Monthly Archives: March 2021

We moved to Olmsted Township, Ohio, the summer before my 10th-grade year. The first time I walked into the house they rented, it was nighttime. The rural landscape was pitch dark. I was not used to not being under the bright city lights. It was a strange reality for me at that moment. The house was older, a lot older. It had a musty smell from the dingy carpets in the living room. The house tilted to one side and this was probably one of the least of the things I disliked about this house. The laundry room off to the side of the kitchen, had unfinished wooden stairs that lead down to a clay rock floor. When it rained, the floor would get wet, and the room would smell like old mildew. It was also not connected to any form of central heat or air. So, when it was cold outside, the room was cold. The same could be said when it was hot outside (This room will be relevant later in the story.)

The bedrooms were upstairs. But to get up to them, you had to first duck under the doorway that preceded the slanted wooden stairwell. The floors creaked as you walked over them to get to my bedroom located at the end of the hallway. The room was small. It had only one window. That overlooked the front of the street. I liked that. I could sit there and imagine being in one of the cars driving away from my current situation. I spent that next week unpacking my room. (I was allowed to have all of my stuff back.) I found that one of the wooden planks from the hardwood floors was removable. When I lifted it, there was a small space underneath where I could hide some small things. This excited me greatly. Because now I knew that I could be free to write in my diary again. And feel like I could express myself without fear of my mother and her husband reading it. I would be able to hide my diary underneath the plank in the floor so that they wouldn’t find it.  I could then hide the loose plank underneath a Mexican ceramic hacienda cookie jar that I used as decoration. (They never found or knew about that lose spot in the floor.)

The August before school started, I got my first job. It was at Wendy’s. And I was almost 15yrs old. I was so excited, that I was finally going to be able to make my own money. I could then buy all of the “in-style” things that I wanted. (My mom would only purchase my brother and I the essentials. One pair of tennis shoes. Five pairs of pants and five shirts. That I would rotate each week, to not look as if I had always worn the same thing. And, on top of that, those things came from K Mart or Walmart. Which then ensued the kids to make fun of me for wearing the same clothes that were also not “in-style.” I would work for most of the day each Saturday and Sunday, to not have to be around my mom and stepdad. And to feel like I had some freedom.

At the end of the month, it was time to start my new school. I went to Olmsted Falls High. It was a beautiful school with the majority of the kids being white. Who were very well off. I hated being at this school. For no other reason than I did not want to be there. And because of my racist white stepfather, I disliked the white kids at the school. I felt out of place. And that I did not fit in with these privileged kids. I wanted so bad to be back in Cleveland with my friends. I missed them. Which only made my hatred for that school stronger.  As time went on, I became friends with some girls who were also not from Olmsted Falls and were minorities like myself. We had a common bond of hating the school and the privileged kids who went there. We were all in different grades, so we only saw each other in the halls and at lunchtime. When we would get together, we would complain about how much we hated the school. And how we wanted to be back at our old schools.  I put in zero effort while I was at that school. I did not care about my mom. Her husband. This town. This school. These kids. My grades. Or even my life. I just wished I was 18 and able to move out and be on my own. 

Things at home were still very controlled for me. Each day my brother and I had to swap out the chores we were to complete. For example, if I had to clean the kitchen and the dining room, he had to clean the living room and the bathroom. Then the next day, we swapped. He cleaned the kitchen and the dining room. I then cleaned the living room and the bathroom. Which was fine, but my stepfather each night would put on a glove and inspect the rooms. We were not allowed to go to sleep. (On a school night, with homework and all) Until all of those rooms were cleaned, according to his liking. If there was a speck of dust or dirt anywhere, we had to clean the WHOLE room back over again. And then on garbage day, it was my job to clean out the refrigerator of all the old uneaten food from the week. On one particular winter morning, before school. I went downstairs to throw out the old food from the refrigerator. The garbage can was in the nasty laundry room off of the kitchen. I would have to walk from the fridge to the laundry room door. Open the door. Walk down the stairs. Over the nasty floor to the garbage can to throw out the old food. On this one particular morning. Inside the fridge. There was this plastic bowl of canned corn, that contained water and solidified butter. I took the bowl to the trash and dumped it out. Then, I proceed to head towards my room so that I can go and get ready for school. My stepfather stopped me in the living room to tell me to go and get my only pair of shoes out of the garbage can. I turned to my mother, and say my shoes were upstairs in my room. She replied softly to me just go and get your shoes. (There was a rule. We weren’t allowed to leave our shoes downstairs. And I had apparently left my shoes downstairs the night before.) I turn back towards the cold laundry room to look for my shoes. And when I got to the garbage can, I lifted the lid, and with my bare hand, I moved around the corn I had just dumped out to find my shoes covered in the wet and watered-down corn. I completely lost it. I start yelling. I hate this bleeping house! You are NOT my father! I hate you! I wish you were dead! He hears me yelling out. He stomps towards me as he is hollering out profanities, proceeds to grab me, and as I try to fight back. He takes my arms and puts them behind my back as he pushed me face-first up against the backdoor. I am screaming and yelling to Let me go! Let me go!  My mother, then comes into the kitchen and tells him to let me go. 

