The start ... Phase 1
I was born on June 2nd 1976 in Helena, Arkansas. It was 9:08 p.m. My mother was 17 years old and out of control from what I hear. She had lived a hard life in those few short years before me. Rats, roaches and hunger were familiar friends to her. So by the time I came along poverty was a real live flavor. The bitter taste and musty smell of it had taken a toll on her which she in turn would try to force upon me. Months before I was born while hanging out at the club she met one of the men I would grow to know as my father, Leonard Jobbs. He was a smooth nigga and winning a pretty, young nigga girl from the north was a simple challenge for him. He had been working since he was 14. He knew how to work and the most important thing about him was he knew how to save. He was a tall, lean man, with a jerry curl that you could see your reflection in, his skin was the color of caramel, my mother would give him facials once a week to keep his skin smooth and clear. The smell of his cologne led the way when he entered the room and lingered behind long after he was gone.
All the girls loved him, chasing after him. Wanting him to take care of them the way he was taking care of my mother. Everyone knew who he was and who he was with. His father was one of the deputy sheriffs in Helena and their family was well known. My Birth mother had come from Chicago and southern living was something totally new. She was not used to a man taking care of her she had seen her own father beat her mother into submission and was afraid of anything good. My “father” Leonard made sure that we lived like we should even though in the late 70s things for blacks where different. We had a 1978 Chevy Impala, Royal Blue with plush white interior. My mother had a new outfit for everyday and shoes to match. My father liked my mother to look good and made sure she had all the tools to do it. In the summer of 1978 I had a little sister, Shaye Renee Jobbs. A year later came Karen Jo’nell Jobbs and two years after her Tonya Kristen Jobbs was born.
My mother did no working, her job was to take care of us and our home. While my “father” was off working to support us, my mother was kicking it. The clothes that he would buy for her she would lend to her friends by the time they were returned to her they were not fit to wear. Coming from the slums of Chicago, never having a pot to piss in she was used to sharing and not having. So the family and home where not a real big priority to her she wanted to go out and she did. Dropping us off with my “father’s mother and leaving instructions for him to pick us up. My “father” Leonard could not understand this and soon another woman who would appreciate him came along and I remember my birth mother carrying several big, black plastic bags filled with his clothes up to Rita’s house and threw them on the porch. This was the beginning of the end.
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