If you need to catch up on the story, check out parts one and two.

A month after the scuffle with my aunt, I was living in the burbs.

Days after our altercation, I’d come home from school to find that my grandmother had had a stroke. No responsible adult in the house meant that I was packing up and moving in with my mother, who now lived with her boyfriend in an apartment complex in Willoughby Hills. Willoughby Hills was actually closer to my old neighborhood than Bedford Heights, (the bus ride to school was certainly shorter than the 2 hour trek I made from Bedford), but with few black people, no sidewalks and the fact that I didn’t even live in the same county as Cleveland, I felt like I had moved to another planet.The residents of Willoughby Hills weren’t affluent, but regular working class people from an array of ethnic backgrounds–black, white, Indian and Chinese. I didn’t interact much with the people in my complex outside of obligatory pleasantries, but there were no conflicts in the building and things were pretty quiet.  I was a junior in high school, living the inverted version of my life as a freshman. Instead of living in the hood and going to school in the ‘burbs, I was living in the ‘bubs and going to school in the hood.

Continue Reading »

“I’m here FOREVER!”

These words were screamed by my childhood buddy/play cousin Nicole* as she rammed her opponent’s head into a wall. An hour ago, I’d been pulled out of one of my classes by another friend, Renee* and given the rundown.

“So Nicole got into it with [Such and Such] during 3rd period and they had to go to the principal’s office. We went to study hall for 4th period and [Such and Such's] sister tried to check her about it.”

My eyes were wide as I tried to figure out why this story warranted me being pulled out of class. Nicole had been kicking ass and taking names since elementary school (including an incident where she took a razor to the face of a girl who bit her boob during a fight in 7th grade). Her having an altercation wasn’t exactly news. “So what did she say exactly?”

“The girl asked if Nicole was going to fight her sister and Nicole says ‘No. I was gonna maul that ‘ho.’ So then, the girl walked away like ‘Man, I’ll kill one of these lil hoes over my sister.’ So Nicole’s probably gonna fight her in study hall after lunch. We have to be there if she needs back up. ” Continue Reading »

In the Battle of Bourgeois vs. Hood, I tend to pop up  somewhere in the middle.

Growing up on 140th and St. Clair (Yes THAT St. Clair made famous by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony), the backdrop of my upbringing was indeed hood. My household consisted of myself, my mother, my grandmother and a crack-addicted aunt. Castalia Avenue was unique in that there was a “nice” end and a “bad end.” I, fortunately, lived on what was considered the “nice” end of the street. The residents of most of these homes were older people and hard-working families. We kept quiet, mowed our lawns, planted flowers in the summer and hung Christmas lights in the winter. Stepping a foot in the grass or tree lawn would warrant an evil old lady side eye accompanied by a harsh warning to “Get out of my grass!” The kids on our end were “good” kids who went to the area public schools (with the exception of myself, but more on that later).  The other end of Castalia was little different. The residents were louder and larger families occupied the three-bedroom homes. The lawns were unkept and it wasn’t uncommon to see children run and play right through them without consequence. There were three families in particular that were known for kept up noise and trouble, which often resulted in full-fledged brawls in the middle of the street. There was a quiet understanding on Castalia. Our end was “The Suburbs” and their end was “The Hood” and while all the kids of Castalia played together, the adults had a strict Us vs. Them policy.

Continue Reading »