2

Lights to Her Shadow

3
 Dedication
I dedicate this book to my late grandmother, Cora Lee. May she Rest In Peace. If it
was not for you, I would have never known love until I became a mother.

4
TABLE OF CONTENTS

5
FORWARD: The Woman, The Myth, The Legend 5

6
Chapter 1: Hood Rich (1988-1992) 23

7
Chapter 2: Legit Rich (1992-1995) 38

8
Chapter 3: The Transition (1995-2000) 48

9
Chapter 4: Growing Pains (2000-2002) 66

10
Chapter 5: Darkness and Depression (2002-2004) 85

11
Chapter 6: No More Home (2004-2006) 101

12
Chapter 7: A Different Kind Of Love (2006-2009) 124

13
Chapter 8: Little House of Horrors (2009-2011) 153

14
Chapter 9: Gone But Never Forgotten (2011) 167

15
Chapter 10: The Epiphany (2011-2013) 188

FORWARD:
THE WOMAN, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND
1989 - 2013

My mother has gained a huge following thanks to her casting in the

Basketball Wives reality television series on VH1. As the show got underway,
the character storylines began to develop and the public got a sneak-peak into
the lives of each cast member. I unwittingly became a part of the show simply
for being my mother’s daughter. From the moment our story became public,
our relationship has been under constant scrutiny from the show’s fans. The
press, entertainment news sites, bloggers and celebrity gossip sites have
exacerbated the situation. They rarely fact-check before writing and posting
their stories in an effort to be the first to break a story. This has resulted in
numerous inaccurate and blatantly false stories being published and passed
off as truth. I never asked to be a part of this, but unfortunately the situation
has taken on a life of its own. I’m now forced to tell my story, unfiltered and
truthfully, to preserve my integrity, no matter how disturbing the details may
be.

Since the show’s inception, I’ve used Twitter and other social platforms to
attempt correcting the continual streams of misinformation being
disseminated by the fans, the media and unfortunately, my mother. I’ve done
my best to correct the record with both fans and media, while also trying to
communicate the facts with my mother. But now I understand why things has
transpired the way they have. Reality television is not really “reality” at all.
They have scripts and plot lines just like any other television production. But
life doesn’t always translate cleanly to a script, which is the case with my
mother’s storyline. Given where our relationship was when she started to film
the show, I highly doubt she believed I would remain silent and turn a blind
eye to all the lies she decided to reveal about our lives. I was also unsure how
she would respond when I called her out on her lies. I want to apologize in
advance sorry to avid fans of the show and fans of my mother. But a vast
majority of her storylines in the show are fabrications and flat-out lies.

With all the things going on in my mother’s life that didn’t involve me I don’t
understand why she chose to speak about me. I have rarely, if ever, been
included in anything else she’s done. But I suspect the reason is because our
history adds drama and controversy to a show that feeds off both. The

16
purpose of this chapter is to dispel myths, rumors, and blatant lies told about
my family, especially about my grandmother and myself.

The first myth I’d like to address is my mother saying on the show that she
was by my grandmother side until her dying day. Yes my grandmother was
suffering from cancer and she was very ill. But she had many good days
while my mother was filming her show. Unfortunately my mother only chose
to film my grandmother on her really bad days. My grandmother was still
taking care of my little brother while my mother was off filming the show,
doing press tours, and interviews. My grandmother was a legend in our family
and for my mother to portray herself as the only one who cared for her is
patently false. She held my grandmother captive in her house solely for the
storyline. My grandmother had long wanted to travel back to Washington to
be with the rest of the family that had been banned from coming to visit her in
her last days. But my mother refused to let her leave. She had viewers
believing she sat at home catering to my grandmother’s every need when she
wasn’t even there most of the time. My grandmother told me stories about
how my mother would tip-toe around her and go out of her way to avoid
interaction.

I took to Twitter and Facebook a lot when our story first became public to
attempt setting the record straight. But nearly every post was taken out of
context and morphed into a story of its own. I was very angry at my mother
for how she was treating me, then blaming me for our issues on a reality
television show. Thus a lot of the things I said were not as eloquent as they
could have been. Granted I have no regrets about my social media activities.
But I do want to clear up some things. The biggest misconception is that I did
something to my mother to make her act the way that she does toward me.
But the truth is my mother has treated me this way since birth. Its only gotten
worse since the show got popular.
I have been made to feel like an outcast for as long as I can remember. I
compare my relationship with my mom to being in an abusive relationship
with a significant other. That is the best analogy I have for the situation. My
mother has always done crazy, off-the-wall stuff to me. When she would see
how emotionally affected I was by it she would buy me gifts or give me
money to smooth it over. I will admit I was a part of that abusive cycle for
way too long. But that was the only life I knew at the time. It wasn’t until I
realized that all the power to turn my life into whatever I wanted it to be
resided in me. After my epiphany, I realized I didn’t need gifts and money
from my mother to be happy. I have not received or taken anything from her
since.

17
My mother has said several times that she tried to get me help, but that I
refused. That is simply not true. My mother’s idea of help was having
random people with no medical credentials try to speak to me. I obviously
refused because they weren’t medical professionals and I knew they were
biased in her favor. When she reached out to me to do the counseling session
with her on the show, I was excited because for once I thought we were going
to address our issues. It was naive of me to think that was setup with my best
interest in mind. My mother tried to coach us beforehand on what to talk
about on camera. She tried to orchestrate the whole scene. But when my
sister and I didn’t comply with what she wanted to happen she shut down
production by acting like a diva on set and distracting from the actual reality
of our lives. My mother resented the fact that my sister also wanted to use this
opportunity to resolve our issues.

Outside observers are quick to say, “well that’s your mom.” My response to
that is “tell her that I am not the one confused.” As hard as it may be for the
public to believe, especially after seeing our disputes play out on national TV
and other media, I sincerely love my mother. I would defend her if I ever saw
someone trying to do bodily harm to her. If she needed an organ to save her
life, I would gladly donate mine. I unfortunately don’t believe in my heart
she feels the same way towards me. At the very least I will say she has a
hate-love relationship with me, with emphasis on hate. She is my mom and
for my own sake and sanity I have to believe she loves me. Her actions say
otherwise, but honestly I simply want to believe she loves me. At the end of
the day I can’t really speak for my mother. She has to speak for herself. She’s
had ample opportunities to make things right with us. But instead she
continues to call me a liar. She accuses me of creating this entire feud.

My mother has accused me several times in the press of trying to extort

money from her with my alleged lies. What could I possibly have on her to
ruin her reputation? What information is so detrimental to make her pay me
for silence? If you read closely, my mother is telling on herself. I’ve never
threatened to reveal any of my mother’s secrets. I just promised her I was
going to tell my own story. She’s my mother and obviously knows the role
she has played in my life; which is something she must not want the public to
know about. I’ve never asked for any money. But I have remind her of
previous promises she has made. That is not extortion. When my mother
kicked my kids and I out of her rental home, she promised to make it up to me
by helping write my book. When I asked her about it, she claimed I was
trying to extort her, which is a lie. I texted her to ask about something she

18
offered to do.

These are the exact text messages:

ME: I don’t know if you remember or not but you told me

once you would like to help me write my book and
publish it. Do you still want to do that? I don't want to
write about your life but mines. Some of the things I
have encountered and overcome in my life the truth of my
low self-esteem and self-confidence dealing with bullies
and depression. I think it would be a good thing for my
family and me to finally face my demons. I don't want to
do it out of spite or anything I just want to write books. I
have a lot of creative ideas and you guys all have your
projects going on and I want to start on mine. There’s a
lot of talent and I’m ready to start showcasing them. I'm
not working with anybody right now just been writing for
few weeks. I would love to do it with you if you want to
join in. Think it over and let me know.

ME: Hey mom so what do you think?

MOM: Wow!! These lies again then right Kari????

Really? Extortion again??? Ok so be it do you then.

ME: What mom? I'm not extorting anything from you. I

ask you a question and you ignore me.

ME: How am I extorting you with simply asking if you

still wanted to work on the book with me...

MOM: Yes you are and it's sad you were legally issued a
warning last time here you go again guess its life with
you then right Takari all your games and Lil fake I love
you and all this is how you thank your parents and family
for always having your back and for always loving you no
matter all the evil you keep throwing at us for no damn
reason really? This is your way of trying to force
someone's hand Takari? Wow stay in prayer God will
lead you. Disappointed this is how you communicate and
spew your hate for us it saddens my soul to know we talk

19
 all the time and you often speak happy and highly of us
and just that fast you spit lies evil hate and true extortion
to your own family.

ME: I didn’t ask you for anything besides your help

For my mother to claim I am extorting her is saying I’m committing a felony.

I have never been charged with any crimes, never been arrested, detained, or
prosecuted for anything. I’ve never had a defamation lawsuit brought against
me either.

My mother has also accused me of hating myself because of how I look and
that I am jealous of my sister for being prettier than me. I want to be crystal
clear on this point: my sister is one of the most beautiful women I know.
Neither she nor I had any say in what we looked like when we were born so
why the hell would I be mad at her for how God put together her features? To
insinuate I hate how I look is equivalent to saying I hate God for making me
the way he did. Anyone who follows my social media pages can see that I am
actually quite enamored with myself. It’s not far-fetched to say I am
borderline vain. I am in love with this teacup in every way imaginable.
These looks and this body created three of the most handsome little men I’ve
ever seen. I love the color of my skin and would not trade it for a lighter
shade for all the riches in the world. Being light-skinned comes with its own
stigmas. I’ve no reason to take off my shoes and walk in another pair when
mine are already so damn comfortable.

My mother saying that I hate the way I look and that I use to stand in the
mirror and cry because I was ugly brought back so many painful memories.
Yes I did stand in the mirror and cry. But that was because I couldn’t
understand why my mother would hate this face; how she saw anything in my
face that would make her hate me, including my beautiful dark complexion.
But deep down I knew my mother rejected me for that very reason. So yes, as
a ten-year-old, that was extremely painful to deal with. My mother lacks
compassion and empathy, so she’s incapable of comprehending why I was
crying. She doesn’t know how to cry herself. She knows nothing about
genuine tears. If she did she would have understood the difference between
self-pity and agony when she stood off sin the distance watching her own
child cry in pain.

I want people to understand that when a person makes up a blatant lie it’s
because they themselves are the ones uncomfortable with the truth

20
surrounding the lie. My mother has been resentful of my looks since I was
born, and takes her frustration out on me. She doesn’t understand that she
created three beautiful human beings. She hasn’t grasped the magnitude of
such an accomplishment. She triumphs in her material achievements but it’s
her beautiful children that are her real success and she doesn’t even know it.

Were there ever any happy times? Of course I had happy times growing up.
Many of those times were my pre-mansion days with Grandma. But that’s not
to say there were no good times in the mansion. The mansion good times,
however, were always bittersweet because I had to be tortured first before I
could take part in whatever festivities were going on. Vacations were always
fun but only after workouts that my mother was obsessed with me doing
before I could simply have fun as a child. Fun in the mansion was always
regulated and strictly enforced. One-on-one fun and good times with my
mother and father were not common. As children my sister and I created our
own world to enjoy ourselves. When I think of those times the perfect way to
describe it is Flowers in the Attic.

Next I would like to clear up any perceived animosity towards my sister. I

often compared my treatment to how my sister was treated, and yes, I do
understand how this could be construed as jealousy. Let’s start with the
infamous Range Rover comment. I didn’t care that my sister got a Range
Rover. People were saying I was mad because my mother didn’t buy me one
and that is not true. I was only shocked because I didn’t know about it until
two or three years after the fact they bought it. They deliberately concealed
the purchase from me. My mother bought me a Ford Focus and my little
happy ass drove that car like it was a Range Rover. I thought and still think it
was extremely unfair that she did that though. But I used to it after a while.
There are so many examples I can give to show how my mother treated us
differently. But the media portrayals provide adequate examples. People can
see for themselves there is a favoritism, so expanding further on the topic
would be beating a dead horse.

One of my favorite myths of all is that I am jealous of my mother’s success.

I’m going to need ya’ll to go deep with me on this one. Why would I
purposely create problems between my mom and I if, at the end of the day, all
I wanted was a piece of her success and limelight? How would creating
drama even remotely get me closer to that goal? I may not be the brightest
bulb in the box, but I am far from stupid. Doing that would just be ass
backwards. It seems more logical to just stay around kissing my mother’s ass
all day to get what I want if indeed I’m just mad because I want some of her

21
success. The strained relationship with my mother has exist since I was a
child. This feud goes back to way before I even knew what fame and fortune
was, and before my mother even had it. I knew she married a man that played
basketball. But I was three years old and had no idea what marrying someone
in the NBA really meant; nor did I understand the riches and fame it brought
until many years later. Even at that point, I still could not fully comprehend
what was actually happening.

I want to be proud of my mother for her success because she worked hard and
sacrificed everything for it. But its difficult when our relationship was part of
that sacrifice. Why would root against my own mother’s success? My issues
with my mother run far deeper than money or material success. The one
things my mother has that I want from her, are love and acceptance. I
understand its human nature to put nice neat bows on situations. But in some
cases accepting things for what they are is all you can do to move on from
them. Trying to determine why I feel the way I feel, and have said many of
the things I’ve said, is impossible if you were not there. Many of the people
who were there don’t even understand. I’m okay with that because it’s no one
else’s journey but my own. I wrote this book to once and for all tell my side
of what has now become a matter of public interest. My story is what it is
despite opinions, judgments, approvals, disapprovals, feelings, or flat out
denial by others. Whether you believe my story or not is a matter of personal
choice. But ask me ten years from now to tell my story again, and it will be
the same.

Some have suggested that my motivations for writing this book are fame and
fortune. Matthew 16:26 says, “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the
whole world, and lose his own soul?” Let me be the first to say that if fame
makes people do the things that I’ve seen many famous people do then you
can have it. I choose my sanity and my soul. I don’t desire to be famous. I
desire to be heard and to share my creative talents with the world. This
particular project is less about monetary gain and more about spiritual
healing. It is the first of many endeavors to come.

I was angry and frustrated for a long time because I felt like I was screaming
at the top of my lungs but no one was listening. I did some soul-searching
and focused on a clear, concise way to be heard and say what I wanted to say.
This book is the culmination of that process. My mother has helped my
siblings make their dreams and goals reality. I did not receive that same
support as a child or even now as an adult. Again this is not an attack against
my siblings. I am proud of the books they have written. But it further

22
demonstrates my mother’s lack of interest in me as her eldest child. Writing a
book is something I’ve wanted to do as early as age 11. Both of my siblings
were published authors by that age. Not to mention my mother owned her
own publishing company, which is truly the sad part about all this. In a lot of
ways I am grateful that I was left to fend for myself because taking this
journey alone has turned out to be quite therapeutic.

The last myths I would like to dispel is that I hate my mother. This is patently
false. I love my mother with all my heart. Have I said that I hate her? Yes,
probably a million and one times. Was I angry about something she did or
said to me during those time? of course. Do two wrongs make a right? No.
Will I say it again going forward? I don’t know. I’m human. But hopefully
the answer is no. However I will try extremely hard to be mindful how I
express my anger in the future. I’ve demonstrated how words can leave
permanent scars. My mother needs love not hate. She can’t help herself most
of the time. She is who she is, and I just have to accept that. Her attitude
towards me needs work, and I’m willing to do what I can to help make this
happen. With that being said I would like to address all the mean and nasty
things that are being said about my mother in an effort to support me and
stand on my side.

My beautiful soldiers, darkness doesn’t drive out darkness; only light can do
that. Hate doesn’t extinguish hate; only love can do that. Please do not allow
anyone, no matter how much they make you see red, blue, or black, take you
out of character. You are too good to stoop to that level of senselessness.
That was a hard-learned lesson for me. A lot of my mother’s ways are
irrational and ridiculous. She doesn’t understand why she’s acting out in
most instances, so falling into the pit of wickedness with her only affect you.
Instead of using your energy to expose her darkness, use your light to
extinguish it.

On this journey I’ve received a great outpouring of positive feedback, support

and love. This is where the magic happens; when people tap into their energy
force to spread love. One comment I received always sticks with me, and
reminds me of one of the main reasons I chose to go public with my side of
the story. This young lady name Kai left a message on my social media page
that read:

“You are my inspiration and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. As I
sit here with tears forming in my eyes because I truly know firsthand how it
feels to try over and over again to the love the woman that birthed you and

23
NEVER receive it back only when it’s convenient for them…I will continue
to pray for your situation and please pray for mine...God Bless and God gives
the heaviest loads to his strongest soldiers!!!”

Kai reminded me and keeps reminding every time I read her message that I
am not alone and this is a common issue. So many young people have
irreparably broken relationships with their parents. It hurts immensely
because we had no choice in being here. I’ve wondered so many times why
my mother brought me into the world just to neglect, mistreat, and ignore my
existence. Only a similarly-situated child is able to understand how it feels to
have a parent they love dearly, refuse to reciprocate that love. It is the most
lonely and desperate feeling in the world. Of course parents who are
deceased, ill, on drugs, locked up, etc. are hindered by circumstances. It still
doesn’t make it right, but there at least is a reason. When your parent(s)
simply choose not to love you, your heart endures perpetual pain. But at some
point, for the sake of our own well-being, we must sever all ties, deny their
very existence, and move own. Individuals reach that stage of their lives at
different points.

I was twenty-four when I decided to cut my mother’s turbulent presence out

of my life. I didn’t cut her out completely because I like to believe that
someday we will repair our broken bond. But I had to set boundaries and put
up walls. She no longer has free reign to rummage through my life, turn my
world upside down, then disappear back into her fancy cocoon leaving my
life in disarray. I have been much happier since our dysfunctional
relationship has become more stable. I’ve learned to accept that I cannot pick
up the phone to call or text my mother when my heart desires. I must wait for
her to reach out to me. If I’m feeling up to a conversation, which I always
am, I will answer. If not I will let it roll to voicemail. I had to find the
balance that worked for me. I had to let go of any and all expectations that
children in normal relationships with their parents have. Our relationship is
not normal, so I can’t even expect her to have a normal grandmother
relationship with my children. My mother has not even met my youngest son,
Jax’son, who is currently 16 months old. Deep down inside it bothers me.
But not having the expectation that she would be eager to meet him in the
first place definitely helps me cope.

To Kai and all the beautiful offspring afflicted by this enigma: I’ve been put
in this place to tell you that it will be OK. Your reflection is not that created
by the parent(s) that birthed you, only to hurt you over and over again. Your
reflection can be anything you want it to be. We are led by society to think we

24
need other flawed human beings in our lives to make us feel whole and
complete. We do not. Every single person on this planet has what he or she
needs within themselves to be happy. It’s just a matter of knowing it,
accepting it, and tapping into that part of your soul. Truly understand that
what you feel on the inside is what you will attract from the outside. Work on
feeling good. Use every ounce of energy within you to be happy. No one told
me where or how to find this light. I just started accepting me and rejecting
the negativity that hindered my growth. I have flaws because I am human.
But there is not one malicious bone in my body and I’m a very positive
person. Please, for your own well-being, take that energy you use loving the
parents that don’t love you back, and shine that light inward. Use the light to
find that radiance that I promise exists within you.

If you are someone that fights for love from others, you are a good person.
Evil people don’t care about others or how they feel. They are too busy
fighting off their demons. I had to realize that I was making myself a victim
by trying to force my mother to love me the way I deserved to be loved. I
took back all my power when I realized I didn’t need her love. I just wanted it
because I felt like I was supposed to have it.

People used to tell me I am pathetic and nobody loves me; not even my own
mother. When I was in a bad place this comment tore the bottom out of my
soul because I felt like they were right. Existing in this light that I found
within myself helped me realize that it was pathetic for me to keep trying to
force someone to love me. It is also pathetic for one human being to say
something like that to another person that they could clearly see was in pain.
Not having the people in your life that are supposed to love you
unconditionally may be sad, but they are the pathetic ones. There is magic in
standing in your own light and not in someone else’s shadow. I am a living
breathing witness. I overcame darkness and now stand in my own light. I am
still a work in progress. We all are and will remain as such until the end.
Striving for perfection never plateaus. It is a life-long journey. I want to give
a sincere thank you for any and all uplifting words of wisdom, encouragement
and hope.

As a result of how I was raised I’m still figuring out my true identity. To
survive the mental abuse I suffered as a child, I had to disconnect from certain
parts of my personality. In the midst of the storm I never lost who I am, but I
did become a shell of that person and even picked up some bad habits. I am
not fond of who I was turning into. That person was vindictive and passive-
aggressive. I was hurting so bad that I wanted the person responsible for that

25
hurt to also hurt. I grow a little bit stronger with each passing day because I
am a Phoenix Rising. I believe in me even if no one else does. I have
nothing to prove to anyone, so how I choose to live my life is strictly for my
children and myself. I’ve been misunderstood for way too long, particularly
by the people that are the closest to me. I feel like an alien in my own family.
Since they cannot relate to me, that makes me feel as if no one else can either.
So over the years I’ve become very antisocial and socially selective. I have
become accustomed to being my own best friend. I am likely perceived as a
bit clingy to the people I am comfortable with. I am working on this aspect of
my personality because I love engaging with other people. It’s just that for so
long I was battling my own demons. But now I look forward to rebuilding old
relationships and creating new ones. I’m excited about getting back in touch
with the more outgoing side of my personality. I am a loner by nature but I
have to be mindful to maintain a healthy balance.

I am loyal to a fault, for better or worse. My heart hurts easily but forgives
quickly. I’m always hopeful and trusting with a naivety that many mistake
for weakness. They take my feelings and intelligence for granted. I was too
shy to speak up for myself. That left me vulnerable to social predators. That
is not the case anymore and these days I am nobody’s doormat to walk all
over. I respect everyone. If people cannot or are simply unwilling to offer me
the same thing in return then I quickly walk away. I know my worth now.

I am similar to my mother in a lot of ways, frankly in more ways than I’d like
to acknowledge. I seem to have inherited impatience and many other
undesirable aspects of her personality. I get frustrated rather easily when I
find myself waiting on stuff to happen. It’s almost like I have a preset speed
to getting things done. When I don’t see results, I lose it. I am working on
this because I’ve realized that I am not on my own time, but on God’s time.
Things happen exactly when they are supposed to and realizing I have no
control over it helps me to cope when I get frustrated.

Take for instance this book. I have wanted to write this book since 2011 and
have tried to do it so many times before but the timing was not right for one
reason or another. But I ended up writing this book with such ease and peace
because I was in the right frame of mind to relive those painful memories.
Another attribute of mine that resembles my mother is the need to appear and
be perfect all the time. I am a flawed human being yet deep down I don’t like
anyone to see those flaws. It’s a little crazy because no one is perfect. It’s
like we as human beings work so hard to appear unflawed to flawed people.
Being a perfectionist has prevented me from exploring so many things in life.

26
But this too is something I am working extremely hard to fix because even on
my worst day, my best is still the best of the best.

When I look at my life today I see how incredibly far I’ve come in just a few
short years. I’ve grown and matured exponentially since my days of being a
Twitter assassin. I still have quite a ways to go to get where I need to be. But
as long as I see a little bit of progress each day, I am OK with myself.
Through all of this craziness my self-esteem took a real beating. Getting it
back is also taking some time. But I am light years ahead of where I was.
Every single day I see something beautiful in me that I didn’t see yesterday. I
no longer reject the beautiful things I see. I embrace them and take my time
exploring them. It is always fun to peel back the layers. I am learning who
Takari is outside of my struggles.

My sister always tells me, “throw caution to the wind,” and that is exactly
what I am doing starting with writing this book. I did not hold back anything
that I wanted to say because doing so would have been a disservice to me.
When you purge stuff out of your system its best to get it all out. If not you
will find yourself revisiting those same wounds. In the past, I used my
traumatic experiences as a way to embarrass certain people in my life. But
now when I speak about what I went through as a child, it is only to help
others. My trials and tribulations will now become my testimony in an effort
to help other people suffering similar indignities.

When I examine the totality of my life today, one of the things I tend to
scrutinize is who I think genuinely loves me. I’m not talking about love in
the sense that you are my family therefore I must love you or you are my kids
mother so I have love for you. I mean people who really and truly love me
for the person I am with all my flaws. The only entities and people I can think
of areGod and my kids. That is not meant to be a subtile or otherwise shot ay
anyone. If anyone takes it personal than they should evaluate why they are
mad. This is about me and no one else. I know there are many people who
care about me but loving someone unconditionally is entirely different. I
have not held back anything in writing this book for the sake of hurt feelings.
This is my story and I’m telling it how I remember it and with no hard
feelings towards anyone. As mentioned previously, I am open to rebuilding
relationships when it’s a genuine effort; when we’re trying to arrive at a place
where I don’t have to question their love for me ever again.

The broken person I use to be had a high tolerance for dysfunction. I stayed in
situations far longer than I should have. But by breaking loose from the

27
chains that bound me, I am now free. When I talked about my past, people
would frequently tell me to just let it go. But I didn’t know how to just let go
of the people, places, and things that shaped my life for 24 years. Once I
figured it out, certain relationships suffered as a result. I would love to have
certain people back in my life, but I will no longer tolerate toxic
relationships. They are not healthy for myself or my children. We are my
only priorities at this time. The most important thing I’ve realized on my
journey is that life is not about how things are supposed to be. It is about how
things are and how quickly we accept and adjust to the terms that life dictates.
We’ll only experience true happiness when we accept reality. Holding on to
our own individual beliefs of what our lives should be like hinders us from
God’s original plan for our lives.

Now that it’s all said and done, I am finished holding grudges. It requires too
much energy to hate and I prefer to simply love. I will love others when they
find it impossible to love me back. I will love myself when no one else does.
For the sake of my kids I had to stop feeling sorry for myself and stop
allowing my struggle to be my identity. I am a wonderful person. It took me
sometime but now I realize that I have to stop trying to be a part of other’s
greatness and simply embrace my own.

Here’s to no longer living in darkness. I’ve decided to shine light on all of my

shadows.

A Letter to Jackie Christie:

Dear Mom,

I love you and please forgive me. I ask that you receive these words with an
open mind and heart. If you are unable to do so, I understand. However, I ask
that you please stop reading until you can.

My intentions were never to hurt you. I have always been desperate for your
love and acceptance. I'm not sure if you’re fully aware of how much I love
you and how much you mean to me. I have tried many times to calculate how
much and I've determined the amount to be immeasurable.

I know you are disappointed in me, maybe even mad but I hope that you can
put your feelings aside just this one time to hear your little girl speaking to
you from the heart.

28
I never intended for this situation to get out of hand like this. Every day I
regret the part I've played in it all, allowing it to go this far. I don’t want to
argue. This letter is not about who is right or wrong but to say I’m sorry. I
hope you accept this olive branch that I am extending to you out of the depths
of my heart.

I’m in a better place than I have ever been. I was angry and blamed you for
not living up to the expectations I had for you. In turn, I was treating you the
same way I have demonized you for treating me. I understand now about
meeting people where they are and loving them no matter what. I wasn’t in a
place to meet you where you were because I was a child and I was hurting. It
doesn't matter that I justified my actions. I should have never said some of the
things I said to you. I now see ways I could have handled certain situations
differently.

Going forward, I will never disrespect you. I will walk away from you and
this relationship before I ever allow myself to be taken out of character again.
I didn't understand before. I owe you a certain level of gratitude because you
gave me life. Grandma taught me unconditional love and I didn't fully
understand what that meant until now.

You may not understand, but this book is imperative to my healing. I have
made peace with my truth. I had to tell my story from my heart, my memory,
and my understanding. The events that transpired in my childhood and how
they affected me even now, is my truth. This is my release and now I am
free.

I could not consider your feelings during my writing process because if I had,
I wouldn't have written this and that simply was not an option. While writing,
I did consider my children, your grandchildren, Ja’vony, Ja’riah, and Jax’son.
In order to be completely whole I had to purge all volatile and unhealthy
emotions. I was harboring secrets that just kept haunting my soul.

I know many things I wrote on these pages will hurt you and that is why I
asked for your forgiveness on the very first line of this note. If you cannot
forgive me now or feel as if you will never forgive me, I understand.
However, I mean everything I've written in this letter. I have accepted that
you might feel betrayed or even belittled but this is my healing process.
Whatever comes of this, I'm ready to accept it and move on with my life, with
or without you.

29
I need you to know, I want you to be a part of my life and I yours but only if
it is genuine and I'm treated with the same respect that I give. All that I do is
for the sake of my children and peace of mind. I hope that we can repair our
broken relationship. In closing, Mom, I wish you nothing but peace and
happiness whether we are a part of your life or not. Family is important and
we have a beautiful one but it's so divided right now. Let's settle our
differences and start mending fences so that we can uphold Grandma's
Legacy.
Sincerely and Uniquely
Your First Born Child,
Takari Ja’shawn Lee

CHAPTER ONE
HOOD RICH
1988 – 1992

A notorious drug lord fell in love with an around-the-way girl. Eventually

married, the infamous Tyrome Lewis Lee Jr. and Jackie Christie built a drug
empire that afforded them the lifestyle they always imagined they would
have. That life included nice houses, fancy cars, expensive jewelry, and the
finest designer clothes. Jackie always had her sights set on the hills of
Hollywood. It’s no wonder that once the Lee Empire came crashing down
visions of becoming a basketball wife would be her saving grace. I am Takari
Ja’shawn Lee, beloved yet abandoned daughter of Jackie Christie and Tyrome
Lee.

My mother was born and raised in Seattle Washington. Her rise to fame
started in the ghetto streets of King County. Due to her addiction to money,
she only dated affluent men in the neighborhood. My mother acquired a
reputation in the hood as a gold digger. Safe to say, Kanye West’s song
“Gold Digger” was written because of women like my mother. Ask anyone
from the old neighborhood about her and they will have nothing nice to say.
They will refer to her as bourgeois, stuck-up, conceited, and before the glitz
and glamour, as your worst nightmare. She was biblically “known” within the
local drug dealer circle. If you weren’t a part of that circle you could only
dream of knowing my mother. You could have a bank account with six
figures or countless shoeboxes filled with cash in your closets. It didn’t make
a difference to mommy dearest. Her only concern was being taken care of by
any means necessary.

My mother was an extremely beautiful woman. She stood at 5’11”, 108 lbs.,

30
and she had the perfect model frame with the attitude to match her sexy
body. When she was 18 years old, she moved to Hawaii to pursue a modeling
career. During her time away she made very important connections with the
elite of Hollywood. When her modeling career didn’t catapult her into the
next Tyra Banks, she would later use those connections in other ways.

Jackie took no prisoners, being the seventh child out of nine. She fought for
her voice to be heard and what an animated voice she developed. “Sally took
my bubble gum,” she would repeat over and over to my grandmother because
she knew that my granny absolutely hated when she tattled. When she
realized that irked my grandmother to no end, she would do it just to torture
her. This was just the start of her tortuous ways.

Jackie’s older brothers made her tough. Having five sisters made her strive to
stand apart from the rest. Her larger than life persona always suffocated the
people around her. Her strong desire to stand out caused people to dislike
her. My mom had problems with many of the neighborhood kids and
everyone wanted a piece of her. She would fight anybody who stepped to her
with a problem. She boasts about her battle wounds to this day. Knowing
what I know about my mother I’m sure most of her fights were repercussions
of her slick mouth. Though it is a possible that people hated her because she
was beautiful. Having to fight almost daily would put anyone on the
defensive, so being paranoid and aggressive is just her nature. My mother’s
rough upbringing gave her the mindset that she had to make it out of the hood
at any cost, even her soul.

My father Tyrome Lee was what you would classify as hood rich. It took my
dad some time both in and out of prison to get to the status of hood rich. He
started out doing petty crimes in the neighborhood which would land him in
prison. While incarcerated he learned how to commit bigger crimes that
produced greater rewards. It was during his stints in the pen that got him
thinking he needed to create a situation for himself that would keep him out
of jail while he stacked his paper. The plan he came up with was to build an
empire that would put him at the top of the pyramid. He knew such an
elaborate plan would need loyal soldiers. Those soldiers turned out to be his
own family. When he came home from doing a three year stint, he
immediately started putting his plan into action. When he got with my
mother, he was in the beginning stages and together they built the Lee
Empire.

In no time my dad’s money was as long as the tricked-out gold plated 1973

31
Chrysler New Yorker that he drove around in conducting his business in the
streets of Seattle. He was known around the community as the Black God.
He got that name because his presence in the neighborhood was powerful and
his reputation preceded him. My father stood proudly at 6’ 6”. His skin
complexion is a beautiful smooth dark chocolate, similar to mine. I don’t get
how my mother loved his skin, but despises mine. He had these beautiful
long flowing locks and his charisma reduced women to putty in his hands.
He always wore the best designer clothing and was draped in the most
precious jewels money could buy. If I was to resemble my dad’s likeness to
anyone it would be the character Sho’Nuff the Shogun of Harlem, from the
now classic movie The Last Dragon. His murderous mystique made him a
very intimidating figure to most people in the neighborhood. The haters
knew better than to try my dad, as they’d likely end up in a bad predicament.
I have always been intimidated by my father , but not because of his
reputation or the business he was involved in. I was afraid of him because his
appearance scared me.

When I was younger I didn’t have much personal knowledge of my dad

because he wasn’t around. Everything I did know about him came from my
grandmother and other family members. I was too young to know of his
lifestyle but I do have very distinct memories from when he would come
around. Once I was able to understand the full unedited version of my early
life, all my fragmented memories came together to make one complete
picture. My dad and his entire family ran one of the biggest drug empires in
Seattle. Let my family tell it today. Most of the crime in the Seattle Capitol
Hill area begin and ended with the Lee’s. As the main street pharmaceutical
sales suppliers in the area, my father’s family was caked up. He had more
than enough shoe boxes stacked in his closets to capture the attention of my
mother, the stunning gold digger.

When my mother returned from Hollywood, she didn’t have the fame and
fortune that she went seeking. But what she did have would prove to be way
more lucrative to her new life. My mother’s new connections in Hollywood
placed her in the top spot of my dad’s empire. My parents union was a
business arrangement almost from the start. Love barely entered the picture
and sex was just a part of the game. It didn’t take long for my mother to take
the main chick spot, a position she played very well.

My mom and dad were like the Obama’s in our hometown. They were the
hood rich famous black couple of the ghetto. My dad was no Barack
however, especially when it came to honoring his queen. He had as many side

32
bitches as he did stash houses. My dad quickly realized mommy dearest was
of a different breed. She knew her worth, however overvalued it may have
been. She knew she was too good for a stash house in the hood.

My father had been accustomed to obedient bitches and had never met his
match before in any woman. He welcomed the challenge my mother
presented. Daddy knew in order to lock down my mother’s loyalty to him he
had to put a ring on it. After they got engaged my parents moved into a
luxury penthouse apartment in downtown Seattle. He was able to give her the
life she always wanted and she really didn’t care if that lifestyle came with
body bags. I sometimes think that her being married to my pops and living
that life is where she developed her gangster mentality. All my life my
mother has been hardcore in the sense she will cuss a motherfucker out in a
heartbeat and go upside their head if they made her mad enough.

My parents officially married on December 16th 1988. After a complicated

birth and nearly dying I entered the world on August 24th 1989. My dad
cheated on my mother the whole time they were together so they had a very
volatile relationship. They are both head strong, which I find ironic because I
am such a softie. But let’s not get it twisted: I do have that side of both of
them in me. I just know how to discipline it so it doesn’t control me. It took
me years to master taming that volatile side of my personality.

My dad wanted to continue living life as a single man and my mother was not
having it so needless to say the marriage did not last very long. By the time I
was born they were already separated. Their divorce was finalized in
November 1989, less than a year from when they got married. Maybe she
figured I was her insurance policy to my dad’s stashed away dope money.
She could easily stay in his pockets with me in the picture, without having to
deal with his womanizing ways.

While the marriage did not work out they still continued their partnership in
the drug game. At some point the Lee’s brought my mom’s side of the family
into the business and from what I understand that happened before I was born.
The operation was so complex that my pops welcomed the added help.
Everyone was on board with making money, even my sweet dear
grandmothers on my mom and dad’s sides of the family. My grandmother
Cora, the beautiful soul who raised me from almost birth, was my entire
world growing up. I could never see any wrong with what she did. While I
wasn’t aware of everything, I later learned gramps too was a hustler. My
grandmother hustled long before my mother entered the game. Actually my

33
mother learned from the best.

Growing up I don’t remember anyone in my immediate family ever having a

legitimate job. It was always one get-rich-quick scheme after the other. My
mother was always the brains behind the operations and my aunts were the
soldiers. Grandma was the overseer and the glue that held everything
together.

My mom and dad were both elusive figures to me and very polarizing. I
looked at them more like rock stars than my parents. I’ve always been
intuitive, even as a young child. If I did not get a good feeling from you I
wanted absolutely nothing to do with you at all. It pains me to say this but I
never had good feelings toward either of my parents. I honestly feel like they
were too busy in their own worlds to connect with mine. I did not feel like a
person to them. I felt like an object that they owned and checked on from time
to time. I remember always feeling uneasy around them because they always
possessed this anxious energy which I now understand comes from being in
the drug game. They never seemed to have a settled spirit around me so I was
never at peace around them. I always felt like I was waiting for something to
happen and I didn’t know what. Imagine being a kid on edge all the time. I
absolutely hated that feeling because when I was in my grandmother’s
environment nothing was unpredictable. She talked to me about everything. I
was very much aware of my surroundings and what was going on in them; the
good, bad, and the ugly.

My mother suggested that my grandmother raise me because she herself was

too busy focusing on a come up. Juggling life as a hustler then a baller’s wife
left little room for being a parent. The only time my mother ever put on her
mom heels is during holidays or a quick outing here and there. Its funny how
I remember every visit like it was yesterday because my mom coming around
to pick me up to go with her somewhere was very rare. Some of the times she
did come to pick me up I met some new guy she was dating. I absolutely
hated going with her because it felt like she only wanted to spend time with
me for some distinct reason and not because she loved me. Those visits were
like torture for me and I couldn’t wait to be returned to my grandmother’s
house and my comfort zone.

I only have few memories of my parents from my toddler years. The times
when they would come around I never gravitated toward either of them. I
remember one time being when I was about three years old, my mother
picked me up and took me to McDonalds. This is when I met her friend

34
Cory. Thinking back on it now Cory was fine. He reminds me of one of the
members from those 1980’s all male groups like Mint Condition or After 7.
He was light skinned with relaxed hair, slicked back and his outfit was very
colorful. I’m not sure what he did for a living but he drove a nice car with a
sunroof. He was probably a drug dealer too.

My mother picked me up from my grandmother’s house and she, Cory, and I

drove to McDonalds. While most small kids liked to get the Chicken
McNugget meal or one of the other kids meals for the toy I loved Big Macs.
When my mother ask me what I wanted I told her a Big Mac. “You’re not
getting no damn Big Mac,” she said and proceeded to order me the kid’s
chicken nugget meal. I had no idea who I was dealing with at the time so I
started crying, which is what most 3-year olds do when they can’t get their
way. My mother snatched me up right in the middle of the restaurant and
whispered, “Listen you little ungrateful bitch, keep that up and your ass ain’t
getting shit.” I remember damn near jumping out of my skin and not another
tear fell from my eyes.

That incident was just the first of many to come: being called out of my name,
mistreated, and verbally, mentally, and emotionally abused by my mother.
On the car ride back to my grandmother’s house I didn’t speak another word
to my mother then and for the next two years. The guy, Cory, tried to connect
with me but because of his association with my mother in that particular
moment I wasn’t feeling him anymore either. I just stared at the sky through
the sunroof longing to go back home with my grandmother. It was from that
incident that I started referring to my mother as Mommy Dearest. I didn’t call
her that to her face of course but anytime I was speaking of her in
conversation that’s how I referred to her.

When my father would come around I would always run and hide because he
scared the living daylights out of me. His presence was just so stifling and I
had no desire to stick around. Grandma sometimes made me speak to him
and maybe hug or kiss him. But I was out of sight thereafter until he left. My
dad never said or did one mean thing to me and he always brought me
something nice when he came to visit. But I was still not having it. I never felt
comfortable around him mainly because he was so daunting to me. It was a
weird cycle. We unintentionally created for one another. My dad intimidated
me so I was scared of him. He sensed my hesitation which made him
reflexively standoffish because he didn’t know what else to do. His
demeanor didn’t help the situation at all. It just made the whole experience
unsettling for us both. He was just clueless on how to make me comfortable.

35
I remember this one Jamaican guy name Patrick who came around all the
time. He was one of my mother’s connections she made while in Cali on her
quest to become the next Beverly Johnson. Patrick was definitely a paid
street dude. He was super infatuated with my mom. They were never in a full
blown relationship because Patrick was married with children. But they did
their thing from time to time. Patrick has known me since birth. In fact I have
pictures of him holding me when I was a baby. I remember spending a lot of
time with him. He really fulfilled the role of my father from the time I was
born until my stepfather came into the picture. But Patrick still remained in
the picture for some time thereafter.

Patrick connected with me in a way that my real father could not. He showed
me genuine love. I’m not saying that my father’s love for me was not
genuine. It was just different. Up until I was maybe six going on seven years
old, I really thought Patrick was my biological father. He was always present
and unlike my real dad I was always excited when I knew he was coming to
see me and sad when he had to leave. I remember Patrick being present at
more of my birthday parties than my own parents. He would come around
and take me and my cousins out all the time. Patrick even paid thousands of
dollars for me to go to private school. When I knew he was coming to pick
me up I would wait by the window until I saw his car coming down the street.
Then I would start jumping up and down saying, “he’s here, he’s here.” He
would take us to this cute little Italian restaurant called Aucina Aucina and a
place called Fun Plex where he let us play all day. Although we grew apart
over the years, Patrick very much still holds a special place in my heart. I’ve
never forgotten his kindness and generosity towards me at a time when my
own parents had forsaken me.