I ended up going to school that day with dirty, wet, cold shoes. (It was wintertime in Ohio. Which meant we had plenty of nasty, slushy, cold snow to walk in.) I remember being at school sitting in class that day feeling defeated. And wondering, how could my mom let him do this to me?! You would think that I would not have been surprised by this after everything. But I was. And per usual, this would not be the last time she would not protect me from him….

A couple of months after getting caught cutting lunch, my two friends Keyah, Felita, (who were not in my culinary program classes) and I were in class talking about how fun it would be for me to come to their house to meet Reggie and John. I can’t remember the exact dialog from the conversation, but our plan was this. We were going to cut school, ride the bus to their house, hang out. And when we were done. They were going to stay home, and I would ride the bus back alone to be in my last class of the day. I also had a plan on how to get around that annoying sign-in sheet. At this point, I had been getting the sheet signed by my teachers for a couple of months now. Which meant I had plenty of time to think about how I could get away with cutting classes and still be able to get my sheet signed. I decided I was going to ask one of my friends who was in all my other classes with me to pretend it was her sign-in sheet and get our teachers to sign it. I would then get the sheet back from her at the beginning of our last class together, erase her name, put my name on it. And then boom, sign-in sheet all signed and I freedom I could still have. LOL!

The day comes that we decided we were going to cut school. Keyah, Felita, and I got on the bus to head out. I was so excited and nervous at the same time. I couldn’t believe I was doing what I was doing. I am a rule follower by nature. And at this point, this was probably the biggest thing I had done that would be considered “breaking the rules.” I kept thinking, “I hope I don’t get caught.” “I’m going to be in so much trouble if I do.” But then, eventually, the fear subsides. And we get off the bus to start walking towards their neighborhood. When we got to Keyah’s house, John and Reggie came over to meet us. I was so nervous and feeling very shy at that moment. I had spoken with both of these guys and was very familiar with them. But still seeing them in person made me overwhelmed. They all started talking and then I joined in. The conversation flowed easily and soon after we ended up at John’s house to hang out. The talking eventually turned into wrestling, we wrestled around the room. Laughing, and having fun, just being kids. It was very innocent. Time flew by, then it was time for me to leave. I still had to get back to school before my last class, so that I wouldn’t get caught. On my way back, I relived the excursion in my mind. Thinking about how much fun I had just had. And how it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t be friends with whomever I wanted to be. I mean I was in general a good kid. I had only rebelled because I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my friends outside of school. I thought about how I dreaded going back home into what felt like a prison around people who did not care about me as much as they cared about controlling me. I made it back to the school on time for my last class. I got the sheet signed and made it home on time. Without anyone knowing what had occurred on that day for me. 

Because my first “real” trip away from the school was so successful, I continued with my occasional trips to Keyah and Felita’s houses. And I didn’t think much about my attendance or my grades. My mom didn’t care whether I brought home good grades, so I did just enough to keep them above a 69%. She didn’t care. And why should I?! 

Later that year, we had a half-day at school, there was testing going on. And we were going to be able to leave once we were done with all our tests. I decided this would be a great day to go to my friends’ houses. I mean how would my mom even know!? Up until this point I hadn’t gotten caught. And I was completely comfortable with navigating the bus routes to get to where I needed to go. After taking the tests, I rode with my friends to their house. We had all the fun that we always have. And I ended up staying longer than I should’ve. I did not take into account the time and number of buses I was going to have to take to get back to my neighborhood from their neighborhood. After I left, I was riding through downtown, and we ran into a lot of traffic. Which slowed down the already slow bus trip dramatically. I was so anxious. I knew I needed to be at Tower City by a certain time, so that I could catch the next bus to my neighborhood to be home at the time I was expected to call my mom. Well, I ended up missing the bus, and I had to wait for the next bus to come. This was it… I knew I was about to be late. On the last bus ride home, I thought about all the excuses I could use to get out of the trouble I was about to be in. But nothing believable came to mind. I get off the bus and start walking towards my house, I see my second stepdad standing outside the house. He sees me and of course, starts yelling at me from down the street. “Where the bleep have you been?” I get closer to him and tell him that I missed my bus. And that’s why I was late. He continues to yell at me and tells me how he read my diary to see if I had written about running away from home. My heart dropped because I knew I had written about cutting school and hanging out with my friends. And now I knew that he knew. I never thought they would read my diary. I go upstairs and go into my prison and cry. Because once again, I am grounded to a room with nothing in it. And now I am not allowed to be home alone after school anymore. Which was my time to sneak and talk on the phone with my friends. I was back to feeling trapped and unfree. 

