OFF THE RECORD: PIZZA DAY!

It was like a week before Christmas, it was just like any other day or Saturday in the house. My brothers and I were in the room playing the video game or watching TV. My moms and pops were arguing in the kitchen. Nothing new, just any other day. So we either turn the TV up or tried our best to ignore it. Arguments.. fights.. ass kicking's weren't uncommon in our house. But that day felt different... They continued arguing and then all of a sudden you just hear mad dishes crashing to the floor. Back to back, it sounded like shit was breaking all over the house. So we all ran out to see what the fuck was going on . I had to be like 7 at the time.. my other brothers had to be like 9 and 11, if that..

We ran into the kitchen.. all we see is my pops ducking coffee cops, glass plates, bowls and shit. He was popping mad shit at my moms, like "ima fuck you up".. You just kept seeing shit fly past his head. lol. my moms was letting that nigga have it. lol. He kept saying that shit "ima fuck you up".. "ima fuck you up" and I knew he meant that shit. Next thing I know, I don't know where this shit came from... I yell out.. "You better not touch my mother!" That shit must've paused time b. lol. That nigga looked at me and said "WHAT!?!" and started coming after me... lol. Nigga I hauled ass! Ran to the living room. Round the table, back to the kitchen. Lol. Was not gonna let that big nigga catch me. lol, fuck that. My pops was 6'2.. solid, fucking up anything moving. Homeboy was a certified bug out.

Anyway, my moms packed her shit and left. Days went by. We didn't know where she was. Christmas day came and she still wasn't there. Maybe like around 4-5 O'clock when we heard the door open. It was my moms. She came in real quiet. Hugged us. Not really saying much. She stayed for a little while, maybe to get a few of her things. But before she left she handed my middle brother and I letters address to us individually (My mother had this beautiful hand writing. It was always in script.. her lines were smooth and had these swooping lines and curls at the end of words.) She told us to read it at the same time, but to wait until she left the house.

Later that night, my brother and I read the letter(s). It said she loved us and that she loved her family but her and my father were getting a divorce..

I think we ate pizza for dinner that year for Christmas.

We all have a story, whether good or bad.. there's a story to tell. Off The Record is that . It's an ongoing article where I've gone to my neighborhood and interviewed all of the retired street guys, that left the game alone.. They were filled with stories. Stories that they never told or felt like they could ever tell.. These are true stories. These are the stories of the men and women from neighborhoods like mine, across the country. Enjoy.

Written by , A Troubled Youth