Not Your Ordinary Group Home Girl: Life in the System

By C. C. C.

As the years had gone by I had started to reflect on my life and how far I had come from foster care to being in group home after group home my entire life; to this point in my life and felt it was best to leave those who meant me no good in the past. However, sometimes the past just doesnt want to let you go. I went through so much growing up and even in my adult life. I actually spent the majority of my life in group homes from the ages of 12 to 22. So I feel that a lot of my growing has come from being raised by staff members, group home supervisors, neighborhood people, and the group home girls I lived with. It was a struggle but being in those group homes made me who I am today and I cant complain due to how I turned out. So I figured Id write my thoughts, my vision, my struggles, my trials and tribulations down on a piece of paper and share my life with the world as being not Your Ordinary Group Home Girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479762361

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Copyright © 2013 by C C. C.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 03/20/2013

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1: Crack Is Definitely Whack

Chapter 2: This Can’t Be Life It’s Gotta Be More

Chapter 3: Becoming An Adolescent

Chapter 4: Welcome To The Group Home World

Chapter 5: The Streets Is No Place For A Teenager

Chapter 6: My Life Began At This Very Point

Chapter 7: Doing The Dam Thing

Chapter 8: Mother Hood And Its Struggles

Chapter 9: Moving On Is A Bitch

Chapter 10: Hood Smart Vs. Book Smart

Chapter 11: Going Out With A Bang

Auto Biography

Appendix

INTRODUCTION

Bad Girl Gone Good

As an adolescent I was lost to the streets; grew up with all odds against me. Growing up was far from easy and challenging to any wondering eye trying to look into the life of a lost child growing up. I was raised by my grandmother Cathy Perry and two other siblings by the names of Zony Pethea and Ronda Yasquez. As children we were pretty decent behaved; however my grandmother saw other wise and made a point in beating us repeatedly for no obvious reason what so ever. Having to take ass whippings on a regular basis was some what of a usual behavior in our household. Neighbors knew what was going on, but back then between the late 80’s and 90’s neighbors knew not to report my grandmother of fear that she’d start verbally abusing them or worse physically.

Throughout my teen age years I found myself being abused a lot for no apparent reason. If you made a mistake and looked at my grandmother the wrong way you were getting an ass whipping of your life. God forbid if you walked in front of the TV while her shows were on you’d lose some hair on your head from her mopping the floor with you. I don’t want to sit here and say that growing up in my grandmother’s household was all bad because there were plenty of good times. However, the bad times outweighed the good ones. There were bitter sweet moments with my grandmother then there were sweet; but the bitter moments ultimately lead us to Foster Care on two occasions. The first occasion was when I was 4 years old. I and my other two siblings were dragged into Foster Care only to be removed later on due to extreme verbal abuse, physical abuse, and mental abuse. I believe we received far worse of a punishment while in Foster Care then while residing with our grandmother.

After two years of my grandmother fighting to get us taken out of that Foster Home we returned back to my grandmother who seemed sympathetic about the abuse we received while in Foster Care but months later she’d go back into her routine of abusing us again. Back then abuse was like an unspoken word; you better not tell anyone or it will get far worse. As children I, my sister and my brother received unfair punishments for pretty much everything. I kind of chalked it up to my grandmother just being bitter for having to raise three children she hadn’t made. My Mother Molly was the only child my grandmother had had. My Mother later, off and left us with my grandmother with not so much as a good bye kiss. Back in the 80’s drugs were very heavy so it took my Mother by storm. My Mother became addicted to crack in the early 80’s and with that; crack had become my Mother’s best friend.

I can’t say that growing up with a crack head Mother was embarrassing only because almost every child in the hood had a crack head sibling in their family so it was the norm back then. If you didn’t have a crack head in your family you didn’t have real family problems. Cracking on crack heads was the biggest joke growing up yet if it were you being the bud of the joke it was ass whipping time. I personally didn’t care who cracked on my Mother because I wasn’t raised with her around. My Mother came and went as often as she liked and my grandmother allowed it. My Mother manipulated my grandmother into taking us into her custody by bribing her with food stamps; at least that’s what my grandmother expressed to us. My Mother received a check from the welfare office and wouldn’t give my grandmother a red cent. My Mother took that money to buy crack with it every chance she got. There was nothing my grandmother could do because that was her only child and she loved her so she just let her do her.

As days turned into weeks and months turned into years we stopped seeing our Mother. I think it was around my 6th birthday I totally stopped seeing my Mother. She had moved to Florida and never looked back. I hadn’t seen my Mother since then until 2009 when I paid to have her move to New York permanently. That was the worse decision of my life. I wish I had let her ROT down south but I didn’t because my heart couldn’t allow her to commit suicide, as she cried on the phone everyday threatening to do it. My older sister Ronda told me not to bring her up here but I didn’t listen. My inner child was screaming for a Mother I never had and once she was up here there was no going back. She had turned my life upside down trying to break me down because I refused to take care of her. I had now turned into her Mother instead of her being the Mother I was looking for in her.

As the years had gone by I had started to reflect on my life and how far I had come from Foster Care to being in Group Home after Group Home my entire life; to this point in my life and felt it was best to leave those who meant me no good in the past. However, sometimes the past just doesn’t want to let you go. I went through so much growing up and even in my adult life. I actually spent the majority of my life in Group Homes from the ages of 12 to 22. So I feel that a lot of my growing has come from being raised by staff members, Group Home supervisors, neighborhood people, and the Group Home girls I lived with. It was a struggle but being in those Group Homes made me who I am today and I can’t complain due to how I turned out. So I figured I’d write my thoughts, my vision, my struggles, my trials and tribulations down on a piece of paper and share my life with the world as being Not Your Ordinary Group Home Girl.

Chapter 1

Crack Is Definitely WHACK

I was born in Saint Luke’s Hospital and how I got there will shock you most definitely. My Mother took it upon herself to smoke an 8 Ball of crack so that she could go into early labor and that she did. I was born a crack baby to the tenth power; was left on an incubator for several weeks almost going into an entire month. My Mother gave birth to me then left the hospital that same night to run back to that