I know this is going to sound cliché… but I had it kinda rough growing up as a kid, although I was an only child. I only knew my daddy because he was my neighborhood’s crackhead, and my mom was a single mother who spent more time partying, than taking care of me. My grandparents died before I was born, and I wasn’t really close to any of my other family members, so I figured out how to raise myself.
Me and my moms shared a small apartment in a sometimes decent neighborhood. I called it sometimes decent because on one hand, you had your crack heads and drug dealers on the block, but you also had small businesses and friendly homeowners in the area too. Needless to say, it was an interesting mix at times, but I liked growing up there.
My mom was more like an older sister than mother on responsibility terms. She was just extremely young minded and was never around much. Maybe because she had me at 18, so she felt like she didn’t get to finish living her life.
It was okay though. Despite a lack of positive influence, I turned out okay. I was an honor roll student all throughout elementary and high school, and graduated with honors. I wanted to be an entrepreneur and writer, a passion of mines since forever. I wrote lots of short stories and poems growing up, and even interned for a magazine for a few years while I was in high school.
The only time my mother really paid attention to me was when I did well in school, something she was really proud of. She loved to brag about me, and encouraged me to go to college so I could “get us up out the hood” something I didn’t have a problem with. At least she paid attention to me for once.
Anyways, I did really well in school, and got accepted into my dream college down in Atlanta, but I didn’t score high enough on my ACT to get a full ride. I got a few scholarships, but it wasn’t enough to cover that 50,000 a year tuition. But I really wanted to go.
I cried and cried about it until my mom suggested that I move down to Atlanta and go to school part-time. Just find a job there, some cheap housing, and go to school. I was scared to make that move. But I was determined. So in late August, I packed my few possessions up, and took the Amtrak to Atlanta.
During my whole senior year of high school, I had three jobs that gave me more than enough money for my move, so I found a small, studio apartment in Atlanta, that was a few minutes away from my college. I had paid my rent for the 1st three months, enough to cover me until I found a job down there.
I was scared, but determined to make things work. Two weeks after I had moved in, I had found a job at a coffee shop, and got by on that for a while. Things weren’t easy, but they weren’t bad either.
Until I met George.