A few weeks later, my mom and second stepdad informed me that this would be my last year at my school. That we were moving over the summer to the city where my second stepdad was born and raised. (A white suburb of Cleveland) I was heartbroken, I knew that I would not get to see or talk to my friends anymore. This only fueled my hatred towards them. I knew they were doing this to keep me away from my black friends.

When the last week of school came, I told my friends how much I loved them. And I asked them to sign a school t-shirt I had. I still have that t-shirt to this day. And I very much value the friendships I made that year. (Thankfully, I am friends with a lot of those people on social media today.)

And the countdown continues.

After I graduated the eighth grade, it was time for high school. I chose to go to a vocational school instead of my assigned high school because the boy who I liked since the fourth grade, (who was also my neighbor) went to that school. He was in a grade above my own. And I knew that I needed to go where he went so that I could see him every day. LOL!! There weren’t school buses available to go to this school. So, I had to take the RTA. (The RTA is Cleveland’s public transportation system.) I was able to talk my mom into going to this school because it was a career-focused school. I honestly didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life at this point. I just knew I wanted to go because Tony was there. On the first day of school, I walked to the bus stop at the end of my busy neighborhood road and waited for the bus, listening to music on a secret Walkman that my mom and second stepdad didn’t know I had. (My friend from eighth grade gave it to me at the end of the year, so I could listen to music when my mom and second stepdad weren’t around.) I waited. And then, Tony walked up to the bus stop. I was SO excited and full of butterflies. I said, Hi. And of course, that was it. (Hello, I was an insecure introvert. So, anything more than “Hi” would have overwhelmed me at the time. HAHA.) We rode the bus together sitting separately and I was SO excited. Not only would I get to see him every day, but I also would get to ride the bus with him to and from school. 

We got to school after two bus rides downtown. I walked into the school not knowing anyone. (I mean Tony and I weren’t exactly friends. I was always too shy to talk to him up until this point. Other than saying “Hi.”) I went off to my assigned homeroom, and I met a couple of girls who ended up becoming my friends for the school year and my social media friends to this very day. We were given tours of the different career program environments so that we could choose which career program we wanted to take, besides our normal core classes. I ended up choosing the culinary program. It was the program my friends were taking, and it sounded the most fun. My mom did not take the time out to teach me how to cook, other than scrambled eggs, spaghetti, and mashed potatoes. So, I was excited to learn how to cook. AND… we got to eat. I mean what kid doesn’t want to have the opportunity to eat food while they are in school!?!HAHA. 

Fast forward a couple of months later, I met two other girls that became my friends who weren’t in my culinary friend group. They were neighbors and really good friends. I remember talking with them throughout the year and they would tell me about their other neighbor named John. I ended up getting his phone number. After one of my girlfriends told him about me. I wasn’t allowed to have a boyfriend or even allowed to talk on the phone with a boy. So, I would sneak when my mom and second stepdad weren’t home to talk to him. He went to the Cleveland School of the Arts. And he played music. And because I loved music so much, I thought he was the coolest person. Until he introduced me, over the phone, to his friend Reggie. Reggie was a singer and went to his school also. He was a cousin of Michael McCary from Boyz II Men. And I was so excited to have a friend who was connected to my favorite music group. Reggie and I hit it off well. We talked all the time, for months actually. And became really good friends. I liked Reggie. We laughed. And he would joke with me about Wanya (My crush from Boyz II Men.) How he sang with his head. And how one day his head was going to fall off into my lap while singing to me. (It was funny at the time. LOL!) Reggie’s friendship meant so much to me. And I knew that I needed to meet him face to face….

