I was a little shit during high school. I went into a bad boy phase once I stepped into the 10th grade. Starting skipping school and hanging with the wrong crowd. You know how stories like this end, right?

So I’m pretty sure you don’t need me to tell you about the clown, the pickle, and 83 cents. What a mess. I was a fucking liar too. If my mom asked me about school, I would say it was the most magical place on earth. And homework? I told her I didn’t do it! I protested an injustice for a system that always looked down on black men, and how homework was the school’s way of calling us idiots. Basically, I confused and politicized the fuck out this issue so much my mom just stopped asking about homework altogether.

By the middle of the school year, I only went to class three times. The other times I with the cool kids. Why? I was just happy having friends for the first time in a while. I was pretty much a loner in my entire ninth grade. Hell, I guarantee to you that my class doesn’t remember me going to Northwestern. I was never bullied, which is good; however, I didn’t exist. Going into the 10th grade, my goal was simply to have friends. Nothing else really matter.

I was partying and drinking with the cool kids. And girls actually noticed me! Was I happy? Hell yeah. I actually felt like I belonged somewhere. However, I was fucking up in school. My home life wasn’t better. I was also doing things to keep up the bad boy image. The worst was stealing. First it was cherry jerry ranchers. Damn those things are good. Then it evolved into taking money and electronics. I denied everything. Even when I got caught.

I didn’t give a fuck though. Life was good. Sure, I was tearing apart my family because of my bullshit, but who wouldn’t do that for girls and money? But, one night, me and a friend were drunk as fuck. He saw Joe, a guy that he was beefing with and spewed out loads of crap. Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t say anything about his momma. I’m in my own world counting my change. I think I had 32 cents. Do you know how hard it is to count money when you’re drunk? Especially when a bunny is fucking with your head? Never drink and count money. Ever. However, a loud pop goes off. Joe runs like a rat when the lights turn on. My friend is lying on the floor bleeding. Dying. That moment scared the shit out of me.

I wasn’t about that life. Luckily, my friend survived the incident and I came to my damn senses. I did so much damage to my life that it was going to take time to fix the problems that I’ve caused. However, I had to man up and deal with the consequences of my actions. It took a long ass time but all my issues were fixed by the time college graduation rolled around. No more lying. No more stealing. I do still drink though. Did I mention that you should never count money when you’re drunk?