My Favorite Girl

By Kelvin Belton

Chapter 6

In 1977, I was living in a set of grey, brick apartments between the houses that had no name. As a child I didn’t need anything, so the fact my father wasn’t around didn’t really matter. My mother, she used to boost, and for those that don’t know, that’s stealing clothes and any other items she felt were worth it.  I had all the clothes I cared about back then. There was no such thing as name brand clothes for kids. But if there was, my Moms would have gotten them for her boys.

I remember one night my Mom had us stoop beside a bush for a long time while she waited to bust this guy up the side of the head with a baseball bat.

Around the street from our apartment there was a small store where a kid could get a bottle of soda, a couple of lemon cookies from the jar or a big handful of penny candy for just twenty five cents.  But if I got caught crossing the street to go to that store, I risked getting my ass whipped.  To walk that block and a half to Idlewood Avenue and see the hustle and bustle of the people up there was like a whole new world to me. I never knew then what guys were doing dropping money on the ground, rolling dice, snapping their fingers.  I marveled at the big Cadillacs and Lincoln Continentals and fur coats but I never said to myself, yeah, I gots to live like that.  It wasn’t until a couple of years later when I was introduced to life on Second Street that I started to get ideas.

Second Street was where the pimps, prostitutes and hustlers and users hung out. There was also a lot of bars and restaurants where you could hang out and listen to the juke box. I used to be amazed at how the small box on the table could control the big box in the middle of the room.  My mom used to take us with her, and the reason for this was there was no such thing as a babysitter. I clearly remember being watched by everyone from dopefiends to prostitutes while sitting there waiting for my Mom to come back from boosting. I never looked up to anyone back then because my Mom never raised me to look up to anyone but God. I was told quite a few things by my Moms. One was to follow my own path and not the things I see in hers. Moms was very well respected amongst everyone I’d ever seen come into her presence. This was very different for a woman back then.  And after seeing her fight and split heads I understood why. I remember one night my Mom had us stoop beside a bush for a long time while she waited to bust this guy up the side of the head with a baseball bat. That’s when I learned to handle my problems discreetly.

I learned lessons from everyone close to me, but it all started with the only birth parent I knew, Moms.  After years of observing from behind closed doors at and around corners in her house, it was easy to see the opportunity, my opportunity, to gain from the drug game. My Uncle Tweetybird never knew, but I watched him. He was that weed man before me, and he never had to tell me. You see, I had a pair of eyes, two nostrils, and a brain that worked together. He didn’t put any weed sales in front of me and say this is the thing to do, but I paid attention to how the same people would come for only a few minutes but never missed a beat.  Any child can figure out what’s going on in their house over time. I was never the type of person to let you know I was learning from you, but if you watched me like I watched everybody else, you’d see I was always picking up things and using them in my life. By watching the alpha males of my group, I learned to seize every opportunity I could.