Don’t let the great High school years fool you.
Those three years were the worst my life could bare at that age. The very reason suicide became an idea in my thoughts and a failed attempt so mind boggling I never tried again. High school pushed me to get my Diploma. Pushed me out of school and back to the streets where I belong. As it turned out I was very street smart by my latter teen years. Having been around every corner just about in NYC. In lots of parks playing handball and smoking blunts. At a few nightclubs way before I was eighteen. I even managed to get myself arrested and sent to Rikers Island before then too.
Having parents that make you the best you can be, comes with the very same attitude of being better. I had such a greater than attitude. I had so many hidden talents. Not many of my friends knew I could sketch. Not many of them and certainly not the ones that knew I could sketch knew I could write Poetry. Not many of them knew I could read and play music. And most of them didn’t know I learned French for two years. One thing about me I can most definitely say is I kept most of my attributes to myself. My girlfriends and my High school sweetheart would be the ones to receive my poems. They would hear me play the guitar only one heard me play the violin beside those in my Seventh grade, music class. And my mom and sisters were the only ones to hear me play the recorder. Again except for those in my fifth grade, music class.
All my years of going to school was more of a drive. A mental drive. I wanted to go to school. Or was it that all I ever really remember my Father saying is go, to school. Get a great education and I’ll pay for your college. All throughout my years until the day he died. Those words I heard more than any other.
AKA Bro. 