I was raised by a single mom that lived in the government projects. She went to all the Women’s Liberation (Women’s Lib) and Feminist Movement meetings with her kids, me and my sister, in tow.
My older sister would constantly provoke and torment me for her own amusement. If I complained to my mom when she got home from work, she would tell me not to bother her. But if I hit my sister back, I got beaten, badly.
By the time I was 14, in 1978, I wasn’t taking that shit anymore. One day she played with me the wrong way one too many times and I knocked her out cold with one punch. She had a fat lip and ran to all the project rats to show it off, calling me an abusive brother.
From that day on, I was a target. Local thugs started chasing me any time they saw me.
I never resorted to violence. That’s not my nature. It takes a hell of a lot to push me that far. The only time I will attack anyone is if they physically attack me first.
Curse me, stare at me, run your mouth all you want, the minute you lay a finger on me, I will be one of the people getting arrested after I’m done with you.