Because things were so controlled for me at home, I decided to take back some control over my life. I thought it would be a good idea to start cutting classes so I could have some freedom. I started small. I would cut lunch, and my friends and I from the culinary program would go to Burger King down the street and get food. Or we would go across the street to the community college and get lunch from their cafeteria. We would always be really careful about sneaking back into the school. Until one day we got caught. I remember sitting in the principal office just crying. Because I knew how much trouble I was about to be in. (Even though my mom once told me that she used to cut school too.) The principal was nice and told me that he would wait to call my mom until I had the chance to tell her myself. But he was going to call later that evening to also tell her. I was so scared. That bus ride home I was full of nerves. I knew it was about to be bad. I got home, and my mom wasn’t there yet. I did my homework and all of my chores. So that maybe that would lessen the trouble from the news I was about to share with her. She eventually gets home, and I tell her what happened. I told her we only cut school to get lunch because the school lunch was gross. (I mean that was technically the truth, right!?!) I surprisingly did not get into too much trouble that night. I think maybe because my mom used to cut school, she was more lenient with me at this moment. Or maybe she was tired from work. Or maybe my plan of doing all my homework and chores worked. I’m not sure. But my actions did not go unpunished though. I had to start taking a sign-in sheet with me to each class and have my teacher sign it, to prove that I was actually in class. This did not stop me from cutting class. I just got more creative…. Part two next week.

After all of my Boyz II Men things got ripped up. Eighth grade came. And the situation in my house got way more controlled. My brother and I weren’t allowed to eat any food after we got home from school, we had to wait until dinner. My mom and my soon-to-be second stepdad weren’t home after we had got out of school in the afternoon. They worked until the evening time. I remember one time after I got home from school, I was so hungry, so I baked a batch of blueberry muffins and hid them under my bed in a tin so that my mom and my soon-to-be second stepdad wouldn’t find them. Silly me didn’t think that the smell from the muffins would still be in the air when they got home. I got in trouble and after that my soon-to-be second stepdad started marking little black marks on all of the food containers in the fridge so that we couldn’t get away with eating anything after school. They would also keep up with how much food was in the cupboards. 

I (Not trying to share my brother’s story, and he was wrong for this, but he snuck into a neighbor’s house one time to steal a can drink out of the refrigerator so that he could have something to drink. He ended up getting caught and got sent to a house for troubled kids because no one believed him when he said why he broke into the house.) 

My soon-to-be second stepdad would also prevent my brother or myself from having any alone time with our mother.  We would try and go into their room to talk to her. He would come in and make us leave and,  were told to “Leave your mother alone!” Our mother never said anything to him. She never protected us from him. She stayed quiet. And at this point, she really did not engage with us at all. Other than to communicate commands. She allowed him to take complete control of the house. They ended up getting married. And I remember just feeling so helpless. 

Around this time, I was in the 8th grade, and every morning they would leave the exact amount that we needed for breakfast and lunch on the table. As we would leave out for school, we would take our money and put it in our pockets. I decided at some point that I was going to save my money and buy another Boyz II Men tape from the corner store. I had saved up $10.00. I now had enough to buy the tape I wanted. One day my second stepdad sent my brother to the store to buy a pack of cigarettes for him. (You could send kids to the store back then to do that.) I gave my brother my $10.00 and told him to buy me the tape and he could have the rest to buy himself a pack of cigarettes. (Cause remember, my mom said it was ok for us to smoke with her. But when my second stepdad came, he stopped that. And at that point my brother was addicted to smoking.) He left, and I was so excited. I remember I was standing at the sink washing dishes when I heard my second stepdad stomping up the stairs, (we lived in a duplex house, and our house was upstairs) and I knew by the sound of his stomp that I was in trouble. And sure enough, I was. I guess my brother took too long at the store, so my second stepdad decided to walk outside just in time to see my brother trying to hide the tape and the cigarettes he had just bought for himself. He came in hollering and started to hit us. My brother who was in the 5th grade at the time decided to fight back. And my second stepdad grabbed my brother by the neck and pushed up against the wall lifting him up from the floor. I went to my room crying. I couldn’t do anything to help him. My mother never said anything to my second stepdad about it. 

After that, I guess my second stepdad didn’t trust us anymore. So, he decided to come pay me a visit at my school…….

I remember the bell had just rung and it was time to go to lunch. I was walking in the hall with some of my friends. And I heard my second stepdad hollering my name in front of all of the kids in the hallway. My friends at the time were very aware of my home troubles, and one of them said to me “Come on, let’s go hide.” I didn’t go with her. I knew when I got home, it would have been way worse on me. So, I walked to him. He was cussing at me in front of all the kids in the hall and telling me to take him to my locker so he could search it. We walked to my locker and I opened it. I knew I was about to be in trouble because I had a picture of Wanya Morris from Boyz II Men hanging in my locker. I opened the locker, he saw the picture, tore it down, and continued to yell at me. I started crying and ran to the bathroom. He also found my lunch money for the day in my locker and took it. I didn’t eat lunch that day. I was honestly way to upset to eat anyway. When I got home that day, anything that was extra in my room was removed. I only had my bed and my dresser. Nothing else. He even took the door off the hinges. I had to get ready for school in the bathroom in the mornings. I remember just having such strong hate for my mom and her husband, that I started a count down on my calendar until I turned 18. I still had four years to go and many more encounters to endure. To Be Continued…..

