring a bottle full of half Everclear and half soda, go drink on the hill then pass out under the stairs. Every time someone couldn't find me, my friend Bill knew exactly where I was. .
I dropped out of school because the other kids in my school were so immature. I just couldn't stand it any longer. On the day when September 11th attacks happened, the other kids were really obnoxious. I swear if I stayed in the classroom for one more second, I was going to beat someone up. I got out of my seat and just walked up and haven't been back to school since. I got a full-time job at Party Warehouse. Even though I hated it, it was a job that brought in the dough. I worked just about forty plus hours a week because I wasn't in school. Since I was always at the store, I ended up doing almost everything. It was my store.
My father was a bad man. I"m not really resentful or upset that he left us. In a sense it was almost a miracle. He was a raging alcoholic and a violent drunk. He would come home from the bar and reeking of whiskey, and beat my mom and I. Once he came home while I was upstairs. From my room I could hear an argument starting. The yelling became louder and I hear a loud thump. I ran down the stairs to find my mom quivering in the corner of the kitchen with a wicked shiner, tears gushing from her eyes, cheeks flushed. My dad's standing in front of her has he starts to raise his fist once more to finish her off.
