text: Hello. This tale starts at the end of the “dark” period of my youth. My name isn’t important, but for the purpose of narrative, you can call me T. I grew up in an area that was known by the local population as a barrio. For the uninitiated, it could also be called the ghetto. In a lot of ways, I can say that I had it better than a lot of other people. Prior to the dark period, I had a fairly normal childhood. A mom, a dad, 2.5 kids, rusted chain link fence. But, when my mom died, it set off a series of events that lead to the dissolving of my family circle, and wound up with me living more and more with friends on the streets. Anywhere was preferable to being at home for any length. The end of the dark period signaled the dawn of the sunny time which involved the many animated, insane, and at times, frightening people that made up the tapestry of my teenage year friends. The dynamic of the realities of daily life shaped a great deal of things that most other people took for granted during that time frame. No one in my circle of friends relied on parents for anything more than a bed and an occasional meal. Often times, even that was in question. Police were more widely feared than the gangs that squabbled over the various streets and blocks of the city. Murder, violence, teen pregnancy were all the norm. It may sound trite, but the old gangsta rap songs proclaiming how hard it was to “get up out da ghetto” were not just a piece of creative writing. It began in the fall of my 7th grade year of school. I was still trying to rebuild after the world had crashed down around me. I had begun a new year of school, in a brand new school, with a brand new group of people who hated me just for being me. You see, in an area which had a majority population which were mexican or latin american, I was the token minority: white. The reverse racism of my youth, in hindsight, helped to build me into a much stronger person as an adult. It built character, if you will. But at the time, getting thrown into trash cans, dunked into toilets, and the occasional jumping left me feeling like no amount of character was worth this bullshit. The house next door to me had been occupied by 4 families in the span of my childhood. First was a blue collar gentleman and his family who moved out when the gangs moved in. I was 3 or 4 at that time. Next was a group of guys who I realized when I was older were in fact drug pushers. They didn’t last long, although I don’t actually recall when they left. The third was a family which came with three kids. They wound up being close friends of mine throughout much of my youth, but left at the time the dark period began. The parents wound up divorcing. I never figured out the exact circumstances behind what happened next, but my previous friends Uncle wound up buying the home next. He came with 4 children. Rigo was the oldest of the group. We were in the same grade, and due to a lot of similar interests, he and I became like brothers. He was only half related to the other 3 siblings, being the bastard son of his father. He was a wirey fellow, but extremely athletic. His dad and uncle both played AAA ball, and he always felt like he had huge shoes to fill due to those expectations. But, being a bastard, his step mom treated him disdain and hatred, and as a result, so did his dad. Chunky was the second oldest, and at the time, the only girl of the bunch. As her name implies, she was....rotund. She was a sweet girl for the most part, and more often than not could be find working with her mom in the kitchen or cleaning house. She was slow, however. She had some facial features of someone who suffers from down syndrome, but never took special education classes. In fact, she was a straight A student though most of school. Her grades did not mask the fact that she had the social skills of a stump however. They also did not mask the fact that she had absolutely no street savvy, and often lacked common sense. As a bonus, she also had a near constant odor of cheese. Conejo was the third oldest. For those who don’t speak spanish, his nick name translates to rabbit. As this name implies, he shared a lot of features with said lagomorph. He had pronounced buck teeth, large black eyes, and ears that were two sizes too large for his head. But he was smart. Not just in school, but also on the streets. For the purpose of these tales, I will use the name Rabbit for him. Last in the train was Daniel. Dumb Daniel. Oh....Dumb Daniel. He was a year younger than Rabbit, and shared some similarities in appearance. But where Rabbit had a good head on his shoulders, Daniel was sporting a brain that was sort of rotten and insane. Like his sister, he never was in any special education classes, but unlike her, he was not academically inclined. More than a few times growing up, I wondered how natural selection had not picked his weak antelope off yet. These misfits were the saviors who arrived just in time to prevent me from killing myself. They were my friends. They were my family. They were the hood rats that, prior, I never knew I needed.