I like to think that I did not live with my parents in my early years because of
their lifestyle. But truth be told it was because they were just selfish as hell. I
understand that they were playing a very dangerous game but that does little
to ease the feeling of abandonment I felt growing up. I was mercilessly teased
and taunted by other kids, and at times my own relatives, for my mother
leaving me behind. I lived solely with my grandma Cora from birth until I
was eight years old.

My grandmother has always been a God-fearing woman. But the grandmother

that raised me was unlike the mother that raised my mommy dearest. I had no
clue I was abandoned by my parents because my grandmother raised me as
her own child and refused to let me feel anything other than love. The only

36
time I saw my mom and dad was when they came by to drop off some money
to grandma. I was just a child and my only concern was being loved. My
grandmother gave me all the love that I needed. I am forever grateful to my
grandmother Cora because she never allowed me to feel neglected or
discarded.

My grandmother loved me dearly but my parents not being around caused me

to have behavioral issues. I acted up with grandma a lot but when my mom or
dad was around, I was like as quiet as a church mouse. Grandma tried to
discipline me but for some reason I never took her seriously and would run
around making her chase me to whoop me. By the time she caught up to me
she was too tired to give me licks. My aunt Bunny on the other hand did not
play. She was definitely the disciplinarian in the family. She was not playing
that run around game when it was time for a whooping. You had to sit your
ass still and take those hits.

My aunt and my mom both were very messy and nasty. Grandma had to pay a
cleaning service to pick up after them. That’s how bad it got sometimes. Once
my aunt moved into her own apartment those habits did not change. I
absolutely hated going over to her house. Grandma eventually figured out
how I felt about going to my aunt’s house so that became her punishment for
me. She would take me over to my aunt house and leave me while she went
to play bingo. My aunt Bunny didn’t play. She kept us in line and if we ever
stepped out of bounds it was ass whooping time.

Even with my parents not being around much I was still a happy child. My
grandmother always worked, but my mother told her to quit her job when I
was born and that she’ll pay her to take care of me. My grandmother did the
best she could to raise me. Despite our financial struggles we never went
without the necessities. Our family was as thick as thieves literally. It was not
uncommon for a lot of us to live in whatever house or apartment my
grandmother was renting at the time. When I was around three, we lived in
this big yellow house. At least 12 people lived in that house and I shared a
room with grandma as usual. Initially when I was younger, grandma and I
slept together all the time because of the limited space. As I got older that
changed and it naturally evolved into us becoming one another’s security
blanket. I slept in the same bed with my grandmother until I was almost 12
years old. The only reason that changed is because my little brother was
born. Grandma was his full-time caretaker so naturally he took my spot.
Grandma and I would lie back-to-back; a perfect fit like yin and yang. Our
natural worlds had become interconnected and interdependent. My

37
grandmother would say, “Kar my back hurts come lay against it,” and when I
did we both would drift off into a peaceful sleep.

I was unusually attached to my grandmother. That is how my clinginess and

detachment issues began. I had to always be near her. If she wasn’t around, I
didn’t feel safe. It was so bad I couldn’t even go to daycare. Right across the
street from the big yellow house was a community youth center that had a
daycare in the basement. Grandma enrolled my cousin Auz and I into the
head-start program. Auz was fine but I absolutely hated going there. I knew I
was close to home because it was directly across the street, literally a two-
minute walk. I found absolutely no comfort in knowing that I was that close
to my grandmother. The fact that I did not have access to grandma all day
turned my little world upside down. There was a preschool teacher there who
reminded me of my aunt Lisa (God rest her soul). I clung to that lady like
static to laundry. The only way I felt comfortable is by sitting on her lap all
day. Eventually the lady left and I was back to feeling frightened and alone. I
cried so much until it made me sick. After throwing up they called my
grandmother to come pick me up. I would do that every day so that grandma
had to pick me up. Eventually they told my grandmother I could not come
back.

As long as I could feel my grandmother’s presence in the general vicinity, I

was fine. But the moment I couldn’t I was outside of my comfort zone. I did,
and in similar ways still do, suffer from separation anxiety. First it was from
my grandmother. Now it’s my kids and their father Dereke. When I separated
from my grandmother for the final time, I met Dereke. Naturally he became
my security blanket and comfort zone. Dereke fulfilled the role and still
continues to do so to this day. But nothing or no one will ever be able to
replace the love of my dearly departed grandmother Cora.

The matriarch of our family, my grandmother Cora Lee Faye Holmes

Mansfield was born August 6, 1941 in Amarillo Texas. She was the bright,
beautiful, outspoken child of the late Edie Lee Holmes and Charles Clayton
McClintock. My great grandma Edie packed up her family and left in an
effort to escape the oppression of segregated Texas where black people could
not vote. They landed in Seattle in 1946, which is how my family’s roots got
planted there. Grandma Cora gave birth to nine children, three boys and six
girls by the time she was 32 years old. Grandma had her first child, my aunt
Satin, in 1956 when she was only fifteen years old. She went on to have eight
more children most of them by different men. My mother was the seventh
child. Grandma Cora married a couple of times but for the most part she

38
raised all 9 of her children on her own.

As a single parent my grandmother did the best she could to raise her children
all on her own. The burdens of motherhood started to take their toll on her.
The way she chose to deal with the burdens is by abusing drugs. For a short
while this seemed to alleviate her anxieties. But while it helped in one way it
generated problems in others. Addiction was an afterthought for her and many
others who resort to using drugs as refuge from their daily lives. By the time
my grandmother realized that the drugs were affecting her life in other ways,
she was already an addict. Her kids suffered the consequences resulting of her
addiction. When things got too out of hand, her kids ended up in foster care
or living with other family members and friends.

My mother suffered as a result of my grandmother’s addictions. She

essentially had to fend for herself and she fought hard to get everything she
had. That created a mentality in my mother to never settle for anything less
than the best. She vowed to never live a life of poverty, disappointment, pain
and hurt again. To accomplish this feat she had to become emotionally
detached from everyone, including me, her first born child. My mother’s
upbringing made her a fighter and a go getter she didn’t care who or what she
had to step on to get to the top. Her dreams of grandeur, fame and fortune did
come to fruition, but at a hefty price.

I can’t for the life of me understand how a mother could abandon her child.
As a child growing up, then a teenager, and eventually a young woman, I
hated my mother for how she treated me. I had zero empathy for her even
after I realized that her actions towards me were just the result of her being a
product of her environment, like I was of mine.

As the Lee Empire grew it brought the unwanted attention of homeland

intelligence agencies. DEA, FBI and FTA all wanted answers. Naturally they
wanted to know how my parents were able to afford the things they were
buying with no jobs. All money my mother made from her modeling days
was long gone. When the Feds came around asking questions my mother was
presumably the one who supplied them with some answers. This started the
demise of their family-run business. My dad had the biggest target of all on
his back because he was the front runner, the supposed head-honcho of the
entire operation. When the shit really hit the fan and federal agents came for
my father, they knew where to look. They knew where his stash houses were
located. They knew about all of his lieutenants and where they lived. They
essentially knew everything about his operations. My dad knew the exact time

39
the feds were coming for him and he knew he would be going away for a long
time.

I remember that day so clearly. He stopped by my grandmother’s house to

see me and this time I didn’t feel intimidation or fear from his presence. I felt
his sadness. I was able to relate to the emotion because my dad energy was
different this time. He was really paying attention to me and trying to connect
with me. He kept holding me and kissing on me but I didn’t understand why
or know the reason why. This time was different from the other times he
visited. I was three years old and it was the first time any man had given me
roses. After that visit my dad left, returned to his home, and waited for the
police to show up.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. My mom’s
behavior around that time was questionable and almost everyone involved in
the game suspected she set my father up. What mommy dearest didn’t know
about my dad was that he is like a cat with nine lives. The same charisma that
cultivated their relationship in the beginning got him a deal with the feds that
put him back on the streets in no time. My dad was originally given a 12 to
15 year sentence, but was back out on the streets in three. When the Lee drug
empire came crashing down, I was the only thing left standing that reminded
my mother of a past that was supposed to be forgotten.

I was a toddler when all this was taking place so I can neither confirm nor
deny this story. But it would explain a lot about why my dad’s family acts the
way they do towards me. I am tired of being seen as a bad seed because I
came from rotten apples. My mother was never a saint. She has always been
an opportunist. Since growing up, going around my dad’s side of the family
is like taboo. They have always been welcoming to me and opened their
doors to my family and I. But I always felt like there was a weird tension.
Maybe it was the distance that naturally followed after my father left. Maybe
it was resentment. Either way it’s a strange energy. Each side legitimately
feels like the other withheld assets that my dad left behind. My mother felt
like they kept jewelry that was meant for me. My dad owned a purple Jaguar
that should have went to me. It had 24-karat gold trimmings with my face
painted on the hood. I don’t know what I would have done with a Jag at three
years old, but for sure it’s something I would have liked to have in my
adulthood. The car was sold a couple months after my father went to prison.
When I think about the relationship I have with my father’s side of the family,
it feels totally identical to how I feel about the family I’ve grown up with all
my life. I feel like an outsider on both sides and I know a lot of it has to do

40
with my own personal feelings of being left behind by my parents. I can’t
change who birthed me or the circumstances surrounding my life. I had
nothing to do with the sins of my parents. I am, in all actuality, the only
beautiful thing that came from their fallen empire.

When my father went to prison we lost contact and I really didn’t have
anything else to do with him or his family. I knew he was in jail but that’s
about it. I didn’t even know I had brothers until I was seven. I still went to
school in Seattle, although grandma and I moved to Federal Way. One day
my grandmother picked me up from school and on our way home she rolled
up on these two dudes standing in the street. The guys walked up to the car
and my grandmother introduced them to me. “Kari these are your brothers,
Tyrome and Tyree. I was confused as hell and still very shy at that time. I just
waved to them both when they said hi. My brothers were about 19 and 15
years old. They chatted briefly with my grandmother and then we left. I had
so many questions for her on that car ride home. I learned we had the same
father but different mothers. Silently I wondered why no one ever told me
about them. My grandmother did the best she could to explain the situation to
me. I was smart for my age, so by the time we got home I had the full
complete story. It excited me to know I had brothers. But my mother was
adamant about keeping me away from them and the rest of the Lee’s. My
grandmother Minnie, my dad’s mother, had a house up on the hill in Skyway
for as long as I can remember. Whenever we had permission my grandmother
Cora would take me to see my grandma Minnie for a few hours. It wasn’t
often; maybe every couple of years. When I would visit her I got to see my
brothers if they were around. But outside of that I didn’t really have a
relationship with them growing up.

My mother’s and father’s mentalities back in the day were exactly the same:
wealth by any means necessary. They made the ultimate sacrifice to obtain
status and riches. That sacrifice was me. My mother still continues to do that
to this day. Not having my biological parents present and active in my life has
impacted me in many different ways. I always believed that I deserved to be
treated better by the people who proclaimed to love me. I just didn’t know
how to go about getting that love from them. My mother and father for sure
set the tone for all my relationships that followed, most importantly the ones
that I’m establishing with my own kids.

My mother raised me to have a permanent complex that I don't matter in this

world. I allowed that to mess with my head for a long time. I did some terrible
things to myself and the people around me because I was hurting so bad from

41
how my mother treated me. I was lucky to have woken up from that slave
mentality she pushed on me. My life changed significantly when I was able to
free myself from the shackles of my mother’s chains.

CHAPTER TWO
LEGIT RICH
1992 – 1995

With my father out of the picture my mom tried hard to distance herself from
that life. She was still dealing with my stepfather, but they were not officially
together. I was told by a reliable source that my stepfather had approached
and tried to get with my mother while she was still with my dad. But she
turned him down and told him his paper wasn’t long enough. He backed away
but stayed in the picture. My stepfather grew up in Seattle too so he knew of
my father and his dealings. Nonetheless he was still intrigued with his then
future wife.

I remember the first time I met my stepfather, Christie. I was around three
years old and my mother had come by my grandmother’s house to pick me up
and take me over to her house. It was the first time I’d ever been over to her
apartment. We were only there for a little while before someone was
knocking at the door. My mom went to open the door and in walks this
extremely tall man. I was always shy meeting my mother’s boyfriends at first,
and meeting my stepfather was no different. When he walked in my mother
and I were lying on the couch at opposite ends and I remember trying to hide
behind her legs so he couldn’t see me. When I peeked from underneath the
cover he said, “Hey there what’s your name?” My first impression of my
stepfather was that he was very nice. His voice was warm and I could feel he
had a good energy so my shyness slowly started to evaporate. He ended up
staying a little while because I remember sitting on the floor and coloring
with him. After that meeting I did not see my stepfather again for a long time.
My next memory of him isn’t until my younger sister was born.

Three months after getting picked by the Supersonics in the 1992 NBA draft,
my mother was pregnant presumably with my stepfather’s baby. My
stepfather and my mom still were not together after she became pregnant
because my stepfather was well aware of my mother’s reputation and past.
She had bodies so to speak in basketball wives terms. My stepfather knew
that my mom dealt with multiple guys at the same time and it was even
suspected that my sister was the baby of another baller. Everyone questioned
the paternity of my sister including my stepfather’s own mother who I

42
affectionately came to know and love as Grandma Norma. Norma hated my
mother from the get-go. She wanted nothing to do with her or me. She
basically forbade my stepfather from getting with my mother and was the
most vocal about doubts of paternity of my sister. Her sentiments at this time
created a wedge so deep between her and my mother, it ultimately caused my
stepfather to turn his back on his own mother.

For years I’ve heard people say that I am jealous of my sister. But her
situation was just the same as mine. She isn’t a product of love either she was
born a child of an opportunist just like me. It doesn’t make it better. But it
does show that instead of jealousy I have total and utter empathy for my sister
and our situation. The only difference in our situations is that she was able to
tame and control her dad which she still does to this day, My father was not
having it. Had Tyrome Lee been the wimp my mother was trying to turn him
into, they may have lasted 20-plus years. My sister represented that picture-
perfect image that my mother has tried to portray her entire life.
Unfortunately I didn’t. Had she not ended up marrying and staying with my
stepfather, my sister would have been discarded living in cramped bedrooms
right along with grandma and I, on a more permanent basis.

When my mother gave birth to my sister she was living in an upscale

townhouse in Kirkland. My stepfather was now living in LA because he’d
been traded to the Lakers. Paternity of my sister had not been established at
this point. My mom didn’t hand over my sister to my grandmother like she
did me, so it was odd to see my mother in parental mode. I was going on four
years old when my sister was born so I had already gotten attached to my
grandmother. I didn’t feel any kind of way about my mother taking care of
my sister full time and not me. What I do know is that this was the start of
the difference in lifestyles that we were afforded. My sister always had the
best of everything. I, on the other hand, was and have always been, an
afterthought.

Financially things were tight. The family started doing what came to be
known as “mall runs” to make ends meet. My mother, grandmother, and aunts
would drive to the area malls and take stolen goods back to department stores
like Sacs Fifth Ave, Neiman Marcus, and Nordstrom’s, to name a few. Doing
mall runs sometimes took all day and us kids would have to sit in the car
waiting for them to finish their business. Of course the mall runs did not
produce enough of a profit to make my mother rich and certainly not famous.
But it allowed everyone to continue eating. My grandmother would stop at
the grocery store and pick up some bologna, bread, and drinks so that we’d

43
have something to eat while we waited in the car. This was the family hustle
and just like the drug game, they ran it like a well-oiled machine. They did
this day in and day out like it was a 9 to 5 job.

As many times as we’d made mall runs, I only remember two instances of
family members getting arrested. One morning getting ready for school I
could tell grandma was a little on edge. She had a nervous energy about her. I
kept asking her was she okay and she would just say yes. I learned quickly
that, in my family, if you want to find out information, just lurk. You will get
more details than you would from asking outright questions. By the time we
left, I learned that my mother was in jail. My mother and I have never been
close. But I love my mother and have always in my own way defended her
when someone was trying to dog her out. I felt a sense of concern hearing
that my mother had been arrested. I learned that there was some kind of mix-
up or mistaken identity with her best friend. She wasn’t in there long but it
was long enough to make everyone worry.

The other time I remember was after my mother got with my stepfather and
stopped participating. My family was not privy to NBA dollars, so they had
to do what they had to do to eat. My mother had bought my grandmother a
red Astro Van. But she was having a hard time keeping up the registration
and insurance, so the tags were expired. My grandmother and my aunts Lisa
and Bunny decided to do a mall run. Grandma stayed in the car with the kids
this time while my aunts went into the mall. They were in there less than an
hour before hastily approaching the van. Grandma hurried out of the parking
lot. As she was leaving I saw a mall employee talking to police and pointing
at our vehicle. Grandma almost made it to the freeway but right before we
got on the highway, she was pulled over. My aunts were arrested but they let
my grandmother go because the van was full of kids. Grandma had to call
somebody to come pick us up because they impounded the van. These
incidents were well after my mother got with my stepfather. But my family
had the mentality that they did not want to rely on her come up. My family
rarely if ever asked my mother for anything, including my grandmother, even
though she was taking care of me. We just made got by the best we could.
My mother and my stepfather were not married at the time. He was just
starting out in the NBA, so really wasn’t in position anyways to take care of
three sets of families: theirs, his, and hers.

Once paternity proved that the baby was my stepfather’s, he moved my

mother and my sister to LA. This was the transition phase of my mom’s life
from a street hustler to a now famous basketball wife. When my mother

44
moved to California, I stayed in Seattle with my grandmother. She didn’t
want to take me and I didn’t want to go. She sent for us to come and visit
quite a bit. My mother, my stepfather, and my sister lived in a high-rise
apartment building in downtown Los Angeles. It was beautiful and the views
were breathtaking. Patrick, the guy I thought was my biological father, was
still in the picture at this time. I remember during one of the visits to LA, he
took his daughter Samantha and I to Disneyland and Magic Mountain. The
one connection Patrick still had with my mom at that time was me. He
continued to help out financially and was very much attached to grandma and
I. My stepfather knew of and was cool with Patrick coming around, so it
couldn’t have been on some smash level. The only other thing they had in
common was the life, so obviously my mother still had ties to her illicit
lifestyle.

After two or three more visits, my mother decided it would be best if we

moved to LA for good. Grandma, aunt Bunny, her kids Auz and Lexi, and I,
all moved to LA. She put us up in the high-rise apartment she was sharing
with my stepfather. They moved to some undisclosed location. My mother
has always been funny about her living situation. I’m not sure if it was
paranoia from her days as a drug empress, but it was odd that her own mother
and child didn’t know where she lived or get invited there.

Why my mother had us up and leave our life in Seattle never made any sense
to me because she never really came around. She would drop my sister off
with my grandmother occasionally but that was it. We lived in that high-rise
building only for a couple of months before the 1994 Northridge Earthquake.
The quake registered 6.7-magnitude with the epicenter in Reseda. It caused
the collapse of several apartment buildings, 57 deaths, and shook buildings
nearly 20 miles away in downtown LA where we were living. It was the first
time I’d felt my mother’s concern for anyone other than herself. She
immediately found us a small house in some random LA neighborhood and
we moved that same week.

Even after we moved into the house, my mother still did not come around.
She visited once or twice very briefly. We didn’t stay there long because there
was something peculiar with that house. It never felt like a home. It felt more
like a stash house where mommy dearest stashed us away. Grandma was
beyond ready to go back to WA and so was I. Aunt Bunny had her child’s
father there with us most of the time and he was always angry and abusive
toward my aunt. We were always in the midst of their turmoil. Around that
same time my grandmother had gotten word that my uncle Marlon, her

45
youngest son, had a heart attack while driving his car and was in a bad wreck.
Uncle Marlon was hospitalized in critical condition so my grandmother
decided to move us back to Seattle. In the process of making arrangements to
leave and packing up the house, my uncle died. His death completely
devastated my grandmother. Of course my mother didn’t understand my
grandmother’s need to leave so she objected to us leaving. My grandma still
had the will power to say no to my mother during this time, so she rented a
moving truck and loaded our stuff up. My aunt Lisa ended up flying to LA to
help my grandmother drive the truck. The three of us piled into it and drove
back to Seattle while my aunt Bunny flew back with her kids.

My uncle Marlon was laid to rest in May of 1994. I was almost five years old
and it was the first time I’d ever dealt with death. But it certainly not the last.
I remember being so afraid at the funeral that I had to sit on my auntie’s lap
the entire time. I didn’t really understand death, but I sensed it to be a very
eerie thing and my body reacted accordingly. I can remember my hands
being sweaty and cold at the same time. The process impacted me in such a
way that the memory remains strong in my mind to this day. I’m sure no one
likes them, but I really hate funerals.

After my grandmother buried her baby boy, she decided to stay in Seattle. We
moved into a two-bedroom, blue townhouse duplex that grandma converted
into a three-bedroom to accommodate all of us. As usual my grandma and I
shared a room. My aunt and her two daughters shared a room. Another aunt
and her three daughters shared the third room. Another aunt or uncle sharing
the room with me and grandma was a common occurrence. I had another aunt
who lived up the street in a small apartment with her daughters.

By this time my mom didn’t come around often. But I longed for her visits
because I got to see my sister. I missed one of the visits she made because the
upstairs neighbor was pressing my hair and I guess it was taking too long. I
remember looking out the window and seeing them getting into their car to
leave and it broke my heart. I can’t imagine a day going by without me loving
on my kids. The love I have in my heart for them was something I thought
did not exist because I never felt it before from my own mother. My
grandmother loved me unconditionally with all her heart, but there is nothing
like a mother’s love. I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything with the
lack of love from my mother until later on in life when I was able to
understand our situation.

When my mother left and returned to her lavish life, grandma continued the

46
struggle to keep a roof over our heads. There were many issues with the
house we moved into upon returning to Seattle from LA. The house had a
rodent problem. We had one rat that terrorized the whole family. My
grandmother did everything she could to get rid of that critter but nothing
worked because it was too slick. However the most serious of all the
problems was that we lived above an old couple who had a mentally ill son
name Randy. He was black Albino and he would act beyond crazy. His older
parents were unable to control him. My mother knew this man was
schizophrenic because we would tell her of his odd behaviors. But she
showed no concern for me being in that environment. One day on a rare
occasions my mother visited our house, crazy Randy decided to call in a
bomb threat to the police. SWAT and the police descended on that duplex
like we were all terrorists trying to blow up the Skokomish River High Steel
Bridge. My mother was livid because they locked down the entire house. She
could not leave when she wanted to. We told her other stories of Randy’s
behavior, but it never made a difference to her until she got caught up in his
crazy. My mother still had a front store in Blood Alley. It’s a Starbucks now,
but she let us stay in the back of the store until the rat situation was rectified a
few days.

I remember while being in the store, then and on many other occasions, my
mother, stepfather and whomever else they brought with them coming in and
conducting business. As I mentioned before my family was the type to
always talk openly and freely around the kids, but on these occasions
everything was so private and secretive. They would go into one part of the
store while the kids were in another and do whatever they came in there to
do. Since my stepfather was playing in the NBA, some familiar faces pass
through that store. One was the current general manager of the Sacramento
Kings. I use to love these times because they would always try to distract us
kids by giving us money to go get ice cream or McDonald’s.

After my grandmother called the exterminator who found the dead rat and
crazy Randy was taken into custody, we went back to the duplex. My mother
was back in LA so life was back to normal as the way I knew it to be.
Grandma and my aunties continued on doing what they had to do to make
ends meet, while I continued on happy, content, and at peace in the comfort
of my grandmother’s care. My mother and stepfather bought their first home
together in Federal Way, WA. It was a modest 3-story home located in a cute
little neighborhood on the hill. My stepfather was still playing for the Lakers
but in the process of being traded to New York so they were not at the Federal
Way house often.

47
The first time I stepped foot in the House on the Hill, my sister was turning
two years old. I remember getting ready for her birthday party with all my
cousins at grandma’s house. Everyone in the family was excited to be leaving
our run-down, roach infested shack to go visit my mother and sister in their
brand new house if only for a few hours. When I walked into the house I did
not feel like it was home. It made me feel for the first time in my life like an
orphan. The house was beautiful. My jaw dropped when I walked into my
sister’s bedroom. It was pink everywhere. Everything was nicely decorated
just for a little girl. I had never seen or been in a bedroom that pretty before. I
was accustomed to my grandmother’s over-crowded boudoir, cluttered with
stuff from the multiple residences we rented. The Kirkland townhouse
planted the seed, but the House on the Hill solidified that my sister and I
definitely lived in two separate worlds.

Seeing that beautiful home and noticing there was no place for me created a
weird feeling within me that to this day I still cannot explain. My sister had a
bunk bed in her room and I assume one of the beds was for me. But instead of
me sleeping there it’s where all her stuffed animals were stored. It wasn’t
jealousy because I didn’t know what that was back then. But if I had to match
the situation with an emotion, it would probably be sadness. I wanted to
belong there. I felt like I belonged there. But I had a small dilemma. I didn’t
want to leave my grandmother. If given the choice I think I would have still
chosen to stay with grandma in our roach-infested, cramped apartment. In
some ways I think if my mother had a nicely decorated room for me I may
have felt differently. But she didn’t, so I was glad to leave and go back home
with my grandmother who I knew loved me for sure. Having a space for me
in her nice, big, beautiful home would have at least showed me that my
mother cared and wanted me to be a part of her life. The fact that she had
nothing special for me just reaffirmed what I’ve felt all my life: my mother
doesn’t love me or want me, and my grandmother is my world.

My aunt Lynn, who I think has always envied my mom, spearheaded the best
scheme of them all which landed us our own beautiful House on the Hill. It
was a pink and white house with awesome panoramic views, located near
Lake Washington. The house was way too expensive for a broke family of
scam artists, so being there I knew was just another scam. As usual my
family members all crammed into the house. My aunt and her son Larry had
the upstairs area. Grandma and I shared a bedroom that was only a little
bigger than the size of a closet. We had bunk beds in the room, but of course
grandma and I both slept on the bottom bunk. My aunt turned the garage into

48
a space for her and her kids. The house had a recreation room that was
converted into additional lodging for my aunt Stuffy and her family. Satin,
my uncle Marlon’s daughter, and twin cousins Dash and Lashawn, would stay
with us sometimes as well.

Nobody had a legitimate job. Everybody had a hustle that brought something
into the house. My aunts were still working with the Italian Mafia and had
increased their mall runs. We stayed in that house for about a year before all
hell broke loose. One day out of the blue, the family started packing up
everything in a hurry trying to get out of there with the quickness. The story
they were telling was that one of my older male cousins was after the family
trying to kill everybody. Several years following this incident, I was still
afraid of that cousin. We got out of that house as quickly as possible. The
family took only clothes and left most of the furniture behind. We went to a
Motel 6 by the airport for a few days to figure out the next move. All my
aunts decided that they needed to leave Seattle. They moved to Tacoma,
which is how my family ended up there. Some time later I found out that my
aunts’ drug use had caused them to do some shady business deals. They went
on the run and the house went into foreclosure.

Grandma reached out to my mother and told her what was going on in
Seattle. Instead of grandma and I moving to Tacoma with the rest of the
family, we moved to Federal Way into some apartments that were a seven
minute drive from the House on the Hill. Moving to Federal Way was
bittersweet. It was bitter because I would not get to be around the family I’d
known and grown up with all my life. It was sweet because it was the first
apartment that grandma and I lived in by ourselves. I remember our first night
staying in the apartment before the furniture was delivered. Grandma and I
made carpet angels. It was so plush. It was as if we really did die and go to
heaven as we flung our arms and legs back and forth. For once I thought my
mother was finally taking some responsibility for me. She is doing it in a way
that I get to have the best of both worlds. I get to keep living with my
grandmother but in a place that was comfortable and cozy. It was no House
on the Hill, but it didn’t matter. It was enough for grandma and I.

Living in Federal Way I quickly came to realize that living in this nice
apartment came with a catch. Just when I started to believe that my mother
had a beating heart in that chest of hers she proved me wrong. It became
abundantly clear while living in Federal Way that my mother hated me and
everything about me. Moving there was never about being close to me. It was
about her wants and needs. My mom benefitted a lot from grandma and I

49
living right down the street from her. Not being around my mom all the time
allowed me to believe whatever I wanted to believe about her treating me
differently than she treated my sister. But now that I was living in Federal
Way, her actions superseded anything my imagination could conjure. The
truth was way more painful and sinister than my own imaginary theories.

CHAPTER THREE
THE TRANSITION
1995-2000

The first two years after my stepfather was traded to the Toronto Raptors, I
started seeing less and less of my mother. I preferred it that way. My mother
made sure my stepfather was her main priority and my grandmother
continued to make sure I was hers. It’s no secret: my mother’s relationship
with my stepfather was more important than anything or anyone. When I
think about her lack of parenting, I could not agree more.

My mother continued paying the rent at our apartment, but by no means does
anything come for free in life. Nothing was even free for my grandmother,
who had taken care of me all my life. My mother has always interacted with
people like she was making a business transaction. I don’t recall many
occasions that she just casually hung out.

My mother viewed our family like a business. Everything she did for anyone
in our family was like a contractual agreement. Everyone accepted the help
my mother was offering for the most part. But they knew she would be
seeking a return on her investment, but in the form of favors, not dollars.
Everyone felt like they owed my mother something and was always indebted
to her. I know many people will look at the situation and say “who cares”
when she is being so generous, buying houses and cars for her loved ones.
Yes you can say it was generosity. But it came at a cost. For instance, if my
mother bought one of my aunts something, she acted like they owed her the
world. That was how she was always able to get my grandma and aunts to do
whatever she asked of them.

Grandma and I fell into a routine mandated by my mother while living in

Federal Way. It started her role as housekeeper and my stepfather’s role as
my personal trainer. My mother and her family were only in Federal Way
during the NBA offseason. That means they could arrive as early as April or
as late as June, depending on whether or not my stepfather’s team made the
playoffs. I used to call those the hell months because grandma’s life, and

50
mine, were a living hell. We were always trying to cater to the people in the
House on the Hill. This is also around the time the mental anguish suffered
by both myself and my grandmother began. I was six or seven.

It was almost a daily routine when we lived down the street from my mother
and stepfather, for my grandma and I to stop by in the mornings before school
to clean their house and cook them breakfast. Grandma and I would serve
them breakfast in bed. We would then have to collect all their garbage and
dispose of it in the dumpsters at our apartment complex. I was seven years
old, vacuuming my mother’s floors in a house I didn’t even live in yet. I
wasn’t required to do so, but to help lighten the load for my grandmother I
often did while she prepared breakfast for the first family. I remember one
day vacuuming the hallway right outside my mother’s bedroom. I
accidentally bumped her door a few times and she finally opened it. “Wait
Kar, I didn’t know you knew how to do that.” My mother was tickled pink
that I knew how to use a vacuum cleaner. Living under my grandmother’s
roof everybody had responsibilities. The adults were out hustling their way
into some cash, while the kids and my grandma took on most of the domestic
duties. I learned how to cook by watching grandma. By the time Dereke and
I moved into our first apartment, I was good at it.

Grandma would drop me off at school and have to sit outside all day until I
got out. Sometimes she would sneak off and go visit local relatives but for
the most part she just waited in the car. My mother made these to-do lists for
my grandmother, complete with hand drawn diagrams and maps. My
grandmother used to say to me all the time, “She must think I’m an idiot.”
The lists were legendary in our family. Initially they started out as chore lists
for just my grandmother. But as time went on, she created lists for both my
sister and I, and my stepfather too on occasion. We returned to her house to
cook them dinner in the evenings after my grandmother picked me up from
school and ran my mother’s errands.

They had a very strict vegetarian diet up until she became pregnant with my
little brother. Grandma was always preparing these meatless meals for them.
I’m sure we could have helped ourselves to a serving or two to bring home
with us, but neither grandma nor I liked the food for their weird diet. It
boggled my mind that grandma would go over to my mother’s House on the
Hill and cook her family meals day and night. But we had to go get food from
other family members so that we could have a decent meal at our own house.

My mother treated her own mother like a personal housekeeper, assistant, and

51
nanny with minimal, if any, outside of rent. I believe she paid her $500 a
month to take care of me but that didn’t go very far. Grandma used that
money for utilities and whatever little she had leftover she helped out other
family members. Grandma received food stamps and bought more whenever
she needed to. But she even split those up with the family. This was also
around the time my mother bought my grandmother the red Astro van. She
didn’t have a car payment but she wasn’t able to keep up the paperwork and
insurance, which led to the van getting impounded. I knew my grandmother
was struggling financially because she and I prayed a lot together.

My grandmother started to change from her scam and hustler ways after we
moved to Federal Way, so money was getting hard to come by. She only
went on runs or did stuff with the family when she was in a really tough
financial bind. Again, she didn’t like asking my mother for anything because
she knew every handout came with strings attached. She didn’t want to be any
more indebted to her daughter than she was already.

Grandma and I kept living our lives the same way we did before moving to
Federal Way when my mother was away during the NBA season. Mommy
dearest would try to control what we did but most often we did what we
wanted. Tacoma is only about 20 minutes away so we got to see the family
all the time during the NBA season. This was the best time of my childhood.
We got to stay over at my aunts and cousins houses and they got to stay at
ours with no dictation for when, who, or why from my mother. From time to
time my family still got their hustle on but not nearly as much as they did
before. The new hustle was doing favors for my mother despite the jobs not
paying well. But it was money in their pockets and sometimes meant free
trips.

My family would always do things for my mother because they knew she was
a money machine. Since my mother started paying everybody to do things for
me I never knew when their efforts were out of love and concern for me, or a
need to make some extra coins. This eventually started a pattern in my family
that caused so much friction down the line. Still to this day there are
resentments that exist from my mother bribing my family members and
turning us against one another.

Living in a different country (Canada) was getting to my mom so she sent for
various friends and family members to come out and visit all the time.
Nobody ever said no to her. While everyone competed with each other to be
the one to get invited, grandma and I absolutely hated going to visit my mom

52
in Toronto. She would send for us every few months and we would stay at
least two weeks at a time. I guess the reason we hated going and everyone one
else loved it was because they had free will to do what they wanted and enjoy
the trip. We did not. Going to Toronto was like going to boot camp for two
weeks. My mother dictated every moment of our being there, while
relentlessly criticizing grandma and I the whole time.

One particular time I remember going to visit my mother, sister, and

stepfather in Toronto. My mother cried upon seeing me. “Look at her
mommy, she is huge,” she yelled at my grandmother. “What are you feeding
her. You are ruining my child,” she continued. Needless to say that visit did
not go well. This was the start of the most torturous part of my childhood: the
workouts and apple cider vinegar. I was about six years old when my mother
took me into the kitchen and explained the new weight loss miracle solution
to us. She put some on a spoon with a dab of honey and had me drink it. I
thought I would die because it tasted so bad.

My mother would turn her nose up at me every time I was near her during
that visit. She’d say I smelled like cheeseburgers. After that I was not
allowed to bring any clothes when I came to visit because my mother said
they smelled like cheeseburgers. Grandma and I were both put on a strict
diet. She immediately sent Clayton, the concierge, to pick up come lean
cuisines. I had no idea what those were until I had my very first one. Of
course the diet only lasted for as long as the visit. When we returned to
Washington, we went right back to eating whatever we wanted. My
grandmother made the best fried chicken in the world. I felt absolutely no
shame when I would lick my fingers after eating a piece. I could still hear my
mother’s animated voice in my head, “Oh my god mom, she is huge.” I would
just smile and think I enjoyed the chicken even more because of it. I can’t
make light of the cheeseburger comment though. That really hurt my feelings.

Our life in the apartment was so different than how we lived when we went to
visit my mother in Canada. They lived in Queens Quay Terminal located on
the Harbourfront of Lake Ontario in a spacious, luxury two bedroom
condominium. It had an elegant lacquered two-tone Neff kitchen with
floating island, coffered ceilings, hardwood floors, and halogen lights. The
building had 24 hour concierge and all kinds of other rich people amenities
and services. Grandma and I didn’t get a chance to get out and explore the
mall that was located right beneath the building or stroll through Rogers
Centre. We had a very strict itinerary that revolved around the NBA. Despite
all the opulence and luxury we were shrouded in, grandma and I couldn’t wait

53
to return to our humble abode. When we did get back home we were met with
darkness on one or two occasions because our lights would be turned off due
to grandma’s inability to pay the bill.

When my mother and her family returned home during the offseason I was
still “huge” because nobody took her ridiculous diet seriously. If I’d known
what was in store for me when she got back to the states, I would have
definitely went on a juice diet quick. Anything would have been better than
those strenuous, professional athlete-style workouts that went something like
incline 15 resistance 35 for four minutes; incline 20 resistance 40, 45, 50, 55
for 20 minutes, etc. It was utterly ridiculous at 6 and 7 years old. That smirk I
had eating that fried chicken haunted me for a long time . It wasn’t so funny
thinking about it as I ran on the treadmill.

Grandma and I went right back into our roles at the House on the Hill.
However the only thing that changed was that my mother added the NBA
workouts for me during our evening visits. When my grandmother was
upstairs cooking and cleaning, I was in the basement running top speed on the
treadmill with tears streaming down my cheeks.

The workouts would have been okay had my mother’s intentions been good
and not at that kind of intensity. My mother did not care anything about my
health and how my weight may have impacted my heart. She just did not like
the way I looked on the outside. I remember running on the treadmill with
tears and sweat dripping down my face. My stepfather was standing next to
me operating the machine. "Keep going Kar," he said. I was running at top
speed and had been doing so for about 45 seconds. I couldn’t breathe and this
was about the 10th time he shot the speed up on me. When he noticed me
crying he asked what's wrong and stopped the machine. I grabbed my chest
and said I can't breathe and he let me sit down for a minute. While I was
sitting there trying to catch my breath, my mother walked into the room.
"Honey why isn't she running?" He explained to her that I was having
difficulty breathing and she said, "Girl get up and get back on that treadmill.”
She told my stepfather to put the speed at 5.0 and let me walk, and that it was
okay for me to have a light day.

When I was a kid I remember taking vacations with my family and for the
most part they were fun. But being on vacation still did not exempt me from
having to workout. No matter where we traveled - Las Vegas, Bahamas,
Turks & Caicos, Orlando, on a cruise - I had to work out before engaging in
any fun activities. At any given time there were up to eight kids on the trips

54
and I was the only one made to do strenuous workouts. I already felt
awkward in my own skin thanks to my mother. But having to work out
against my will while all the other kids were free to run and play on the beach
was mental and physical torture to me.

My mom and stepfather renewed their wedding vows on a cruise ship for
their second anniversary. Grandma, my sister, and I were there, along with
Norma and John; and Lucille and Topper; my stepfather’s parents and
grandparents. We all flew to Puerto Rico where we boarded the ship.
Grandma and I shared a room of course and my sister had gotten sick as soon
as we stepped on the ship so she stayed with my mother and stepfather in the
presidential suite. Everybody kind of did their own thing on the ship.
Grandma and I had the best time because for once we didn’t have a sun-up-to-
sun-down schedule to follow. I rarely saw my mother on the trip. We saw
them at the wedding ceremony and had dinner with them once or twice. But
we didn’t spend any real family time. Every night of the cruise my mother
had grandma bring me to their room. She and my stepfather would take me to
the top of the ship where they had a track. I would have to run around it a few
times with my stepfather. I was deathly afraid of heights and thought I was
going to die.

Vacations are supposed to be relaxing and fun. But my mother took the fun
out of a relaxing cruise and every beautiful vacation we took. Grandma tried
to make it fun but it was felt like we were sneaking around waiting for my
mother to stop us dead in our tracks at any minute. When we ordered room
service, my grandmother used her own money. But we always felt rushed to
eat before my mother came and caught us.

I’m so thankful to have had my grandmother because the memories she

created for me definitely outweighed the bad memories of my mother. The
memories of running around the track on the cruise at night are horrible. I get
anxiety thinking about it. On the flip side, one night my grandmother and I
were in our cabin and she fell asleep watching the movie Titanic. There was
an open liter bottle of water on a shelf above her head. I guess the boat
rocked a little too much and the water tipped over. My grandmother jumped
up from her bed and starting yelling and screaming very loudly saying, “Kar
get up, get up, we have to go, we’re sinking,” all while trying to force me to
put on a life jacket. My grandmother and I laughed at that for years. Anytime
I think about the track, I immediately revert to the memory of my
grandmother’s real life version of the Titanic sinking to make me smile.

55
When it comes to patience my mom has none and her temper is out of this
world. There is no scale with her. She goes from 0 to 100 quicker than
Drake. Couple that with her larger-than-life animated personality and it
creates an explosion at every bump in the road. I dreaded going to my
mother’s beautiful House on the Hill because I knew of the horrors that
awaited me. The most difficult part of all to digest was watching how my
grandmother was being treated. Witnessing firsthand how my mother treated
my grandmother made me angry. She would bully grandma with her
attitude. All my mom had to do was sound mad, then grandma and everyone
else would back down and try to soothe her.

I’ve called my mom a bitch a time or two, but she set the tone for that. She
first called me bitch at the tender age of three. She taught me what a bitch
was directly and indirectly. She gave my sister a little more time, calling her
a bitch for the first time at seven years old. My mother cussed us out so much
that my sister was a pro at it. My mother and stepfather would grant her what
was called a one-minute cuss session. She fired off as soon as the clock
started ticking. “Fuck you dumb ass bitch you stupid ass motherfucker I
fucking hate your stupid ass guts lousy piece of shit.” My stepfather and
mother found this hilarious. I chose not to participate. I thought it was a setup
and also thought I would have taken it way too personal and my words would
have definitely hit too close to home.

