We went to see the wrestling that night. It was the likes of Dusty Rhodes, Junk Yard Dog, Tony Atlas, the Von-Erics, Kamala, Andre the Giant, and the Heart Foundation. It's been a really long time, so I can't recall all of the wrestlers at the Sam Houston Coliseum with Paul Boash. Nevertheless, at the Howard house we'd go see the matches, turn around on Saturday night and watch them, and then again on Sunday morning. That was just how much we loved wrestling. Anyway, on that night I really didn't much enjoy it, I was sick because my go-cart had been stolen…

I saw it…While riding my bike around the neighborhood, I saw a green-two-seated go-cart with kitchen sets on it come out of part of the neighborhood, go down a few streets and shoot back in. It was mine, I knew it! Because I had to keep the go-cart outside, I kept the seats in the house, so that just had to be mine running around without any seats. I never saw it again…

Things started to go downhill, and I think that it all started one day while I was playing in the backyard with my little sister and brother. Now, my little sister was born with a head of long hair, and she still had it. Like I said, we were in the backyard playing, and for whatever reason I decided to pour dirt in her hair…"Ronald Ray!!!" I knew I was in trouble, though I didn't know for what. My dad only called me that when he was mad; knowing that I was in trouble, I was really not in a rush to see what he wanted, but then to take too long would have got me in more trouble. I didn't have to worry about that much because him and my mom met me as I was coming in the back. My dad was there for me and my mom was there to get my little sister. I got a mean whoopin' that day, one of the hardest that I can recall. When he was done with me there were pieces of the belt on the wall along with blood from the scars.

Like I said, things started to go downhill at this time. I believe that it was because of that whoopin' that my mom felt it was time to get me out from under his belts. That is one of the things she speaks of when we talk about the past and her reason for leaving. I recall her not coming home from work one night. And then from there it seemed that she would stay out every once in a while. One thing that I liked about my dad I can say for sure, is that he didn't beat on my mom. Sure, like all boys, I wanted to be like him, but as I grew older I became my own person…

Anyway, it wasn't right after that whoopin' that my mom finally decided that she would leave my dad, but she did end up leaving him shortly after.

Loyalty, that turned out to be a weakness of mine and a strength at the same time. When my mom told my dad that she was leaving, he told her that she could take the smaller children. I am six and seven years older than my sister and brother. Although I do have an older half-brother and half-sister. Anyways, my dad told my mom that I should have the choice as to which of them I stayed with. I chose to stay with my dad…I think that I lasted with him for about a month or two. We went to live with his mother (my MaDear) and after a while I decided that it was just too boring to live there. I was able to make money cutting grass and doing other jobs around the neighborhood. But I am the only male child of my age among my cousins. I have two female cousins who I am close with on that side of the family. I am not sure why I decided to go back and live with my mom, I'd like to think that it was because I missed them all. But then I believe that it was more because I was simply bored with living with my dad. I was lucky; in that time I didn't get into any trouble and didn't have to worry about catching any whippins…

Before going any deeper into this writing, I want to make clear that while I am telling this, it is really just a quick run-through of my life. Much more took place between the years leading up to my mom leaving my dad and my going to stay with her, much much more. I'm sure that some of it I'll share, but there are things that I just can't write. It's simply much too personal, and it's family business; my goal isn't in any way to focus on my childhood or the messed-up household that I lived in. It's a part of who I am and what made me the way I am. So I go into some of it, but will be going into the skeletons that we have hidden deep…

I mentioned that one whoopin' was the worst that I received. It was, but I think that I was hurt the most mentally when I was a little younger (I think that I had to be around nine or ten years old). My dad was working for a cement company at the time and had some of his work tools in the backyard. We were living with one of my uncles at the time; anyway, one of the tools in the backyard had turned up broken somehow. My dad called us all to the backyard to ask who had broken the tool. I, not having had anything to do with it, told him that I didn't and for me that was it, but he kept questioning everyone about it. My uncle made the comment that he "thinks" that he recalled seeing me back there playing by the tool, and for my dad that was all it took…I got whooped for that, and he wouldn't stop until I admitted that I did it. His word to me was that if I told the truth, then he would stop. I was telling the truth but he didn't believe me. I knew then that it would have seemed the best for me if I just went ahead from the start and told him that it was me and have it all over with, but I figured that if I kept to what I was saying he would realize that I was indeed telling the truth. I guess it was a war of the wills…Finally I got tired and lied, telling him that I had done it. I can't say how long that took, but it must have been a while because it caused concern in the house. My uncle made the comment that he didn't say that he saw me break anything, which he hadn't, that he just saw me back there…I think with that comment my dad realized that he was wrong and apologized to me saying that he would never whip me again for anything that my uncle said…Too late, the damage had been done. My nine or ten year old trust in any authority had been destroyed…I had been accused of something, had told the truth about my innocence and had been punished for it. For my dad, I wasn't whipped for breaking the tool but for lying about it.

Anyway, I went to live with my mom and found that my cousin Melinda was living with her. So that was right up my alley. She and I grew up together. I consider her to be my sister and closest friend next to my mom. I would think that if there was any one person in this world who knew me best it would have to be her without a doubt. We are one in the same, only she's a girl and I'm a guy. She was smarter than I, but I mean with our ways we are so much alike…

Going to live with my mom meant going to live in the ghetto. Third Ward is where she was living at the time, and I was okay with that. I got into school, still not doing well, but just going with my sister and brother daily. We moved around a few times, which, by the way, I know that I attended at least seven or eight different elementary schools. Now I don't blame my lack of success in school on being moved around so much, I know that I simply didn't like school.

Life in the ghetto is something else. I mean the neighborhood that I spent most of my life in was and would be known as the ghetto, but believe it or not, there are different stages of ghettos. At least in Houston, Texas. It's really hard to write about the differences, but it's clear. Let's just say that there is the ghetto where it is clear that you are in the ghetto, and then there is the ghetto that is not so clearly defined. Most parts of Third Ward it is clear that you are in the ghettos. Notice that I did say "most"…

Anyway, throughout the next few years or so, nothing really took place in my life other than having made up my mind that I wasn't going to finish school. Just as soon as I turned 16, I was going to drop out of school and go into Job Corps. In the meantime, I took care of my little sister and brother while my mom worked and tried to make sure that we had a place to stay and food to eat. When living with my dad, at times we knew hunger. Sandwiches with nothing but ketchup or sandwich spread is nothing new to me. But then, it was a struggle just to have that. Many nights, my sister, my brother and I would get full on homemade cinnamon toast that we learned how to make.

One time when my mom had just bought groceries, one of the kids in the apartments that we lived in decided for whatever reason that he was going to steal from us. My mom was at work, and for whatever reason, I left to go to the grocery store. When I got back, my little sister and brother told me that someone had come over; while he was there he took a pizza. Being that they were so young, they couldn't tell me which one of the boys it was. But while on my way to school the next day, another person told me that he knew something about it. And went on to tell me who did it…