Health/ Period 2
Freedom of Choice
To try to remember at what point or period of time things started going wrong in my life. But my family life, or to say my parents’ lifestyle, had a big influence on the decisions I made in life. Not that I’m blaming my parents or anybody else for my decisions and actions in life, but the influence was there nonetheless.
One of my first childhood experiences came when I was about six years old. I was an only child then, but I remember my parents and I had eaten out. At that time we had this dog of female Doberman Pincher we had named Daisy. Upon returning home from the restaurant we discovered ...view middle of the document...
I hated school now. Altogether I was “left back” in school in the second, fourth, and sixth grades. I eventually dropped out when I was sixteen years old.
But before I got to that point in school, things were not good at home. I got caught shoplifting. My father was called, but nothing would really happen to me. I started stealing from my parents. I would steal a lot of money from them. Again I was never really punished for the things I was doing. By the time I was eleven or twelve years old, I knew my father was a drunk and a drug addict, and that my mother was a drug addict as well. At first they would try to get high on the sneak, but I knew what was going on. I knew my father was selling drugs. There were just too many people coming to the house.
My father would get drunk every day. It was during these drunken times he would start fights with me and my mother. I hated that, but I was too small to do anything about it. So many times I saw him hit my mother in the face. One day I was sent home from school; as I said, before I dropped out I wasn’t doing too well. That same night, my father got really drunk and he beat me with a belt until I fell to the floor, I told myself I will never let him hit me again! I was fighting with people just about every day by now.
Eventually, we lost the house, and I know all the money I stole from my parents was part of us losing our house. By the time I was fifteen I started drinking and getting drunk. After quitting school at sixteen I just did not care anymore. My drinking got worse, I was out all night robbing people and just doing anything I wanted to. One night I had gone home to get something to eat. I remember it was about 7:00 PM. I walked into the house while one of my boys was outside; my father was sitting there in his usual drunken state. When he saw me, he started on me right away. He called me all kinds of names and saying things so I turned around and started to leave. He came at me and hit me in the face! I grabbed him and brought him down the steps in front of the house. We started fighting, but now I was a lot bigger than when he last beat me, so I was getting the best of him. My friend came and broke us up. My father ran into the house, and my mother ran out of the house yelling for me to run. My father came out of the house with a knife. My mother tried to take the knife from him, but couldn’t. I kicked him in the chest knocking him and my mother to the ground. My father got up and came at me again. I started throwing punches, but he stabbed me in the stomach. By this time the police were there so I ended up in the hospital and my father in jail.
When I was released from the hospital, my mother took me and my little brother to live with her sister in New York City. I was there about two weeks when my mother and her sister decided to send me to Job Corps. The same day they dropped me off at Job Corps they went and bailed my father out of jail. By this time we had lost the apartment, so...