My mother’s lifestyle was eventually taking a toll on granny, my sister, and

I. Mom would drop off my sister with grandma whenever it suited her to go
off jetsetting around the country with my stepfather. If she didn’t drop off my
sister, she would fly grandma and I to whatever city she landed in for the next
few months for the sole purpose of watching my sister. My mother was
vigilant in making sure my stepfather did not cheat. She did so even to the
detriment of her own children. I would watch her come and go over and over
again. But it was something I had been accustomed to my whole life. I rarely,
if ever, traveled along with her. When she had my sister things were a lot
different for her.

My mother took a travel companion with her sometimes when she traveled
the country with my stepfather. Grandma was busy with the kids, and mom
didn’t like her sisters all up in her business. She had this friend named
Tamika that fulfilled that travel companion role. I’m not going to front: it
was an awesome gig for anyone who had no life. You got to travel to
different cities, sometimes countries, all expenses paid. My grandmother and
aunts didn’t like Tamika very much. It was not that she did anything to them

56
personally. She just got from my mother what none of us could: her genuine
time and attention. Tamika loved being the BFF because the job came with a
lot of perks. However it gave her a since of entitlement in my mother’s life
that rubbed my grandmother and aunties the wrong way. Every mother wants
to see their children be the best of friends as they grow up. But that just
wasn’t the case with my mom and her siblings.

Tamika is my mother’s best and probably only friend. She had plenty of great
friends over the years. But she forgot about most of them after the fame. They
were all beautiful women who were and many still are a part of my life. My
mom and Tamika were so close that they even dressed alike and wore the
same hair style. Back in the day all the girls were cutting their hair off after
seeing Halle Berry in Boomerang. My mother and Tamika had the same exact
Halle Berry haircut. That is one of the things that stand out about my mother
to me from back in the day. Her haircut was fly and her nails were always on
fleek. My mother was wearing tips long before they were trendy, back when
chicks were barely getting regular manicures. I remember my mother’s nails
being blinged out.

Tamika has a daughter around the same age as my sister. The daughter is my
grandmother’s great grandchild. Tampa is the baby’s mother of one of my
cousins. When Tamika would travel with my mother without the kids, they
were both with grandma and I. Now my grandmother loved all her grandkids
but Tamika is not kin to my grandmother. It seemed like that just because my
sister and I were with grandma that Tamika had the right to drop her daughter
off whenever it suited them. Grandma absolutely hated it.

After the 1995-1996 NBA season ended my stepfather and mom got married
for the first time. They married on July 8, 1996; a day that I’m sure his
mother Norma wept. Norma’s feelings about my mother didn’t really change
after they proved that my sister was my stepfather’s daughter. She just
accepted the paternity results and made the best of the situation. If there is
one thing I know about my mother is that she definitely harbors grudges. She
will slap on a fake smile and say she’s cool, while simultaneously plotting her
revenge to make your life a living hell. That’s exactly what she did to
Grandma Norma for rejecting her in the beginning of their relationship.

My mother has been known to throw some unusual weddings over the years
but her very first wedding with my stepfather was beautiful. They decided to
get married at the House on the Hill since they had recently finished
renovating it. The house was already beautiful but it was haunted. One day

57
my mom heard my sister sitting in the closet talking to someone. When she
questioned her she said it was a man. Years later when she was older and saw
a picture of my uncle Marlon, she said that was the man who was in the closet
with her. The family would be downstairs and you could hear people upstairs
running and laughing. The house was definitely haunted but I like to think it
was with happy ghosts. Regardless my mother was not about that life so she
had major renovations done. When the house was finished, she had it blessed
from top to bottom.

The ceremony was very small and intimate. There was about 30 guests, which
did not include all my mother’s siblings. I can’t recall which of the siblings
got invited and which didn’t. However grandma and I were there and that’s
all that mattered to me. In contrast to many of the ceremonies that followed,
their first wedding was very simple and romantic.
When the 1996-1997 NBA season started my mother decided that it would be
best if grandma and I moved to Canada with them. We did and remained there
for my stepfather’s whole tenure with the Raptors which ended in 2000. My
mother was still gone a lot but she was there some of the time and she did try
her best to be a good parent to my sister and I. She just didn’t know how to be
the parent or role model that two young girls needed. Grandma continued to
take on the lion’s share of raising us. Maybe once a week my mother would
spend a few minutes with my sister and I, but for the most part she was still a
phantom to me. My mother hit the nail right on the head when she said my
sister and I don’t view her as a parent, so the respect level we should have for
her as one isn’t there. I give that respect to my grandmother, the rightful
person who deserved it. I simply feared my mother.

Outside of the workouts, I was finally being treated similar to my sister living
in Toronto with my mother. There were still noticeable differences for people
on the outside looking in, but for the most part our day-to-day routine was the
same. People noticed how differently we were treated more so than I’d ever
known. It wasn’t until later in life when our issues started playing out in the
media that I knew people saw the difference in how my mother treated my
sister and I. Clayton, the concierge from Queens Quay Terminal and my
mother’s go-to confidant, reached out to me on Facebook. He wrote that he
remembered me from when we lived there and he always wondered, “Why is
this other daughter treated differently>” No one outside my family and the
mean league kids I was around all the time said anything, so it was just
quietly swept under the rug.

The thought that I would be happier living with my parents soon came to be

58
an illusion. I had envisioned those days countless times over. But my dreams
were never realized. I was okay with not getting the fairytale family I had
dreamed about on so many occasions. I just did not expect my childhood
dream to be turned into a nightmare. My sister was dreadful from the word
go. She was so spoiled, and distressed grandma and I to the point that we
didn’t like her very much. We felt as if we couldn’t discipline her without
feeling the wrath of my mother. My sister sensed this fear so she took full
advantage of it. I remember one day my sister was constantly teasing me
about something. I was so frustrated that I just started letting her have it. I
was nine at this time and my sister was five. My stepfather walked up in the
midst of my clap back and I remember freezing out of fear thinking I was
about to get my butt whipped for talking to the prodigal child that way.

My stepfather took me into their bedroom and explained to me that it was my

home too and that I didn’t need to be afraid to tell my sister to stop, or to talk
to them, or around them. What it sounded like was he and my mom at some
point discussed how I acted around them. I was shocked that they even
noticed. I was always closed off, quiet, and reserved around only them. When
they were nowhere around I was terrible with my mouth, mostly to my
grandmother, but my sister felt my rage a time or two as well. I had a lot of
anger in me from the time I turned seven until my early twenties. A lot of my
verbal attacks toward my grandmother were misplaced anger that I wanted to
direct at my mother. I never got outright disrespectful to my grandmother.
But I was very sassy and vocal about what I was and wasn’t going to do when
it came to her enforcing my mother’s commands.

Toronto allowed me to truly see my mother for the first time. Until then she
would just come and go spending only moments at a time with me. It was
easy to desire her more when I was getting less of her time. It’s what really
made me feel as if I was missing out on something spectacular that my sister
was getting. I didn’t like the person I lived with in Canada. My mother was
not nice to me or my grandmother. She was barely even nice to my sister. It
was the first time I’d seen my sister being treated even slightly similar to me.
Resentment for how grandma and I were being treated started to build up
quickly. I was able to put up with it because somewhere deep down I knew
that grandma and I would eventually return to our own lives in our own
space. But boy was I sadly mistaken.

My mother decided she needed her own space after our first year of living in
Toronto. She put grandma, my sister, and I in a separate condo. She still had a
bedroom setup for us in hers, but outside of maybe once or twice we never

59
slept there and it eventually became her closet. You had to be very wealthy to
purchase a condo in the luxury building we lived in. My mother and
stepfather definitely appreciated their privacy to the tune of $1.2 million
dollars which was the going rate of the units at the time. I don’t know if they
actually bought the units that we lived in. But even if they were rented, fees
had to be astronomical; and they had two units. We lived on the opposite end
of the building and rarely saw them. Days and sometimes weeks would go by
without me seeing my mom. During those times when my mother was not
there, granny still did not have the right to raise us kids as she saw fit.
Whether it be from down the corridor, across town, or in another city, my
mother ruled our household with an iron fist. She had very strict rules as to
what we did, where we went, and what we ate. Even going to school was
controlled. She had a limousine pick us up and drop us back off at the house
with no deviations unless prior consent was given.

We couldn’t even go to the bathroom in peace. I remember one time when

my mother came over to our apartment I was in the bathroom eating a fruit
roll up. When I heard her voice I hurriedly stuffed the entire fruit roll up in
my mouth. I was sitting on the toilet when my mother came busting into the
bathroom. “Kari what are you doing in here?” I didn’t answer right away
because my mouth was full. “What the fuck do you have in your mouth
Ta’kari?” I was petrified to answer because I knew she would start yelling
and make me go run on the treadmill. I proved myself right when I pulled the
chewed up fruit roll up out of my mouth. “Is that candy?” My mother had
this look on her face like if I even tried to lie she would snatch me off the
commode and string me up with toilet paper so I answered honestly. “It’s a
fruit roll up mom,” I was hoping the “fruit” part would save me from her
wrath but it didn’t. “Get your ass up now and go run six miles on the
treadmill.”

When it was time to parade us around at NBA functions my mother did the
most. Grandma and I would call it the drag show. She would have this lady
come to the house and braid our hair for the games. The lady braided so tight
that we both looked Chinese when she was done. My mother also picked out
our outfits. We’d then have to go to these functions all like one big happy
family and smile in the face of a bunch of people we did not know. Imagine
having braids so tight that they made your head hurt on top of smiling for
countless hours when you felt like you wanted to cry. I’m sure they thought
grandma and I were the weirdest two at the function because all we did was
smile. My mother had gotten on us a time or two for not smiling, so it was
ingrained in us to keep them pearly whites showing. Aside from the

60
occasional “hi” or “hello,” we didn’t talk much and no one talked to us
because we looked crazy as hell. Most sane people can sense when
something is not right. While they probably couldn’t put their finger on
exactly what, they for sure felt our awkwardness.

Running our day-to-day lives wasn’t enough. My grandmother had been

single and celibate for a long time, that is until my mother decided she needed
a man in her life; and who better than my mother’s biological father. My
grandmother hadn’t seen Jack Taylor in over 30 years. My mother hadn’t
been in much contact with her dad either so she found him on the internet.
She flew him out to Toronto after a few conversations and they all
reconnected. I met my grandfather for the first time during that visit. While he
was there I had a dream that he was going to ask my grandmother to marry
him. Sure enough the next day my grandmother sat me down and said, “Kari,
Jack ask me to marry him. What do you think?” What I think really didn’t
matter because my mother was ecstatic so I knew for sure it was going to
happen. Shortly after that we returned to Washington for few months due to a
NBA lockout. My mother began planning the wedding ceremony for her
parents.

My mother took my grandmother ring shopping and bought her the most
beautiful wedding ring I had ever seen. Shortly after finding the perfect ring
my grandparents were married. For their honeymoon my mother sent the
newlyweds on a seven-day trip to Las Vegas. I was nine years old when
grandma went on that trip and it was the first time I had ever been separated
from her for that length of time. My family knew how I felt after grandma
left. I could barely function. I was a wreck and cried all the time. They would
tell me all sort of things happened to grandmother and that she wasn’t coming
back. I would run away and start crying, but they turned the lights off, run
after me, and laugh. They literally tortured me for their own sick pleasure.
After their honeymoon Grandpa Jack moved back to Canada with us but it
was only briefly. He stayed for three months then came up with a story that he
had cancer and he needed to go back home. He left and we never saw him
again.

My sister and I were back to having our own space after my grandfather left
grandma. This alleviated some of the constant tension grandma and I had
toward one another constantly living in forced situations. However I am my
mother’s child. My sister and I both inherited her dominating, alpha woman
personality. One day we were coming home from school and grandma and I
were arguing in the hallway. My mother had an extra key so she would come

61
and go as she pleased. When she heard the ruckus I was making in the
hallway she snatched the door open and I damn-near jumped out my skin.
“What is going on out here?” I’m not sure if my mom heard everything I was
saying to my grandmother. But she for sure didn’t like my tone. It was the
first time she’d ever heard me speak that way. I know my stepfather told her
about my mini-verbal attack on my sister, but to my knowledge she hadn’t
heard it firsthand. When we got inside my mother lit my ass up. As she was
whipping me my sister jumped on her back trying to get her off of me. That
incident would be the first of many that my sister defended me against my
mother.

It was the first time I ever looked at my sister as an ally. From that point
forward it was my grandma, my sister and I against them, meaning my
mother and stepfather. Growing up I use to think my stepfather was spineless.
I’ve since come to understand his temperament and that he just understood
how to deal with my mom to keep her happy. My little sister had a big mouth
and let everything slip before joining forces, so we couldn’t deviate much
from my mother’s schedule or diet when my sister was around. I knew we
could bring her into the fold after seeing her ride for me. We coached my
sister on how to get around all of my mother’s ridiculous rules and after
showing her how fun it could be, she was sold.

The first chance we had to put my sister’s new loyalty to the test is when
grandma and I were having another one of our spats. I was flipping off at the
mouth. Grandma was over it, so she came for me. But as she was trying to get
to me, she tripped over my book bag, fell, and hit her head on the corner of
our glass and metal end table. My grandmother’s head started to swell within
minutes. My sister thought I had hit my grandmother so she got a good grip
on my braids and proceeded to drag me. I finally convinced her that grandma
tripped so she stopped. We watched grandma’s head growing before our very
eyes. It just kept getting bigger and bigger and we were getting scared. The
healthcare system was so different in Canada, so we were only being seen by
NBA doctors. Grandma couldn’t go to the hospital. Instead she took a more
homeopathic path to treating the bruise but to no avail. By nightfall the knot
on my grandmother’s head was the size of a tennis ball and the whole left side
of her face from her hairline down to her chin was black and blue. I sat up
with grandma for most of the night but eventually drifted off to sleep. When I
woke up the next morning my grandmother’s whole face was purple on both
sides.

My mother and stepfather were gone on a road trip for like a week. This

62
happened shortly after they left. But when they came back my grandmother’s
face was still the same. When my mother came to the house and saw my
grandmother’s face, she flipped out. She thought her dad, the man who gave
her that temper, had beat up my grandma.“I’mma kill that motherfucker.”
Grandma, my sister, and I all collaborated on the story we would tell my
mother. She calmed down after we told her the full story. My mother took her
to the team doctors and they confirmed she had a severe contusion, but would
be okay. We missed school for a whole month because grandma’s face was
purple. When we went back to school, the kids were scared of her because her
face was still messed up. But in the end, my sister had stuck to the story we
told my mother. That showed me that she could keep a secret.

Grandma and I weren’t the only ones who fought while in Canada. She and
my mother fought it all the time. Anytime she tried to challenge my mother it
sent her into a frenzy. The main issue was that grandma had no say in her
own life and how she lived. Although we were afforded our own condo, my
mother did not respect my grandmother’s privacy. Anytime someone came to
visit, she would just place them in our condo without discussing it with my
grandmother. No one ever stayed with my mother and stepfather, not even
Tamika. Tamika and her daughter would always come visit. Instead of my
mother putting her up in a hotel or allowing them to stay with her, she put
them with us. My grandmother was cool with the baby staying because she
loves her grandkids. But again, she did not like Tamika. She was too
comfortable with her place in our family and she was always over-stepping
her boundaries.

Grandma expressed her disdain with Tamika’s presence, particularly

complaining about her touching our stuff. Tamika went straight to my mother,
told her that my grandmother was making her feel uncomfortable, and that
she wanted to leave. My mother went into a hissy fit and flipped out on my
grandmother, basically telling her that it was her damn house and she could
have who she wanted in it. She made me and my sister go to her condo and
that angered my grandmother to no end. When she came down the hall to my
mother’s condo, they were still arguing. My mom called grandma the usual
barrage of dumb bitches and mother fuckers. It was the first time since
moving to Federal Way that I’d seen my grandmother push back against my
mother. She was so mad at my mother for taking Tamika’s side over hers and
using us to try and hurt her. It got to the point that grandma started packing
her clothes to leave. My stepfather talked to my mother and told her she was
wrong. My mom apologized to smooth over the situation. My grandmother
had to get upset and threaten to leave to have any sort of independence. This

63
was a reoccurring theme over the four years we lived in Toronto.

The Raptors didn’t make the playoffs in my stepfather’s final season with the
Raptors , so the season was over in April. My mother knew how much
grandma and I hated being there so she graciously allowed us to leave in early
March. When grandma and I arrived in Tacoma, everyone was speechless at
my weight loss transformation. When I moved to Toronto I was on the heavy
side. Everyone was praising my mother for the weight loss, but they had no
idea of my physical, mental, and emotional anguish at the time. Anyone
would experience the same drastic change if they had someone standing over
them dictating their every bite of food and forcing them to work out one or
two times a day. I personally thought I was too skinny and looked sick. So as
soon as we touched down in Tacoma I started eating regular food again, and
lots of it.

CHAPTER FOUR
GROWING PAINS
2000-2002

I lived in a shroud of contrast between how beautiful the House on the Hill
was and how ugly I felt when I lived in it. I was criticized for everything.
When I first moved in, I was only nine years old. The way I walked, talked,
ate, sat, and even breathed was under constant scrutiny. My mother took issue
with everything about me. “Why are you chewing like that? Can you walk
faster? That bite is too big? Why are you breathing so hard? Are you
retarded? What’s wrong with you girl?” The hits just kept on coming.

My mother would stare at me with disgust on her face until I dropped my

head and couldn’t look at her anymore. I would feel defeat in my heart, stand
up, walk over to the trash, and throw my plate away. Sometimes I would just
grab a banana and go find somewhere to sit and try to eat it in peace.
Throwing my plate away at night had become a regular occurrence. My
grandma would stand there and cry feeling helpless. My sister was starting to
revert back to her terrorizing ways because she was seeing my mother taunt
me on an almost constant basis again.

“Why are you eating that Kari, I’mma tell mama that you was eating candy.
You gone be fat like mama said. Why are smacking like that Takaarrriiii?”
When my mother wasn’t there to harass me, my baby sister was and she

64
tormented the hell out of me. I hold my mother accountable for my sister
actions back then because she was only mimicking my mom.

Although I had lost a lot of weight in Canada, the workouts continued at the
same abnormal intensity for an 11-year-old. I would wake up in the morning
and hide in the bathroom until my parents emerged from their room ready to
leave for the day. I had to hide from them because if my mom saw me before
leaving the house she would have made me work out. At this point I felt like I
was just being abused. I was no longer big but was still being forced to work
out.

I thought apple cider vinegar was the new apple juice. My mother bought big
jugs of vinegar and transferred them into 8 ounce bottles that I had to drink all
the time. I was expected to drink 4 to 5 bottles of apple cider vinegar a day.
”Did you drink your vinegar yet Kari,” was the first question of the day from
my mother. Sometimes it was “grab a vinegar, Kar” as we were walking
out the door. I was the only one in the house who drank the nasty miracle
mix besides my stepfather. My mother swore she needed to drink it and
would if her stomach digested it better. “I wish I could drink it like you,” she
would say as if her saying that made me want to drink it any more. Her
saying that just irritated the hell out of me because I would just think, “I wish
I couldn’t drink it like you.” Half empty, almost full, but never empty vinegar
bottles were everywhere in the house and in grandma’s car. While my
mother’s excuse for not drinking the nasty fat burning solution was valid for
her, it didn’t matter for me at all when I told her it hurt and bloated my
stomach. My mother was a walking contradiction when it came to the vinegar
and workouts. She would say she needed to lose weight all the time but
couldn’t work out because she would itch from sweat.

We felt like hostages almost every day when grandma and I moved into the
House on the Hill. I’m not exaggerating. Grandma was not allowed to come
and go as she pleased. She had to get permission from my mother to enter and
exit the house. My mother was a freaking drill sergeant and she ran a really
type ship. My grandmother had to break down and cry just to be able to take a
moment from her responsibilities to take a bath. Pleasing my mother was
something I didn’t think existed. Even by her own accord she acknowledges
that she is hard to please and it’s usually her way or the highway.

The things my grandmother did to appease her own daughter were ridiculous.
You would think she would get a little gratitude but she never did. I guess the
monthly stipend she was getting was my mother’s way of saying thank you. It

65
saddened me because my mother could have easily raised her own kids, but
chose being a wife above a parent. She didn’t know how to adequately be
both. My grandmother was done raising her own kids, but traded her freedom
to be there for us. She should have been enjoying her golden years instead of
picking up the parental delinquencies of my mother. Grandma didn’t get any
appreciation; just degradation and ridicule for the job she was doing.

Our days were controlled from the moment we woke up in the morning until
the time we went to bed at night. We each had a list of duties to refer to on a
daily basis. Grandma’s job was to oversee the schedules and make sure we
got everything done. In addition to helping us complete the tasks that were on
our lists, grandma had her own list to complete. Those lists were like the Ten
Commandments, never up for discussion. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she
also gave my grandmother a bed time. She didn’t have to go to sleep but she
had to turn off the lights and television. I understand my mother picking out
mine and my sister’s clothes. But picking out my grandmother’s clothes was
just weird. My mother picked out my clothes until I was 15 years old.

I was emotionally exhausted and I had to mentally grow up way too fast. My
mother wasn’t trying to mold me. She was trying to control me. I had no
identity growing up and in a lot of ways I still struggle with that to this day. I
used to be in Walmart and it astonished me that people I recognized could
recognize me too. Did they see the sadness behind my eyes? If so, then
why? Why was I made to feel so invisible? Not invisible in the sense that
you can’t see me. But invisible in the sense that you see me, but only see my
skin color, my body size, features, and all my other imperfections. Could they
see and feel my soul?

I use to beg and plead with my mother. But when I realized I could not be
heard I started pleading in other ways. My mother always yelled and cussed at
us for the tiniest reasons. One time to escape the barrage of insults I ran and
sat in the corner writing frantically all over a piece paper. I started reciting the
phrase, “God will somebody just kill her already. Please get her away from
me it’s too much. She hates me and is always saying and doing things to
prove that too me.” I covered my ears to try and block out the attacks that
only seem to get worse when I tried to escape. This started a pattern of how I
dealt with the verbal abuse.

Eventually the tears started to fade. My mother would be cussing me out

about something and instead of allowing the tears to free-flow like I used to, I
would just hold my gaze so tight as to not let a single tear fall. I taught myself

66
how to allow my mind to drift off to different places as a defense mechanism,
and totally block out my surroundings. I would hear my mother screaming in
the background but it sounded like static at the beginning of a vinyl record.
“Kari, Kari do you hear me talking to you? What’s wrong with you girl, are
you retarded? Why are you not answering me?” My eyelids would be
begging to close, but I held them frozen because just one blink and the
floodgates would open. By the time I would blink my eyeballs felt like they
had sawdust in them. But when I looked around my mother would be gone.

It may not have been the healthiest way to handle my feelings but it was my
way and it worked for me at the time. I had already stopped talking freely
around my mother after she called me a bitch at three years old. I can’t
describe how that has wreaked havoc on my communication skills. I have a
speech impediment from being 70% deaf in my left ear and 30% deaf in my
right ear. My fear of talking around my mother did not help the situation at
all. We found out that I had a hearing disability when I got held back in first
grade. Grandma said I used to watch people's mouth as they spoke to me or
constantly ask them to repeat themselves. I would tell my grandmother I
couldn't hear her. My grandmother sat up with me plenty of nights or rushed
me to the ER because I had chronic ear aches. I remember my grandmother's
friend Henry showing up late at night with his big van that had a bed in the
back to help my grandma get me to the hospital. When it was time to have my
hearing checked, grandma took me to Seattle Children's Hospital for the test.
My mother sent my grandmother the money to purchase my hearing aids after
being diagnosed hearing impaired. She didn’t attend any of my appointments
and knew nothing about my condition outside the cost of the hearing aids.

I was a very rambunctious, outgoing child up until the time grandma and I
moved in with my mother. I couldn’t be that way around her because I just
felt like she criticized everything I said and did. She would find any reason to
start her coup de main on me which is why I become socially withdrawn. I
learned quickly that being quiet was the only way I was going to survive in
that house, so I evolved into an introvert. I was so lonely, especially because
contact with the family members I had grown up with and known all my life
was all but cut off. Not being able to see them while we lived in Canada was
one thing because we were in a different country. However living only 20
minutes away and being restricted from going to visit was depressing for
myself and my grandmother. We did get to see them from time to time, but
visits were heavily regulated by my mother. When we were allowed to go
visit or if they came to our house, my mother would threaten me. “You better
not mistreat or act funny toward your sister.” Naturally I was closer to my

67
cousins because we all grew up together in the same house. I’m not sure why
my mother thought my closeness with then would equate to mistreating my
sister. It never did in the past and I’m not sure why she thought it would now.

I wasn’t allowed to have any friends over to the house, and I for sure was not
allowed to go visit anyone. The outgoing, friendly person I once was
disappeared quickly living in the shadow of my mother. I became a shell of
myself. My mother had so much control over my mind I didn’t know if I was
coming or going. It totally messed with my head. I use to ask myself
constantly, “Why does she do this to me? Why does she talk to me like I’m a
grown woman on the street?” Answers never came. It just resulted in more
angst. I was a sensitive child and was greatly affected by the mental,
emotional, and verbal abuse I suffered while growing up. I wasn’t allowed to
express myself so my emotions were suppressed. I was boiling over with
pent-up frustration and anger. I spent a lot of time in the bathroom; mainly
my grandmother’s bathroom looking in the mirror and crying. I was doing
that because I was trying to understand what it was about me that caused my
mother to dislike me. One time my mother did an interview and she said that I
hated my skin. I was mortified by her statement because I had never said or
felt such a thing. In fact I had no idea something was wrong with my skin
until I heard that interview. I ran immediately to the bathroom to look at my
face. I was so confused at the image staring back at me because I could not
see anything wrong with what I saw.

When my stepfather was traded to the Sacramento Kings in 2000, I was so

happy. I had no idea where Sacramento was and I didn’t care. All I knew is
that it wasn’t in Canada and I was all for it. One day we had gone over to my
aunt’s house to pick up my cousin Auz. She was about the same size as me
before I moved to Canada and my aunt wanted to enroll her in my mother’s
weight loss boot camp. While I was at my aunt’s house, she asked me how I
felt about being a California girl. That is how I found out Sacramento was in
California.

The family settled into a beautiful, one-story home in Granite Bay which was
approximately 30 minutes from ARCO Arena in downtown Sacramento. I
love California. So when my aunt revealed that was our next destination I was
all for it, hoping that the Golden State would bring about a change in my
situation. But I quickly realized things were not getting better after being in
California for a few weeks. In fact they got worse. I was sad and angry at the
same time, mostly angry. My grandmother was still being disrespected in
ways I couldn’t believe. I knew why I had to put up with it, but my

68
grandmother was a different story. I was confused as hell as to why she put up
with that behavior from a child she brought into this world. I am grateful for
the experiences I had outside of my mother’s house. I also believe that is why
it was so hard for me once we moved into the House on the Hill. I was
isolated from my old life and my new life was proving to be convoluted.

My grandmother tried to make life as normal as possible for us. But there was
only so much she could do when we were under constant lock and key. We all
looked forward to the times when my mother and stepfather would be out of
town. She still tried to control our every move, but my grandmother would
freestyle sometimes. It wasn’t often, but enough to make us feel a sense of
normalcy. She would take us to the park, the mall, fast food restaurants, and
even to get ice cream. When my mother called, grandma always made up
stories about our whereabouts. We didn’t have to do all the unnecessary
things my mother had written down on her lists. We didn’t have to serve my
mother and stepfather breakfast in bed. Yes, this was a regular occurrence.

Road trips when my stepfather played away games never seemed to last long
enough. Before we knew it, my mother would be back and the tyrannical
behavior resumed. Every morning at 7 a.m., like clockwork, grandma, my
sister and I had to get out of bed and start the day. It didn’t matter if it was a
school day, holiday, Christmas, or our birthdays. We had to get up while my
mother and my stepfather slept in sometimes until noon. While we were up
fulfilling our chore lists, we also had to cater to their every need. Whether it
was a glass of water, cup of tea, or the newspaper, they summoned us like
hired help. When it got close to noon, we all scattered like roaches because
we knew the first order of business for my mother was finding ways to irritate
us all.

My sister and I shared the very bedroom I had once admired almost five years
prior. We had an L-shaped bunk bed. I got the bottom bunk and my sister was
on the top. It really didn’t bother me sharing a room with my sister because
we primarily slept in the room with my grandmother anyways. I slept in the
bed with grandma like I had been doing all my life and my sister made a
pallet on the floor. We did this every single night. As a child my sister was
super messy. I, on the other hand, was neat and organized. I was borderline
obsessive-compulsive. My sister kept our room so messy it drove my mother
crazy. She would regularly come into our bedroom, pull every article of
clothing out of the closets and dresser drawers and throw them in the middle
of the floor. My mother would then make us re-fold everything neatly and
put it all back. I didn’t refer to her as mommy dearest for nothing. It took us

69
two whole days to complete the task because I was mostly folding by myself.
I hated when my mother did that because it was clearly out of anger, hate and
rage.

I want to make clear that I am no angel. I was a good kid, but my mother
always pushed my buttons. I inherited her bad temper, but I was still too
afraid to push back at her with anything. I spent most of the time avoiding my
mother, which I was able to do until she just sought me out for the specific
purpose of abuse. I felt the anger building up inside of me when she accused
me of things I knew I was not doing. One particular time she accused my
sister and I of ordering porn on cable. She lectured us and wanted to beat us
for something that both my sister and I are too damn smart to ever do. My
sister was only seven but even she knew ordering stuff on the cable box
would show up on the bill. Hell we both knew how to get on the computer
and watch free porn if that was what we wanted to do. I never got any credit
from my mother for being the smart, intelligent, awesome kid that I was. I
only received constant, harsh criticism.

There weren’t many times that I spoke up to defend myself because when I
did, I only ended up feeling worse. But I couldn’t stay quiet any longer after
she accused me of making that nefarious purchase. “Look mom I have
something to say. I might get in trouble for saying it but I can’t hold it in any
longer.” I proceeded to tell her that both grandma and I have been unhappy
since the moment we set foot in her house and that every day we talked about
wanting to leave. I told her we feel like prisoners because we are always
cooped up in the house. I proceeded to tell her that she berates and belittles
me and grandma every chance she gets and all we do is try to keep her happy.
I told her I feel as if she doesn’t like me and that she treats me differently than
she does my sister. My mom was not hearing any of it because she did not
like anyone questioning her authority. Her input was all that mattered when it
came to everyone else’s lives. “You can stop right there. I don’t want to hear
another fucking word.” I was so scared. I didn’t utter another word. I knew
how far to go when it came to my mother.

Needless to say I left the room feeling defeated. The only thing I knew to do
was to seek refuge with my grandmother. I found her in the kitchen and told
her what happened. I was expecting my grandmother to automatically take
my side. But when she spoke I immediately knew things were worse than I
thought. “Takari we can’t just leave. Too much rides on us being here. It's not
going to be as easy as you think.” I looked at my grandmother thinking to
myself, “are you seriously saying that to me when you know how she is and

70
the things she is capable of doing?” What I didn’t understand then was that
she did know the things my mother was capable of, which is why she stayed
quiet and didn’t rock the boat. I was only a kid. I didn’t understand so it was
making me mad as hell that the one person I had in my corner the whole time
seemed to be turning on me.

Not having the support of my grandmother in that moment crushed me. I was
only eleven but had already began to realize that something was terribly
wrong with me on the inside. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but it was
the start of a deep depression. Right after talking to my grandmother I went
and found a secluded place and wrote my first suicide note.

In this life I no longer feel any happiness. My mother

hates me and she is turning everyone against me, even my
grandmother who has been there for me since day one. I
have tried to make things work in this place but my
mother makes it impossible. She strips away any source
of happiness I seem to find in my life. I feel like I’m
dying inside. Grandma I am living for you, I need you to
understand had it not been for you I think I would have
left this place. I need you to know that my last breath, my
last tear is for you.

My aunt Bunny was visiting with us around that time. She found me, read the
letter, and said it was the saddest thing she ever read. I felt bad after I wrote it
so I ripped it up and threw it in the trash. I was just desperate for someone to
hear me and understand how I was feeling on the inside. The torment
continued as time went on and I spiraled down deeper into depression.

My mother has always used the divide-and-conquer tactic as a means to get

people to do what she wants. This is the origin of our family dissension. It
was her way to control everything and everybody. She did it with my sister
and I, and ultimately tried to do it with grandma and I. She was almost
successful because grandma sat with her hands tied. She was unwilling to
rock the boat because so many people depended on her and she depended on
my mother. While the change in my grandmother confused me I knew that
wasn’t how she truly felt. It was more the result of my mother constantly in
her ear manipulating her with money. My grandmother was everything to
me. She was my best friend. Our relationship was seriously strained after we
moved to the House on the Hill. I felt that my mother was jealous of the
relationship we had because it was one that she hadn’t experienced with her

71
own mother or her own children. She wanted to put a wedge between us and
for a while, it was working. Her favorite thing to tell my grandmother was
that she and my aunt’s brainwashed me.

Although grandma and I were drifting apart she was still ride and die with
me. I just had to learn to not put her on the spot. If I did she would side with
my mother. We stayed in cahoots, trying to come up with ways to elude and
evade my mother’s crazy. One day we hatched a plan to try and get my
mother to relax those strenuous NBA-type workouts she made me do. We
told her that I had seen the school nurse and she suggested it would be best to
stop the workouts altogether for fear it may interfere with my hormonal
development. When my mother heard that she laughed in both our faces. Of
course our plan didn’t work but it felt good to have grandma support me.

My sister and I didn’t really get along either. My mother pitted us against one
another for so long that we didn’t like each other. My sister knew she was
favored and treated differently so she took full advantage of being my
mother’s prodigy. While in Canada my sister was on our side and that may
have been only because she found herself left behind too. She had an
allegiance with us. I find it crazy that I am using words like allegiance and
superiority and phrases like “pitted against” when referring to my family. I’m
not talking about distant relatives. I’m talking about my mother, grandmother,
sister and stepfather. We should have been one big, insanely happy family.

I wanted to be a good influence on my sister but it was impossible with the

way my mother treated me. She had no respect for me as a person, so neither
did my sister. The biggest secret I kept that helped me tremendously during
that time was rigging the treadmill. I figured out how to get the machine to go
and display the mileage. But I did not actually run. My sister held onto my
secret for a while, but she threatened me with telling every single chance she
got. When my mother found out that I had been rigging the treadmill she was
livid. She didn’t consider me to be intelligent, so the fact that I had duped her
had her on a war path. I wrote my mother a sincere letter apologizing for
tricking her with the treadmill. But after that she did not trust anything that
came out of my mouth.

I never felt comfortable initiating conversation with my mother. When she

spoke to me, it was at me, in a degrading, threatening tone. One day my sister
and I were in our bedroom having a conversation about my mother. “I don’t
know why she has to talk to us like that. Even when she’s trying to be nice
she sounds mean,” my little sister said. “I know I don’t think she realizes

72
how she sounds when she says things.” I followed up. “She really doesn’t
because she even speaks to grandma and dad that way sometimes too.” We
had no idea that my mom was in the laundry room which was adjacent to our
bedroom and heard our whole conversation. My mom confronted us about it.
“I heard you guys talking in the room and am I really that way?” My sister
and I looked at each like, “you answer, no you answer.” I for sure was not
about to open my mouth.

I was left with the impression that my mother had no idea how harsh she was
coming off to people. That impression was confirmed because after that
conversation, she changed. She was not so abrasive when generally speaking
to us anymore. Now if she was pissed off, then of course it was the same ole
person. However she was still nicer to my sister and in her eyes my sister
couldn’t do any wrong.

My mother called us into her bedroom one day and said she had found some
crackers in my sister’s dresser drawer. “I don’t know who put them there but
stealing food will not be tolerated.” I looked at her with a puzzled look on
my face because stealing food seemed bizarre to me. “Yeah, don’t look at me
with that stupid look on your face. It was probably you chunky girl.
Everybody knows Kari likes to eat.” I was annoyed because it was not me
who took the crackers. Not only that, my mother knew that my sister had been
stashing food away in her room for years, long before I moved in with them.
I don’t know why my sister had a habit of stashing food in her room. But it’s
apparent that with the way my mother controlled our food intake she was
probably hungry half the time.

“I didn’t steal any food mom,” is all I said because I know she didn’t believe
me anyway. “Lies. I told you already, I don’t trust anything that comes out
your lying mouth.” I thought to myself, “and that is exactly why I am not
going to say another word.” I really believed my mother was making it all
up. Just when I thought we were done, she made another wild accusation. “So
yeah the other thing I wanted to ask, who the hell has been in here stealing
my change?” My sister and I looked at each other totally confused. What the
hell is she talking about now? I don’t know if my sister was stealing the
change, but it definitely wasn’t me. Besides it’s not like we could go to the
store and spend it.

I’m a fair person and I want to give my mother the benefit of the doubt. She
was pregnant with her last child at this time, in her last trimester. So maybe it
was the hormones that had her tripping. But when she called my grandmother

73
into the bedroom and ordered her to give us a whooping for stealing food and
change, I had to laugh at the look on my grandmother’s face. “Oh so you
think this shit is funny?” My mother snapped and went after me with the belt.

My mother was not over the stealing situation, not even a little bit. She put us
in a three-day, full on hell boot camp that included minimal to no sleep. She
made my sister and I do all kinds of weird random house chores like washing
walls that were already clean, school assignments that didn’t exist, personal
assistant tasks like waiting on her hand and foot…it was nonstop. When we
would finished one thing, she would tell us to go do something else. This was
from sun up to sun down, similar to her lists. The only difference was that
she was making the stuff up off the top of her head. She fed us but it was
mostly fruits and vegetables three times a day.

We couldn’t wait for bedtime because at least then we would get reprieve
from the madness. My mother is good at mental warfare; very good. She
made my sister and I sleep in her room on the floor in sleeping bags for the
entire three days of her punishment boot camp. She woke us up almost every
hour on the hour and made us stand up for however long she decided at the
time. It would be ten minutes one time, 15 the next. She later explained her
reasoning for this part of the boot camp. It was because I said yes to someone
asking me if I wanted to have kids someday. She said having babies would
be similar to waking up in the middle of the night every hour. I would have
learned that lesson on my own had she waited a few weeks. Once she gave
birth to my baby brother he came straight home from the hospital and into the
room with grandma and I.

When my mother makes her mind up about something, good or bad, she is
one to definitely see it through to the end. As if that wasn’t enough, when my
stepfather returned home from his trip, she informed him of her irrational
accusations of stealing and instructed him to whoop us. I can’t say that I
learned anything from my mother’s three day boot camp punishment. But
what I did realize is that my mother’s issues were deeper than I could have
ever imagined.

At that point everything about my life seemed disjointed. Even my schooling

seemed to be out of whack. My first school year in Sacramento, I was in the
6th grade. My sister and I attended St. John Christian Academy. We only
attended for six months, then were pulled out and home schooled around the
time my mother was about to give birth. It was common practice that my
grandmother attended school with me all day. But with a newborn to look

74
after now, that would have been impossible. That’s why my mother took us
out of school. When my mother gave birth to my little brother, whom we
affectionately call Dougie, motherhood started for me and continued for
grandma. I was almost twelve and I fell in love with my baby brother. I know
my mother will go ape shit when she reads this. But my brother was like my
son. I got a lot of joy from taking care of him. For me he was the light in a
very dark tunnel and our bond was very special.

Being home-schooled proved to be beneficial to me. By the time the alarm

went off in the morning I was dog tired. My mother was right when she said
having a baby meant you would get no sleep. I had to get up several times
during the night to warm up my brother’s bottle. My mother did not want us
using the microwave or a bottle warmer so I had to hold the bottle under hot
water until it was warm enough for him to drink. Sometimes that took up to
20 minutes. Taking care and watching out for my siblings was a personal
choice, but my mother still held grandma and I responsible for everything
when it came to them.

Everybody that really knew my grandmother understood there were two

things she had to do in life: play bingo and watch The Young and the Restless.
My grandmother had been watching that show every day for the past 30
years. One day my mother came home and the house was calm and quiet.
My sister and I were off doing class assignments and grandma was watching
her soap opera. My brother was laying in his basinet sleep right next to my
grandmother. My mother went to pick him up and his shirt was wet. The vibe
of the house went from calm and peaceful to WWIII. “Oh you sick
motherfucker’s are trying to hurt my baby, are y’all crazy.” She’s going off
on my grandmother and we’re just trying to figure out what was the problem.
“Why the fuck would you do that to my baby? I pay your ass money and you
just gonna sit in here and let him be wet.” It was absurd how she reacted to
his shirt being a little wet. One thing I know is that my grandmother took
damn good care of us and if my brother was wet it’s because his pamper may
have been put on improperly or he was sweating. My grandmother and I both
tended to his needs every hour on the hour. For his pamper to be that soak to
seep through to his clothes would have meant he was neglected for hours and
that just wasn’t the case. Grandma and I took turns changing and feeding my
little brother and it was our pleasure to do it.

We were all confused by my mom’s reaction to my brother being a little wet.

My sister and I followed her into her bedroom and she fed him while going
off the whole time. “Y’all motherfuckers want to do this to my got damn

75
baby,” she continued while reaching for the phone book. “That’s why I’m
putting cameras in this motherfucker. I’mma be watching you bitches.” I’m
not sure how long my mother ranted and raved but it was far too long for a
slightly wet t-shirt. What hurt the most is that she knew how we felt about my
brother and for her to even begin to believe we would purposely do
something to hurt him was wretched as hell. We were all in shock and my
sister, my grandmother, and I just sat there feeling like it was us against my
mother. We knew we didn’t do anything wrong but it didn’t matter to her she
hated us all in that moment.

