This story was originally published on L.A. Youth.
By P.S.
When I ran away from my dad’s house I was 14 and wanted to be a rapper. I thought I was going to get signed by a record label and get a lot of money. I thought I’d be famous by now. It hasn’t worked out that way. I didn’t make it as a rapper but I don’t regret running away. It got me into the foster care system. The system helped me get back in school and learn how to be an adult. Without foster care I’d probably be a dropout or homeless right now.
My dad and mom were teenagers when I was born. They weren’t ready to be parents so my grandmother raised me. When I was in seventh grade, we started having problems. If I heard the word “no,” I talked back. When I was in ninth grade, my grandmother drove me to my dad’s house for good. She was tired of my behavior.
My dad doesn’t have a job. He drinks every day and hangs with his homies. When I first came he and his girlfriend sat me down. He said, “You’re almost grown. I ain’t got no rules for you. I don’t know how to be a dad. I don’t want you to go out on the streets to drink. If you’re going to drink, you drink in this house.” He was talking to me like I was a roommate. It was cool with me because I didn’t like rules.
I didn’t go to school because I knew my dad didn’t care. I hardly did anything besides get on the computer and drink hard alcohol like brandy. I was really into writing lyrics and making music. Some of my dad’s friends were rappers and I saw them work with the software. Eminem and 50 Cent rapped about where they came from and that’s what I wanted to do. I’d record rap and hip-hop songs about making it big and being in “the hood.” I had a music page on MySpace with three songs that had more than 1,000 listens. When I finished a song I would think, “If this has a little more work on it, it will definitely be a hit.”
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This story was originally published on WABE-FM, Atlanta.
By Deborah Harris
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For ten years, my family has consisted of my mom, a younger sister and me. We’ve moved around a lot. From California, to Arizona, to Georgia and Florida. We’ve lived in at least seven different places in the past two years and I love it. I like the fact that I’ve gotten used to adapting quickly in different situations. So much change has made me really close to my mom and my sister.
This year, my mom delivered my youngest sister at our house. She didn’t even have a nurse or a midwife with her. Only the baby’s daddy was there with her. My mom said she planned on having more kids. I wonder how our family dynamic will change now. I love the thought of a bigger family – cheaper by the dozen, right? But I also wonder if my close-knit family will come apart.
As my mom’s first baby, she always provided me with security and love through hard times and constant change. And now, as the oldest child, I can help my mom do the same for my youngest sister. As people say, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. When life gives you a baby, well, you love her.
Previously on WABE:
* Learning American Culture In The Fast Food Lane
* Always The New One In School: Rules For Survival
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It’s hard to help someone who can no longer help themselves, especially when that person is someone you love. Read more...
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This story was originally published on LA Youth.
Author's name withheld.
When I was 6, my brothers and sister and I went to live with my aunt because my mom used drugs. I was happy when my aunt took us all in because we could be together. There are five of us and we always took care of each other because our mom couldn’t.
At first Aunt Charlotte was nice to us all—my older brothers Tyler and Roland, my little sister Alicia, my little brother Christopher and me. For our first Christmas and birthdays with her, she bought me and my sister Barbie dolls and my brothers a basketball and all of us bikes and scooters.
But after about six months, for some reason that I still don’t know, she stopped being nice. If things didn’t go Aunt Charlotte’s way, she would yell at us and hit us. We’d get whoopings if she thought our facial expressions were disrespectful (even if we weren’t trying to be), if we didn’t eat all of our food or if we didn’t flush the toilet. She’d say, “Who didn’t flush the toilet?” None of us would say anything, but my big brother Tyler, who is three years older than me, would say, “I did it.” Even though he hadn’t, he’d take the whooping for us.
Tyler was always taking care of us. No matter whose turn it was to clean the bathroom or the kitchen, Tyler would help and most of the time he’d even clean for us.
I tried to be like Tyler and keep an eye on my younger siblings. Christopher struggled with his grades. I protected him by sometimes lying to Aunt Charlotte and telling her he was doing OK in school. This kept him from having to stand in the corner for hours by himself and getting another whooping. If Alicia got hit I would try to cheer her up by doing a silly dance in our bedroom just to make her laugh. I didn’t want her to feel sad, because whenever she was sad, I felt sad with her. I wanted her to know that she has someone who loves and cares about her.
When I was around my brothers and sisters, I could joke around without worrying about getting in trouble, but I was quiet around Aunt Charlotte to save myself from the abuse. Aunt Charlotte would call me ugly and talk about my dark skin and short hair. I was almost always scared.
Many youth today get involved in gangs due to the want of being protected because it is said that once you’re in the gang, you are a part of the “family.” Read more...
Living in a family as the only boy with six sisters isn’t always the sweetest thing, but I love my sisters no matter what and I will always protect them. Read more...
Everyone likes music right? But how many of us are willing to put our dedication and time into the music industry?
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By Bashar Jawad
I care about my parents because they are the ones who brought me to this world. They get me anything I want. They take me to my basketball games and school. They help me in everything.
I care about basketball because this is “my thing”. This is what I want to do when I grow up. This is basically what I imagine my future to be. This is my life. This is my dream. Basketball is me.
I care about my friends because they help me through everything. They help me through tough times. They make me feel better. Friends are basically why I go to school besides education.
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The following was originally published on Minnesota Public Radio.
By Valencia McMurray, Minnesota Public Radio.
More than a quarter of American children experience parents physically fighting each other at some time in their lives. Early researchers into family violence often considered children to be "invisible victims", but that view is changing.
MPR reporter Valencia McMurray revisits an incident that happened in her family when she was six and has kept a hold on her family 14 years later.
St. Paul, Minn. -- My story begins Sept. 30, 1997, at 652 Bush in St. Paul. I remember being inside this house. I remember my father standing right here on this porch, almost exactly where I'm standing, banging on the door. He just wanted to talk. She didn't want to listen to him but I feel like she also didn't listen to us. Because we told her, "Don't go outside mom. Please don't go outside, mom."
"I should have listened," said my mom. "But I figured, it's going to be all right. The neighbors are all outside, and I just thought we were going to be safe. But we wasn't."
I remember his eyes were red. He was not himself. He was someone else. There was no love in that man.
"We sat out there and we talked and I told him that we couldn't get back together and I think that's what made him mad," said my mom. "Because when I got up and turned my back to come in the house, that's when he stabbed me and y'all was screaming and hollering."
I remember standing beside my sister inside. The youngest of my brothers was a few feet ahead of me and then the second oldest of my siblings, Jermaine who was 15, was trying to get through the screen door.
"It just looked like he was hitting her and then I saw the streetlights glisten off the blade," said Jermaine. He had to make a split-second decision. "I'm standing in the doorway and I was going to run through the back door and come around front, but I didn't want to do that and then miss something and it'll be the last time I see my mom alive."