When my mom finally left my first stepdad, I was 13yo in the 7th grade. I remember being happy. And not sad at all. Happy because the man who was abusing me would finally not be able to hurt me anymore. And happy because my mom started dating new men and had a newfound happiness about her. Which made her a lot nicer for those few months. 

I remember the day well that I met my second soon to be stepdad. He was this big, burly, long brown-haired man covered in tattoos with a loud deep country accented voice. He came over to our house dressed in a Harley Davidson t-shirt with a black leather vest that connected to a chain that was connected to his leather wallet that was in his back pocket. He also had on his black leather boots that stomped loudly as he walked around our house. He had recently moved back to Ohio from Columbus, Georgia. And was introduced to my mom through a great Aunt that knew some friends of his. While he was at our house, he shared stories about how he was in a biker gang. And how he loved the South. And how great it was. I didn’t think much of what he was saying at the time. As I had never been to the south. It just wasn’t important to me. I was at the time obsessed with the musical group Boyz II Men. And I remember sharing that with him. He said to me “Oh you listen to that boom boom music?!” I wasn’t sure what he meant then, and I played one of their songs on my tape player for him so he could hear who they were. He wasn’t interested in listening. And I didn’t realize at the time that THIS was going to be a huge issue for me and the rest of my time while living at home. 

To continue forward with this story, I have to go back for a moment. In the years leading up to becoming a teenager, I LOVED music. I loved to sing. I loved to listen to music. I found much solace in singing and getting lost mentally while listening to music. My first favorite artist that I would listen to on my little brown Fisher Price tape player was Michael Jackson. He was my first celebrity crush as a young girl. LOL. And you couldn’t tell me anything when “Beat It” was playing. Haha. As I grew, my taste in music never changed. I loved R&B music. I felt so connected to it. And when I was introduced to Boyz II Men in the early ’90s, they were absolutely everything to me. The first song that I ever heard by them was “Please don’t go” I knew after that song I had to have their tape. Cooleyhighharmony was my on repeat every day. Then when II came out, it, even more solidified my love for them and their music. Right before my mom met my second stepdad, she had bought me tickets to go see Boyz II Men in concert with my older cousin. And I was the most excited than I had ever been about anything up until that point. I remember saving all my lunch money for a month to have spending money for the concert. When the second soon to be stepdad came into my life, it was a few months before the concert. Going back to the night I met him, I remember being so excited explaining how I was going to get to see them in person. And I absolutely could not wait.

He ended up moving in with us soon after they met, and he was always around. At first, he was pretty nice. I don’t remember thinking anything bad about him. The day of the concert comes around and, what an exciting day it was for a 13 yo to go see her absolute favorite music group. I had the best time that night. I remember I bought a t-shirt, a concert program and a poster with my little saved lunch money. And to me, these items were my most cherished possessions.

Spring break comes and his two kids from Georgia come to spend the week with us so they could see their dad. They were a lot younger than I was. And I didn’t know how to connect with them. His son was young, like 5 or 6. And his daughter may have been 9 or 10. I was 13. But even though there was an age difference I tried my best to connect with them. I spoke a lot with his daughter about my life, my school friends, my crush at the time. My favorite music group of course. And how I went to see them in concert. Nothing crazy that I can remember. After the week was over, they left and went back home to Georgia. After a few days of getting back, their mom called my second soon to be stepdad and said her kids were acting “black” after hanging around my brother and myself. And she was apparently angry about it. I do not know the extent of that conversation he had with his ex-wife. I just know that when I got home from school that day, it was really bad. My mom and my soon to be second stepdad were yelling at me and my brother. Telling us how we were acting like the N-words. And how we would no longer be allowed to listen to anymore N-music. We couldn’t be friends with any N-words. We couldn’t watch anything on tv with N-words. And then my mother proceeded to get a pair of scissors and cut up my Boyz II Men t-shirt. She ripped up my concert program, my poster, and my ticket stub. And she tore up all my music tapes. I remember being in complete shock and thinking “Why is my mom doing this?” I was so upset. I did not even realize that this was going to be the start of what was to come with the soon to be second stepdad. And all I could think in that moment was “Not Again.”