Grandma, my sister, and I craved running errands because we were always

stuck in the house. It was the only time that we were allowed to go out by
ourselves. We knew that while we were out ,we could grab a burger or
something sweet to eat and my mother would not know. We couldn’t deviate
too much from the task list because my mother knew exactly how long each
stop took. She would call and repeatedly ask, "Where are you guys?" We
mostly had to run errands while my brother was napping. But if he woke up
she would start calling frantically. My stepfather even said one day, while
cooing in my brother face, "you better go to sleep lil man. You know your
mom only likes you when you are sleeping." My mother liked to pretend for
the outside world that we were perfect and that she was this loving, doting
wife and mother. But it simply was not the case. When people got close
enough to our family dynamic they saw the façade. It was all illusions and
smokescreens put in place so my mother could pretend to be something she
clearly is not: flawless.

Pretend as she may, my mother was clueless to the fact that her unfair
parenting practices and overall eccentric ways were well-known amongst her
peers and the people that worked for her. One such person is Mrs. McCleary,
a home school teacher that came to the house 3 to 5 times a week. I loved
Mrs. McCleary. She was a very sweet lady and seemed to favor me over my
sister, which is what everyone did once they became aware of our inequities.
One day Mrs. McCleary called the house and I answered the phone. She said
she wasn't going to make it to our session, that we were all caught up, and she
would have more assignments for us on her next visit.

We relayed the information to my mother. My sister asked her if we could go

and get our nails done since the teacher wasn’t coming. My mother needed
some errands taken care of so she agreed that we could go after we took care
of her errands. While grandma, my sister and I were out running errands and
getting our nails done, Mrs. McCleary showed up at the house. My mother

76
called us while we were out and I’ll just say she was more than a little irate.
We were dreading getting back to the house knowing what was in store for us
when we did. Once we entered the house my mother was already ranting off
to my stepfather. I could hear her from the door. “Those lying little bitches,
see that’s why their asses don’t get to do shit always being sneaky.” When
my mother heard us come through the door she didn’t waste any time coming
for our head. “Get your asses in here now and sit the fuck down.” Grandma,
my sister, and I all were sitting on the couch being verbally chastised by my
mother like we were toddlers. She had accused me of lying about the teacher
and started explaining that our punishment was going to be a whooping by
my stepfather.

My stepfather was across the room watching his tyrant wife talk to us, my
grandmother included, like she was a drill sergeant and we were her platoon.
My sister was fidgety and wasn’t really paying my mother any attention. Next
thing we know my stepfather’s shoe came flying across the room and popped
my grandmother in the head. We didn’t even see it coming and for a split-
second didn’t know what had happened until we saw his size 14 gym shoe
lying at our feet. There were not many times that my stepfather whopped me.
But there were a few and this was one of them. My stepfather whopped me
and my sister differently. I had to lie down across the bed and he gave me a
few lashes. My sister, on the other hand, got the hot peas and butter come and
get your super ass whooping. This was one rare occasion when being treated
different worked in my favor. There were no black and blue marks for me.

The few friends that I did manage to make and hold on to growing up did not
understand why I was so tortured in my soul until they started seeing for
themselves. My mother would find every opportunity to embarrass me in
front of my peers. They always asked to come over to our house but the
answer was always no. The invites to come to their birthday parties and other
special events slowly started to dwindle because I was never in attendance at
any of them. I never extended invites to them for any of my birthday parties
because I didn’t have many. If my mother did decide to celebrate a birthday
or two, it was a very minimal celebration. She would get my grandmother to
bake a cake and invite over my aunts and cousins to sing “Happy Birthday.”
When we blew out the candles she would already be shutting down the party
to sending them on their way

Having a stepdad that played in the NBA to many seemed like a dream come.
We got certain privileges on game days since we were kids of a player.
ARCO Arena was our second home. I knew my way around that place better

77
than I knew my way around my own back yard. My sister and I would get
extra tickets for the game so we invited our friends. The wives of the players
had their own luxury suite to hang out in. But they were hardly in there much,
so it was more of a kids’ hang out spot. I lived for game days because I had so
much fun and it was one of the only times my mom wasn’t on my back.

My mother did not care what we did as long as we did not embarrass her. My
friends knew my mother was strict and mean, and often times took pity on me
because of how my mother treated me. One day while we were in the wives
lounge, my sister was bickering back-and-forth with one of the player’s sons.
He proceeded to claw her in the face. My mother was beyond enraged at the
deep scratches down my sister’s face. She took my sister and I to the car and
lit fire to my ass for what happened to my sister. I didn’t understand why I
was the one who got in trouble especially when my sister instigated the whole
incident. When we went back into the wives lounge, the other kids were
teasing me about being chewed out by my mother for what had happened. I
remember thinking to myself, “how do they know I was the one who got in
trouble?” I had a full-blown argument with another kid because he kept on
insisting I was the one who got in trouble even after I denied it. That irked
me because I now had accept that the way my mother treated me was no
longer a household secret. People were laughing at me behind my back. That
stung even more because no matter where I went, I could find no refuge from
my miserable existence at home.

Kids laughed at the abuse I suffered like they laughed at the way my mother
dressed me. My entire wardrobe consisted of purple, grey, black and white
Sacramento Kings team colors. I was still unable to pick out my own clothes
to wear and because I was full-figured, my mother equated that to mean only
being able to wear big, oversized clothing. Since my mother refused to take
me to get outfitted for proper underclothing, my grandmother took me. I
remember the lady in the garment shop measuring me to determine my right
bust size. When she was done I got to pick out the prettiest little beginners
brassieres. I didn’t think twice about the bras after we bought them because it
was just something that all developing young girls needed.

One day my mother happened to be taking clothes out of the dryer and came
across one of the bras grandma purchased me. She went ballistic. “Whose is
this?” My mother held up my bra like she had picked it up out of the garbage.
I could always tell by the tone in her voice when things were about to go left.
Grandma shot a look at me and I looked back at her hoping and praying this
would be one of the times she stood up for me. “Missy the child needed it.

78
She is growing and it’s nothing you can do to stop it.” I let out a heavy sigh
of relief. “I know mom but she is not old enough to be wearing stuff like this.
This is not a regular training bra. This is borderline lingerie.” My mother
thought that the bras grandma bought me looked too sexy so they went in the
garbage and were all replaced with sports bras.

CHAPTER FIVE
DARKNESS & DEPRESSION
2002-2004

I was a sad, lonely, angry, depressed teenager; and that bothered my mother.
She wasn’t bothered out of concern but more so annoyance. The way she
chose to deal with it was to pick on me even more so the cycle of fighting and
depression continued. I had no outlet to express myself. I had no friends,
activities, hobbies, nothing. Almost every single day of my life consisted of
being in the company of grandma, my sister, and my brother. I was allowed to
use the phone. I often ran up the bill into the hundreds of dollars because it
was my only outlet to the outside world and provided me a sense of normalcy.

I was a tortured soul primarily because I had a family that everyone from the
outside looking in saw as picture perfect. The reality was far different. My
picture told a different story and until now it has never fully been seen or
heard. The small bits that came out in media were pivotal points in my life.
The things that I am choosing to share in this book about my upbringing are
significant. They are the stories that stick out to me the most from my
childhood. The truth is that every single day living in my mother’s home
brought some new dysfunction into my world and it never stopped.

As time went on my miserable existence sadly became the norm. I got use to
my mother talking down to me. It’s sad when you have to take something so
dreadful and rationalize it in your head simply for survival. That’s how I
lived from one day to the next. I endured the crazy things my mother did and
said to me. I unwittingly or otherwise built a high tolerance for that type of
punishment.

The darkness was becoming overwhelming. I totally understood what was

going on with me now. I just didn’t know how to fix it. I think back on that,
knowing I was so depressed at such a young age. I still have my struggles
with depression as an adult. I find it difficult to cope sometimes. But I can’t
imagine how I did it as a 12 and 13-year-old child. It was becoming harder
and harder to find peace or joy in my life at that time. It seemed that as I got

79
older, my mother became more vulgar in how she spoke to and treated me.
The befuddled position I found myself in made me feel like a nobody. I could
no longer identify with who I used to be. I also didn’t quite accept who I was
becoming. Grandma was isolating from me and focusing more on my sister
and brother as I slipped deeper into my depressed state.

The way my mother ran our family totally stemmed from a place of fear. She
imposed all her fears and insecurities on everyone around her. Paranoia
became deep-rooted in our family. Everybody was on edge thinking other
family members would interfere with what they had going on with my
mother. Everybody knew my mother was finicky and would turn on them in
a heartbeat, so nobody wanted to rock the boat. The emotional deficiencies
within my mother permeated throughout our entire family.

What I didn’t know or understand at the time was that my mother was in the
process of buying four houses in Tacoma for her sisters. That is what my
grandmother meant when she said there was a lot going on that I didn’t know
about and we just couldn’t up and leave. This was an exciting time for my
family because no one outside of my mother had ever before owned anything.
All four of the houses were in walking distance of one another. My aunts
Lynn, Lisa, Bunny, and Stuffy, and their children, were going to move into
the houses. They all paid rent of course. But for a long time some were under
the impression that they were paying off a mortgage, not fulfilling a month-
to-month lease agreement.

Amidst all the excitement of making minor renovations and getting the
houses ready to move into, tragedy once again struck our family. My auntie
Lisa, my grandmother’s sixth child and third daughter, unexpectedly passed
away. Aunt Lisa’s death spun my world even further out of control. She was
my favorite aunt. It was a very confusing and lonely time for me. I spent a lot
of time with her when grandma and I lived in Seattle. She was grandma’s
second child that passed away abruptly, after my uncle Marlon. It seemed like
the dark cloud that persisted in my world just kept getting darker.

My aunt Lisa had been missing for a few days, something that was not
uncommon due to her substance abuse issues. Most times she would be in jail
for a couple of nights or somewhere getting high. But she always returned
like nothing happened. Her kids were accustomed to her pattern of behavior
so they weren’t worried initially. The only thing different about this time that
caused my grandmother to be uneasy was that she went missing the night
before she was supposed to move into her house. My aunt was excited for that

80
and my grandmother just couldn’t understand why she would not show up.

It was business as usual for my mother. Despite my grandma’s concerns

about Aunt Lisa being missing, she went on fulfilling the tasks that my
mother had set for the day. One of the things on the list was to take my sister
to her modeling practice. Aunt Lisa was supposed to ride with grandma so
she could wait in the car with my brother and I. But when she didn’t show up,
my aunt Stuffy went instead. My grandmother was mad about my aunt just up
and disappearing when she knew they had business to take care of. I
remember thinking at one point, “how do they know she’s not in trouble or
somewhere hurt?”

While Aunt Stuffy and I waited in the car for my sister and grandma to come
out, I received a call from my Aunt Bunny. At first I ignored my aunt’s call
because I was talking to this little boy my cousins were trying to hook me up
with. I was 13 by this time and had already started talking to boys so I was
really into our conversation. Finally I clicked over and she immediately asked
to speak to my Aunt Stuffy. After hearing my aunt speaking briefly on the
phone I could tell the news was not good. All of a sudden my aunt tossed the
phone and proceeded to get out of the car. I spoke again to my aunt that was
on the phone and she told me that they found Aunt Lisa and she was dead.

I was numb in that moment. Instead of giving in to the emotion I felt creeping
into my body, I felt the responsibility to take over the situation because my
Aunt Stuffy was freaking out. We had my little brother in the car with us and
I spotted my grandmother crossing the street with my sister. I immediately
hopped out of the car to try and prevent my aunt from telling my grandmother
her child was dead while she was in the middle of the street with my sister.
Downtown Seattle traffic is very similar to New York traffic. I didn’t want
my grandmother falling out in the middle of the street. My grandmother could
see that something was visibly wrong with us so she started yelling from the
other side of the street, “what, what’s wrong?”

When my grandmother crossed the street and got over to us, Aunt Stuffy
blurted out, “Mommy Lisa’s dead.” I was crying but I watched my
grandmother with precision for her reaction because I knew she was going to
be very distressed and I didn’t want her to fall out. My grandmother lied
down on the hood of the car and just released every emotion she had in her at
that moment. All four of us - my sister, Aunt Stuffy, grandma and I - were
hysterically crying. There were people walking by looking at us trying to
figure out what was wrong. I remember these two women walked by. They

81
stopped to ask my grandmother if everything was okay. She said no. They
started hugging us and telling us that everything was going to be alright, but
we were inconsolable. It took us all a while to calm down and even then we
were all still a wreck. I knew that neither my grandmother or Aunt Stuffy
would be able to drive so I called my mother.

“Mom Auntie Lisa died,” I sobbed into the phone. Everybody was still crying
so obviously she could hear the commotion in the background. The first thing
out of my mother’s mouth was, “Where’s my fucking son?” I reiterated what
I had said when she first answered the phone, “Ma Aunt Lisa is dead, they
just found her.” My mother was not hearing any of it. As a mother of three
beautiful boys myself, I now totally understand her reaction. But at the time it
seemed uncanny to me. I had told her a couple times during the phone call
that my brother was fine but she just kept yelling, “Where is my son,” and
nothing else was sinking in. My stepfather eventually got on the phone. He
was much more calm than my mother so I was able tell him the situation. He
asked was everyone okay. I said yes, but that grandma and Aunt Stuffy
couldn’t drive so we needed someone to come and get us.

My stepfather and my mom showed up within 20 minutes. When they got out
of the truck I could tell my mother was anxious but for the most part she was
calm. They put the kids in their car with my stepfather and my mom drove the
car with grandma and Aunt Stuffy. As much as I wanted to be with my
grandmother, I wasn’t allowed to go with her and be with the family. My
mother made me go home with her, my stepfather and siblings.

The days that followed were of course very somber. My grandmother was in a
state of shock. She was extremely despondent. Every time I looked at her it
broke my heart. My aunt Lisa was the second glue after my grandmother, if
you will, that held everyone together. Auntie Lisa got along with everyone
regardless of any problems that the others had with one another. When we
couldn’t go to my grandmother with our personal problems, Aunt Lisa was
the next in lin. Our family definitely took a hit when she passed away.

My aunts and uncles have all experimented or had their share of problems
with substance abuse. The older ones were not so lucky in shaking their
habits like the younger siblings. They experimented and moved on from that
part of their lives. My Aunt Lisa’s addiction led her down some very dark
paths. Although they had drug problems, they still managed to maintain their
outer appearances and, for the most part, take care of their kids. My aunt
would disappear from time to time. But when she returned and had gotten the

82
monkey off her back, she was good for weeks straight until the next binge.
Looking at my aunts and uncles you would never be able to tell they had
substance abuse issues.

My mother and grandmother made the funeral arrangements for my aunt.

Since getting the news of my aunts passing I hadn’t seen my mother cry once.
She was sitting in her office telling my stepfather the latest rumors that were
going around as to what happened to my aunt. There were a few different
stories but out of respect for my Aunt Lisa and her children, I will not go into
details about them. But they all amounted to her death being a homicide. My
aunt had asthma and despite all the insane stories floating around, the Coroner
ruled there was no foul play and that Cirrhosis of the liver was the cause of
death. My aunt passed away on August 22, 2002, two days before my 13th
birthday.

Thinking foul play was involved in my aunt’s death was devastating to my

mother and it was the first time I’d ever seen my mother show real emotion.
My sister and I were standing in the doorway of my mom’s office while she
was talking to my stepfather about my aunt’s passing. We already thought the
house was haunted, and I felt the same eerie feeling I had at my uncle’s
funeral. My hands were cold but sweaty. For some reason I just didn’t want to
go in there with them. My stepfather looked over to us, saw us standing
there, and told us to come over and console my mother. My sister and I
looked at each other because we didn’t know how to do that. We never
received hugs that much in our family and the idea of that felt uncomfortable.
We walked over to my mom and started rubbing her shoulder, but I couldn’t
feel my hand because it felt like jelly.

My aunt Lisa had a beautiful homegoing. We laid her to rest on August 28,
2002. My mother made a beeline for the car to head home after the funeral.
She snatched me and my sister by the hand and led the way. My mom never
attended family functions so I kind of figured she would not attend the repass.
But it never entered my mind that she wouldn’t allow me to go. I wanted to
be with my family, but my mom was adamant about me not going to my
aunt’s repass. I knew she would be embarrassed so I started crying and
making a scene because it was the only thing I knew to do. Everyone started
asking me what's wrong and as I begin to tell them my mother stopped me
mid-sentence and said, "Just go I will deal with you later." My sister hopped
on the band wagon with me and said, "I'm out too."

It had only been weeks since my aunt’s passing and my mother was back to

83
the insanity that was mine and grandma’s life. I know for a fact that my
grandmother was still mourning the loss of her daughter, but she had to put
that aside to raise my mother’s children.

I thought about death a lot. It was really abnormal. I spent a lot of time
thinking about dying. Things were always getting worse with my mom, never
better. That has remained the same to this day. I was desperate to feel some
relief from my overbearing, controlled situation. Every day was the same
thing. I’d wake up, do chores, cater to everybody’s wants and needs besides
my own, then go to sleep. There was no hanging out with friends or other
family members. We were homeschooled so I felt like a prisoner but worse
because even prisoners got yard time. We would go to the store once or twice
a week but that’s the only time we went out. Every day grandma and I woke
up and said we hoped my mom needed something from the store.

We were all stuck in the house as usual. My mom and stepdad were out doing
an appearance or something. My mother called the house and told my
grandmother to have me workout and let my sister watch me. I went and got
started on the treadmill and my sister was doing whatever she was doing. I
put my ear buds in and did my workout. This particular day my sister was in a
harrying mood. She kept on messing with me, saying stuff and needling me
until I snapped. I still had my earbuds in so I did not hear my mom when she
came in the house. I yelled at my sister at the top of my lungs, “Leave me
alone. You don’t run me, you don’t own me, you and your mother, you just
drive me fucking crazy.”

Next thing I hear is, “Who the fuck are you yelling at?” When I turned
around my mother was standing there and there was no turning back. I’m sure
she had heard what I said. Frankly I was just exasperated at that point. This
would be the second time I unleashed and told my mother how I was feeling.
“Her, I’m yelling at her. I’m tired of this shit, I’m tired of people doing shit to
me and thinking it’s okay,” I said. My mother just stood there looking at me
like I was crazy. “What are you talking about?” I continued on, “You, I’m
talking about you. You make me do this stuff and force your daughter to sit
here and watch me. I don’t want to fucking be here, I don’t like it here, you
don’t make me feel like I’m loved. I tried to talk to you before and instead of
listening and trying to understand where I was coming from, you tell my
stepfather to whoop me.” My mom was just like, “whatever” and yelled for
my stepfather to come down in the basement.

My stepfather came in there and sat down on the couch. Anytime I spoke

84
candidly like that to my mom, I get real emotional. So by the time my
stepfather comes in I’m crying and upset. I told them, “I can’t do anything.
You don’t trust me the only thing y’all trust me to do is watch my little
brother and I can do that all day.” I continued, “I am not allowed to hang out
with my friends. All I do is stay stuck in your strict world. I don’t say
anything to anybody. I stay out y’all way and you still come at me piling on
more stress, doing things to me, and talking to me crazy like as if I don’t have
any feelings and I’m tired of it.” I wasn’t finished. “It’s not just you. It’s you
and your daughter.” My mom just stood there listening and then my
stepfather chimed in. “Well I just want to say, you know what baby? You’re a
good ass mom.” He basically took her side and stroked her ego. It didn’t
matter at that point. I had said what I needed to say to my mom. I told them
that I was depressed and that I needed some help. Nothing ever came of my
meltdown. I never got the help I requested and the whole conversation just
got swept under the rug.

I felt bad about how I spoke to my mother after I had time to think about it.
The way I said what I said came off as disrespectful. I meant what I said but
my delivery could have been better. I felt like they missed the point that I was
trying to make. I wrote both my mom and stepfather a letter.

I’m sorry that I feel the way that I do. There’s just a lot of
pressure on me and has been since the time I moved into
your home. Dad is famous and I can’t express the
emotions that go through me when we are out. People
recognize us and literally they say, “Oh, that’s his
daughter right there,”pointing at my sister and then with
me they point and say, “well who is that?” And the
response I hear all the time without fail is, “Oh, I don’t
know.” I was only 9 years old when all of this started. It
has been four years and the mystery of who I am remains.
I’m just really confused about a lot of things. It’s not like
I come home and I’m reminded of who I am because even
in my own home I am treated like I don’t belong. I just
have a lot of questions about my dad and I want to know
is there anybody that’s going to care about me?

I gave them the letters and I thought it may have made them feel some kind of
way. My mom told me to never write them another letter and I said okay. As
vulnerable as I was, it seemed the responsible thing to do as a parent is try to
understand my pain, frustration and hurt. I’m not saying that they necessarily

85
had to agree with me, but just acknowledge my feelings which neither she nor
my stepfather did. I didn’t get a conversation about my dad. It was as if the
whole situation never occurred.

There weren’t many times that I told my mother how I felt. I basically just
vented to my grandmother when she was still a sympathetic ear. When she
started changing and we were drifting apart, the talking turned into arguing.
That’s how I got stuff off my chest. Grandma and I would have some really
awful arguments where we said some really mean and hurtful things to one
another. Even though I said a lot of hurtful things to her, I know that she
didn’t deserve it and it was never about her. I was just a ticking time bomb
and any little thing she said or did that I didn’t like set me off.

Since the homeschooling situation was not working out and my mother and I
were still not getting along, I begged her to let me go to a regular school. My
mom re-enrolled us into St. Johns Christian Academy for the 2003 school
year. St. Johns was K-8th grade only, but that year they were supposedly
transitioning into high school grades as well. They implemented a 9th grade
curriculum and I was the only one in the program. It didn’t matter to me. I
was just happy and grateful it all worked out in my favor and that I was going
back. I absolutely loved that school and so did grandma. We were like family
there. Everyone from the teachers, the lunch ladies, and even the janitor loved
us, especially my grandmother who was at the school almost every day. I was
blessed to land in such a family-oriented school because I had so many
resources to help me through some of my darkest moments of childhood.
Some of the kids at school were not nice because I was different. I was quiet
and I had a speech impediment so I kept to myself. There was a pastor who
mentored me all the time. He was like a psychiatrist for me. I talked to him
every day and it helped a lot.

Another person who stood out to me was my teacher, Mrs. Harvey. One day
she had us do an assignment writing about a person that we looked up to. I
chose to write about my grandmother. I liked Mrs. Harvey so I felt like I
could be transparent with her. I was very candid with my story. To summarize
I wrote that my grandmother is my whole world and without her I don’t know
if I would ever know what love felt like or what my life would be like. I wrote
about my depression and feeling suicidal. I said that when I feel bad I think
about wanting to die. But then I think about my grandmother and that’s the
only reason I want to stay. Mrs. Harvey asked me to stay after class one day
and we both cried and bonded over my essay. From that day forward I could
not get rid of Mrs. Harvey if I wanted to. When we went on field trips she

86
made sure I was riding in her vehicle. She was an angel. I didn’t feel like she
was showing me pity either. I felt her genuine concern, love and care for me.
When people become aware of my situation and how I was treated, they
always desired to pour into me the love that my mother didn’t. It’s ironic that
everyone could feel and see my pain except the one person I wanted and still
want to see it. I made the honor roll at school that year and was quite proud of
myself.

When the school year ended, it was time to move into the house that my mom
and my stepfather built in Bellevue. I call it The Mansion. The house was
beautiful and of course it was built in typical Christie fashion with living
quarters on opposite ends. I was almost 15 when we moved into the house,
my sister was almost 11, and my brother was 3. The house had five
bedrooms. My brother had his own room but he never slept in it because he
was always in grandma’s bed. Of course my sister and I still shared a room. It
was cool because whether we were in Bellevue, Federal Way, Toronto, or
Sacramento, it didn’t matter. It was same shit, different house.

My world consisted of workouts, drinking vinegar, watching my brother,

enduring mocking from my sister, arguing with grandma, and disapproval of
everything from my mom. Everybody said I was crazy because I did not want
to accept that as my life. From day one of living in that tortuous situation, I
knew there had to be a better way to live and be a family. My grandmother
showed me that there was. I felt like I lived in the twilight zone. I saw my
family outside of myself and it looked pretty normal. But whenever I tried to
insert myself into the picture, the image I saw was always distorted. I
constantly thought, WHY? Why did grandma and I have to come live with
them? Why didn’t my mother love me? Why didn’t they treat me like my
sister? Why is what I do to help my family not enough for them to love me? I
had so many questions but got no answers. The turmoil within me continued
to grow. I could feel it brimming at the surface. I just didn’t know how it was
going to spill out. Finally it just did.

I had been cutting myself for a while. It started before we moved into The
Mansion. At first it started out as a curiosity. I’d seen a few movies where
kids were cutting themselves. It seemed like it provided them some relief. I
needed to feel something other than what I had been feeling because I was
feeling like I wanted to die. I felt like I had no reason to be happy or anything
to stay positive about. One thing my grandmother used to always tell me is
that nothing lasts forever and you just have to remember there is a light at the
end of the tunnel. I had been standing in the shadows a long time waiting for

87
my light. The first time I cut myself, I used a kitchen knife. It wasn’t the
biggest knife we had, but it was sharp. I started carving the word “WHY” in
big letters across my forearm, from my elbow to my wrist. I wasn’t
necessarily cutting deep enough that I bled. But I was digging into my skin
the word “WHY” over and over. My arm swelled up with red and puffy welts
that spelled out the word why.

Thinking back on it, I can’t say that cutting myself provided me with any kind
of relief. It’s not like I cut myself and all my pain seeped out. I honestly think
I just wanted to feel a different kind of pain other than what I felt in my heart
and mind. The physical pain was a distraction and the whole thing was my
cry for help. I was able to keep my secret for a long time before anyone found
out. When my mother would lay out my clothes I made sure to take issue with
short-sleeved shirts. I would use all kinds of excuses like being cold, bug
bites, or I didn’t want my arms to get darker from the sun. My mother
allowed me to switch to a long-sleeve shirt every time. My grandmother was
the first to find out I was cutting myself. She said if I didn’t stop she would
tell my mother.

I was getting older and the mental abuse from my mother was taking a
slightly different turn. All my life she berated me for my imperfections and
the things she didn’t like about me. She didn’t like the way I would stand, she
didn’t like the way my clothes fit, she didn’t like the shape of my nose, etc.
As I developed into a hormonal 13-year-old teenager, so did my curves. I had
growth spurts in places I had no control over and this made my mother very
insecure. I felt like my mother’s words and actions towards me had more to
do with her insecurities regarding her husband than they did with me. She
monitored everything in our house, even our proximity to my stepfather. She
did it for everyone, including my sister. She at one time or another even
blatantly accused me of trying to sexually entice my stepfather. I was livid
because up until she started putting that nonsense in my head, I never even
considered my stepfather in that way.

I was accused of being “fast” quite a bit. How could I be fast when every
moment of my life is controlled from the time I get out of bed until to the
time I go to sleep at night? The only time I would have to be “fast” is in my
mind. That wouldn’t work because it was already preoccupied with the
mental anguish I constantly endured. One morning my mother told me to go
workout but my tennis shoes were outside on the patio. When I went outside
to get them my stepfather was sitting there reading. I grabbed my shoes and
put them on. When I walked back into the house she came straight for me.

88
“What the hell is wrong with you Kari?” I had no idea what she was referring
to, but I was accustomed to these left-field barrage so I just waited. “I don’t
want to ever see you bend over like that in front of my fucking husband
again.” I was not only caught totally off guard by the statement, but also
completely disgusted. She had reached a new low when I thought that was
impossible. “What are you talking about mom, I was just putting on my
sneakers to work out like you told me to. I wasn’t doing anything else.” I
really wanted to cry because her accusing me of such a thing rocked my
world. I looked at my stepfather like my father. “I know what the hell I saw,
don’t let me see it again.” My mother became obsessed about what I wore
around the house and on outings with them following that occurrence. She
had already been picking out my clothes for as long as I can remember. But
she started making me wear stuff that was two or three sizes too big. It was
embarrassing to say the least.

I initially never cut myself when my mom was around. It was always when
she was gone. Everything was a trigger for me to start cutting. The first time I
cut myself while my mom was present, we were at The Mansion and my
baby brother had been running around with the broom. He somehow
punctured a hole in the wall of my mom’s brand new custom-built home. My
sister and I were in our room when it happened, but we still had to tell my
mom what happened when she got back. My mother started instantly going
off, mostly directing her anger at my grandmother. I was trying to remain
cool as she called my grandmother one name after the other. Grandma and I
were supposed to be going out later that day. She was going to drop me off
with my father’s side of the family and then she was going to play bingo. It
had been a long time since I’d seen and spent time with that side of my
family. It would also be the first time I ever spent the night with my grandma
Minnie so I was looking forward to it. My mother continued on with her rant
and she said the one thing that put the nail in the coffin. “Ain’t nobody going
no damn where.” I was 15 at this time and I thought, hold up I don’t get to do
anything in this house. She doesn’t let us breathe and now the one thing we
both are looking forward to she wants to snatch away.

I was not having it so I went into the playroom where she was berating my
grandmother. She was just sitting there looking out of the window as my
mother talked to her like she was nobody. Grandma looked so crushed and
inside I felt enraged. I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. I said, “Grandma
I’m done.” I turn to my mother and said, “Why are you yelling at her? It’s
your fucking son that did it.” My mother had a look on her face that
intimidated the hell out of me but I didn’t back down. She said, “What, who

89
the fuck are you talking to?” At this point I’m emotional and I’m mad. I said,
“I’m talking to you? You’re not going to stand here and talk to my
grandmother like that. She did nothing wrong. That’s your son. He ran into
the wall and you should’ve been here with him.”

My mother was shocked. I’d never seen a look on her face like that. I finished
off what I had to say. “If you say that my grandmother can’t go anywhere
today, I will act a fucking fool up in here today.” My mom said, “Whatever
take your ass in your mother fucking room.” I said, “I don’t care I’ll go in my
room but I’m going to see my family today.” Of course she retorted that I
wasn’t going to do anything. But I was done with the conversation. I said my
peace and I meant what I said and had no remorse this time about my
delivery. I’d had enough. My mother is all about image so she had some
people over working on the house. I went into my room and started blasting
music. I wasn’t backing down and I didn’t care what she thought.

I grabbed an ink pen and started carving ‘WHY’ into my skin. Eventually my
mother and grandmother came into the room. She said, “Kari I apologized to
grandma,” and then she stopped mid-sentence when she saw me cutting into
my skin. “Why are you doing that?” I didn’t respond. I just kept cutting as she
stood there looking at me like I was crazy. The permanent marks from before
were visible. I finally said, “I don’t understand why you do that to grandma.
You know she’s not going to say anything. You know she’s not going to
leave and you know the reason why she is not going to leave even if she
doesn’t say it to you. Treating me like that is one thing but I’m not going to
stand by and watch you do it to her.” When I saw some semblance of
empathy on my mother’s face I stopped cutting myself. She ended up letting
my grandmother go do her thing and she let me go visit my family because at
that point, she couldn’t do anything else to stop it.

Cutting was my way of trying and get my mother’s attention. I wanted her to
love me and get me the help I desperately needed. It did neither. My mother
put the incident in her archives to use against me at some later time and
refused to get me any help. The euphoria I use to get from cutting myself
disappeared with my mother finding out. I was 13 when the cutting started
and 15 when it stopped. Nothing changed after my mother found out. Things,
of course, just got worse. I was now Crazy Kari. This started the phase of her
thinking I was really crazy and trying to have me committed anytime I didn’t
follow her irrational protocols for living.

Grandma and I got ourselves together so we could leave. She dropped me off

90
at my Aunt Vickie’s house and went on about her way. I had not seen my
family in some years. I hadn’t seen my brothers Tyrome and Tyree since the
last time grandma Cora introduced me to them at 7 years old. I felt weird
being at their house, but I had my cousin Auz with me so it was cool. I
enjoyed hanging out with my family after we started getting reacquainted.
My brothers stopped by and hung out for a little while. But they had to
bounce and go take care of business. They were in the same business as my
dad. I spent the night and the next day, Aunt Vickie took us to the Fun Plex
where we met up with my grandma Cora, my sister and my brother. Seeing
my grandmother made me realize how much I’d missed her in the last 24
hours. I was supposed to spend the whole weekend with my dad’s family but
when I saw my grandmother I couldn’t bring myself to part ways with her so
I decided to go home.

I went back to The Mansion and for the first few days my mother left me
alone. She didn’t mention the cutting incident and neither did I. As usual
nothing really came of my eruption. It was just new ammunition for her
verbal attacks against me. “What’s wrong with your crazy ass now Kari? I’m
getting really sick of this shit. I’m really thinking about having your simple
behind committed,” was her go-to line after she saw me cutting myself.
Healing from my wounds both internally and externally was taking a toll on
me. I wasn’t cutting myself anymore but I still existed in a bubble of
desperation. I wanted my situation to change so badly but it did not and I had
absolutely no hope for my future. I couldn’t even see a future for my life. I
used to literally think I was going to die so it was no use to try and see a
future. I used to wonder in what kind of world we live that a parent in their
right state of mind doesn’t get their child help after witnessing what my mom
did. I figured it out immediately. It was a world with parents who have
something to hide or who just want to stay comfortable in their diluted image
they are trying to portray to the world. What I learned from her lack of
willingness to get me help is that my mother was prepared to sacrifice my life
to sustain a lie.

We returned to Sacramento to start preparing for school and the 2004-2005

NBA season. We didn’t know it at the time, but this would be my stepdad’s
final season with the Sacramento Kings and my final year living under my
mother’s strict supervision. I was going into 10th grade this year. My
grandmother took me to enroll at Granite Bay High School. Upon registering,
I was informed that St. John’s 9th grade program had not been accredited at
the time I attended so my credits would not be accepted and I would have to
take them all over. I was devastated that all my hard work was for nothing.

91
The school told me that I could go into 10th grade but that I will have to
double up my work load to complete my 9th grade credits. I didn’t know who
to be mad at. All I knew is that I wasn’t happy and it was going to be a long
year. “Don’t worry Kar. You will have your credits in no time,” my mom
said like it was no big deal that I had just wasted a year of my life.

CHAPTER SIX
NO MORE HOME
2004-2006

I could hear my mother from upstairs bitching, moaning, and complaining

about something. “Bunch of lazy motherfucker’s, where’s Kari? Tell her
come get these damn clothes off the couch.” At this point there was no
distinguishing which tirade was about what. It all amounted to the same thing.
Something was amiss in my mother’s picture perfect world. By this time in
my life I was in a permanent bad mood. My grandmother and I had just had
another argument a couple hours before and she had the nerve to tell me I was
causing all of the tension in the house and that I was the reason why my
parents were having marital issues. That stung and put me in an extra bad
mood because she knew damn well that my mother caused her own tension as
well as everybody else’s. I just couldn’t take it anymore and this day I just
wanted her and my mother to miss me with the BS.

I heard my mother the first time she called my name, and the second time. But
why the hell would I rush to a situation I know was not going to end well for
me? So I didn’t. I stood at the top of the stairs and quickly thought out my
plan of action. I was going to run down, grab the clothes, and get on through.
I already knew there was no slapping on a fake smile or pretending to be
okay. I had nothing in me. I was empty. I took a few deep breaths, then
ready, set, go. I made a mad dash to the couch, swooped up the clothes,
turned on my heels, and came face-to-face with my mother. I already knew
where I was at mentally and having her in my face in any kind of threatening
way was not going to end well.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you better fix your fucking face,” she
said. All the control I had left in me slowly began to dissipate. I stood there
and just stared at her for a few moments. I think in those moments I was
searching for a reason to just walk away without saying anything, but I could
not find a single one. My reason use to be grandma, but I was mad at her so I
came up empty. “You. You’re what’s wrong with me.” I didn’t move an inch
and I never lowered my gaze. As usual my mother yelled for my stepfather.

92
My heart was beating a hundred miles per hour. I said, “Why are you calling
him? This is between you and me?” She said, “Kari I’m telling you now you
better sit your fucking ass down on this couch.” I sat down on the couch and
mumbled loud enough for her to hear me, “Whatever, you can go ahead and
start your fucking shit if you want to.” I was beyond overwhelmed, scared,
and confused by my feelings at that moment. “Oh you want to start that shit
again about me being a bad mother? If I’m a bad mother then you’re a bad
daughter. What makes you think you’re such a great daughter to have?”

Once my stepfather entered the room he was trying to calm me and the whole
situation down. I started telling him how I felt. At the end of my soliloquy I
said, “I don’t get a break. I don’t deserve a fucking break?” My mother was
mad as shit. She was sitting across from me foaming at the mouth, hype as
hell. She stood up and said, “bitch cuss at my mother fucking husband again.”
I had already told myself I tolerate her being in my face, threatening me.
She’s standing over me in a threatening manner, spewing nothing but hate out
of her mouth. I didn’t move, even when I felt her saliva spraying all over me.
As I sat there the room got louder and my emotions were in a place they had
never been before. She took one step forward toward me and I jumped up off
the couch, ran to the counter, and grabbed a knife.

When I turned around my mother had a look on her face that said, “I wish you
would.” My intentions were not to hurt anyone. I didn’t lunge at her. There
was no one by me and in all honesty my intentions were to cut myself as I had
done so many times in the past. My stepfather sprang into action. He grabbed
one of the bar chairs and rose it back as if he was about to throw it at me. But
my grandma grabbed it. “Oh no you don’t,” she said. When I snapped out of
the fog I was in and realized the severity of the situation, I dropped the knife
and ran for the back door. As I was running out of the door someone grabbed
my braids from behind and I just started screaming for them to let me go. My
whole body was already out of the door but whoever it was had a serious grip
on my hair. Once they released my hair I ran away from the door so fast that I
fell.

When I turned around my stepfather was standing over me, reaching down
toward me so I started crawling backwards as fast as I could. My stepfather
was following me just as quickly as I moved so the only thing I could think to
do was scream for help. I started screaming as loud as I could. He finally
stopped coming at me. “Let me just talk to you Kari, its okay, we will get
through this,” he said. I was hysterical but I heard what he said and started to
calm down. Once I calmed down I explained to him that I had to leave the

93
house that day. At first he seemed confused but I tried as hard as I could to
make him understand. I told him that my life really depended on me getting
away from the darkness I felt living in their home. “What do you mean? This
is your home too.”

We talked for a little while and after recognizing that he was far removed
from what had been going on, I filled him in as fast and accurately as I could
while I had his undivided attention. After about 30 minutes or so my mother
came outside. As my stepfather patiently explained to her what we’d
discussed I went inside the house and called my cousin Mari. She and I grew
up together when I lived in grandma’s house. She was fully aware of all the
stuff I was going through with my mom and I was hoping she would let me
stay with her for a while. As I was speaking to my cousin on the phone my
mother walked into the room. “We need to talk Kar.” My mother was way
calmer than she was when all of this popped off.

“Why do you need to leave Kari? That will attract all kinds of attention.”
When I heard that soft, sweet voice, I knew the manipulator showed up to
represent my mother. “People will wonder why you left and where you went.”
She then questioned me about my phone conversation. “Who were you
talking to on the phone and what did you tell them?” I just shook my head.
This lady was not getting the mental space I was in. “Mom, I have to go or
one of us will not survive. You have pushed me too far and I’m on the edge.
If you want me to be honest I think it would be dangerous for both of us to be
in the same place.”

I was done talking because she had been warned. I made it clear to her that I
needed to leave and if she didn’t oblige, I could not be held accountable for
anything that came next. “Ok Kar I will call Lynn.” Aunt Lynn agreed to fly
to California the next morning to pick me up and take me back to Tacoma.
When I woke up the next morning the feeling in the house was somber and
the energy was stifling. I couldn’t believe that I was leaving and even more
surprising was that I felt bittersweet about it. I was leaving grandma, my
sister, and my brother behind but I knew I would be stepping out of the
darkness and into the light. I was torn. Despite this conundrum, there was
really no decision to make. I had to go. The whole time I was gathering my
things to leave I thought about my grandmother. It would be the first time in
my entire life that I lived without her. I knew my grandmother was having a
difficult time with my decision to leave because it would be the first time
she’s lived without me in 15 years.

94
Another thing that struck me unexpectedly when leaving home was how my
sister had responded. Thanks to our mother we were never the best of friends.
But the pain I saw in her eyes that day I will never forget. She was on her way
out to school when we said our goodbyes. My baby sister hugged me so tight
and it was like for the first time I could feel her genuine love. All I could do
was apologize to her for how everything was going down and for leaving her.

That morning my mother was going out of her way to be extra nice to me. But
again, I learned and studied all my mom’s personalities very well. This act
that she was putting on only made me suspicious of what was to come. By no
means was my mother just going to step aside and let me waltz out the door. I
didn’t know what she had up her sleeve but I started bracing myself waiting
for the axe to fall. I went into the bathroom where my stepfather was giving
my little brother a bath and gave him a hug. “Be good and listen to your
aunt,” he said as I bent down and gave my brother a kiss.

Grandma finally emerged from her bedroom and I could tell she had been
crying. She walked me and my Aunt Lynn to the door to the waiting taxi cab.
My heart was racing as I walked out the door into the unknown. There was a
brief moment that I wanted to change my mind but I didn’t. As the taxi drove
away I looked out the back window at my grandma who stood crying and
waving goodbye. My heart was crushed because I had always dreamed that
Grandma and I would escape that hell hole together. That day my
grandmother didn’t get to leave hell with me. But I soon learned that I wasn’t
leaving hell either. I was just transitioning from one phase of it to another.

