But, they decided, for some dang reason, to drop me off at the Black’s house (Yes, that is their real name.) so that I wouldn’t know my family. But really, I have it okay, compared to, you know, the people on the streets. I don’t have anything against black people, but Chris, the oldest, starts to drive you nuts with his booming music and so called “rapping skills.” Rita, the mom of the Black’s, annoys me merely because she doesn’t let me have friends over, doesn’t let me pick what my room looks like, what brand my clothes are, nor does she let me ever pick what kind of food we have in the house.
But, to me, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’ve gotten used to Chris, and Rita, and although they don’t have a father, Rita has a boyfriend named Ricky, also black, and together they had a baby who was born just ten days ago. Her name is Destiny, like one of my best friends, and she is really the only Black I like; she’s still innocent and sweet.
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