Off The Record: She Didn't Have To Do That..

My moms and my pops broke up when I was like 8-9...My oldest brova belonged to my Pops, and my middle brother came from my mother and fava. So when they broke up me and my middle brova had to decide who was going with who.. My brova was my mother's favorite so she took him.. I stayed and rocked with my pops. It was me, my oldest brother and my pops. Lol. Bad mix. My pops was going through it boy. lol. Homie was in there washing clothes with motherfuckin shampoo. lol. I walked in one day and homeboy was trynna squeeze the last little bit out of the container... shit was making that funny noise. lol. I was like "yo you washing clothes with shampoo?" lol. Nigga tried to play it off like (deep voice) "yea, it helps break up the deodorant in the arm pits" lol. I just shook my head and walked off.. "aiight my nigga". lol. We was broke nigga. lol. That's what that was. The one good thing though, that came from it all.. was the ass kicking stopped. After my moms left, my pops didn't fuck us up no more. That's crazy. This is my first time realizing that. Maybe that nigga was too busy trynna figure life out.

He was trynna hold it together. Bills was backed up crazy. Every month, either the fuckin lights was off or we ain't have no heat. Straight up. And he worked nights... Me and my brother used to have to sleep in our coats. Lol. Dead ass. That nigga would come home in the morning and fall asleep on the couch in his. lol.

That nigga couldn't cook for shit. lol. My nigga was freestyling and learning on the fly. Word. He figured out how to make pasta... Lol. Nigga it was over! We had pasta every night! lol. Plain white pasta, no sauce, just butter and Mrs. Dash seasoning all over that thing.. with green peas and them beef sausage shits, pause, out the yellow box. Every night nigga. Lol. The dinner menu took a drastic change.. you hear me? lol. Word. Mom's was out. That's how I learned to cook. I had to. I started with simple shit like eggs or whatever and figured the rest out.

But one day, my next door neighbor, Ms. Rose, old Jamaican lady. She seen me out her window playing on the sidewalk. She lived on the 2nd floor. She was like "aye boy" in that Jamaican accent. lol "aye boy, aye boy".. "Yes Ms. Rose" she was like "go get me a big bowl" she made her hands like the size of a big bowl like she was throwing up Crip. lol. I went in the house and took her one of those big Tupperware shits.. I don't know if Ms. Rose seen if we was losing weight or what, but she hooked us up nigga. lol She put mad stewed chicken and rice and shit in that big ass bowl and put aluminum foil over it and said take this home... Nigga! I loved Ms. Rose after that. Those was good nights. lol. Ms. Rose would do that for us ever so often.. she looked out, she fed my family. She didn't have to do that.

By, A Troubled Youth

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.