As soon as Aunt Lynn and I walked out of the airport I saw my other two
aunts, Bunny and Stuffy, waiting in the pickup lane. They both had this weird
look on their faces. I immediately looked to my aunt Lynn for an explanation
but she never gave me one. Something told me that the axe I was waiting on
was about to fall. We piled up into the Ford Taurus that my mother bought
my aunt and headed toward what I thought was Aunt Bunny’s house. I
quickly realized that my aunt’s house was not the destination.

As we drove I could see the hospital up ahead and I thought to myself oh my

goodness what the hell is going on now. I didn’t know what was going on but
one thing I was certain about is that it had my mother written all over it. My
mind was racing trying to figure out an escape plan. I stayed quiet as we
pulled around the circular driveway in front of Seattle Children’s Hospital.
This would be the first time that my mother tried to have me committed
against my will. I cannot describe the emotions running through my body as I

95
sat there seething.

“Come on Kari you mother wants you to talk to one of the doctors here to
make sure you’re ok,” one of my aunts finally said. I was not beat for the
bullshit and did not want to get out of the car. My aunt called my mother and
put her on speaker phone. “Kar you need to go inside and speak to the doctor
and if you don’t the police are going to come and take you in against your
will and you don’t want that to happen.” I couldn’t believe this shit. I really
thought I was done with this manipulative person but this saga seemed to be
never ending. I actually decided that it just might do me some good to speak
to someone because my mother had me losing my mind. “Alright mom I will
go.”

The doctor had already spoken to my mother on the phone and she told him
about the depression, cutting, and the knife. I spent about an hour and half
with him. I told him my whole story in a nutshell. “Well Takari I spoke with
your mom and now after speaking with you I feel that you will be okay to
leave.” I remember thinking yes now that irrational woman can leave me the
fuck alone and stop calling me crazy. If the psych doctor doesn’t think I’m
crazy then that’s all the matters. “I just have one more question before you
leave.” I looked at the doctor confused because I thought we were done with
Q&A. “Why did you try to kill your mother?”

The total amount of time I spent in that hospital including registration and
everything was three hours max. As we were leaving the hospital, my aunts
were scrambling trying to cover up their individual roles in my mother’s
master plan to have me committed. As much as I wanted to be angry at them,
I couldn’t be because I knew the extent of my mother’s persuasion and her
manipulation of people. My aunts were only doing what my mother had
instructed them to do, out of fear of her kicking them out of her homes or
repossessing their cars.

I never understood why my mother felt the need to have me committed only
when it was convenient for her. So many times I told her I needed to talk to
someone but she refused to get me help. When I was carving the word
‘WHY’ into my left forearm over and over she knew about it. But to her that
didn’t warrant a trip to the hospital. It was during those critical times in my
childhood when I could have used the help. But it never came. I thought I’m
not even in The Mansion anymore and yet my mother reached a new low.

Although my mother still called the shots, Tacoma was like a breath of fresh

96
air. I felt normal for the first time in six years. I didn’t have anyone
breathing down my neck or critiquing every little thing about me. No one
was counting my calories or making me drink that nasty ass apple cider
vinegar. Aunt Bunny’s house was cramped but it felt like the old times when
grandma and I lived in Seattle. As my grandmother’s youngest child, my aunt
Bunny liked to get her party on so we had very little supervision. I went from
being in a strictly supervised, controlled environment, to basically having no
adult supervision at all. Initially I did not want to stay at Aunt Bunny’s house
because I knew that it could turn out dreadful. Unfortunately I was right.

My aunt enrolled me in Woodrow Wilson High, the same school as her oldest
daughter. My mom sent me money to go shopping and to get my hair done;
something she did regularly after I moved to Washington. For the first time in
my life I was able to go to the mall and buy what I wanted and in my right
size. Life was grand for the first few weeks. Slowly but surely I could feel
that dark cloud creeping back over me.

I don’t know what it is about me, but people hate the fact that I don’t move to
the beat of anyone else’s tune but my own. Let my grandmother tell it. I was
that way from the time I started to walk and talk. Despite the many obstacles
I’ve had to overcome I’ve always been my own person, standing strong in my
convictions. My mother absolutely hated that about me which is why she
constantly came for me trying to make me submit to her ways. My whole
family thought I was crazy because I would not follow my grandma and
become who my mother wanted me to be. It got rocky at times but I held on
to what little identity I had. People look at me and they almost always
mistake my meekness as weakness. I get tried time and time again. Living in
Tacoma and attending Woodrow Wilson High was no different.

The conflicts at my aunt’s house and at school started with my cousin’s

jealousy and envy toward me. My mother sent me $50 a week allowance in
addition to the money she was giving my aunt for taking care of me. I would
loan my cousin and friends money all the time. They would promise to pay
me back but never did. Living with my aunt already had its challenges, so the
added tension certainly didn’t help. My aunt was negligent on a whole other
level than my mom. My mom was controlling and overbearing. My aunt
didn’t parent at all. She left us to fend for ourselves with everything.
Bickering about food was a constant issue. She didn’t want us cooking in the
kitchen, but rarely cooked for us.

The women in my family had a pattern of putting their men before their

97
children; something I will never understand. I could never put anyone before
my children. She would cook lobster and steak for her and her dude, parade
their good smelling plates all through the house, then make us eat oodles of
noodles. I never told my mother about the noodles because I never wanted to
call home. I liked living in Tacoma despite my aunt exhibiting similar
characteristic as my mom.

One day I was getting my hair braided at the African shop. When she finished
and it was time to pay my aunt was short on the money. I called my mom and
she went off because she had sent Aunt Bunny more than enough to buy what
I needed to get my hair done. She then asked me about some hair products
that my aunt was supposed to buy for me. She listed Motions Neutralizing
Shampoo as one and I said, “No she bought Suave”. Long story short my aunt
used some of the money that my mother sent to her for me to get my hair
done for her own personal needs. When she came up short my mother was
pissed. Umber, my hair braider, said not to worry I had been going to her for
a long time so she knew we were good for it. My aunt Bunny was super mad
at me because she thought I dimed her out to my mom. But that was the
furthest thing from the truth. She didn’t want to take accountability for her
actions so she tried to find a loophole to blame me. I didn’t spend the money
so I don’t see how that amounted to being my fault. But it didn’t matter. She
still took it out on me anyway. When we left the shop my aunt was quiet. She
just kept mean mugging me in the rearview mirror, like for real mad at me.
When I asked her to drop me off at my aunt Stuffy house she snapped, “did
your mother say it was okay?” When we pulled up at Aunt Stuffy’s, I didn’t
even wait for the car to come to a complete stop before I hopped out.

When I got inside the house I told Aunt Stuffy what happened and begged her
to let me stay at her house. She and my mother said yes. My cousins Mari and
Dash went with me to get my things. When I walked inside Aunt Bunny’s
house you could cut the tension with a knife. My stuff was strewn all over the
place and some stuff was even damaged. My aunt Bunny and cousins were
sitting on the bed watching me pack and hurling a bunch of hateful comments
at me. “You a stupid bitch, you always starting shit.” My cousin started
getting in my face pointing her fingers. “That’s why nobody wants your ass
because you’re a troublemaker.” I didn’t say anything back the whole time I
was getting my stuff. “That’s why your mother don’t want your or love you.”
I was boiling on the inside and the tears were burning underneath my lids.
“Forget crazy you’re a psycho ass bitch.” I felt sick to my stomach as I
watched my aunt hugging herself trying to imply I needed a strait jacket. I
couldn’t understand why my aunt was mad at me for something she had done.

98
Up until that point I had been putting up with her mess the whole time and
never called home once to tell my mother anything. I felt like I was going to
vomit so I ran outside and told my cousin Mari forget the stuff and let’s go.

I moved in with my aunt Stuffy, whose house was also cramped. I ended up
on the couch in the middle of the living room. My aunt Stuffy house was in
the same school district so I attended the same school. I still had issues with
my cousin Auz, mainly because she was jealous. But mostly it was because
she owed me money and she was finding any reason not to pay me back. I
was already irked because she knew that I wanted to get my nose pierced. We
were supposed to go together. Instead of inviting me along when she went
and paying me my money back, she left me behind. She started spreading lies
about me around the school, trying to turn everyone against me. She even told
her best friend Cecilia that I called her mom a “fat white bitch.” All the
people I had met when I first got to the school didn’t like me anymore. I was
walking down the school corridor one day when a mob of kids walking
behind me started harassing me and calling me names. It was sad to see my
cousin as the ring leader when I turned around to confront the mob of
students. Standing there looking at all those kids coming at me just reminded
me of how I felt my entire life, like it was me against the world.

My cousin’s friend Cecilia came up to me, got in my face, then crossed the
line by putting her hands on me. I’ve always been labeled crazy by my
mother, but I went bonkers on that girl after she put her hands on me. One
thing about me is that I don’t start trouble nor do I bother anyone. But when
people come at me for no reason, I’m ruthless. That day in the school
hallway I clawed that girl’s eyes out. The fight lasted less than a minute and
thankfully for me there was school staff in the hallway that witnessed the
whole incident and saw that I was only defending myself.

After the fight I begged my mother to switch my school but she refused so I
had to go back. When I walked into the school it was like a hush fell over the
whole place. Kids were pointing and whispering. “What is she doing here?”
Everyone was speculating about why all the other kids involved in the fight
got suspended and I was allowed to return. The number one reason they came
up with was because my parents had money so they must have paid someone
to allow me to come back. Never mind the fact that the fight was not my fault.
I started getting death threats. Many of the students at the school had
affiliations with the local gangs and I really felt as if my life was in danger. I
called my mother to explain to her what was going on. I remember crying and
begging my mother to change my school and finally she agreed.

99
My aunt took me to enroll in Henny Fuss. Just like all the other high schools
they wouldn’t accept my 9th grade transcripts. But I still attended. I started
skipping school every day, hanging out, going to the mall, until I basically
dropped out. My mother and grandmother were aware that I was not going to
school because every day the school’s automated absence message reporting
system called my aunt Stuffy’s house. Their lives in The Mansion had gotten
into a stride without me so no one was eager for the situation to change. I
was skipping school, chilling at my cousin’s house when I got the call about
my grandmother’s sickness.

“Kari baby, I have something to tell you and I don’t want you to get upset.”
As soon as those words fell from my grandmother’s lips, my heart sank. I
knew it was something bad. I’d spent every day with her for the past 15 years
and I could hear it in her voice. What I heard in my grandmother’s voice that
day was fear. The fright in her voice was immediate cause for alarm. “What is
it grandma, you’re scaring me.” She hesitated before she spoke. “I went to
the doctor today and they found a mass on my liver.”
Before my grandmother uttered another word I gasped. “No grandma it must
be a mistake you have to go back and tell the doctor they’re wrong.” My head
was spinning so fast because I knew the word “mass” was never a good thing.
I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down my face. I remember my mother
getting on the phone to try and console me, but her voice was the last voice I
wanted to hear. “Kar, mommy is going to beat this, we are going to get her
the best doctors money can buy.”

When I spoke to my grandmother that day I could hear the devastation in her
voice. I heard the empathy and compassion she had for me when revealing
that horrible news. Listening to my mother speak to me in that moment I
wondered how she was so composed. Did she not realize the severity of what
she was saying? My mother is not an overly emotional person but I really
questioned if she thought her money was going to fix things this time. I
concluded that yes, she did think her money would fix grandma’s cancer.

“Put grandma on the phone,” was all I said when my mother was done talking
about treatment plans and specialists she’s going to line up. “Grandma I love.
Do you want me to come back to California?” Yes I was willing to make the
ultimate sacrifice for my grandmother as she had done for me my whole life. I
was willing to choose her happiness over mine. “No baby I am going to be
fine. I am at peace with whatever the Lord has in store for me.” Hearing my
grandmother say that comforted me a lot because I knew her faith. It was all

100
the way rooted in God so it gave me just a little bit of peace over the situation.

My Grandmother was officially diagnosed with stage 2 liver cancer after all
the tests and second opinions were done. Getting the news about my
grandmother’s terminal illness was one of the most devastating times in my
life.

My grandma was fine the first few years after the diagnosis, but it was still
hard for me to accept. We reconnected and had gotten closer than we were in
the past few years and talked on the phone faithfully. Every day at 11 a.m. we
watched The Young & Restless together on the phone. Grandma expressed her
concern about me not going to school and made me promise I would finish
my education. I told her I will.

Although I promised grandma I would finish school I hated going and with
the freedom I had in Tacoma I chose to do other things with my time. I started
getting more into boys. I had been talking to them on the phone for a few
years. But outside of a dare kiss here and there, I never did anything else. I
was starting to get curious about other things. I started exploring and doing
more intimate things until finally I lost my virginity. When I lost my virginity
it was to a short-armed boy name Terri, behind the bowling alley in a huge
John Deere excavator.

Terri and I didn’t date. We just had sex so I was also talking to a few guys
that I met on the chat lines which back then was our Tinder. I was supposed
to be under the supervision of my aunt with my mom calling the shots, but
essentially I did what I wanted to do. Most of the time when I said I’m going
to my friend’s house, it would be one of the guys I met off the chat line. My
mother made my aunt Bunny take me. She would drop me off outside the
house and go about her business. I can recall only one time my aunt Bunny
came in to meet one of the mother’s. They didn’t know or maybe they just
didn’t care, but they were giving me door-to-door service to many of my
smash sessions. During this time I was going through a wild streak. I was
promiscuous. I’d been with seven guys - five before my kid’s father and two
in between break ups. I never had “the talk” with my mom or any or my aunts
so I was winging it when it came to copulation. My mother never asked me if
I was still a virgin and I never told her that I wasn’t anymore. It was safe to
assume at that point that she still thought I was virtuous.

My friend Eb met this 27-year-old guy on a chat line. We all became friends.
I started talking to the guy behind her back. I know it was wrong. But listen to

101
me when I say karma is a bitch. I will explain later. He and I talked on the
phone for a little while behind Eb’s back. I knew he was a grown man and he
knew I was only 15. He invited me over to his house and my aunt Stuffy
dropped me off. He lived with his mother but she wasn’t home. I was bashful
around him, being he was so much older than me. We didn’t have sex that
time. He just fingered me the whole time I was there. I was infatuated and I
really fell in puppy love.

The next time I went over to his house we ended up having sex. I had a
couple of experiences but he was older and way more experienced than any of
the guys I’d been with. Shawn had a magical tongue. It was the first time any
guy had gone down on me. It was as if he had a fetish for underage girls
because he just kept doing it over and over again. Each time I fell deeper in
my feelings. We were sitting on the couch watching TV. I sat on his lap and
within five minutes he had his bare, rock hard penis pressed up against my
bottom. I pulled my pants down and sat on it. I was surprised at how I was
acting and handling this grown man. I was so into it that I didn’t even hear his
mother come in the house. He picks me up off him and laid me on the couch
and put the cover over me. His mother walks into the living room to where
we were and starts talking to us. I was nervous as shit, knowing I was lying
under the cover with no pants on. She stood there and talk to us so long that I
feel asleep. I’m not sure how long I was asleep but he woke me up with his
tongue in between my thighs. We finished what we had started.

While in Tacoma I had a lot of idle time. My mom tried to keep tabs on me
but with mobile phones that made it hard to do. I could easily tell her I was
one place while I was actually some place entirely different. One of my
favorite past times was MySpace. Everybody knew everybody in Seattle. I
found my brothers Tyrome and Tyree through one of my MySpace friends.
We lost contact after my last visit when I lived with my mother in The
Mansion. When I found them on MySpace we reconnected and started talking
on the phone. They immediately invited me to come to Seattle and hang out
with them. But when I asked my mom could I go she was not having it. She
and grandma were totally against me going to visit them and I was confused
about why they were so adamant about me not going to visit my family.

When I told my brother that my mother said I couldn’t come visit he said he
figured that might be the case. My mother still feels guilty for what she did to
their dad. When I asked him what he meant, he said that my mother had
something to do with him getting caught up with the Feds and going to
prison. It was the first time I heard the accusation and I immediately asked my

102
grandmother about it. She got upset and said it was untrue. I ask why I
couldn’t go visit. Neither one of them gave me a valid enough reason why I
couldn’t go and be with my family. I protested because with them living so
close I felt I needed a good reason why I couldn’t go. My mom consented to
me being dropped off at virtual strangers houses, but she had a problem with
my brothers. Something was really fishy about it all and I refused to let it go.
Technically I didn’t need my mother’s approval to go visit with my brother’s
because I could have just lied about where I was going. But my mom knew
more about my brothers than I did and I wanted to make sure she didn’t have
a valid reason for wanting me to stay away. I was relentless in asking my
mother to go until finally she agreed.

My aunt Lynn dropped me off at my grandma Minnie’s house which I hadn’t

seen in a couple of years. I felt weird being there at first. But then I enjoyed
hanging out with my family after we started getting reacquainted. My
brothers were now in their 20’s and had obviously followed in my father’s
footsteps as far as being in the drug game. They were not on his level with it
but they made enough to eat and feed their families. Although I grew up
around it I didn’t know much about that lifestyle. I saw my aunts and stepdad
smoke hella weed, but outside of that I knew nothing about it. My knowledge
of drugs started and stopped with my family’s own personal usage. My
brothers smoked weed too but they sold way more than they smoked. I’m not
sure if they sold anything else outside of weed because none of that was my
concern.

I was riding around with my oldest brother Tyrome. He pulled up on the

corner, parked his car, and opened for business. All day I watched people
getting in and out of his vehicle, one satisfied customer after the other. We
stayed on the block well into nightfall. We left and went over to my younger
brother Tyree's house. He was in the life too. So of course as soon as we
walked in, I could see I was in the trap. There was a gun on the table and
stacks of money everywhere. He had life-size murals on the wall - one of
Notorious B.I.G. and the other of Tupac. The mural of Tupac had a real gold
chain around the neck that mimicked the one he wore in real life. We stayed
for a few minutes and my dad called from prison. It was the first time I’d
talked to him since I was a little girl. When I left my Tyree's house that day, I
didn’t know it would be the last time I would see him. He was shot and killed
on April 28, 2007. He was only 25 years old.

I spent the night at my oldest brother’s house, but I couldn’t get comfortable.
It didn’t have anything to do with him. I’m just that way. I’m an extreme

103
introvert and being around people makes me uncomfortable just in general. It
takes me a while to get comfortable in certain situations and I just felt out of
my comfort zone. I called my boyfriend at the time and he stayed on the
phone with me until I fell asleep. I didn’t even realize how much of a valley
girl I was until I was caught up in some real live hood shit hanging out with
my brothers. They were like 8 or 9 when they were exposed to the drug life. I
guess they figured me being 15 and a Lee, I was more than ready to be
exposed to the life. I may act tuff and talk tuff sometimes. But in that moment
I realized that life wasn’t for me and I wanted no parts of it.

The next morning my brother took me by my grandmother’s house but I had

already made up my mind that I was going to leave. My visit was very short.
I just wasn’t ready for the Lee’s. They ask me to come and I did. I had a good
time but I was just ready to go back home. At that time I was too emotionally
damaged to deal with what that side of my family would bring into my life.
Like my father they lived a dangerous life, one that often led to prison or the
grave. I couldn’t handle getting close to my brothers only to have them taken
from me; which is exactly what happened a few years after that visit when
Tyree was killed. My cousin Auz was really sick and in the hospital at the
time and I wanted to go see her. I told my brother I was leaving and I was out.
I left there with one clear understanding: I had to figure this life shit out on
my own because relying on either side of my family was not going to get me
far.

My stepdad was unexpectedly traded to Orlando mid-season while I was in

Tacoma. It was a tough time for the family because they had to pack up The
Mansion and relocate to Florida in a matter of a week or two. My mother,
being the baller’s wife that she is, packed up the whole house and they made
the move. My stepdad did not receive a warm welcome upon arriving in
Orlando. Things started to go wrong almost immediately. After only a few
games he was placed on the injured list.

I went to visit my parents in Orlando. I had no idea how tense things were for
them. But I couldn’t be concerned about that because I was lost in my own
disenchantment. Once again walking into their beautiful home and seeing
everyone’s beautifully decorated rooms I felt left out. It reminded me of
walking into their first home they bought together in Federal Way that made
me feel like an orphan. I always feel like a peasant around my family; like I
am waiting for them to toss me something as I stand over on the sideline.
Even when my grandmother and my sister would come to Tacoma, I felt that
way around them, hoping and wishing for their attention. I know I didn’t live

104
with my mother at the time, but I was still only 15 and would have liked to
experience something that made me feel like I belonged. A photograph or
two, a framed achievement award from school, hell even a left-behind
favorite blanket would have made me feel like I belonged. There was nothing
reminiscent of my presence in that family. I was with the rest of my family -
Aunt Bunny and all my cousins - so I made the visit work and still enjoyed
myself.

Midway through the visit something happened with my stepdad’s team that
brought the attention of the media. It was around the time he was benched and
put on the injured list. The tabloids and media were saying that he was faking
a phantom injury because he did not want to play with the team anymore. He
and my mom just up and disappeared for like a week. They jumped on a flight
to New York to avoid the media attention and told us to go ahead back home.
Shortly after we left they came back to Washington too.

Taking care of me came with perks. Since Aunt Stuffy didn’t have a car to get
around or take me where I needed to go, my mother bought her one. My aunt
and her husband had made plans with my mother to drive to Bellevue to pick
up the car. Prior to them going I told my mom she should give the car to my
cousin Mari instead. She was basically the one who maintained the
responsibilities of the household. She did everything that my aunt was
supposed to do so it was only right that she have the majority access to the
car. Plus Aunt Stuffy didn’t have a license anyway.

Things in the house were very edgy after my aunt found out about what I said
to my mother. There was so much drama that eventually my cousin Mari
moved out. She couldn’t take it anymore. I stayed even though my aunt was
mad as hell at me for once again telling the truth. One night I heard my aunt
talking all kinds of mess about me to her boyfriend. Aunt Stuffy was the one
person who up until that point never said one negative thing about me, at least
not to my face. I was crushed laying there listening to some of the things she
said. It was the same shit I’d heard all my life: “my mother don’t love me, I’m
crazy and nobody wanted me.”

The emotions running through me that day were not the usual anger I felt
when people attacked me. They were not the same emotions I had when my
aunt Bunny had just flipped on me. I was hurt and started to cry. I looked up
to my aunt and expected so much more from her. My intentions were good
when I suggested to my mother to give the car to my cousin. I didn’t want
my aunt to get into another car wreck and possibly die, nor did I think it was

105
fair that my cousin was struggling to get around taking care of things for the
household. “I can’t take this shit anymore,” I said getting up off the couch,
eyes flooded with tears. I went into my cousin’s room. Almost immediately
after I closed the door and sat down on the bed, my aunt came and kicked the
door open. “You’re not gonna be slamming no doors in my house. What the
fuck is wrong with you.”

I was looking at my aunt like, really? You too? She started saying all the
things she was saying in the room to my face. I just sat there with my head
down feeling hopeless. No matter where I turned or where I went, I could not
find any peace of mind. Everybody just expected me to be a puppet that they
controlled. Money was making these people do some strange things and
mostly to me. I was at my wits end. I was tired of how my mother’s millions
kept wreaking havoc on my life and I wanted it all to end. After my aunt was
done ripping my heart out of my chest, I got up feeling so defeated. I went
into the bathroom and turned the water on. As the tub was filling up I wrote
yet another suicide note. Unlike the other notes, this time I really wanted to
die and I was really going to try.

My aunt Stuffy heard the water running and started banging on the door.
“Takari what are you doing in there? Please don’t do anything stupid. I’m
sorry I said those things.” My aunt’s pleas fell on deaf ears. Her words
sounded muffled to me. “Kari open this door, I’m calling 911.” I took that to
mean I didn’t have much time and if I was going to kill myself I’d better get
to it. Fully dressed I sat down in the tub of water and it overflowed. I could
hear my aunt’s hysteria when she saw the water seeping from underneath the
bathroom door. My intentions were to drown myself so I lay down
underneath the water. Unfortunately the human instinct to live is much
stronger than the will to die. Suicide by drowning in a bath tub full of water
was not going to cut it. I’m not sure how long I stayed under the water but by
the time emergency services bust down the door I was sitting up in the tub.

Police rushed into the bathroom and when they did they found the suicide
note. They got me out the tub and put a blanket around me. “Takari are you
ok?” one paramedic asked. “Do you want to tell us what’s going on?” said
another. “Takari did you write this note?” Tears just started streaming down
my face. My mind was gone. There had to be at least seven people in the
bathroom with me, including my aunt. But I heard nothing and saw no one. I
didn’t even see my aunt reading the suicide note:

Here I am once again in this very dark place and I don’t

106
 know what to do to find the light. I thought I was seeking
refuge here away from my mother but it was just a
transition from one phase of hell to another. Nobody
loves me. Nobody likes me and I feel so alone. I’m
losing my grandmother because my mother has poisoned
her against me. She is the only person who ever really
genuinely loved me. This time I want it to stop for good.
I’m sorry Grandma that I left you but I will see you
heaven.
Takari

The police put me in the squad car and took me to Pierce County Crisis
Center. Yes, I was being taken to the psych ward to be evaluated once again
and this time it was not orchestrated by my mother. I spoke to the doctor after
being taken to the hospital for evaluation. I finally expressed everything that I
had been feeling up until that point. Once again the doctor determined that I
wasn’t crazy, that I had no real desire to kill myself, and that my behavior was
a cry for help. I stayed overnight and my aunt Lynn picked me up the next
morning.

My mother decided that it was best that I come home and that things were
going to be different when I returned. “Kar I promise this time we are going
to fix this and make things better between us. I will try extra hard to be a
better mom and focus on our relationship.” It was like dangling a carrot in
front of a rabbit. All I ever wanted and all I want now, is to have a decent
relationship with my mother. I figured it was worth another shot. I’m always
willing to try one more thing to fix our relationship. While I took it with a
grain of salt, I ultimately agreed.

Being back in The Mansion was dismal as hell and things were exactly the
same. I was pissed at myself for falling for my mother’s lies once again. I had
already been out of the house and experienced some freedom. I even lost my
virginity, so being back under my mother’s roof this time was really
restricting. She did just the opposite of what she said she was going to do and
nothing changed with our relationship. I stayed out her way and she stayed
out of mine.

I had been back in The Mansion for a few weeks prior to my stepdad signing
with the Dallas Mavericks in 2005. In the midst of preparing to relocate to yet
another city, my mother did something that was totally unexpected. My 16th
birthday was coming up. She didn’t plan an elaborate Sweet 16 party. She

107
gave me $500 and let me plan my own cheaper version. I reserved the
banquet room at a local Comfort Inn Suites. I didn’t need much. But the one
thing I absolutely had to have was a white sheet cake with vanilla icing, fresh
strawberries on top, with whipped cream. I had a few decorations and my
mother threw in a rented Hummer stretch limo to go and pick up my friends
and bring them to the party. Initially the party was dry because I did not have
that many guests. It was just a few of my friends, my cousins and my sister.
My aunts Bunny and Stuffy were chaperoning. My parents didn’t come and
grandma was in a hotel next to ours with the younger kids.

My aunt Bunny reminds me of my mother. They’re both controlling and

overbearing. She started trying to shut my party down early and I was not
having it. I called my grandmother and told her what my aunt was doing. She
told her to leave us alone and come to the room with her. Once she left, my
aunt Stuffy turned the party all the way up. She let us go wild. We were
bumping and grinding like nobody business all up against the wall. The girls
played musical chairs with the boys sitting in them. The party turned out
wonderful. The highlight of the party that everyone kept talking about was the
Hummer Limo. When I got home my mother asked me did I have a good
time. I said, “The party was wonderful.”

We packed up and moved to Dallas right after the party. When we first
arrived in Dallas, we were staying in a hotel until my mom found another
beautiful house. We were getting settled down in Texas and I was enrolled in
The Cambridge School of Dallas. Something seemed different about my
mom. She was nicer and a little more lenient. I really loved being in Dallas.
We attended two games before the drama started with my mom. She started
making accusations that she and my stepfather were being harassed by
someone that keeps calling their phone. She was adamant that someone was
coming after them. She was so serious about it that she dragged the team and
GMs into the craziness. She had my stepfather convinced that someone was
after them. She didn’t want to be there any longer, so neither did my stepdad.

My stepfather played a total of seven games. It was November 25, 2005,

when he was released by the Mavericks. Prior to us leaving Texas, my
parents met with someone interested in doing a reality show based on their
lives. She told my sister and I about it one time but never spoke anymore
about it. I thought they scrapped the whole idea. We packed up the house and
were back in Bellevue by the end of the year. When we got home I recall my
stepfather saying that if he did not get picked up by a team soon he was going
to retire.

108
Immediately my mother started back with those crazy lists. I wish I still had
one of those lists today so I can show it to my mother and see if she still
agrees that they were appropriate for a 16-year-old. My sister and I were
discussing the new lists she had just given us. They were the worst and most
ridiculous of them all. My sister marched right into my mom’s bedroom and
said she wanted to call a house meeting.

“What do you mean you want to call a house meeting?” My sister had a
mouth on her that kept her in hot water with my stepfather. “Just what I said
mom. Me and Kari want to talk to you and dad.” I never saw it because I was
too busy somewhere hiding. But I imagine the look on my mother’s face was
priceless. “Babe is you hearing this?” My stepfather was right next to my
mother so I’m sure he was hearing it. But he never took his eyes off the tube.
“You and your sister are working my last nerves. I don’t know what this mess
is about but it better be good.”

My sister ran in the room to get me and let me know about the meeting.
When we were talking about calling the house meeting I thought it was a
joke. My mother had just given us a list with the craziest do’s & don’ts we’ve
ever seen. The chores were broken down by the hour and what we had to be
doing at each specific time. I made sure to tell my grandmother so she could
come. I was too scared to face my mother alone. I definitely felt safer with my
grandmother present. We all gathered in the kitchen to have the meeting. “So
what is this about?” My mother asks staring straight at me. “This list you
gave us mom is a little bit ridiculous,” my sister said. She saw my mother
coming for me so she took the lead. “What do you mean they’re ridiculous?
You live in my house and those are my rules and what I say goes.” The list
included, among other things, that we must put our outfits out the day before
to be approved, clean everything in the house on a daily basis: the walls, the
floors, the bathrooms even the ones that weren’t being used, etc. We couldn’t
have any visits from anybody but our cousins and they were only allowed to
come over once a month. I could only use my cell phone one hour per week.
My mother had gotten way more controlling and strict since the first time I
lived in The Mansion. Moving out of my mother’s house and having the
freedom I had while I was in Tacoma made those rules unbearable. I knew for
a fact the rules weren’t going to work for me. I had gone from sleeping with a
27-year-old man to my mother picking out my clothes again. That was
something I absolutely could not wrap my mind around.

My sister continued pleading her case to my mom about why the lists were

109
inappropriate and I just stood watching. I kept my mouth shut. Besides, my
sister was doing a fine job. I was enjoying the show to be honest. My mother
was not having it. She shut my sister down immediately. Despite my sister
trying to cover for me she came straight for me. “Did you put her up to this
shit Kari?” So many thoughts were running through my head and I had to
stand up for myself. “No Mom I didn’t put her up to this but I do have
something to say.” I told her that at 16 years old I felt like her lists were an
insult which ignited a big fight. I said I just wanted out and this time for good.
“Where are you going to go? Everywhere you go you cause problems." I told
her I wanted to move out on my own and that I knew how much it would cost
because my stepfather had showed me. My mother just went on a tangent
about us being ungrateful and having the nerve to question her because she
was the parent. My stepfather took my sister down the hallway and she got a
whooping and for me I got my freedom back.

CHAPTER SEVEN
A DIFFERENT KIND OF LOVE
2006-2009

I was glad to have my freedom back but I knew there was something up with
my mother and wanting to get me out of the house so abruptly. I just didn’t
know what. I was not plopped in the middle of the living room Living back
with my aunt Stuffy. This time I had my own room. My mother sent me
money to buy a TV and some other things to make the room comfortable. My
aunt was cool despite our differences from the last time I stayed with her. I
guess she didn’t want to be the catalyst for someone trying to commit suicide
so she left me alone. We actually rekindled our bond that we had before all
that craziness took place.

My mother was paying my aunt to prep me for the GED exam. But I never
had any kind of preparation. I was 16 when I went back to my aunt house and
since I wasn’t enrolled in school I did whatever I wanted to do. I’ve always
been a good kid. I didn’t smoke or drink. Life in Tacoma was good and it was
about to get better. My cousin Sha had a sugar daddy. He was like 77 years
old. One day we decided we wanted to go to the mall. When we got there, my
cousin and her sugar daddy went one way and my cousin Auz and I went
another. We ended up at the food court. This particular day I was feeling
myself. I was dressed real cute, had my signature slicked to the side ponytail,
and my makeup was popping. I spent a lot of time at the mall and would
always see this guy name Ant who I thought was so fine. He dressed nice and

110
smelled out of this world delicious. As we were eating our food, Ant walked
by. When he looked in our direction I nodded my head at him to catch his
attention. When he slowed down I walked over to him. We chopped it up for
a few minutes. He told me he sold DVDs and for me to take his number in
case I ever want to get some movies. He put his number in my phone and we
went our separate ways. When I walked back over to my cousin she was
stoked that I got his number. Getting his number definitely stroked my ego
that day. We caught back up with my cousin Sha, left the mall, and went to
Wendy's.

While we were in Wendy’s, Dereke walked in. The first time I laid eyes on
Dereke I thought he was a Somali dude who worked at the airport. The reason
I say airport is because he had on all dark navy blue and it reminded me of the
uniforms airport workers wore. He walked in with his friends and I thought
that he was drop dead gorgeous. Fresh off my confidence boost from bagging
Ant in the mall I was like, "Whew," super-loud. It made him and his friends
laugh. We were in the restaurant for 15 minutes and the whole time I'm like,
"Oh my gosh dude you are fine." I would say it every time he looked in my
direction. I know I was being extra aggressive, but Dereke and his friends
took it lightheartedly and were laughing at me like this girl is crazy. I was
like, “Yes, oh my gosh I want you so bad."

I had everybody, including my cousins, laughing at how I was fawning over

Dereke. Sugar Daddy went over to their table, pointed to me, and said, "You
see that young lady right there. I got a brand new truck outside. You can
come and take her out in it." Dereke was just cheesing; didn’t really say
much. When we got up to leave I turned around and waved and said "bye,"
being extra cheesy. As we were getting in the truck, Auz and I kept turning
around making comments and heckling them. It was really cute.

A year after that my friend Kay and I were working at the Kube 93 Car Show,
doing promotions for my mom's upcoming events. The show was lit. There
were so many fine dudes in there that we came up with a plan to put our
number on the back of the flyer. Since my friend didn’t have a phone, we
ended up just putting my number on the back of some of the flyers to hand
out to all the cute guys. My grandmother was at the show as well. While
handing out the flyers I ran into her standing by the entrance waiting for
another person to come help us. She had their ticket. As I'm standing there
talking to my grandmother I look up and I see Dereke. I was like, "Oh my
gosh there is that dude.” I couldn’t contain my excitement. It was like how
the movies are when two main love interests see each other from across a

111
crowded room and everything around them becomes blurry. He had on some
black Dickie shorts, a white cotton t-shirt, and was just as fine to me as he
was the first time I saw him in Wendy's. Ever since that day in Wendy's I
never forgot about Dereke. I even on occasion thought about the stars
aligning so we somehow ran into one another again. The universe was finally
answering my wishes.

My grandmother was asking me something so I took my focus off Dereke for

a couple of seconds. When I did he disappeared into the thousands of people
who attended the car show that day. We continued handing out the flyers. The
only chance I had at locating Dereke now was spotting his really tall friend
name Nell. My friend knew how crazy I was about Dereke. So when we got
into their range, she handed him a flyer and told him my number was on the
back. She never told me she gave him a flyer. Hours after we left the car
show, guys started calling my phone. It was cute at first. I was over it after
about a week.

One day a private number started calling my phone. At first I thought it was
my mom because her number always came up private when she called. I
answered the phone skeptically, "Hello." Dereke goes, "Hey wassup?" I was
not sure who I was talking to, so I responded "Uh nothing. Who is this?" He
responds, "This is Dereke." I realized it was one of the guys from the car
show. I told him that my friend Kay had gone home and that it was my phone
he was calling. He said ok and I was like, "Alright bye." Dereke stopped me
and said, "Hold up can I talk to you?" For the first 10 minutes of the
conversation I had no idea I was talking to Dereke. I just happened to mention
that I wasn’t really interested in talking to anyone except this one guy that I
saw there. He asked me if I knew who he was and I told him no. He described
himself to me. He said he looked like Lil Scrappy but it wasn’t ringing any
bells to me. I told him all I know is the guy I was talking about, I had saw a
year ago at Wendy's. Dereke was quiet for second. "Really? Were you
wearing pink?" I said, "Oh my gosh yes." My heart started skipping all sorts
of beats. “Are you the light-skinned one?” My heart sank just a little bit
because I was thinking he was going to be more interested in my friend Kay.
“No, I’m the chocolate one.” He said. “Oh you the bad one?” I started
grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know I guess.” We both started laughing.
Now if I was hung up on my skin color like my mother claimed I was then, I
would have probably flipped on Dereke when he asked me if I was the light-
skinned one.

Dereke and I talked all night until it was time for him to go to work. When I

112
hung up the phone I was in love. During that time he was working at a casino
and got off early in the morning. He asked if he could call me when he got off
work and I said yes. I waited up all night for his call. The days following that
initial phone conversation, we talked for several more hours. The attention he
was giving me over the phone was everything. I enjoyed talking to him. We
became really good friends before anything else transpired between us. I’m
really glad that we invested that time into getting to know one another.
Dereke asked one day if he could come over to my house. I asked my aunt’s
permission and she said yes.

Dereke called me and said he was ten minutes away. I started getting nervous.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I remember the exact outfit I wore,
even the shade of gold eye shadow I had on. Dereke had already told me he
drove a ’77 Red Big Body Chevy Regal with a muffler that could be heard
miles away. When I heard the roar of that engine my heart started racing. I
couldn’t believe how much I was feeling him. My heart was pounding when
he arrived at my house. We chatted briefly in the car before I took him inside
to meet my aunt. The first thing my aunt Stuffy said when she saw him is,
“Ooooh he looks like Usher.” Everyone just bust out laughing. We chatted
with them for a few moments before decided to take a walk to the park. We
stopped at the corner store for some candy before we got to the park.

“So what do you think about me?” Dereke asked sitting on the swing next to
me, looking fine. I was thinking to myself, man, do you not see my heart
beating out my chest. I think you’re fucking amazing and from the first
moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were going to be mine. But instead of
saying all that I simply said, “You cool.” One of the things I distinctly
remember us talking about was his age. Dereke told me he was nineteen years
old, but I later discovered that he was older - 21 to be exact. The age thing
explained a lot about that day in Wendy’s. He was 20 and I was only 15. I
was jail bait. Hell I was still jail bait, but that didn’t matter to us. Our
chemistry and destiny superseded our age difference. We decided to go back
to the house and watch some movies after leaving the park. No sex occurred. I
decided I was not sleeping with any more guys unless we were not in a
relationship. Dereke and I had already had that conversation so he behaved
himself. We watched movies and talked until my 10 p.m. curfew. Dereke and
I became real close, but we were not exclusive. We were both seeing other
people.

My aunt Stuffy’s best friend Mika was staying with us for a while. Although
she was a little older than I, we became close friends. We bonded because

113
she was being unfairly treated by my aunt and I knew exactly how she felt. I
was able to empathize with her. One day we were hanging out and she
introduced me to these guys. One of them was a white guy name Frankie. He
and I totally hit it off. We talked on the phone almost daily from that point
forward, even more so than Dereke and I. He would talk about his
girlfriends, which made me low-key jealous. One day I was talking to him on
the phone and Mika was listening in on our conversation. She snatched the
phone out of my hands. “Don’t be talking to her about other bitches. She’s
really feeling you.” Frankie asked me to go out on a date with him after that.

Since the first day I met Frankie, I thought he was the cutest white boy I’d
ever seen. We went out on a date and at the end of it, he asked me to be his
girl. Of course I didn’t know what to say because I was feeling Dereke too. I
just told him I would think about it. The next time I saw Dereke. I told him
that I went out on a date with Frankie and at the end of the date Frankie asked
me to be his girlfriend. “So what did you say?” Dereke asked me. “I told him
that I would think about.” At that point I knew that I was already in love with
Dereke. “I want to be your boyfriend,” he said, shocking the hell out of me. I
had so many questions running through my head. But instead of asking any of
them I simply said, “Okay.” Dereke and I officially started dating a month
prior to my 17th birthday.

The first time Dereke and I had sex was August 6th 2006, the day after we
officially became a couple. Our first time was epic. Being the naïve teenager
that I was, we did not use any protection at all and I wasn’t on any form of
birth control. Shortly thereafter, I was freaking out thinking I might be
pregnant. Dereke and I went to the $1 store and bought five pregnancy tests.
They all came back negative. I was relieved that no pregnancy resulted from
our careless night of lovemaking. I started to see a change in Dereke after we
had sex. We were already spending less time together. All of a sudden one
day out of the blue he goes missing and I didn’t hear anything from him for a
few days. I think his disappearance had a lot to do with me finding out about
his real age and him being scared that my mother was going to find out.
Dereke became a little paranoid about sleeping with a minor.

During this time Dereke was staying with his godmother. I would call their
house all the time asking to speak to him, but they kept telling me he wasn’t
there. This happened for about three days. Then when I called the next time
he was all of sudden there. “Are you serious Dereke? Why would you
disappear like that?” I can’t recall what his lame ass excuse was at the time. I
just told him if he didn’t want to be with me or didn’t like me, he could just

114
tell me. What he said next took my breath away, “I do like you Kar, I love
you.” It was the first time Dereke told me he loved me.

My 17th birthday was coming up and I decided I wanted to have a Hawaiian

Luau-themed birthday party. My aunts and cousins help me set up the
backyard. The decorations made it really feel like we were in Hawaii. It was
just my family and a few close friends in attendance. My mother,
grandmother and sister were not there, but I still had a blast. Dereke didn’t
come to the party. But that night after my birthday celebration I invited
Dereke over for dinner. The decorations from the party were still up so the
backyard looked like a tropical paradise. I made chicken alfredo and
chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert. Dereke picked up a bottle of
sparkling apple cider and a candle on his way over. That night was magical
and one of the most romantic nights I’ve had in my life. Dereke was really
impressed with the setup and told me no female had ever done anything like
that for him. Sitting with Dereke in our own little utopia reminded me of how
much I was truly in love with him. Although I had been feeling that way
about him for a while I never said anything. When he told me he loved me, it
validated my feelings and I have not stopped saying it to him ever since. I
didn’t want the night to end so I asked my aunt Stuffy if he could spend the
night. She said yes and the night ended perfectly.

Dereke and I were inseparable after the party. We hung out every day to the
point we had a routine. We would go eat breakfast at Shari’s Café in the
Tacoma shopping center, then go back to my aunt’s house and watch movies.
We’d go back to Shari’s for lunch then back to the house again to watch
movies. We did the same thing for dinner. Eventually I got tired of seeing him
leave when curfew time came. I told Dereke to leave and go park his car
somewhere else, then come back in through the window. Dereke had been
sneaking in the window for about a month before my aunt found out.

One day Dereke was at my house when I heard a slight commotion. I saw my
cousin run into my aunt’s room. The story was that she was playing with
Dereke and slapped him in his face. He pushed her and she fell. She ran
crying in the room, called my aunt and told her Dereke hit her for no reason.
It then came out that Dereke had been climbing in the window after curfew.
Of course when my aunt found out so did my mother and grandmother. My
grandmother was livid that Dereke supposedly put his hands on my little
cousin. She told my aunt that he wasn’t allowed back in the house. My
cousin Ramel was in the room with them when it happened, and confirmed
Dereke’s side of the story. He and Dereke said that Lexi was in Dereke’s face

115
playing too much. She slapped him and he pushed her. She fell and I guess
felt embarrassed. I’m not trying to justify what Dereke did because he should
have let me deal with it. But my family tried to crucify him for it.

Derek and I stayed at my cousins Mari and Dash’s apartment in Federal Way
for a couple of weeks. We continued having unprotected sex like rabbits.
Naturally I was thinking that I was pregnant. I told my cousin Mari that I
might be pregnant and she told my mother. “Mari take her to get a pregnancy
test and if she is pregnant than go take her to get an abortion.” That is exactly
what my mother told my cousin as if I didn’t have a say as to what was going
to happen to my own body. My mother never sat me down and talk to me
about the birds and the bees. I didn’t know any better. Her version of the birds
and the bees was to put me in a 3-day, no sleep boot camp to try and deter me
away from ever wanting to have kids. Everything I learned about my body
and sex was from school, reading, TV, my cousins, and friends. I really
thought since I didn’t get pregnant the first time Dereke and I had sex that it
took more than him ejaculating inside of me to get pregnant.

Dereke and I had the wildest sex ever. Our chemistry was undeniable which is
why 10 years, a baby, and a side chick later didn’t do shit to curb my appetite
for him. Our desire to be together was so strong that I have laid up in some of
the nastiest places on earth to be intimate with him. Gerald, my cousin’s
boyfriend place, was the most disgusting of them all. He had various kinds of
animals but he never cleaned up behind them. You can imagine the smell and
the heaps of feces all over the place. That shit, literally speaking, did not deter
us from getting to the bedroom. We just hopped over all those piles of dog
manure like they were strategically-placed land mines.

My cousin Lashawn once told me that she didn’t care if we had sex in her
house; just not in her bed. But she was too late with her declaration. Dereke
and I had already christened every inch of her apartment, including her
bedroom and almost everyone else’s as well. Nobody’s place was off limits.
Despite not using any birth control, I hadn’t gotten pregnant. So I basically jut
stopped thinking about it.

My mother was still trying to keep tabs on me, but it was getting more and
more difficult for her. She knew that I was not breaking up with Dereke. She
adopted a “if you can’t beat them join them” mentality. My mother paid my
way from the moment I left The Mansion. She was also still sending my aunt
money on a regular basis even though I was rarely there anymore. My
mother’s way to control me went from fear to her checkbook. It was October

116
10, 2006 when Dereke and I moved into our very first apartment together,
paid for by my mother. She also furnished the entire place. It happen to be the
same apartment building my mother put my grandmother and I in when we
first left Seattle. Ever since grandma and I left those apartments I prayed for
us to be able to go back. I never made it back there with grandma, but being
there almost 10 years later with Dereke was equally comforting. He had in
some ways filled that void that living without grandma left in my life.

One of the biggest unintentional lessons my mother ever taught me was that
money will not buy kids’ respect. Another lesson I learned is that when you
feed your children with a silver spoon, it will for sure hinder them from being
self-sufficient. I was grateful for her assistance at the time because I really
wanted to move in with Dereke. The flip side to being grateful is feeling once
again discarded by my mother. Putting me in that apartment with Dereke said
to me yet again I will pay for you to be someone else’s burden. I could have
easily declined the assistance. But that would not have been a rational thing
for a homeless, broke, inexperienced teenager in love to do. It wasn’t my role
to be the responsible parent and make the grown-up decisions. It was my role
to be the smart-mouthed, ungrateful at times, hard-headed, stubborn teenager.
I played my part very well.

My mother enabled my irresponsible behavior all for the sake of controlling

my life and washing her hands of any parental duties. My mother’s financial
help taught me nothing about finances or being a responsible adult. Dereke
and I were just immature kids playing house. I was working part-time and
Dereke sold weed, so we had money. But we spent it recklessly because
mommy was paying the bill.

Dereke and I weren’t even in the apartment a full month before I realized I’d
transitioned from one kind of hell to another. It was right after I’d given him a
little get together for his birthday that we had our very first serious argument
over something stupid like dishes. I don’t remember what about the dishes
started the argument, but it was the first time Dereke and I had an argument of
that magnitude. Again I am not the type of person to tolerate disrespect or
allow people to treat me any kind of way. I had no choice in The Mansion but
to tolerate it because I was just a child. But with Dereke, in my own home, I
wasn’t having it. He said some horrible and disrespectful things to me and I
clapped right back. “Oh you a stupid bitch, that’s why I’mma fuck mad hoes
and you not gone be able to do shit about it.” I came back even more
disrespectful. “Nigga fuck you because while you’re out fucking them hoe’s
I’mma be here fucking your best friend in our bed.”

117
Dereke never did any physical harm to me. However my emotional state took
a pounding. I started falling right back into that depression I had living in The
Mansion. Every chance he got he was running around cheating on me.
Though I said I didn’t care and my revenge would be to cheat back, I never
did. That shit hurt me to my core and it was chipping away at my self-esteem.
I’d been able to keep my buoyancy intact the whole time living with my
mother. But now this man comes along and in one swift move, starts to
destroy what I worked so hard to preserve. Dereke knew all about my past.
Shortly after the incident with him and my cousin I told him my whole story.
He was also over my house one day and heard my aunts talking crazy shit
about me. I had to explain my past to him. I’d never shared with Dereke the
abuse I suffered until that moment. Just like most people who hear my story, I
saw the sadness Dereke felt for me as I spoke about it. “You don’t have to
worry no more. Ain’t nobody gone do anything to you ever again,” Derek
said. I felt protected by my man. I felt invincible like he and I could conquer
the world. But that security only lasted a few short months.

Dereke couldn’t protect me from everything, especially the iniquities of my

mother. I had no idea that she and my stepdad had already begun filming
their first reality show, The Christies Committed and their movie, The
Christies Un-cut. Several of my family members were included, but I was
not part of either project. It was hidden from me that they were even filming. I
found out about the movie when I received the DVD in the mail for
Christmas. No one told me about it, including my sister and my grandmother.
I don't know why my mother pretends to want to include me in stuff or make
me feel a part of things when her actions say otherwise. It hurts me to know
that she didn’t want me to be involved. But I'm a big girl and I'd rather know
the truth and move on with my life versus continual excuses as to why I can't
participate in things with my family. Receiving that DVD in the mail and
watching it was hurtful because my family was acting as if I didn’t exist. No
one mentioned me or made reference to my existence at all. “Un-Cut” means
uncut and I find it odd that you can film a whole movie and not one relative
have an “uncut” or unscripted conversation about the absence of your first
born child whom you claim to love and adore.

Now I understood my mother's need to get me out of the house as fast as she
did. But what I will never understand is why she had to fake like she was
doing it for my benefit. She know I wanted to leave anyway and that I am not
the type of person to have a camera constantly stuck in my face. I don't know
why all the fraudulent behavior was necessary. I’ve never tried to force

118
myself in a situation that I didn’t feel welcome. I learned how to play the
shadows very well. My mother simply does not respect me or my feelings.
She would communicate with me better if she did. She constantly dismisses
my feelings and tries to make it seem like I'm being argumentative or upset
when I question her actions toward me. She can't deny what I am saying, so
she finds herself having to say and do things for deflection. This has been the
story of my life, especially after moving to Tacoma. She tried to avoid me at
all costs because she knew I would challenge her if she didn’t come correct.
People calling my mother out on her mess is just not something she was
accustomed to happening. I moved passed the DVD incident and started
focusing on myself. I now had a clearer understanding as to why my mother
did not try to sabotage my relationship with Dereke and why facilitated us
moving in together.

Meanwhile, Dereke was once again out doing God knows what with God
knows who. I was once again left at home with my racing thoughts. I was
tired of the abusive pattern that had been following me my whole life. That
night I seriously contemplated taking some sleeping pills. But then I
recognized my pattern of behavior. I didn’t want to die; in fact it was the
complete opposite. I just wanted to be loved. When Dereke came home that
night he frantically woke me up thinking I’d taken the pills but I didn’t. I saw
a change in him for the better from that day on

I didn’t understand why Dereke felt the need to cheat. I kept my man more
than sexually satisfied. I’ve never had any healthy examples of how
relationships are supposed to be. I never saw my grandmother in a healthy
relationship. I don't consider that sham of a marriage my mother orchestrated
between grandma and her dad a viable example either. The only other
example I've had is my mother and stepfather. My mother controls everything
in their marriage. My stepfather likes to say that isn’t true, but the whole
NBA world knew it and even made a mockery of it.

My stepfather has no free will in their relationship. My mother has controlled

his movements just liked she controlled ours. He wasn’t allowed to go
anywhere or do anything without my mother’s consent. I remember one
morning being woken up to a huge commotion going on in the house.
Grandma, my sister and I were all asleep in my grandmother’s room when we
were awakened to my mother yelling, "Mom." We all look at each other not
sure we heard correctly since we were on the third level of the house. My
grandmother went to the door and cracked it open. She heard some turmoil.
She yelled back, "What?" We heard my mother sounding uneasy, "He's

119
fighting," she yelled. My grandmother shouts back, "Who's fighting?" At that
point my sister and I are afraid not knowing what is going on. My mother
came flying up the stairs looking disheveled. She was in such hysteria we
could barely understand the words coming out of her mouth. The gist of what
she was saying was that she and my stepfather had gotten into a fight.

My grandmother and I went downstairs. My position was that if they took

grandma they were going to have to take me too, whoever “they” were. My
grandmother called my stepfather name but he didn’t answer. She called him
two more times. No answer. She then yelled his full government name and he
finally says, "Yes mom?" My grandma and I went down into the garage. We
saw items from the SUV glove compartment scattered everywhere. My
mom’s braids were also all over the place. My stepfather was sitting in the
Mercedes with his head down in his hands. The driver side front door is all
mangled up. My grandmother said, "What's going on?" My stepfather’s face
was red from crying. He told my grandmother what happened. But before I
could hear the story, my mother called me and sent me back upstairs.

My stepfather came and got my sister and I and took us into the office. He
closed the French glass doors as my mom tried to hand him his ring back,
pleading with him to put it back on. As he is talking to us, my mother is
standing on the other side pitifully beating on the doors. "You know I love
you guys but I have put up with this for way too long and I can't do it
anymore so I have to go.” My sister was crying but I told him I totally
understood and that it would be okay. I had only been in The Mansion for a
few months and I felt like a prisoner even before I moved in. So I couldn’t
even begin to imagine what six years would feel like. My stepdad just looked
really beat down; like his spirit was broken. I remember feeling empathy for
him because I knew exactly how he was feeling.

That whole scene reeked of desperation to get out. Eventually my

grandmother was able to sit them down and mediate the situation. He ended
up staying. Later that afternoon we were all sitting in the living room and my
mother asked if we wanted to go to the store. Of course we all said yes
because everybody was desperate to get out that house. While we were
making the list for the store my mother said, "don't mess up on the list or dad
might try to kill you." No one really found her joke funny because we had no
clue what she was talking about. My stepfather just said, “Ha ha, funny.”
When we got into the car my grandmother told us what had happened. My
stepfather was trying to leave to go golfing, but my mother was trying to
prevent him from going. She yanked open the driver-side door trying to pull

120
him out of the car. When he wouldn’t get out, she blocked the car so he
couldn’t get out of the garage. My stepfather revved the engine to get her to
move. When she didn’t he rammed the gas and backed up. She said my
mother jumped out of the way just in the nick of time but it was too late for
the door. My stepfather snapped in that moment just like me six years after
living in The Mansion. My mother just doesn’t know when to stop. She
continues until her target breaks down.

Now that I’m in my own relationship I have essentially tried to do the same
thing with Dereke: control him so he doesn’t cheat. I didn’t try to physically
constrain him like my mother did taking his cell phone, monitoring his
internet usage, or trying to pull him out of a car. I tried to control Dereke by
going above and beyond catering to him. I gave that man every bit of me and
then some for a long time until I realized that nothing will keep a man from
cheating if that is his intent. My mother did all that she did to keep my
stepfather from cheating. But the sad part is I don't even think he had a desire
to cheat on her. He didn’t try to run around sniffing behind other women. It
was easy for him to comply with all her ridiculous stipulations. She controlled
his entire existence: his eyeballs, speech, body movements, etc. Dereke had
never and will never let me have that much control over him and I had to
learn early in our relationship that I didn’t need it. The way my mother acts
when it comes to her man shows how insecure she is. I feel like no female
can replace me, or give to Dereke what I do. Ten years later, the man has not
gone anywhere. Believe me he has tried to leave, but ends up right back.
While he has cheated and even had a kid with another woman, I still sleep
well at night because that is not my cross or burden to bear.

Dereke started working at the airport with my cousin Mari and her boyfriend
so he worked from 3am - 3pm. I was a stay-at-home girlfriend so I didn’t
have anything but time on my hands to dream up ways to please and cater to
my man. Every day I thought of a new way to have fun in the bedroom so
when Dereke came home, he was always surprised by what I had planned.
Back then I wore a lot of silk scarfs. Nothing goes better with a four-post
bed. I loved tying Dereke up. It drove him crazy. I was standing at the door
when Dereke got home and I had on my robe with nothing underneath. I took
his things, sat them on the floor, and led him to the bedroom. I undressed him,
removing every stich of clothing. I blindfolded him, laid him down on the
bed, and tied his hands to the posts. Dereke had been working hard all day.
But there was something about his manly scent that was an aphrodisiac. I
couldn’t wait to sit on him. Dereke's favorite position is reverse cow girl. I
climbed on top of him with my back to him. But in this particular case, he

121
couldn’t see me when I slid down on top of him and started to ride. He was
super erect and his excitement was turning me on even more. I rode him until
I climaxed.

Once I finished, I led him to the bathroom where I had a bath ready and
waiting. Dereke slid in while I went back into the bedroom to setup phase
two. I lit the candles and setup the massage oils. I washed every inch of my
baby, then dried him off. We went back into the bedroom and the only thing
Dereke could say when he saw the setup was, "Wow." He laid down on the
bed and I massaged him from head to toe. Dereke had never performed oral
sex on me up until that point. But that night he went into the kitchen and
came back with a strawberry."Bite this." When I bit the strawberry, the juice
trickled down my lip and chin and he licked it off. He traced my nipples with
the half-bitten strawberry then moved lower to my navel, then eventually to
Ms. Kitty. He ate the strawberry and the cherry. I couldn’t contain my
pleasure and I climaxed again. When he was done I took him over to the
office chair and sat him down and rode him again. We somehow ended up on
the floor and I was still on top of Dereke going crazy. I was riding him so
good that he started screaming and making grunting noises but I was not
stopping. That shit was turning me on. The more he moaned the more intense
I grinded. I could feel his stiffness pulsating deep inside me when I bent over
to bite his bottom lip. He released his string of pearls deep inside me.

Of the thousands of times Dereke and I have had sex, this night is the one I
remember most. It was the most vivid; the most epic. I have not heard Dereke
make those noises ever since. I still make him moan but never to the tempo he
hit that night. I really felt sorry for the neighbors because we just didn’t care.
We let any and all of our inhibitions go.

Life went on as usual beyond our sex life. My mother continued paying the
rent for us and we continued playing house. Although he was 22, Dereke was
very immature. I didn’t understand why until I met his parents. Elizabeth, his
mother, was an enabler just like my mother. I loved my in-laws at first (no
Dereke and I never married but I do consider us common law married).
Elizabeth fulfilled a role for me in the beginning that I desperately needed: a
mother. One aspect of Dereke’s family life that I absolutely adored and one
day hope to implement in my own family is Sunday dinners. The last Sunday
of the month, Elizabeth made dinner. Dereke and I attend often before we had
kids.

The first dinner I attended was uncomfortable to say the least. Dereke’s

122
mother stared me down the entire time. She had this really intense look on her
face that intimidated me just like my mother did. I wanted Elizabeth to be
tender with me, to be sweet. But she wasn’t giving me anything but a cold
stare. She has always been skeptical about our relationship since the
beginning. She asked some very hard questions for which I didn’t have
answers. “Ta’kari why would your mother pay for you to live with a grown
man?” I just shrug my shoulders and said, “I don’t know.” I was more
interested in knowing why you care that someone else is providing a stable
home for your son who, up until he met me, was living here, there, and
everywhere. She was making sense with some of the things she said though. I
just wasn’t in a place to receive it in the right way.

Elizabeth started warming up to me after that first dinner. We started

developing the relationship that I’d hope for. We became close. Whenever
Dereke and I got into it, she was the first person I called. I now realize in
hindsight that was a mistake. But back then it was the only thing I knew to do.
I didn’t want to reach out to my mother or grandmother because I didn’t want
to hear I told you so. My grandmother always worried about me when it came
to Dereke possibly being abusive. I was hard-headed and in love, so
grandma’s concerns went in one ear and out the other.

One thing I admired about Elizabeth and Dereke’s relationship is that she
always defended him no matter what. Even when I told her he was putting his
hands on me, she stood by her son. I soon realized that I gave Elizabeth too
much power in our relationship by confiding in her and seeking refuge with
her when Dereke and I had issues. My relationship with Elizabeth ultimately
transformed from a special bond, to our relationship feeling like a threesome.
Derek’s parent’s went from offering loving, caring, and sound advice, to
totally trying to control of our relationship. I can’t place total blame on them
for where our relationship ended up. I should have implemented boundaries
from the start.

Dereke and I remained in that apartment for almost two years. My mother
helped pay the rent every few months. She would do her check-in calls from
time to time, which frequently ended with something like, “Kar I’m going to
send you some change to pay the rent for a few months.” I really appreciated
the help. My family depended on it. All I desired to do was make it a home
for us. I learned everything about being domestic from my grandmother Cora.
I catered to Dereke’s every need. Everything was going okay with Dereke
after the sleeping pill incident. We were having fun in our little home. It was a
party every day. One day I woke up feeling extremely nauseous. I had no idea

123
what was going on with me. I thought it was a hangover. Pregnancy never
crossed my mind because Dereke and I had been having unprotected sex for
18 months and never got pregnant. I literally thought I could not get pregnant.

The sick feeling was not going away after a few days so I decided to take a
pregnancy test. Again we bought multiple tests from the dollar store. The very
first one that I took came back positive. I gave one to Dereke to take because
they were only one dollar. The one that Dereke peed on came back negative
while all four of the ones I took came back positive. I scheduled an
appointment with the doctor and he confirmed the positive results of the
dollar store tests.

Finding out I was pregnant was bittersweet. On one hand I was happy and
looking forward to becoming a mom. On the other hand, I knew my mother
was not going to be happy about it at all. When I called my mother to tell her
I was pregnant, she was on her way to the studio with my sister and my
cousin Lexi. “OMG, I need a drink.” I was hurt that once again she was being
unsupportive and focusing on her own selfish desires for me. “Well what are
you going to do Kar?” I didn’t know but I had nine months to figure it out.
For once I just wanted to hear my mother say that she would support me no
matter what I chose to do. Her lack of enthusiasm did not shock me. I was 19,
going on 20. The fact that she thought she could still control my decisions
blew my mind. I wasn’t having an abortion under any circumstances. I made
that abundantly clear to my mother and anyone else who had opinions of what
I should do. My grandmother was supportive of my decision to have the baby.
She was there for me when I had questions and concerns. My mother was still
emotionally unavailable to me during my pregnancy. Dereke and I decided
that we needed a bigger apartment, so we relocated from Federal Way to
Tacoma.

When I was getting closer to my due date, Dereke’s parents, his sister, and my
grandmother gave me a baby shower at Dereke’s parent’s house. Of course an
invitation was extended to everyone in my family, including my mother and
stepfather. Everyone showed up to the baby shower except my mother and
stepfather. While it shocked everyone else that they were no shows, it was
expected from my end. My mother did not show up to the shower but she sent
grandma and my sister with everything my son needed: stroller, car seat,
clothes, etc. She basically furnished the whole nursery. A few weeks later she
threw her own baby shower for me at The Mansion in Bellevue. I want to
believe that she did it to celebrate the life I had growing inside of me. But
honestly it was only to save face with Dereke’s parents because she didn’t

124
show up to the celebration they hosted for me. The Mansion baby shower was
the first time she met Derek and his parents. As soon as everyone was
introduced, my mother departed from the festivities. She spent 15 minutes at
the baby shower then she left my grandmother in charge of keeping it going.
My mom exited without saying a word. We did not see my mom anymore
that afternoon. She didn’t even say goodbye.

Going into labor was both exciting and a little scary. The first person I called
was my mother. I told her oI’m in labor. I heard her scurrying down the
hallway to my grandmother’s room. “It’s time you guys, ya’ll got to get to the
hospital. Kar is in labor." My heart sank because without her saying so or
giving any indication, I knew she would not be present for the birth of my
first child and her first grandchild. Thinking back on that time I don’t know
why I always got so disappointed by my mother not showing up for me. She
never showed up for me. It’s not like I even cared that much because I
preferred to have my grandmother present instead anyways. After I went into
labor and made it to the hospital, grandma and my sister arrived. Labor and
delivery couldn’t have gone any better. I had my grandmother on one side and
my soul mate on the other. It was just the perfect delivery. It was quick and
painless. Dereke and I welcomed our first son Ja’vony Anthony Isaacs on
October 14, 2008.

After my son was born they treated him for Meconium Aspiration Syndrome
so he was kept in ICU for seven days. I stayed all seven days with him in the
hospital. My mother sent grandma and my sister with money a couple of
times during our week long stay in the hospital. She called everyday, but she
never came to visit. When were discharged from the hospital, my mother
wanted us to come and visit them at The Mansion. I didn’t protest because I
wanted my mother to bond with my new baby. But hardly was it the bonding
experience I’d imagined. We were there for three days. We stayed in
Grandma’s room the whole time. I learned everything I needed to know about
being a first-time mom from my grandmother. The lessons I learned from her
in those few days were priceless and I am thankful for the time I spent there.
My mother only came down to my grandmother’s room a couple of times to
see my baby. She did not offer one single suggestion for being a new mom.
She held my baby once or twice. He cried the whole time. After the third day
I was ready to go home because Ja’vony was fussy and not nursing properly.
He just seemed extremely agitated. Once I got him home in our own
environment he immediately settled down and was at total peace.

Life as a new mom was very fulfilling and kept me busy. I had no idea what

125
Dereke was doing or with whom he was doing it with. I noticed that he was
being distant even when he was present. A woman’s intuition always knows
when a situation isn’t right, especially when it comes to her man. The alarms
going off in my head were ringing louder than The Liberty Bell. Dereke
would leave the house and be gone all day, sometimes until the next day. I
would be blowing his phone up and leaving all kinds of crazy voice and text
messages. None of it seemed to faze Dereke. He would come back, we would
argue, I would threaten to put him out, we would make up, and then it just
started all over again. It was a never-ending cycle. Eventually he cracked.
When Ja’vony was about eight months old, Dereke finally came clean and
told me he had cheated and gotten another girl pregnant. My heart fell to my
feet. Through the hurt, pain, and tears I had to be strong for my son and that is
exactly what I did.

After finding out that Dereke had cheated on me and gotten this girl name
Jessi pregnant, I wanted to kill both of them. But I thought about my son and
decided it would be best if I just walked away from the whole situation. One
of us needed to be here to raise our son. Right before I put Dereke out for
what I thought to be for good, I had a conversation with the girl Jessi. I told
her that she and Dereke will never have what we have because we are soul
mates. I told her she was just a mere ray of sunshine during a dark cloud and a
distraction for Dereke. He didn’t want to deal with what was going on at our
home. I further made it known that the bond we have will never be broken
because it wasn’t made on earth. It was done in heaven. "Home is where the
heart is and bitch this is home." She starts going off calling me everything
name in the book. "Oh, you ghetto bitch he don't love you he loves me." I
said, "Listen I will do you a favor and let you have him but I promise you the
relationship will not work. You will have that baby alone because karma is a
bitch.” Before I hung up I told her one last thing. “Oh yeah welcome to the
family."

When I said karma is a bitch and will creep up on you, this is what I meant.
My friend Eb is Jessi’s sister. I started messing around with Eb’s boyfriend
behind her back. Jessi had no idea she was my karma kicking me right in the
ass. There wasn’t anything I could do about it and I knew pretty soon karma
was going to get her and Dereke’s ass as well. “Dereke I can’t do this
anymore I need you out today.” There was no talking me down off the ledge.
Plus I don’t think he was interested in trying to talk his way back into my
good graces. We both just needed a break from one another. There is nothing
like a side chick having a baby to make that happen. Every time I watched
him put an item in his bags I wanted to say stay. When my heart began to

126
uncoil my head started to hurt. All the pent-up stress Dereke caused me over
the years had over-powered my weak heart. I watched my best friend walk
out the door without looking back and it damn near broke me.

As much as I knew that Dereke leaving was a necessary move it still hurt like
hell. I felt so alone and extremely depressed in the following days. But I got
up every day to take care of my son. I forced myself to find some level of
happiness through all the mixed emotions running through me. I didn’t
understand why I had to be suffering so much. I wasn’t the one who got
pregnant by someone else. Why did I feel like it was my fault simply because
I responded to Dereke’s ultimate betrayal? I reacted exactly how I was
supposed to his news. I felt horrible for removing him from Ja’vony’s life.
When I asked Dereke to leave I had no idea if I would allow him to return. It
felt like permanent damage to my heart and with that came the guilt of feeling
like my son would have to grow up separated from his dad.

A few weeks after Dereke left I got a call from the rental office. They told me
to come in and sign some documents. It was a new lease agreement without
Dereke’s name on it. I was devastated because I never asked him to take his
name off the lease so I thought it was something that he just did on this own. I
was trying to hold back the tears while signing those papers. The agent wasn’t
making it any better. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out. Is that your son’s
father?” I just thought to myself lady if you don’t shut the hell up and let me
sign these papers and get out of here…

She was looking at me and Ja’vony with pity and it was irking the hell out of
me. I barely made it in my front door when I started to cry because I really
had to accept that it was really over with Dereke. What I didn’t know at the
time is that my grandmother had called Dereke’s mom and told her to make
him remove his name from the lease. Dereke ended up moving in with the girl
Jessi and we didn’t speak for months. He wasn’t coming around to visit his
son either.

After Dereke left I was lonely staying in the apartment. I decided to stay at
my cousin’s house in Federal Way. This was around the time that my sister
started doing music. My mother was flying my cousins Mari and Lexi back-
and-forth to LA and DC to help out whenever my grandmother was not able
to be with her. I’m not going to lie. I would see their posts on social media
and they always seemed to be having so much fun. It was hurtful that I never
got an invitation to come. Once again I was being excluded. But they would
send me copies of magazine clippings and my sister music CD’s to rub it in

127
my face. I was proud of my sister when her music career started taking off
because it was something that we all wanted to do.

When we were younger, we created a music group with me, my sister, and
two of my cousins. I choreographed the whole thing, wrote and sang the
songs. Whenever we would rehearse my mother would always tell my sister,
“Do it like Kar.” My mother wanted my sister to sing the national anthem so
I was helping her practice. She would say to my sister, “see how soulful she
sounds at the end. I want you to do it just like that.” She would try but my
sister couldn’t sing a lick. When it came to doing music I think my mother
encouraged my sister’s music career over mine because my sister had the
personality for it. She knew I wouldn’t get up in front of thousands of people
and perform.

My cousin Mari and I both had kid turning one-year-old. But Mari was also
seven months pregnant with her second child. Regardless she was still flying
back and forth to help out my sister. I was on the phone one day with my
mother and suggested that I could come out and help with my sister. I told her
I could drive and take her back and forth to her practices and recording
sessions. But my mother just said, “Ok ok,” and quickly brushed me off the
phone. I thought maybe it was because I was with Dereke that I didn’t get
any invites. But even after we broke up I still didn’t get any. After speaking
to my mom I immediately called my grandmother to pick her brain on my
mother’s issue with me. She always seemed to have an issue with me that I
didn’t know about.

As I’m speaking to my grandmother, I hear my mother come in the room and

say to her, "And yeah this girl keeps calling asking if she can come down here
and I don’t have time for all that. I’m trying to work." I told my grandmother
to put me on speaker phone and if she doesn’t I was going to text her. Either
way she is going to know that I heard her talking shit about me. She could
have just told me she doesn’t want me there. My grandmother let her know
that I was on the phone. My mom was pissed and started stuttering, but had
no words. She bought me a ticket to come to LA within a week.

Ja’vony was turning one-year-old in a couple of weeks. Dereke finally felt

like it was time to check on his child. Since I changed my phone number and
had been staying out in Federal Way, Dereke could not get in touch with me.
The day before I was leaving to go to LA, I went home to get a few things for
the trip. I walked up to find a note left on my door. “Kari we need to talk.
Here’s my new number. Call me.” I immediately called from a private

128
number. I told him we hadn’t talked in months and that I’d moved on. “How
can I help you Dereke?” He apologized for everything that happened. He said
he had moved on too, that he’s in a different place, and got a new car. “I just
want to see you and my son.” I told him I was flying to LA in the morning
and that maybe I will call him later before I leave.

When Dereke and I moved in together I gained a lot of weight. I was over 200
lbs. when he left. I was tom boyish and only wore my hair slick back. When
we broke up I was on the stress diet. I dropped down to like 180. I felt and
looked great. My cousin started weaving my hair and I started getting my
nails done regularly. I was completely into myself. It took me a minute to get
myself together after Dereke left, but eventually I picked myself up, knocked
off the dust ,and kept it moving. I went back to Federal Way that day. My
cousin did my hair for my trip to LA. I told Dereke he could come over to
my cousin’s house where Ja’vony and I were staying that night.

Dereke hadn’t seen Ja’vony since he was 8 or 9 months old so to see him
walking was a trip for him. I left him to spend some time with his son when I
took a shower. I knew what I was doing when I let my hair down, sprayed on
my best smelling perfume, and put on my cute booty shorts. I took a deep
breath, put on my best game face, and sauntered my new and improved self
into the living room. “Whoa what the fuck.” Dereke couldn’t contain his
reaction in that moment. His response made me feel like I was winning. When
I first met Dereke he was scrawny. But I heard through the grapevine that he
had gained weight. I was thinking maybe a few pounds but he really picked
up weight, so our reactions were quite similar for different reasons. He wasn’t
sloppy or anything; just real thick and muscular which is always a plus. He
was still fine as hell and the attraction still on point.

Dereke told me he was sorry and wished he could take it all back and that he
made the biggest mistake of his life. He told me that I am his soul mate and
that we are supposed to be together. The only reason he is with that girl is
because he didn’t have any place else to go. He swore up and down that he
did not love her and that I am the only woman he’s ever loved. He said he
missed his best friend. I believed him because I wanted to believe him. When
I called him I had already made up in my mind that I was going to forgive
him so that we can move on in a more positive direction.

We chilled out in the living room playing with the baby for a while. H starts
getting sleepy so we put him to bed in my cousin’s room. Dereke could not
take his eyes off of me. “Damn baby you looking real good. I know I messed

129
up bad but I want to start making it up to you.” It felt good to have his
attention but I wasn’t buying it. “Make it up to me how Dereke?” I knew what
he meant when he said it but I was just playing along with the little games we
were playing. “Let me show you.”

Dereke came over to me and started rubbing and caressing on me then asked
to give me a massage. That massage lasted all of ten minutes. Next thing I
know Dereke and I were having sex. I missed him so much. He was looking
and smelling good and so was I. The ambiance was on point and the moment
felt perfect. One thing about me is that I always know what I’m going to do
before I do it. I already had a feeling that I was going to have sex with
Dereke. He may have thought he got it easy, but it’s the other way around.
He didn’t smash me. I smashed him. The sex is always good but it was
nothing extra special.

The next morning I had to be at the airport by 6 a.m. Dereke dropped me and
Ja’vony off at Sea-Tac Airport. “I Love you Kar and want my family back
together,” Dereke said as we were parting ways. I didn’t say much in response
because I didn’t know what I was going to do in that moment. The night we
spent together was just that one night. I had already started putting my life
together without him and I was the happiest I had been in a long time. I knew
what may come along with opening myself back up to him. I didn’t want to
say yes to the drama so quickly. I simply said, “We’ll see Dereke,” and
nonchalantly walked away to catch my flight.

Aunt Lynn and my cousin Ramel met us at the airport. We flew into LA
together. Grandma and my sister picked us up from the airport. We went
straight to the house. Right from the rip I started to feel like there was a
mockery being made of the trip. I know the only reason I was even there was
because I caught my mother being fake and she was trying to appease the
situation. As soon as we pulled up, the smart comments began. “This is it.
Ain’t nothing fancy huh? Thought you were missing out on something but
you weren’t.” I was offended by my sister’s comment because my quarrels
were never about material things. I hadn’t seen my grandmother in a while
because she was being held hostage at their house. The only way for me to
see her is to be invited. Never being invited means I never get to see my
grandmother. That wasn’t fair to me or her. I didn’t understand why I had to
make a case just be around my family. The whole situation with catching my
mom talk crap about me behind my back, then setting up this trip, made it
abundantly clear that my family wanted nothing to do with me.

130
Neither my sister’s comments nor my mother’s motives were about to put a
damper on my trip. The whole time I was in LA, I was on cloud nine from my
previous night of romance with my baby daddy. Dereke really hurt me but I
couldn’t deny what my heart was feeling. I was happy we were talking again.
Nothing my mother or anyone else said to me could temper my euphoria. The
whole time I was in LA, Dereke blew my phone up and I loved the attention.

I saw my mother’s house for the first time and was surprised at the modesty.
She is used to grandiose and her homes are usually mansions. I mean the
house was located in Beverly Hills, a block or two from Rodeo Drive. It was
nice, just not as lavish as previous places we’ve lived. As soon as I walked in
my mother was over the top. “Mom look at her she's gorgeous just look at
her.” I don’t doubt she was sincere because I was looking extra cute. She
hadn’t seen me since I lost weight so of course she made comments about my
very visible body transformation. This pleased her very much to the point she
was fawning over me. Ja’vony and I were put in a room next to grandma. The
trip was off to a slow start. The first few days we were cooped up in the
house, outside of taking my sister back and forth to her practices and other
appointments. When my cousins came out they were all over the place doing
different things. But this trip there was no city walk or mall for me.

Right off I noticed that my grandmother still had to discuss her comings and
goings with my mother. It was starting to feel a lot like when I lived with
them. To break up the monotony I would put my son in his stroller and walk
around the neighborhood, up and down Rodeo Drive. I did not ask my mother
for permission. One significant change I did notice is that my sister basically
had no rules. She had way more freedom than I could have ever dreamed
about having in The Mansion. She was allowed to have friends over to the
house, including her boyfriend. She was allowed to dress way more mature
than me at her age. I would be dead if I tried to wear a bedazzled bra with
high heels at 16.

One afternoon we were just chilling around the house. My mother called and
told us to meet her at Target. When we got there, she was shopping for my
son and I. I was very appreciative. But at 20 years old, I found it a little
strange that she picked out all my clothes for me. I understand for my son
because little kids clothes are just so cute. But I didn’t understand why for
me. She would say, “This is cute right Kar?” I said yes and kept it moving. I
let my mother do her thing. I did not object to one thing she put in that buggy
for me. While we were there my mother told me that she was enjoying our
company and was having so much fun with us. She invited Ja’vony and I to to

131
Atlanta the following week. I almost cried standing in that store because for
once in my life my mother made me feel like a part of the family. It was not
for any other reason other than she wanted me there. Of course I happily
accepted the invitation. “Ok so its set and we got you all this stuff so you’ll be
ready to roll.”

When I first got to the house I found out that my sister had a performance
coming up. My mother ask me if I wanted to go and of course I said yes. She
had a song out called ‘Gimme Love’ that she was debuting. When I heard the
song I was amazed at how the studio mixed up the song. It sounded good.
The day of the show seemed to be moving pretty fast. My mother went to
pick up her and my sister’s outfits. She sent grandma, my sister and I to the
mall to pick out mine and the background dancers’ outfits. I went to Wet Seal
and picked up this beautiful purple top, some whitewash denim skinny jeans,
and a cute pair of silver heels with a black leather crop jacket. I couldn’t find
anyone to tighten up my weave so I actually ended up wearing a studded
trucker hat that went well with my outfit/ I was cute. The outfits my mother
picked out for her and my sister were matching baby doll dresses. They were
beautiful. When my sister finished getting dressed and her makeup was done,
she looked amazing.

We were all running behind schedule. When we were getting ready to leave,
Ja’vony started acting up. He was crying and fussing so I was thinking about
just staying behind with my son. My mother hurriedly co-signed my notion.
"Do you just want to skip it Kar and go next time?" My grandmother was not
having it. “Give me that damn baby and go get in the car. Don’t you let her
make you miss out on another event.” My grandmother was adamant and I
had no worries of her ability to take care of my son. I went and got in the car.
My sister was practicing her song on the way to the venue. She had definitely
improved from our little home music group days. When we arrived at the
event, my mother pointed for me to go stand on the side with the
choreographer. She, my stepfather, and sister walked the red carpet. The
choreographer looked at me strange when I stood next him. "What are you
doing over here?" Yet again I had to explain why I was excluded when I
really didn’t know why. “This is where my mother told me to go.” I was
hoping he just let it go but of course he was confused. "Why don’t you go get
in the picture with your family?" I could tell he had no clue how my life was
setup. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be in that picture.” He looked at me
funny so I said, “its fine.”

We were seated at our table. My mother, stepfather, and sister, were talking

132
amongst themselves. I felt very awkward. I was happy when my mom asked
me to go take a ticket to someone at the door because I had no intentions of
returning to the table. I found some of my sister’s friends that I had met
earlier. I hung out with them. One girl was 21 so she got me a drink which
definitely took the edge off. My sister did her performance. It was very nice.
She did a good job. We all met up in the grand hall area after the show. I was
trying to stick close to my family because they were moving a lot. At first I
didn’t feel like my mother was trying to get away from me, but then she
turned around and said, “Oh, I was trying to figure out who the hell is that
behind me that keeps following me." I backed off some to make sure I wasn’t
unintentionally caught in any pictures. I wasn’t invited to take any pictures
with my family that night. The only pictures I have from that night are my
personal pictures that the makeup artist took for me.

The next day they planned a trip to Universal Studios. I got up early and
proceeded to get myself and Ja’vony dressed so we’d be ready to go. I put on
one of the shirts that my mother bought me at Target. It was a pretty knit shirt
with a drawstring underneath the bust area. The rest of it was kind of flaccid
down to my mid-thigh. I wore some basic leggings underneath. Although I
was 20 years old, I still got dressed with my mother in mind. I wanted to
make sure she would approve of my outfit.

We were all waiting on my mother and stepfather who obviously were still on
their leisure late morning schedule. When my mother came out the room and
took one look at me, I could tell she didn’t like what I had on. Now instead of
talking to me like a grown woman, she told my grandmother to tell me to
change my shirt. I was furious when my grandmother asked me to put on a
white t-shirt because my mother didn’t like what I was wearing. “I’m her
daughter. That man fucking raised me I don’t get the weirdness. If she can’t
trust him then why is she with him?” I swear from that moment the trip hit
fast forward. We went to Universal Studios and stayed about two hours
before my mom was ready to go. She had already started getting on my sister
about her homeschooling work. It was out the blue, so I knew that would be
her excuse to send us home. She claimed that she received an email stating
my sister was behind on her assignments. I’d been there almost two weeks
and neither she nor my stepfather said anything to my sister about doing
school work. When we got in the house my mother said to my sister, “The
homeschool teacher called and you are behind and you’re about to get your
ass kicked and everybody has to go home." Aunt Lynn, Ramel, Ja’vony, and
I were out of there by nightfall. I didn’t even bother to ask my mother about
Atlanta. I could tell by her behavior that trip was cancelled.

133
 CHAPTER EIGHT
LITTLE HOUSE OF HORROR
2009-2011

When I returned home from Los Angeles, my cousin Dash and Dereke were
sitting in my living room making small talk. I was in the bedroom unpacking.
“So Dereke I been hearing a lot about you in the past few days. What’s up are
you still messing with that girl?” My cousin didn’t waste any time getting to
the point. “Yeah I still live with her.” Dash hollers to me in the back room,
“You hear that Kar you better still be doing your thing.” I didn’t respond but
she was absolutely right and that’s exactly what I intended to do. My cousin
left and Dereke came to the back room where I was and tried to strike up
conversation. But I was already on the phone. “You crazy B, I don’t know if
I’m looking for a man right now.” I made sure to put on the extra flirt and
smile while talking on the phone. When I hung up and turned around, Dereke
was sitting on my bed with sad puppy dog eyes. “I want to be the man for you
and Ja’vony.” I told him I didn’t see how that was going to be possible when
he already had a girl.

When I returned from LA, it was a month before Christmas. My apartment

had a mouse in it and I kept on the rental office to take care of it. They set up
traps, but were unable to capture it. They allowed me to break my lease and
move out. I spoke to my grandmother about my situation and told her that I
wanted to leave the apartment. She suggested that instead of me finding
another apartment where I had to pay rent that I should move into my
mother’s rental property with my cousin instead. I thought long and hard
about making that move, knowing how my mother felt about me. She could
be so unpredictable at times and I did not want to put my son and I in a
situation where we ended up homeless. Grandma convinced me it would be
for the best. When my cousin found out that Ja’vony and I would be moving
in, she was livid. She moved out and left within a matter of weeks. I moved
into my mother’s rental property in December of 2009, a few weeks before
Christmas. To avoid feeling like I could be put out on a whim, I offered to
pay my mother rent and sign a lease agreement. She declined the offer.

Dereke had been coming back around, spending a lot of time at the house
with us. He was still with Jessi so we were not officially together. Dereke and
I didn’t do anything but fuck for the next few weeks, still not using and kind
of protection. He took me with him to his parent house around Christmas
time. I hadn’t seen them in months. We were excited to see each other.

134
Elizabeth had the same reaction to my weight loss as my mother. The visit
went well. They were excited to see Ja’vony since it had been a while. When
I got home that night, it was pitch dark. My cousin Kila was gone so I was
only utilizing one side of the house at the moment. Dereke and I are lying in
bed. He told me to assume the position. I got on all fours and he proceeds to
give it to me real good from behind. The whole time he was giving me the D,
his phone was blowing up. He ignored it. He finally puts the phone on silent
and handed it to me to put on the dresser. Of course I quickly glance at it and
the display says Jess. When we finished handling our business we fell asleep.
The next morning his mother called my phone. When I answered she asked if
I talked to Dereke. They were worried because he didn’t make it home last
night. I said, “Yes he is right here.” I could tell by the way she said, “Oh,”
that she was shocked he was there. I handed Dereke the phone. “Oh she had
the baby last night.” I silently thought to myself, that’s karma. I told that bitch
she was going to have that baby alone.

I didn’t hear from Dereke for a few days after he had his baby. I thought it
was over and went on with my life. I found myself cooking a lot after moving
into the rental property simply because I loved the kitchen. It was huge and I
liked being in there. My cousin Lashawn was over kicking it while I was
throwing down cooking. That night I made steak, shrimp, and mashed
potatoes. Out of the blue with no call or text, Dereke popped up. He said he
lost his phone and didn’t have my number. I let him in so he could see his
child. He didn’t have much to say at first. He just played with our son.
“Ja’vony your mom never cooked for me like this.” His comment made me
blush because back then I strived for approval and acceptance. Shortly
thereafter a UPS man knocked on the door and delivered a package. I opened
the package in front of everyone. It was some K-Swiss that my friend Lou
sent me. I’d met Lou in a chat room a few months prior. He lived in another
state so we never met in person. We became like best friends because we
talked on the phone all the time. I told him that K-Swiss are my absolute
favorite shoes. He remembered that and sent me a pair. Dereke automatically
assumed that this other guy I use to talk to bought them so he made a
comment about the dude not taking care for his kids but buying chicks shoes.
“This guy does not even live in Washington and he has no kids,” I said. My
cousin rubbed it in even more. "Damn you got dudes you never met before
that live in another state buying you shoes?" Dereke was super jealous. When
I was done cooking I told Dereke he had to leave because I was about to have
company. He put on his shoes and coat and I walked him to the door. That
was the slowest walk ever. But when we got to the door I told him I was
joking. He ended up staying. He ate good that night, in the kitchen and out.

135
It was getting late into the evening. Jessi started blowing up his phone and
texting him all crazy. She was doing the same shit I was doing almost a year
ago when Dereke's ass was creeping on me with her. He goes into the empty
part of the house and answers the phone and as he is talking to her. Ja’vony
runs up on him "Daddy what you doing?" She starts spazzing on him, “Oh
you at Kari house? Bring me my fucking key and come get your shit out of
my house." Dereke asks if he can come back and of course I say yes. The
next day he moved his stuff out her house right into mine. We were in a
honeymoon phase after Dereke moved in. Things were great. We were
getting along, enjoying our son; it felt good to have my best friend back. I
could tell that he definitely missed me too. From the moment I laid eyes on
Dereke at Wendy’s that day, I knew he was the one for me. I was convinced
he was my soul mate after we started dating. Even when the relationship got
rocky I never questioned if he is the one for me. I just think positive knowing
that it’s just another bump in the road that we’ll get past like we always do.
Ten-plus years and many, many bumps in the road later, we’re still going
strong. I am still madly in love with him and still feel like he is my soul mate.

We had a lot of fun in the weeks that followed. I was a weed smoker so we
would get a bottle, smoke some weed, get lit and fuck. That was our thing.
We did it every day. Dereke was an experimenter. He would do other stuff
like pop a molly, but I was too scared to do it. He convinced me to try, but I
only did a half of one. Dereke and I have always had great sex. Sometimes
that is the only thing that held our relationship together. That night when I
took that ecstasy we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We kept
having sex over and over because in the first 30 seconds of having sex there
was like this powerful electric current that ran through my body and it felt so
good to the point I would cry sometimes. It only lasted about 30 seconds but
the feeling is out of this world amazing. I thought I was the only one that felt.
But Dereke told me that he felt it too. That night I took the molly, the feeling
felt like 30 minutes instead of seconds so we kept having sex over and over.
I’m sure that’s the night I got pregnant because a few weeks later I found out
that I was having my second child.

Unlike the first time I knew immediately that I was pregnant because I had
the same symptoms I had the first time. I was very happy when the doctor
confirmed the pregnancy. I had my perfect little family and it was about to
get bigger. Grandma was the first to know I was expecting again. I knew she
would tell my mother and I was ok with her hearing it through the grapevine.
I mean we weren’t in a bad place but we were not in a good place either.

136
Outside of the three months in Dallas, I’ve never been in a good place with
my mother. Our relationship has always been forced and disingenuous.

I realized there was a lot of stuff wrong with the house after I moved into the
rental property. All the things wrong with the house were problems that
existed before I moved in with my son. It felt like there was a dark cloud
hanging over it. This is the same property that my aunt Lisa was supposed to
move into two days before she passed away. Although she never moved in,
her children still did. She had a 22-year-old daughter who became head of the
household at the time. She moved in with her husband, two-year-old daughter
and 16-year-old twin sisters. My cousin’s husband was sick. He was dying
from cancer while he lived in the house. My twin cousins Dash and Lashawn
couldn’t wait to get out of that house and they did as soon as they were able
to afford to live on their own. The issues that I had to deal with when I first
moved in were minor. But I would later have to deal with black mold, the
ceiling caving in, and no heat or hot water.

The poor condition of the house was taking a toll on my relationship with
Dereke. He had fallen back into his lying, cheating ways. Grandma still
wasn’t Dereke’s biggest fan but she didn’t oppose him being there because
she knew I needed the help. Grandma and I spent almost all our savings and
put all of our good positive energy into trying to fix up the house. Some
things we were able to manage, but mostly there were other things that
needed the attention of the home owner. I started reaching out to my mom
about fixing some of the more serious problems. But email after email went
unanswered. Being the domesticated person that I am I was still able to make
the house a comfortable home for my family despite its many problems.

My mother has not stepped foot in any of the rental properties in the eight
years since she bought them. These were not properties occupied by strangers.
Her sisters lived in each and every one of them. I don’t know what my
mother’s aversion to the hood is, but she doesn’t go back to visit anyone for
any reason other than to bury them. If and when she wanted to be bothered
with any of the family she summoned them to her palace. My mother’s
availability to the family is and has always been limited and on her terms. If
she missed a special occasion, in her mind, it is no big deal. All she had to do
was spend a little cash to make up for it and that eased her conscience. My
family members are all used to my mother. She still might receive wedding
invitations or baby shower announcements here and there, but no one really
expects her support.

137
It was impossible for my mother to know the condition that the houses were
in because nobody ever told her about anything. They were too scared to rock
the boat. You can call it being grateful and not wanting to complain. I call it
walking on egg shells. I had a small child living in the house with me so I had
to report the things that were potentially harmful to him. Not only that, but I
think it’s important for occupants living in rental properties to keep the
owners abreast of things wrong with their houses. Most owners want to know
so that they can keep up the maintenance as opposed to finding out at the last
hour all the things that are wrong and having to shell out thousands to make
repairs. My mother wasn’t concerned either way so I just did the best I could
do with the current condition of the house. I was able to get the heat fixed and
patch up the ceiling so we continued living in the house for the next year and
a half.

Dereke and I were long past our honeymoon phase. Some of the same
problems that we had before resurfaced. He started doing me almost identical
to how he did the first time I was pregnant. I guess in his mind he felt like he
could do whatever the hell he wanted to do because I was pregnant and not
going anywhere. In a lot of ways he was right. It was not only because I was
pregnant. I just love Dereke so much that I put up with a lot of his bullshit. I
am well aware of the phrase “once a cheater always a cheater,” so I didn’t
think he ever stopped cheating. But it was becoming more blatant. I did not
put him out this time around. I just accepted my situation and tried to make
the best of it.

Dereke started being verbally abusive again and I was clapping right back. He
would cuss me out then leave. I absolutely hated that because I felt like every
time that he did that he was going to cheat. I would be left at home fuming
and the only way I knew to get back at him was to mess with his cannabis
plants he had growing in our garage. It was either the plants or often times I
would throw his stuff outside in the snow or rain depending on the season.
Dereke was an avid weed grower. I was never comfortable with him growing
marijuana in our home but I felt powerless to control what that man wanted to
do. I always worried that the police, or even worse my mother, would bust in
there and find the plants. Whenever Dereke pissed me off I would go right in
the garage and pluck a leaf or branch off his plants. I know it sounds crazy to
take my frustrations out on defenseless plants. But it felt so good because I
knew how mad it would make its owner. When he came home he could
always tell that I had messed with his babies and then all hell broke loose. I
didn’t do it often; only when I was extremely upset and I wanted him to feel
the same way.

138
My middle son Ja’riah Abrahm Isaacs was born on November 27, 2010. This
experience was totally different from my first childbirth. Ja’riah wasted no
time coming into the world. I was home 24 hours after he was born. My
grandmother wasn’t present at his birth. Not having her there to help welcome
my son into the world was a little sad for me. Dereke was there, but we had
been going through a lot leading up to my labor and delivery. I wasn’t really
feeling him. I just felt alone. Still my son was born with a lot of love in the
room.

My mother and grandmother were living in LA when I gave birth the second
time so it’s understandable why they were not there. The first time was
something totally different because my mother was in Washington. She just
chose not to show up. It was typical of my mother to let her pocketbook
show up instead of her presence. Having my mother’s financial assistance
will never make up for her absence in my life. Her generosity towards me
almost always meant one of three things; she was trying to ease her
conscious, get rid of the burden, or she wanted control over my life. She
always had a reason for giving and I always had a reason for taking.

After giving birth my grandmother and sister showed up at the rental house
three days later. My mother always sends things but one thing she forgot to
give on both occasions; the most precious of them all, was lots of grandma
kisses and hugs. I never knew what it was like to have a mother and my kids
will never know what it’s like to have their grandmother. I don’t know which
one is more special because all I had was my grandmother and she was my
world. All my kids have is me. I am their world. It is such the conundrum
because each relationship is special that’s why both are equally important to
have in your life.

What I’m starting to realize as I age and get wiser is that there is no such
thing as a perfect world. Balance is very important to attain and sustain
happiness. Lots of children are raised with love but live in poverty. So many
children are raised in luxury but live with no love. This taught me that life is
all about balance. You need a little bit of everything to create stability and
happiness in life. So many people are quick to choose which life they prefer.
But it’s hard to choose when you have not experienced both. I’ve lived both
sides. I had lots of love with no luxury at one point; and lots of luxury with no
love at another. My goal in life is to provide both for my family. I’m working
hard for that balance. While I may not be able to give my kids the luxury I
had growing up, they will always have lots of love.

139
My grandmother was so excited to hold Ja’riah. I remember the look on her
face like it was yesterday when she was holding and smiling at him. They
bonded instantly because he was smiling right back at her. It was the cutest
thing ever. Grandma and my sister didn’t stay long because they had a flight
back out to LA the same day. My parents saw him for the first time a month
later, a couple of days after Christmas. My mom’s busy schedule did not
allow her time to come to Tacoma so she summoned us to the hotel where she
was staying. Everyone was in their separate rooms. The kids and I went to
grandma’s room of course. My mother came to the room to see her second
grandchild for the first time. She said hi to Ja’vony and held my newborn all
of five minutes then handed him back. “Okay you guys, I have to scurry.” My
mother was gone with the wind and my kids did not see their grandmother
again for several months.

I was 21 with a one-year-old and a three-month-old. Despite my mother being

kind enough to let us live in her rental home for free, I was still struggling to
make ends meet. I have always been grateful for any monetary support from
my mother. After a certain point in my life I no longer had a choice between
love and luxury. My mother chose for me. She presented her money as love
so I graciously accepted it with love. The other part to my mother’s
conditionally-motivated help is that it was unreliable. She would get me setup
in comfortable living situations well above my means, then yank the security
blanket right from beneath me. Having that happen on several different
occasions taught me another unintentional lesson. I learned how to quickly
pick myself up when I went crashing down. It made me resilient to the
struggle out here in these streets.

It was around 7 p.m. and I was at home cooking dinner for my family. I’d just
breast fed my three-month-old and put him down to sleep. Next thing I know,
bam bam bam! Someone was at on the door. It was my two aunts and one of
their husbands standing there looking at me with boorish looks on their faces.
“Uh, hey guy’s what’s going on?” My aunts looked at one another not sure
who should speak first. Just by the conspicuous way they were acting I knew
there was some mess about to go down. “Kar your mother called us and asked
us to come over and help you move out,” My aunt Lynn finally said. “What
are y’all talking about?” Surely my aunts were playing a trick on me because
I had no idea what the hell they were talking about.

My confusion did not deter them one second from the mission at hand. They
pushed right passed me and entered what had been mine and my kids home

140
for the past two years. It finally registered with me the severity of the
situation when I saw them packing my stuff up in garbage bags. Dereke had
just left so I called him and told him to come back. I frantically called my
mother and before I could get a word out she said, “Kar we have to give the
house back to the bank in the morning.” The sound of my mother’s
unbothered voice annoyed the hell out of me and I lost it. “Why do you keep
doing this to me? Why do you hate me so much? You are an evil bitch and
for you to put me and my kids on the street during the night. There is a special
place in hell waiting for you.” I begged my mother to let me stay until the
morning and allow me to pack my own stuff but she said no.

After yelling at the top of my lungs threatening her in every way imaginable I
slam the phone down. Instead of saying it, she was showing me exactly what
she thought about me; that I was worthless trash. Through the shadow of
darkness you have to always look for the light. The only light in that moment
was to know that my kids were too young to ever remember on their own that
in the dark of night their grandmother came to toss them out on the street with
nowhere to go but a hotel.

When I got off the phone the only thing I saw was black. I couldn’t see past
the rage to even notice my aunts taking pictures off the walls and swiping my
stuff off the shelves into the black plastic bags. I spent lots of money, time,
and effort meticulously putting together and decorating that house. They came
in and tore it down in a matter of moments. I couldn’t believe what they were
doing but I was a living testament to that bitch karma. I didn’t sweat it I knew
they would someday feel what I was feeling in that moment. And they all did
when my mother did the same exact same thing to them a year later. I learned
down the line that she paid them $200 apiece to help etch that horrifying
moment into my memory. I’m not sure how they were they able to sleep that
night knowing their conscience was for sale. In my aunt Stuffy’s defense she
was blindsided. She thought I knew what was happening beforehand. She
called my mom to get it straightened out only to be met with threats of being
put out of her own home. She knew my mother meant that shit. My mother
even had my grandmother call me at the house and tell me if I didn’t leave
that they were going to call the police. It infuriated me that everybody was
allowing my mother to do this to me and nobody had a backbone to stand up
to her and say, “This is wrong.”

I guess after getting off of the phone with me and with my threats of going
public fresh in her mind, my mom began to panic and called me back with
some resolve. “Kar we gone figure this out and you are right it was wrong of

141
me to show up with no warning. Let me fix this.” Of course her way of fixing
it involved her wallet. This is one of those moments when I say she gave
money for a reason: to clean her conscience. I took the money for a reason:
my children. I will say over and over again when it comes to my kids I have
no pride. I will do any and everything for them. My mother honestly thought
that she could make the situation right with her money and I let her think that.
I knew deep down inside that I would probably never forgive her for what she
was doing. This one incident is the hardest to get past, of all the negative
things I’ve been through with her. I can’t even begin to explain what it felt
like seeing someone else dump my life into trash bags. The significance of the
trash bags would have been so different had I packed my own shit up in trash
bags. To have someone not think enough of me to at least show up with boxes
sent a resounding message through my heart; a message that I still struggle
with today.

My mother’s asinine suggestion for making it right was to put me and my

kids up in a $40 a night fleabag motel. Since she was suggesting a hotel as a
temporary solution I demanded to be put up in the Silver Cloud Inn on the
water front where the nightly rate was $200. My mother sent my aunt the
money for the room and an additional $100 for me. I stayed there for
approximately two weeks. Dereke and I started bickering the first night. Of
course I was already pissed so my mouth was reckless. He decided to leave
me there with the kids. Right after he left I started cutting myself again. It
had been the first time in years. My Aunt Lynn came in the room and saw me
cutting myself. “Why are you doing that to yourself?” I thought to myself are
you fucking serious. “Why?” And that’s exactly what I was carving into my
arm, the word “WHY.” “Just leave me alone I’m stressed and got too much
on my plate.” We were considering several options during my stay at the
Silver Cloud Inn. My mother proposed I ask Dereke’s mom if I could stay
with them and she would pay. I did end up moving in with Dereke’s parents
after leaving the hotel. We stayed with them for about two months.

I did not trust anybody in my family after that night. I was disappointed in
grandma and my sister the most because they both lived in the house with my
mother so I find it hard to believe that they had no idea what was about to go
down. I kept soft feelings towards them however because I know how sneaky
and quiet my mother is when she is doing dirt. There’s also the possibility
that they didn’t know. Before she passed away my grandmother apologized to
me for allowing that to happen. Either way I forgave both grandma and my
sister because they were just pawns in my mother’s master plan to once again
keep me in the shadow of darkness. I struggled with forgiving the rest of my

142
family members because I just didn’t understand why they would get on
board with such a grisly plan. While I have forgiven them I will never forget
what they did to me not only that time, but all the times they treated me like a
commodity instead of an innocent child.

It took me several years to get to a place where the anger inside of me

subsided. After my mother put me out of her rental house in the middle of the
night with my two kids, I was on a war path. I burned social media up with
my rants. Do I regret it in hindsight? Not really. But what I do wish I could
change is my tone. What my mother did to me was heartless and cold. The
fact that I was so angry made me sound irate and bitter, therefore many
people misunderstood the provenance of my verbal attacks against my mom.
They didn’t have the full story so they couldn’t possibly understand the
severity of my pain and anger. My mother is a very irrational person and
people like her generally tend to be reckless. Her sending people to my door
to put me and my kids out on the street was beyond reckless. It was a crime.

My mother was paranoid about what I was going to do to retaliate following

that incident. To keep my focus off of revenge, she started bribing me with all
sorts of things from helping me to write my book to designing sets for her
upcoming fashion show. I wanted to believe in her. I always want to believe
in her. I still believe that one day my mother will be genuine with me. None
of the things she promised me came to fruition. However my immediate focus
was not the opportunities she was promising me. It was stable living for my
children. My cousin Dash was moving in with her boyfriend for a few months
and had agreed to sublet her apartment to me. The kids and I moved in and
my mother agreed to pay the rent if I stopped commenting about our
relationship on social media. My mother had been filming the first season of
her second reality show and our feud was bringing too much negative
attention her way. She wanted to call a truce. I agreed because my kids came
first and we needed a place to live.

I moved into my cousin’s apartment in May of 2011. We got word from LA

that my grandmother was not doing too well around the end of June. All of
the family members in Washington started piling into cars and booking flights
to go be with grandma. My cousin Lexi’s boyfriend Dez took her and my
cousins Dash and Lashawn in his car to Cali. I was getting ready to get in my
car and I ask who riding? My mother said no don’t drive she would get me
and the baby a flight. I hated that I had to leave one of my kids behind but
given the nature of the trip it would have been difficult for me to focus on my
grandmother with a one-year-old running around. I was in LA for two days

143
and the whole time I kept feeling like I was leaving something behind.
Anywhere I moved I was checking and double checking behind me. I missed
my baby terribly but I knew he was in good hands with his dad and
grandparents.

After visiting with grandma and hearing her prognosis I had to return to
Washington. I was only home for one day when I received a call from my
mother in the middle of the night. I heard that little nagging voice in the back
of my mind that was saying, Kari it’s your mother. It’s something crazy.
Don’t answer. But I chose to ignore the voice and I answered the phone
anyway. I had to make sure it wasn’t about my grandmother and it wasn’t.
The voice was right. “Kari why didn’t you tell me that motherfucker is
crazy.”
Apparently after I left a whole lot of mess popped off. Listening to my mother
vent over the phone was not making the details of what went down any
clearer. I learned when I was a kid that when my mother was ranting, I just
needed to stay quiet. When it was time for her to come for me she would
make herself crystal clear. “I am not giving that bitch another dime so you
have to figure out where you’re going to live.” I knew immediately all of this
had something to do with my cousin Lashawn, but I didn’t have the energy to
try and get the full story. I didn't understand how what happened in LA had
anything to do with me. It’s not like Dash lived in the apartment with me. It
was just my kids and I. “Alright mom I’ll figure something out.” It had only
been four months since the last time she put me in this situation, leaving me
on the brink of homelessness. I was beyond fed up. This time I did not get too
upset and damn sure wasn’t about to lose any sleep having to take care of two
small kids. I turned my tired ass over and went right back to sleep.

Hours after that phone call from mommy dearest, my other relatives started
rolling back into town. I was getting bits and pieces of what happened from
everyone. My cousin Dash was livid with my mother. She apologized to me
and the kids for having to find another place to stay. But she couldn’t afford
to pay the rent and neither could I without a source of income. I ended up
moving in with my cousin Lashawn because I had nowhere else to go. My
kids and I slept on an air mattress in the living room. When I think about that
first night I slept on my cousin’s floor with my kids, I hear my sister’s voice
echoing so loudly in my ear. “How can you get into your big comfy bed
when your daughter is somewhere on someone’s floor probably unwanted.”
Although my sister may have had some regrets about airing her grievances
out on national TV, I am forever grateful to her for doing so and in the
manner in which she did it. She validated, in one five minute segment,

144
everything that I had been feeling and saying for the past fifteen years.

CHAPTER NINE
GONE BUT NEVER FORGOTTEN
2011

We were all nervously sitting in the hospital waiting room for the doctors to
finish their assessment of grandma’s condition. We had been at the hospital
for almost 48 hours straight. When the doctor exited my grandmother’s room
we all stood up to hear any kind of hope that my grandmother would be okay.
“Ok so here’s the prognosis, we’ve pretty much exhausted all treatment plans
viable for Mrs. Holmes at this time and as her care facilitators we are
recommending that you take her home and make her as comfortable as
possible.” Questions started flying from everywhere. “Wait what does that
mean?” One family member asked. “And how much time does she have
left?” Asked another.

I had no idea who was asking what because it was like my world was moving
in slow motion. I understood perfectly well what the doctor was saying, but
my heart and mind did not want to process it. It became real for me when I
felt the tears streaming down my face. I quickly wiped them away because I
had to be strong and brave for my grandmother. I couldn’t believe that the
woman who had nurtured me my whole life would soon be leaving me
forever. Panic set in when I also realized that my son being only eight
months old would not remember his great grandmother and the wonderful
spirit she had given to all her grand and great grandkids.

“We really can’t say exactly how much longer she has. It can be hours or it
can be days. It really depends on the individual. It’s important that the family
make her comfortable and continue talking to her, letting her know that you
all will be alright if she goes. Sometimes patients in the last stage of their
illness tend to hold on even though they are tired or in pain because they’re
concerned with the unresolved issues of their loved ones.”

I was hearing the doctor and I know for a fact that my grandmother was
worried about a lot of things. I wanted to make sure I had a private
conversation with my grandmother. I went into the room and grandma was a
little alert so I sat with her a few minutes and did what the doctors had
instructed the family to do. I took my grandmother by the hand and told her
everything that was in my heart.

145
 “Grandma I love you and I want you to know I appreciate
everything you have done for me since I was a baby. I
remember as a young girl riding home from school with
you thinking, I hope grandma stays young until I get old,
because when she dies I have to die with her. Looking
back on those days grandma, I see God had other plans
for us. He gave me other reasons to live. I am grateful for
the 22 years God did give me with you. I was lucky
enough to have someone like you that wanted me when
no one else did. Having to move away from you when I
was 15 years old was very hard for me to do. I still
remember the look you had on your face as the taxi drove
away from the house and we said our goodbyes. I just
kept thinking I wish you could have come with me. Even
if we would have had to start from the bottom and
struggle for a while it wouldn’t have mattered because
we’ve done it before and were ok. We both would have
had our freedom, peace of mind, and self-respect. I do
understand though why you stayed. You were looking out
for my brother and sister. No matter how unhappy you
were you managed to stay strong when I no longer could
and had to go. From the bottom of my heart grandma I
want to thank you for looking past all the flaws and
loving me above all else, for telling me I was beautiful as
often as possible. Thank you for always having my back
and sharing my pain and most importantly thank you for
always showing up for me. I don’t want you to worry
about mom and me we will fix our problems. You’ve
done the best you can to help us along. Now it’s our
responsibility to see it through.”

Grandma didn’t say much. She was mostly listening and accepting everything
that I was saying to her. I was unable to take the baby inside the room to see
Grandma so my family put her in a wheelchair and brought her into the
waiting area so she could see him for what I thought would be the last time.
Grandma was in so much pain and the fact that she was smiling through it all
just reminded me that in her weakest hour she was still the strongest person I
know. We weren’t always on the best of terms and it bothered me a lot that
she was going through the toughest battle of her life. I couldn’t be there to
support her. My mother was full throttle causing the rift in me and grandma’s
relationship. She forced her beliefs that I was a trouble maker on my

146
grandmother and led her to believe I was the reason behind everything that
was wrong in her life, starting with her marriage. She kept me from seeing
and spending quality time with my grandmother in her last years.

Another wedge between Grandma and I was Dereke. I got with Dereke a year
after my grandmother’s diagnosis . Once we began dating he became my
whole world. My relationship with my grandmother had become even more
strained because she didn’t like Dereke very much. A lot of the way my
grandmother felt about Dereke originated from the time when he pushed my
little cousin which made my grandmother furious. Just how Dereke in general
treated me over the years caused my grandmother’s disdain for him. She
tolerated him but that was only for my sake and our kids. I was really upset
with everybody at the time, including my grandmother, because it felt like
they were all ganging up on me for being with Dereke. I didn’t understand
why they couldn’t accept that I was happy. I’ve always trusted and listened to
my grandmother’s wisdom but when it came to Dereke I just wouldn’t listen.
I didn’t want to hear it I loved my man and nothing anyone said was going to
change how I felt.

My grandmother proceeded on with her treatments for five years after initial
diagnosis and was doing pretty well. She continued fulfilling the role my
mother created for her as domestic home maker, nanny, and personal
assistant. Her main focus was being there for my sister and my brother. She
never complained, even while going through her treatments. Grandma adored
my little brother. He is the main reason why she kept a twinkle in her eye. She
simply adored him. My grandmother has had a hand in raising all 40-plus of
her grandkids. She has instilled some awesome principles in each and every
one of us.

I have so many awesome memories of my time with grandma. While she’s

had a hand in raising all of the grandkids, I considered our relationship to be
just a little bit more special. I was the only grandchild who lived with and was
taken care of full-time by my grandma Cora. There were times in between
when my aunts and cousins lived with us, but primarily it was just grandma
and me. She was my whole world and I was hers. I think because of how my
mother treated me, grandma gave me extra love and special attention. That’s
how I like to think because that’s how she made me feel. I know that she
loved all her grandkids the same. I am just blessed to have had that special
one-on-one time with her ;something that no other grandchild except maybe
my little brother.

147
It warmed my heart to see my stepfather’s acknowledgment of all the things
that my grandmother had done for our entire family, especially their portion.
He gave my grandmother the praise that she deserved and personally thanked
her for raising his kids. “I know one thing. She is super strong to raise all you
guys and these grandkids and all she’s done for us.” It was the realest
moment on that show up to that point. It was authentic and sincere. I whole
heartedly agree with what my stepfather said so thank you from the bottom of
my heart. Why my mother has never made such a declaration about how
much she appreciates my grandmother for “raising her kids” is baffling. My
mother had plenty of opportunities to personally thank my grandmother for
sacrificing her golden years to be her one-woman support team. She’d raised
her kids, took care of her and my stepfather, took care of their homes, and
handled all her personal affairs almost until the very day she died.

When she filmed the scene with my aunt Lynn and grandma in the veranda, it
was another perfect opportunity to let my grandmother know in front of the
world how grateful she was to have her by her side all those years. She didn’t
take it. She chose to go the route that would garner her sympathy instead. I
see it like this: if she was going to exploit my sick grandmother in that scene
it should have been in a way that made her smile in the end, to make it all
worth it. Why not throw her a celebration of life party with all her family
there? That would have equally brought in ratings. Instead she chose to prop
my grandmother up in a chair and force her to discuss with her two least
favorite children a prognosis that everyone who needed to know already knew
about. It was the saddest thing I’ve ever watched on TV. My grandmother
looked so sad and sick sitting there. They filmed that scene a few weeks
before my grandmother went into the hospital and the doctors told us there
was nothing left to do.

Certainly it is not my place to judge anyone for their choices. But I know it
had to be difficult for my grandmother to see who and what her children
turned out to be. Of all nine children, my mother is probably the most
financially successful. However my aunt Satin lives her life just as close to
the way my grandmother did; always there for her children and grandchildren.

Ever since I’ve known my grandmother she had this light around her; sort of a
shield of protection. I recall a story she told me once when she was involved
in a car accident in 1970. She was thrown from the vehicle. When they found
her she was wedged underneath the car with the tire resting on her shoulder a
few inches away from her heart. Her collar bone was destroyed in that
accident. There are certain people in life that have a veil of protection around

148
them, meaning no matter what they go through in life, their spirit is never
affected. My grandmother was one of those people and I am too. I’m not sure
if I was born with the veil or just learned from my grandmother how to pray
and ask God for protection. Either way I know I have one around me.

My wonderful grandmother recognized that I was special and that I was born
with a veil. She encouraged that in me and told me all the time that God has
his hands all over me. She put my mind at ease so many nights. My
grandmother would always remind me that God is protecting us from any and
all things seen and unseen. “Kar baby your mother is lost so she can’t guide
you the right way but don’t you worry. God is looking after you and he will
always protect you. When I am dead and buried and can no longer look after
you he will still be protecting you right along with me from heaven.”
Although I hated to hear my grandmother talk about her dying I believed her
every time she said it until I grew old enough to understand what she was
telling me. When I finally recognized the protection that God did have over
my life, it wasn’t until I was 24 years old. The faith that my grandmother
instilled in me carried me up until that point. I knew to call on God in my
dark times when I felt like my only escape was death because that is what my
grandmother taught me. I couldn’t feel his presence but it was a blind faith
that let me know that he heard me.

When grandma and I went to live in The House on the Hill, we became
prisoners in my mother’s crazy world. My mother recognized from where I
was drawing my strength. It was from my grandmother. Once my mother
realized that, she set out to destroy it by any means necessary. She first started
in on trying to break grandma’s spirit. After many years of verbal abuse
toward my grandmother, she finally accepted that would not be possible. My
mother did and said some vile and egregious things to my grandmother. I
watched my grandmother time repeatedly take the abuse and still support my
mother with every fiber of her loving heart. She exhibited no resentment and
harbored no grudges. She just graciously forgave her child with or without
apology. In some backward way this course of action worked. I started to
resent my grandmother for putting up with my mom’s shit. It made me so
angry when she didn’t stand up for herself and allowed my mother to degrade
her and talk down to her.

“Why do you let her talk to you like that? She is your child. I don’t get why
you just don’t slap the dog piss out of her?” My grandmother would always
reply she had to keep the peace for the sake of the family. “God will take
care of your mother you don’t worry about it because I am not.”

149
I respected my grandmother’s feelings. But I was a young kid and I didn’t
understand how she chose to deal with the situation. I allowed my lack of
understanding to interfere with how I viewed my grandmother. It was a mind
trip for me because up until a certain point I use to see my grandmother as
this unshakable superhero with mind powers. Of course I understood later in
life why she handled things the way she did. It was because she knew the evil
capabilities of my mother.

Driving a wedge between grandma and I was not enough for my mother to
break either of our spirits. But she forged on with her mission. Little did she
know that all her negative actions towards me did just the opposite of what
she was trying to accomplish. My mother has been living for the day that I
get down on my knees, weak, begging for her forgiveness for whatever sins
she thinks I have committed against her. Instead her actions have made me
stronger in my spirit and more determined to survive. They have made me
stronger as a person, a mother, and someday a wife. Her actions have given
me the strength to walk away from her forever and never look back if need
be. I really hope that is not the outcome after all of this. But as hopeful as I
am I too am a realist. My mother despises me. She always have and more than
likely always will.

Grandma handled her sickness with dignity. She never complained or even
cried much. She was a proud woman. When the doctors told my family that
there was nothing left to do and take Grandhome, they were all trying to
figure out where to go and stay for the night. Most of them just dropped
everything they were doing in Washington to rush to my grandmother side in
Los Angeles. My mother called to tell them she was in the hospital and it
wasn’t looking good. My mother was not at the hospital with the family
because she was off filming the memorable bachelorette scene for her reality
show. They called her on the phone and filled her in on what the doctors said.
They also asked if they could stay the night at her house with my
grandmother. Of course they could sense the hesitation but she eventually
agreed to let them stay. They took Grandma back to the house and the next
day all hell broke loose.

The family decided they wanted to stay a while longer with my grandmother
because none of us knew what was going to happen with her. My stepdad
decided to have a BBQ in the backyard. He, along with my mom and her
siblings, were listening to music, playing cards and smoking weed. My
stepfather was on the grill and my mother was even running around trying to

150
be the perfect hostess. All the grandkids were in the room with Grandma
asking her about her last wishes. The grandkids were upset that they were
downstairs partying, while my grandmother was dying. All she kept saying
over and over is that she wanted to go home to Washington. Although my
grandmother had lived in California with my mother for the past few years,
Washington was her home. All the grandkids knew how my mom might react
so no one wanted to bring it to her attention. It was as if the energy of their
discussion summoned my mother to grandma’s room. Just when they were
looking at each to see who would tell her she and my aunt walked into the
room.

“Hey mom how are you feeling?” Everyone was looking at each other to see
who would speak up. It was almost satirical. Finally my cousin Lashawn
spoke up. “Auntie, grandma wants to leave and go home to Washington.” My
cousins said that you could see the horns rising up on my mother’s head and
the smoke coming out of her ears. She went over to my grandmother and put
on that fake smile and that stupid baby voice that she does when she’s being
her most disingenuous. “Is that true mommy you want to leave and go back to
Washington?” My grandma, barely audible ,said, “yes.” The baby voice was
gone. “Well I guess that’s what the fuck you can do then.” My mother
stomps out of the room like a 12-year-old and came back in her tennis shoes.

“So you want to start some shit I see. So I tell you what.” She threw some
money at my cousin Lashawn and turned to my aunt Lynn. “Go get this bitch
a hotel room and get her the fuck out of my house.” Everybody was trying to
calm my mother down but she was too hype and kept coming for my cousin.
Eventually Lashawn clapped back. “Forget what you thought you knew. I’m
a grown ass woman and you will show me some respect.” My mother tried
and jump on my cousin while everybody is holding her back. The commotion
was getting out of hand. The whole family came rushing upstairs, including
my stepfather. He immediately goes for my cousin Lashawn’s twin sister
Dash because she was telling my mother that she better back the fuck up
because she wasn’t jumping on her sister. “If you don’t get your ass out of
my wife face it’s gone be a serious problem.”

My cousin Lashawn was shocked that my stepfather came at her. He was

always so cool but she let his ass have it. “You wait 20 years to grow some
balls, get your gay ass out of my face.” My stepfather pushed her out of the
room and towards the steps. All of this was taking place in my grandmother’s
room at 2 a.m. She is crying while everyone else was yelling and screaming.
“Everybody get the fuck out my house now before I call the police. I want

151
everybody out.” My mother and stepfather put all my family out of the house
including the babies in the middle of the night. They all left and started
making a scene in front of the house, telling my mother and stepfather they
can’t keep my grandmother hostage. She wants to leave and they are holding
her against her will. Not too long after that my phone rang. I should’ve
listened to that little voice in the back of my mind saying, don’t answer it’s
my mother, it’s some bullshit, don’t answer. I didn’t listen and the voice was
right. Everyone returned to Washington even though things were still touch
and go with my grandmother.

Sleeping on an air mattress with my children in the middle of someone’s

living room was a humbling pill for me to swallow. My oldest son was
turning three and he would get so sad when he saw his cousins going into
their rooms and playing with their toys and he didn’t have anything of his
own. All our stuff was in storage. I had to get rid of my stuff over and over in
the process of constantly, instantly moving. I sold it, gave it away, or even
threw it in the garbage to make my load lighter. When I left my cousin Dash’s
apartment my mother never called to check on me and see if the kids and I
were okay.

Days following the family revolt my grandmother peaked up and was feeling
a lot better than she had been. Since she was feeling better my cousins Mari
and Dash decided to fly back to California to be with her. My cousin Dash
couldn’t stay long because she’d left her kids back in Arkansas. But Mari
brought her kids with her. Mari and my sister were in the room with my
grandmother when out the blue she said, “Pack my shit I’m going home.” My
sister and Mari looked at each other not sure what to do. When they saw my
grandmother getting up they followed her lead.

It was August 10, 2011, four days after my grandmother’s 70th birthday. She
took back her identity. My mother was off filming for her reality show when
my grandmother decided to leave. Nobody bothered to call her to ask
permission or to let her know that grandma was leaving, not even my
stepfather who was at the house at the time. My stepfather helped them pack
up as much of grandma’s stuff as they could into her Expedition. When my
mother got home she found my grandmother’s note. Both she and my sister
were gone. Naturally my mother went ballistic. She called the police and told
them that my cousin Mari kidnapped her mother and daughter. They refused
to open a case and said both women were of age and went willingly. I’m not
sure how she and my stepfather worked through that one, especially letting
my sister leave. But after 16 years of marriage I’m sure he knew what to say

152
to talk my mother down from her irrational frame of mind.

Grandma, my sister, Mari, and her kids drove 17 hours and over 1100 miles
to take my grandmother home. They stopped in Sacramento at an Extended
Stay that was right next door to an Apria Health where grandma would be
able to refill her oxygen tank if needed. I was still staying at my cousins
Lashawn’s house when I received a call in the middle of the night from my
sister. She said they were en route to Washington with grandma and not to tell
anyone. Of course my mother called me to see what I knew but I played
dumb. That was easy to do because she already thought I was dumb anyway.
My grandmother arrived in Tacoma on August 12. My mother had already
called everybody in the family and threatened them if they helped. They
would be cut off from her support. Grandma went straight to my Aunt Lynn’s
house. Even in her old age and being deathly ill, grandma was sharp as ever.
She knew my mother better than my mother knew herself. If there were going
to be any repercussions to the family for taking grandma in, she wanted it to
be directed at her top soldier.

My aunt Lynn was furious when my sister, Mari, and my grandmother

showed up on her doorstep. She was ranting and raving, saying how they
were wrong for taking her sick mother and driving her hundreds of miles in
her condition. She was telling them that they couldn’t bring her in the house.
“Oh shut the fuck up and get out of my way,” my grandmother said, pushing
right past my aunt. I was silently rooting for my grandmother. “Yes grandma
now that’s the Cora I know. The one that didn’t take crap from anybody.”
Grandma being at Lynn’s house was sure to cramp her style. She knew that
all the family would be there all the time. She was giving my grandmother
and sister a hard time. She was right because as soon as we got my
grandmother settled in she started having barbecues and dinners for the whole
family. One day we were all in the backyard hanging out with my
grandmother. She wanted everybody to go around and say a few words about
family and how important it is to cherish one another while we were alive.
She started dropping her spiritual wisdom on us, talking about God. My aunt
Lynn instantly dipped out. Grandma said, “Let me tell you something. The
devil always runs when the Lord shows up.” My grandmother and Aunt Lynn
had always been so close so to see how their relationship fall apart was crazy.

My sister, with the help of my cousin Mari, took on the primary role of
setting up grandma’s care plan and ordering all her medical supplies. She
created a schedule for the family so she would have around the clock care. All
the provisions that were being made to make my grandmother comfortable

153
were a problem for my aunt Lynn. I had overheard my aunts Lynn and
Bunny discussing the care schedule for grandma. I tried to mediate the
situation but it backfired on me. “I think the problem is…” I couldn’t even
finish my sentence before my aunt Lynn came for my head. I think the
trigger word was ‘problem’ which caused her to go off on me. “Ain’t nobody
got no damn problem, you can try that shit with your mother but you will not
do that shit with me.” I sat there looking at my aunt like she was fucking
crazy. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

My aunt started to move toward me and my sister jumped up off the couch to
block her. “Back the fuck up and leave my sister alone.” Lynn bucked up in
my sister face, then pushed her. I jumped up so fast off the couch, grabbed the
box fan, and cracked my Aunt Lynn right upside the head. My sister started
throwing blows and a full on fight ensued once again in the middle of my sick
grandmother’s bedroom. The police were called but by the time they arrived
I had left. I was not sure what would come of me cracking my aunt upside the
head with the fan. Lynn had left right behind me so she was also gone when
the police showed up. While they were taking a statement, Lynn popped back
up presumably out of her mind drunk with a bottle of Crown Royal. She
yelled at the cops, “I’m down with the Crown.” The cops were standing there
looking at her like she was crazy. She started going in on my grandmother
telling her she need to get the fuck out. “Ma’am you’re going to need to pack
a bag and leave for the night.” Lynn was beyond belligerent.

Lynn ended up moving all of her stuff out of the house, down to the towels
and dishes. She left nothing in there for my grandmother. Grandma, Mari,
my sister, and I spent the next three days visiting thrift and discount stores
looking for stuff to refurnish the house. God came through yet again for my
grandmother because in that short amount of time we were able to turn the
house into a nice comfortable and cozy home. All this transpired in the week
following Grandma’s arrival in Tacoma. My mother was so angry she refused
to reach out to anybody, including grandma. After Lynn moved out the house
my grandmother was there by herself. She offered for me and the boys to
move in with her. It sounded like a great offer and I would have loved to be
living with grandma again. But I had to look at the situation realistically.
Grandma was doing ok at the present time but she did not have much time left
and I did not want to subject my kids to what happened the last time we lived
in one of my mother’s rental properties. Also I had been working on finding
my own place and was waiting to hear back from the complex on whether my
application had been approved.

154
A week later I was approved for the apartment and grandma was so happy for
me. I was happy that she was still around to see me get back on my feet.
When my grandmother arrived in Tacoma, I was going through my own
storm. I didn’t have much so whenever I went around her I would have on
sweats and a t-shirt. She kept telling me to fix myself up. It don’t matter what
you’re going through. When you look good on the outside it helps to make
you feel better on the inside. When I got my little state check I went to Wal-
Mart and picked up a few things. The next time I went to see my
grandmother, I was cute. That made my grandmother so happy. She was right.
It made me feel better as well. My family had only been seeing me in sweats
for the past couple of weeks. When they saw me dressed up they were giving
me compliments. It really did make me feel better. Grandma went out with
me every day, helping me look for things to furnish my apartment and make it
a home. Once things got settled down with our living arrangements, the
family spent a lot of time with grandma and celebrating with her. She was
always in good spirits and she laughed a lot. When I would look at my
grandma and see how happy she was, I wondered what child would want to
deprive their dying mother of such joy for their own selfish, narcissistic
reasons. The only reason my mother would not honor my grandmother’s
request to go home is because she knew she would not be able to show up. It
would be too apparent that she chose making money and being famous over
spending quality time with her dying mother who she so carelessly flaunted
on that show as being her entire world. My mother did not come to visit my
grandmother one time after she left California. She did what she normally did;
compensate for her absence with money. She called every week and sent
money, but she did not show up.

I was disgusted that she was taking her frustrations out on my brother and
grandmother. She did what she needed to do for payback and that was
keeping my brother from my grandmother. I lit my mother’s ass up on
twitter. I became a Twitter assassin because she is such a fraud. One day
grandma and I were coming from the store when my mother called my phone.
I had been burning her up on twitter and she wanted to call a truce. I put her
on speaker phone so my grandmother could hear our conversation. “Kar
things are getting out of hand and it must stop. I know you are hurting and all
you want is to have a relationship with me. If you stop with the social media
stuff we can start rebuilding our relationship and you won’t have to worry
about anything financially.” After I got off the phone with my mother I
discussed the conversation with my grandmother and asked her what I should
do. “You know Kar you really just have to choose what’s more important to
you right now.”

155
My grandmother was right and what was important to me then was providing
a stable home for my children. I had no room to let my pride get in the way
so I accepted my mother’s offer. My mother wired me $150 and paid my rent
for a couple months.

Grandma was getting weaker and she kept requesting to see her first born son,
my uncle Roy, who lived in Seattle. My aunt Lynn drove him to Tacoma. I
guess after my aunt left the house she went to stay with family members in
Seattle. When she showed up with my Uncle Roy, my grandmother declined
to see her. About a week or so after she packed up her stuff and left we
learned that she forged my grandmother’s signature and tried to take out an
insurance policy on her life for $100,000. She broke my grandmother’s
already dying heart. Right then and there my grandmother said she never
wanted to see her again and she meant it. I can’t fathom even with an
addiction problem how someone could do such a thing to their own mother.
To think all the times she made appearances on that show in scenes with my
grandmother. She was acting like a concerned loving daughter. It was sad
what she did to my grandmother in her last days and I do not blame my
grandmother for not wanting to see her. Even though she refused to see my
aunt during that visit, I know it tore her up inside. Aunt Lynn and grandma
were really close at one time. For her to refuse to see my aunt meant she was
really hurt.

My grandmother started going downhill and every day she slipped away a
little more. I spent every possible hour I could with her in those last days. My
grandmother held on a lot to my youngest son who was 10 months old at the
time. We had conversations to the very end. The one thing that hit me the
hardest is that she kept apologizing for allowing my mother to manipulate
how she treated me. I assured her that she did nothing wrong and if she feels
like she did that I’ve long since forgiven her. I told her because of how she
took care of me and filled me up with love, I survived the abuse. She kept
telling me that I changed so much and that she was proud of me.

My grandmother was extremely close to my little brother and he was her only
regret leaving California. When my mother called the house, grandma asked
to speak to my brother. My mother declined. Grandma requested to see him
one last time on Skype but my mother refused that as well. My
grandmother’s last dying wish from my mother was to see and speak to her
grandchild that she essentially raised from birth and she denied her. I don’t
know what my mother’s reason was for not allowing my grandmother and my

156
brother to speak on the phone or Skype. But it was disheartening and cruel to
both of them. My brother was the apple of my grandmother’s eye and I’m
sure he would have loved the chance to say goodbye to her. My mother kept
calling asking to speak with my grandmother but she refused since she would
not allow her to speak to my brother. Unfortunately my mother ended up in
the same boat as my aunt Lynn and my grandmother wanted nothing more to
do with either of them for the remainder of her life.

It was September 12, 2011 when my grandmother started complaining that

her stomach was hurting very badly so the nurse gave her some morphine for
the pain. Grandma went to sleep and she never really bounced back from her
sedative state. She was in and out of consciousness for the next few days.
We called all the distant relatives to let them know Grandma was fading away
so she had visitors in and out for the next couple of days. We called her best
friend Alfreda and told her the same thing and she was on the next flight to
Washington. I called my mom to let her know it would be anytime now and
she said, “They said that a few times before already and it wasn’t.”
Essentially she didn’t want to risk coming to Washington and my
grandmother didn’t die. The family was gathered by her side on her final day
of life, comforting her, encouraging her, that it was okay if she wanted to go,
etc. We could tell grandma was in a pain and with her last dying breath she
very faintly said, “help." We called the paramedics who came and
transported her to the hospital with the family close behind. After her
assessment, the doctor said it could be any minute. But the last time they said
she had days she lived weeks. Surely I wanted as much time as I could
possibly have with my grandmother but not with her in pain.

I ask God to please comfort her and help her to transition if that is his will
because now she is suffering. I couldn’t help but think about my mother in
those moments and feel something for her even if she never has for me. I
called my mother to let her know it would be only minutes before Grandma
passed. I put the phone to her ear and let both her and my brother say
goodbye. It was getting late and I had to get my babies home and down to
bed. I kissed my grandmother goodbye and we left. I barely got my kids in
the bed when I received the call that Grandma was gone. The only person I’d
ever known as a mother, my wonderful grandmother Cora Lee Faye
Mansfield, died on Sunday, September 18th 2011. Although she was gone she
will never be forgotten. After a few minutes of processing that the only
person who I felt ever genuinely loved me was gone I called my mother.
“Mom grandma passed away.” My mother and I talked for a little while
reassuring one another that grandma was in better place.

157
The grandkids met up at my grandmother’s house. Lynn was still in Seattle
with the rest of what we call the secret society, her brothers and few other
distant relatives. They were doing everything to make the planning process as
difficult as possible. We wanted to bury my grandmother the Friday after she
passed but Lynn was complaining it was too soon, insinuating we wanted to
bury her so fast because we had something to hide. I had no idea what she
was talking about but I vowed after I cracked her upside the head with the
fan, to never allow her to take me out of character again. My response to her
absurd accusation was no response at all.

Grandma did not have an insurance policy that we knew of so we were

expecting to have to pay out of pocket for her service. My mother called that
night and said she had already contacted the funeral home and paid for a
package for grandma. All we needed to do was go to the funeral home and
finalize the details. I felt all the love flowing in the house. It gave me great
comfort. But mentally and emotionally I was not doing so well. I tried my
hardest to keep a brave face and for the most part I did. But inside I felt like I
died with my grandmother. I kept searching for meaning for my life going
forward. Every time I felt that forlorn empty feeling I thought of my kids. The
thought of them immediately eclipsed the feeling of hopelessness that was
lurking within me. To this day I am grateful I had them with me during that
time. I don’t know if I’d be here today telling my story if they weren’t.

The next day aunt Bunny & Stuffy, my sister, cousins Lexi, Auz, Mari, and I
arrived at the funeral home, curious to see the beautiful casket that my mother
had picked out for my grandmother. We all remembered how beautiful my
aunt Lisa’s homegoing was and the beautiful casket my mother helped pick
out for her. We just knew Grandma’s was going to be equally beautiful. The
funeral director took us back and we passed casket after casket until we
reached the one my mother had picked out for Grandma. We all no lie stood
there with our chins on the floor. “Oh no the fuck she didn’t.” The lady stood
there like she was a price is right model waving her hand over the casket like
we’d just won a prize. “This is our “Westridge Rosetan Crepe Interior
Hardwood…” she began explaining. I don’t think anybody was listening to
that lady. We were too busy looking at the pine box in which my mother
thought she was going to bury my grandmother. “Wait, hold up one minute is
this the casket that was picked out for Cora Lee Mansfield?” She skimmed
over her paperwork looking for a name. “Yes, her daughter uh…Jackie
Christie picked this one out.” She finally looked up from her clipboard to see
the confused looks on all of our faces. “I’m sorry am I missing something.

158
Are any of you her?”

We explained to the funeral director lady who we were and she continued on
explaining what had been ordered by my mother. “Ok I see. Well Mrs.
Christie picked out the Basic Visitation Funeral Service that is $3,970 and she
picked this casket out which was an additional $349.00.” We were all pretty
much speechless and it was taking a minute to sink in that my mother did
this. “You can’t be serious,” was the collective sentiment. “Yes I’m looking
at the con…” The lady stopped talking mid-sentence. I guess it was finally
starting to sink in: funeral lady, we have a problem.

We told that lady she better not take our grandmother anywhere near that
splinter filled wood box. She showed us some additional caskets and the one
we all agreed that we liked was $8,000. We left the funeral home headed back
to my grandmother’s house to figure out what the hell we were going to do
and how we were going to pay for a decent burial for my grandmother. We
found the casket we picked out at the funeral home online for $2,000 and
started pooling together our monies. My grandmother’s best friend Alfreda,
who I’d known since birth, was like her soul mate. They didn’t get to see
much of each other due to both of them moving out of State but they talked
on the phone all the time. She watched us scrounging together the money to
lay grandma to rest. She handed us her credit card and told us to do whatever
we needed to do to bury my grandmother the right way. I am forever grateful
for that. Her and I know my grandmother was appreciative all the way from
heaven. I slightly started to regret allowing my mother to speak to my
grandmother in those last moments. She didn’t deserve it and this latest slight
confirmed it even more. I have to live with the choice I made out of love and
compassion for another human being. My mother has to live with her choice
she made out of anger and malice.

My cousins, aunts, and I got together and went shopping to find my

grandmother an outfit for the funeral. My grandmother’s favorite color was
purple. We were looking for a top for her and after searching the whole store
could not find anything. I happen to glance over and see the perfect purple
shirt hanging on a rack on the way out. “Hey guys I found grandma’s shirt.”
It was the only one like it on the rack. It totally did not belong in that spot and
it was exactly grandma size. We purchased the shirt and left the store. My son
Ja’vony was almost three years old. After my grandmother passed he kept
saying to me, “Mommy I’m scared,” and pointing. He was clinging to me so
tight that I just knew it had to be my grandmother’s presence around us the
whole time.

159
Eventually it was time to go to the funeral home and get my grandmother
ready. When we arrived the director took us to the room where she was and
as soon as we walked into the room my sister broke down. She had been
taking care of my grandmother for the past two years. She did everything for
her in that time. We were grateful to have her stay with my grandmother after
she arrived in Tacoma because she is the only one who knew and understood
what my grandmother needed to be comfortable. We were all clueless and
without her being there I don’t know what we would have done. We dressed
and fixed grandma up so pretty. My cousin did her hair up in a beautiful bun
draped with a string of pearls. Her makeup was flawless and shimmery. My
grandmother looked just like she did before she got sick. Only thing different
was she was sleeping.

We finalized grandma’s funeral arrangements two days before the service.

The next day or so I spent every free waking moment blasting my mother on
social media. My mom arrived in Bellevue two days before my
grandmother’s intermittent, irate by my posts and threatening to ban me from
the funeral. She was fuming because I was divulging information that she
was scheduled to talk about in an exclusive media interview. No one saw my
mother after she arrived. We had been reaching out to her asking if she
wanted to be a part of preparing my grandmother for the service but she
declined. I didn’t see my mother until the day of the funeral.

It was September 23, 2011 when my grandmother was laid to rest. When my
kids and I arrived at the funeral home, my mother, stepfather, and brother
were already there. As we were walking into the building I could see my
mother off to the side doing her celebrity thing signing autographs and taking
pictures. When we got inside we saw my stepfather sitting in one of the pews.
He barely acknowledged my sister and I, giving us a dry, shady hello. My
little brother was so excited to see us, but his light and joy was extinguished
when he was summoned away. My mother came inside a few moments
before the sibling lineup. When she saw us, she put on her fake smile and
said, “Hi you guys” in that fake annoying baby voice.

The kids and grandkids lined up for the procession and the service began.
Grandma’s service was beautiful and while I didn’t get a chance to speak at
the funeral I would still like to say a few words:

Grandma, there are no words to express my profound

sadness that you are gone. In the beginning of our time

160
 here on earth I use to imagine we were batman and robin
fighting the evils all around us. You instilled so much
good in me during those early years that I have been able
to surpass any and all obstacles that have come and will
continue to come my way. Thank you for always having
my back, sharing the brunt of my pain, and for being my
other half. As I move forward making choices for my life
I will always ask myself “would Grandma approve” and if
so I know I will be good. When I find myself in tough
spots I will refer to your voice in my head reminding me
that “nothing lasts forever.” Last but not least I want to
thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing your
best to give my sister, brother, and me the most stable,
nurturing, and normal childhood and life you could.
Sleep well for you will never be forgotten.
You’re Loving Granddaughter,
Takari Lee Christie

Despite my mother’s idle threats to have me banned there was no craziness

during the funeral service. We had a small repast directly following the
service. That too was peaceful. I am so happy that in her last days my
grandmother was able to take back her identity. She wasn’t a shell of herself
like I’d seen so many times visiting with her in California. I believe she was
genuinely happy being back in her home environment surrounded by family
and friends who genuinely loved on her in her last days. My grandmother
made her favorite saying, “Nothing Lasts Forever” her last testament by
finding the strength to get up from her death bed and remove herself from the
shackles of my mother’s egotism.

It has been almost six years since my grandmother’s passing and I have only
seen my mother one time since the funeral. Grandma was the glue that held
our family together. Since she’s been gone things have not been great. We
don’t have anyone to replace my wonderful grandmother because she is
irreplaceable. I just hope that all the sacrifices she made for our family was
not in vain and that at some point we can pull it together.

CHAPTER TEN
THE EPIPHANY
2011-2013

161
Grandma’s body wasn’t even cold in the ground before my mother’s crazy
reared its ugly head. I will give her credit. She did have enough respect not to
act simple on the day of my grandmother’s homegoing or at the repast.
Actually seeing my mother at the funeral and repast is the first time I had seen
her since she put me and the kids out of the rental house. She came over and
spoke to my kids and gave me $100 during the repast. It had been a long
stressful week losing my grandmother and making preparations for her
funeral. After the repast my cousins and I went back to my grandmother’s
house to continue her celebration of life. We had food left over. We stopped
and picked up some bottles, invited some friends over ,and we all got pissy
drunk. The next morning when we woke up there were people lying in the
yard. We had decorated somebody in makeup. We had fun. It was the release
we all needed. When I woke up that morning grandma being gone really hit
me. I felt like I was in a different world, one that was unrecognizable to me.
For the first time all week it finally sunk in that I was in the world alone. Of
course I had my kids, but I’m their caretaker. I’m speaking in the sense of
having someone to take care and look out for me.

My sister received a call from my mother saying she was on her way to clean
out the house. This was the exact reason why I declined my grandmother’s
offer to move in with her a few weeks prior. All of us jumped up and started
gathering the things that had sentimental value to my grandmother and
packing them in our cars. My mother already kept all her items she left behind
in LA. We weren’t about to let her take the stuff she accumulated in
Washington. We made one trip to my house. Once we finished loading the
car, the second time my mother and stepfather were pulling up in a sport
utility vehicle. “Oh shit ya’ll their coming.” I jumped in my car and put the
pedal to the metal, speeding around the corner. My cousins still tease me to
this day saying my little car was on two wheels when I hit that turn.

When I got back everyone was inside the house going through my
grandmother’s things. My sister came out of the house with some blanket.
She said bye, then got into Mari’s car. I loaded my car up with the stuff my
mother let me take and drove away. Shortly thereafter my sister called me and
said that she had left her purse in my car and can I bring it to her. She told me
she left from around the house because my mother came to take her back to
California and she was not going back. A few minutes later I returned to the
house to find my mother in a panic. I walked over to my cousin Lashawn and
asked her what was going on even though I already knew. Before she could
answer my mother walks near us and looks at me with the evil eye. “It’s okay
you guys the police will be here in a minute.” When she said that I had this

162
nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach that the shit storm brewing was
about to come my way.

I wanted to walk up to my mother and start explaining I had nothing to do

with what was going on with my sister. But I knew it would be pointless
because my mother does not hear me. So many times over the years she
blamed me for stuff no matter how much I declared my innocence. She never
believed me unless she had proof. My mother never even bothered to ask me
if I’d seen my sister or if I knew where she went. But she was so convinced I
had something to do with it, she called the cops on me.

I was sitting in my car when the police arrived and my mother went
dramatically flying over to them. “My daughter is missing and my other
daughter kidnapped her. She is over there sitting in the car. She is crazy and
has mental issues.” The cops were looking over at me pointing and listening
to this bogus story that my mother was telling them. They came over to my
car and before they could speak I started talking. “The daughter she is
referring to is 18 years old and she left of her own free will. I have nothing to
do with this and y’all can search my car and my home if you want.”

They walked back over to my mother but she had gotten back in her car
because I had my phone out getting ready to call my sister and she thought I
was filming her. My mother was telling them all kinds of crazy mess about
me. My stepfather spineless ass was co-signing her crazy. I’m sure the cops
knew who he was from his NBA days and I wondered if my stepfather even
thought about his legacy as one of the league’s most valuable players. Now
there he was, looking just as crazy as his wife fabricating stories to have their
innocent daughter arrested. “She is crazy and was almost committed to a
mental institution on three separate occasions,” my mother said. I was
seething. I was so angry. “I’m crazy? What you’re doing right now is to the
extreme crazy, involving law enforcement when you know ain’t nobody
kidnap that girl. Especially me. If anyone needs to be arrested it’s you for
trying to force her to go back to California against her will."

The officers came back over to my car I said, “If you want my sister’s phone
number you can have it to call her and ask her if she’s been kidnapped.”
When I got in the car I called my sister to tell her what happened. She told me
to come over. “I’m on my way over there right now.” When I pulled up to my
cousin’s apartment, my aunts Satin and Lynn were sitting at the entrance way
of the complex. When they saw me pull up they started shouting at me and
calling me names. I politely acted like I didn’t see them and continued on my

163
way. Ten minutes after I parked and got the kids inside the house, my mother
pulled up with the police in tow. The cops came inside the house and spoke
with my sister. She told them that she is grown and she does not want to go
back to California and that my mother was harassing her. The cops left and
told my mother exactly what my sister had said and warned her to leave us
alone.

My mother and my aunts left the complex but she barely got down the street
before she started blowing up our phones. I guess it was sinking in to her that
she was no longer dealing with the scared little girls we use to be. Her day of
reckoning was here and she had the rudest wakeup call of all time. The
prodigal daughter wanted nothing to do with her. My mother took turns
calling our phones, crying and apologizing yet again. She had just said sorry
to me the day before for everything that had transpired between us. But her
apologies always seem to end up being nothing more than broken promises.
Every time she promises she is going to change and do better by me. But at
this point I just think she is incapable of changing how she treats me. This
last time I was just over it and her antics. She literally tried to have me
arrested with my kids in the car. My mother knew I didn’t kidnap my sister.
She was just trying to intimidate us through the police. It was her way to try
and gain control over us and the situation, but it didn’t work. She begged and
pleaded for my sister to go back to LA with them but it was too late. She had
already found a new sense of freedom being in Washington for those few
weeks. It’s like my mother said, “give people enough rope and they will hang
themselves” and that’s essentially what she did.

My sister hit the nail on the head when she said that my mother refuses to
take responsibility for destroying our relationships. I totally agree. She has,
since day one, played us against one another. Sibling rivalry is just a natural
occurrence in most families and really don’t need interference. My mother did
not give our relationship a chance. She has always done things to give my
sister a sense of superiority over me. Our relationship evolved from my sister
tormenting me when we were younger to us flat out not speaking because my
mother was in her ear like she was with my grandmother. I still do not
understand why I was always everyone’s target. I kind of understand why I
am today. It’s because I’m speaking out in a public forum. But what’s the
excuse when I was a child? It wasn’t until my sister moved to Washington
that we were able to rekindle our relationship if only a little bit. Even to this
day our relationship has never been that great. But we’ve both always tried to
make the best of it.

164
My mother left and went back to LA. My Aunt Lynn moved back into my
grandmother’s house. As if the attempt to take out a bogus life insurance
policy on my grandmother’s life wasn’t enough, she had the nerve to empty
out all of her bank accounts. I’m not mad that she did that because it had to be
done. But she did not divide any of the money with the rest of her siblings. It
doesn’t matter how much was in those accounts. Once my mother went back
to LA with her head between her legs, she was mad at the world. We really
didn’t hear too much from her. Even my Aunt Lynn who was in LA helping
my mother out after my grandmother got too sick to do it anymore, did not
hear from her. She cut everybody off. Every now and then, my mother would
call me or my sister with her shenanigans; being fake nice to try and get my
sister home but it never worked.

My sister started working at Wal-Mart and ended up getting an apartment

with my cousin Mari, her husband, and kids. After my sister moved in Mari
started having more problems with her husband. He blamed it on my sister
although they were already having marital issues. He thought my sister was a
bad influence on my cousin. Mari was trying to follow behind my sister who
was single with no kids. She started dressing provocatively, hanging out, and
other things that her husband did not want her doing.

I must say I was disappointed when she moved in with my cousin because I
had a two-bedroom apartment that I’d just moved into and I really thought
she would stay with me and the boys. I can’t deny that I definitely felt some
type of way. I don’t know if it was hurt, sadness, or jealousy. I think it was
combination of all three. I just felt like it was the perfect opportunity for us
to work on our bond. It took me a while to understand that she wasn’t being
vindictive by not staying with me. We just have different personalities. My
sister is an outgoing extrovert. I, on the hand, am reserved and introverted.
She loves to go out and have a good time. I like to stay home and read a good
book. I understand how we may clash. All she wanted to do is have fun. I
guess she felt my cousin would be more her speed. Living with me may have
presented its challenges, but it would have been worth it if in the end our
bond got stronger. Part of having a strong sisterly bond is respecting each
other’s differences and still loving one another no matter what. My sister
always took issue with my quaintness. That’s because her patience is like my
mother’s, which is measured in centimeters. They both easily get frustrated
with me and in turn that puts me in my feelings and then results in
misunderstandings and unnecessary things being said on both parts.

At one time my sister was ride or die for me. She disapproved of how my

165
mother treated me. When my mother put my kids and I out of her rental house
and I started blasting her on the internet, she forbade my grandmother and
sister from speaking to me. She did not want them calling, texting, or talking
to me on social media. My grandmother would still sneak whenever she could
and call. It was a little different with my sister because she knew my mother
would be all up in her phone records. She emailed instead. She was the one
who told me via email that my mom was trying to have me served with a
cease-and-desist notice in an effort to get me to stop my social media rants. I
appreciated my sister in those days because she vouched for me. She
validated that I was not crazy and that someone else was indeed. I remember
one time she took pictures of my mother’s medicine bottles to show me. I
wasn’t the crazy one. She would record my mother talking shit about me to
her and email it to me. One time when my sister came to Washington to visit
my mother paid a guy to hack her email. She found the recordings and the
pictures my sister had been sending. She called my sister pissed off. “Why the
hell would you record me?” She accused her of doing so to send to the
tabloids. But my sister flat out told her, “I didn’t send them to any tabloids. I
sent them to Kari to let her know how you talk about her behind her back.”

My sister was hardcore for me at one time. I’m really not sure where our bond
started breaking down. I just know the part I played in that happening. I’m a
person who recognizes and points out my own flaws just as quickly as I do
the next person’s faults. I admit I was harboring resentment toward my sister
for something she really never had any control over. Most of how she felt
about and treated me was a direct result of my mother’s influence over her.
My animosity toward my sister came from the fact that I felt like she should
have been able to look past how my mother felt about me to develop her own
feelings. I wanted to be close to her so bad that I put everything she did and
didn’t do in regards to me under a microscope. Granted some of the things
she did were really messed up. However I still took them way too personal
and stayed in my bag for way too long. The fact that I was in my feelings
made my sister’s walls go up. We just ended up in a place where we don’t
know how to start tearing those walls down.

For the sake of being on good terms with my sister I got over her not wanting
to stay with me. I just enjoyed the time we did get to spend together. She
lived in Federal Way which was twenty minutes away and worked all the
time. We really didn’t see each other often. My sister was driving the boys
crazy. She reminded me of my mother when she was her age. She’s tall,
beautiful, good style, popping haircut, and nails always on point. She was
single and ready to mingle. She just mingled with the wrong people. She

166
started talking to this guy name Bella shortly after she arrived in Tacoma with
grandma. It just so happen that Bella was my cousin Dash’s ex-boyfriend. He
and my cousin Dash hadn’t dated in over five years. In that time Dash had
moved to TN, gotten married, and was expecting a baby. I’m not sure that my
cousin cared too much. It was just not a good look for my sister. She hung out
with Bella for a minute but she wasn’t really into him. She was really into
this guy name Dez who was my cousin Lexi’s current boyfriend.

My sister would have Dez at her house all the time. My cousin Mari knew
this was happening, but her husband didn’t. It wasn’t like my sister was trying
to keep it a secret from him. Their schedules were opposite so they were just
rarely home at the same time. My sister’s name was on the lease. She had her
own room and I don’t think she really cared what Mari’s husband thought one
way or another. But Mari’s husband wasn’t exactly fond of my sister anyway,
and I don’t think she understood that at the time. One day he saw Dez coming
out of my sister’s room and he confronted her about it. He told my sister if
she didn’t tell Lexi, he would. She never told her, so Mari’s husband called
Lexi and said, “Did you know that Dez was messing with your cousin?”
Upon receiving the news, Lexi was distraught and hurt. So what did she do?
She shot the messenger, “Did you know your wife was getting fingered by an
old man that works at Wal-Mart?”

Needless to say, after everyone’s secrets got spilled the shit hit the fan.
Nobody was messing with my sister after that. They started dogging her out
on social media and I felt as her big sister it was my job to defend her. I
started blasting my cousin’s back on social media. I posted, “Anybody got a
problem with my sister can go to hell. Y’all need to console each other and
get over it.” Obviously after sticking up for my sister they fell out with me
too. My cousin Auz, Lexi’s sister, was pissed at me. Auz was my closest
cousin growing up so naturally she was hurt when I took up for my sister
even though I knew she was wrong. Auz was right by my side witnessing
how my mom and sister treated me when I lived with them. She essentially
went through my depression with me and reminded me of that. She said, “I
have a problem with what your sister did so I guess you’re telling me to go to
hell. I came to California any time you asked me to be with you when you
were going through depression. But I guess that don’t mean shit to you.” It
was not that it didn’t mean anything to me. I just felt an obligation to my
sister. I always do, no matter what we go through. My cousins feelings were
valid. I hate I was in a position where I felt like I had to choose sides. But I
did and in hindsight I may have said and done some things differently.

167
Several months after all that happen my sister ended up moving out of the
place she shared with Mari and her husband and into her own spot in my
apartment complex. My mother was in Washington moving some stuff out of
one of her storage units at the time my sister moved. She ended up giving
some furniture to my sister and personally helped her decorate her entire
place. My mother has furnished an apartment maybe even two for me as well
over the years. But what she didn’t do is help me decorate it herself. She paid
for the stuff but she would always send my grandmother, sometimes my
sister, or someone else to help me setup and decorate. What stings about that
she went to my sister’s very first apartment she ever had, and has even never
been to any of my places still to this day. My sister lived in the same
apartment complex as I did. So to get to her house my mother had to drive by
mine not once, but twice. My mother didn’t stop to say hello she didn’t even
slow down and wave. She wasn’t interested in seeing me, her grandchildren,
or my place. That really hurt.

I got over the sting of that as I always have and life continued on as it always
does. My sister living in the same complex didn’t really change our situation
much. I would sometimes go over to her place and she would come over to
mine. My cousins Lashawn and Lexi lived in the same complex as I did.
Needless to say Lexi was livid when she found out that my sister had moved
into the complex. One day my sister and I were coming back from
somewhere. We entered the complex and saw cops outside of my cousin
Lexi’s apartment. We didn’t see Lexi but Dez was standing outside and my
sister got all buoyant upon seeing him. When we got in my house she asked
me to go over there and give Dez her number. I knew it was wrong but I did
it. As I mentioned before my relationship with my sister has been rocky for a
while. I think the main reason I did it was to appease her. I wanted to be
accepted and loved so bad and I knew by me doing it I would remain in her
good graces. We were in a good space and I felt like if I would have declined
she would have gotten mad and I didn’t want that to happen. I crept over to
the scene and was like, “Pssst, Dez my sister told me to give you this.” I
handed him the number on a slip of paper and hurried away.

I don’t know what happened between Lexi and Dez that day but she ended up
moving out of the apartment and moving to Tennessee with my cousin Dash.
I started working at Nordstrom right after my sister left there. For some
unknown reason my mother was pissed that I was working there. “Why
would you get her a job there?” she asked my sister. Of course my sister
didn’t hire me. She was merely a reference on my application. I got the job
myself. I didn’t understand what my mother’s problem was with me working.

168
She acted the same way anytime I would get a job. I can only speculate that it
was a control issue. She preferred for me to not have a job so that I would
have to depend on her. She thrives on codependence so that she could throw it
in my face. She’s paid my rent or help with other bills on occasion. But she’s
so inconsistent that I had to get a job. I know it would seem like Dereke
would pick up the slack. But I couldn’t depend on him anymore than I could
my mother, so I had to work.

I was still driving the little Ford Focus my mom had bought me a few years
prior. But two babies meant my family was outgrowing the car. My sister
decided she wanted to buy a car as well so we went looking for some newer
cars. Neither she nor I knew anything about purchasing a vehicle and car lot
salesmen saw us coming from a mile away. We didn’t care about the
particulars. We just needed to know the amount of the monthly payment. I
found a nice SUV that I liked. The salesman told me the monthly payment
would be $300 plus $100 car insurance. I was looking at roughly a $400
monthly car payment. I traded in my Ford Focus to cover the down payment,
signed the paperwork, and drove off the lot with my new vehicle. I was
working at Nordstrom making $11.00 an hour and Dereke was also working. I
thought we were handling our business.

Once we got our cars, I saw even less of my sister. I’d see her coming and
going from the apartment and that was it. Dereke still sold weed. One day he
was outside going to drop something off to someone at the back of the
apartments. When he got back in he said, “I just saw Doug Christie.” I said,
“What are you talking about? Where?” He told me that my stepdad was at my
sister’s house loading her stuff into a U-Haul. I immediately called my sister
to ask her what was going on. She told me that she decided to go back to
California. I can imagine she heard the shock in my voice because I had no
idea she was even thinking about leaving. “Don’t worry Kar I will stop by
before I leave to say bye to you and my nephews.” We waited but she never
showed up.

About a month or so later I had gotten a little behind with my bills and was
facing a disconnection with the power company so I called my sister to see if
she could help me out. “Why the fuck would I help you when you out here
talking shit about me behind my back?” Wait hold up, “What are you talking
about what did I say?” She wouldn’t tell me who said what but I supposedly
called her a hoe and tramp that sleeps around with other people men. I was
dumbfounded because I had never said such a thing to anyone. I thought long
and hard about who I talked to and what I said around them. aI finally put two

169
and two together. After my sister left Washington and got back to LA, my
mother told her about the conversation we had around the time that stuff
happened with my cousins. She used what I told her in that two minute
conversation to turn my sister against me. When I spoke to my mother I
didn’t deviate from the facts. I didn’t add anything or offer any of my own
personal opinions about the situation I told her exactly what happened. Her
telling my sister that I said all those things was basically her conclusion about
what happened. It didn’t matter what was said to my sister. She took my
mother’s side of the story and ran with it. “So you’re not going to help me
pay the bill even when it’s more for your nephews than me?” She didn’t care.
She was hurt and the fact that a conversation even took place behind her back
set off her alarms. I get it. I should have just minded my own business.

So here I was. My sister was mad at me. My mother always felt some kind of
way about me. My cousins were not speaking to me. All of this was because I
stuck up for my sister. They stuck up for each other all the time. But when I
did it I became public enemy #1. I stopped talking to pretty much everyone
except my twin cousins Lashawn and Dash after that situation. Of all my
family members, I really feel like these two are the most supportive of me and
have been there emotionally for me the most. I’m glad through all the chaos
and mayhem that we were able to keep our bonds unbroken. I am forever
grateful to my cousin Lashawn for always being so gracious and opening her
door to me and my children. Each and every time we needed a safe, warm
place to stay she took us in. There were a few times and may still be a few
more times. I owe my life and my sanity to her because those were some
critical times for me. She put aside any differences we may have been going
through at the time to give us a place to sleep.

My sister didn’t help me out with the bill but it was okay. I figured it out like
I always do. Money was still tight with the rent and my truck payment. I was
struggling so I kind of resorted to the family business. Someone who had
worked at Nordstrom before me put me onto a scam. I would go around to the
thrift stores and find stuff, especially bra's that I knew came from Nordstrom,
purchase them and then take them back to Nordstrom and return them for full
price. To put it in perspective I was purchasing $6 bras and taking them back
to Nordstrom and returning them for $70. I did this for a few weeks and then
the store found out. Of course I was not going to the store I worked in but it
didn’t matter. They called me to the back and flat out ask me about it. I knew
I was busted so I didn’t lie. I confessed to everything. I was told there was
going to be an investigation and I was fired on the spot.

170
The next two weeks of my life I was living in a personal hell. I didn’t know
what was going on with the investigation or if my ass was going to end up in
jail. I was so scared I called my sister just in case and told her to be prepared
to take her nephews. I called the investigation lady a couple of times to get an
update and even she told me to relax. One day this little girl knocked on my
door and said she was looking for her missing dog. I didn’t hear anything that
little girl said. I just assumed she was a decoy sent in by the police to see if I
was at home. I literally followed that little girl to see where she went when
she sadly walked away from my apartment. Nothing ever came of the
investigation but I learned a very valuable lesson: crime don’t pay, it only
creates more stress and burden. Thinking about being separated from my kids
put me on the straight and narrow for life. If I’m at a store and the clerk gives
me back too much change, I urgently tell them of their mistake and give it
back. I learn lessons easy.

I left Nordstrom in November 2012. Naturally after my mother found out that
I got fired she seemed happy about it. “Now you can stay home and take care
of the boys Kar,” she said. She paid my rent up a few months and gave me a
couple of dollars. Dereke’s little contribution made things good for the next
few months. February rolled around and since I didn’t have a job at the time.
We were having trouble coming up with the rent. Dereke suggested we ask
his parents if they could loan us the money and we’d pay them back when we
got our income tax refund checks. His parents obliged, so we were good for a
little while. They loaned us $912 which was the exact amount of my rent.
Once I got my income tax check a couple of weeks later I took them $456
which is exactly half of the money we borrowed. I told Elizabeth that Dereke
was going to pay the rest in a couple of days when he got his check. She
flipped out on me about only having half of the money even after I told her
Dereke would give her the rest of it in a few days when he got his check.
“You are the responsible one I was expecting you to pay me the money.”
Elizabeth was not making any sense to me at all and obviously I wasn’t
making any to her. She didn’t understand when I was telling her Dereke will
pay the rest in a few days. “Elizabeth I can take the money back and just wait
for Dereke to get his check and bring it back when I have it all.” She was not
hearing me and obviously she didn’t trust her son to pay the money back.
After all of that they ended up getting their money back but a lot of
unnecessary things were said on both sides.

I used the rest of my income tax refund to pay up my bills and get the kids
some things. Right before June rolled around I reached out to my mother to
ask her to help me out with the rent. She said yes. Typically when my mother

171
pays the rent up for me she just sends the money directly to the rental office.
A few weeks later the lady from the rental office came knocking on the door
asking about the rent. I told her that my mom was supposed to send them a
check. She said they never received it. I called my mom immediately to ask if
she had sent the rent check. “No Kar we won’t be able to pay it. There are
some other things we have to take care of right now.” I told my mom that the
lady was knocking at the door for the rent and why wouldn’t she tell me
ahead of time that she wasn’t going to be able to pay it. “Let me see what I
can do and I will get back to you.” My mother was real nonchalant about it;
like she didn’t just put me in a jam once again. I understand that her paying
the rent for me was a gift but we’re not talking about a purse or some clothes.
It was the roof over my kids’ heads. I wasn’t even mad that she couldn’t help
me out. But to tell she would and then not put me in a tough spot. It was
almost the same exact thing she did to me when she put me out of her rental
house with absolutely no warning. I like to think that her not telling me that
she wasn’t going to pay was just an oversight. But when a person does
something repeatedly then there’s intent. My mother never came through on
the rent and I found myself in a bind.

The bills were piling up fast with the no job. I wasn’t able to pay the
insurance on my truck so the finance company added their own. My car
payment shot up to $811 and at that point I just felt overwhelmed. I was
having trouble making the $400 car payment so certainly $800 wasn’t about
to get paid. I had to figure something out and fast. I decided I was tired of
Washington and needed a change of scenery. My cousin Dash had been
trying to get me to come to Tennessee for a while so I figured I would give it
a shot. Both she and my cousin Lexi had moved there and were doing well. I
figured the cost of living is way cheaper than Washington and I would
definitely be able to thrive better in their economy. Of course Dereke was not
happy about it. But I really didn’t care. He wasn’t doing what he had to do to
keep a stable roof over our heads so I felt like I had to do what I needed to do
for me and my kids. I was in the process of selling and packing my stuff
when my mother reached out to me. “Hey Kar what are you doing?”
I told my mother of my plans to move to TN and immediately she starts
filling my head with every possible negative outcome. “What happens if you
blow out a tire while you’re driving? You know if you miss a payment and
then take the truck out of state they will report you and say you stole it.” It
was one negative thing after the other. All the while she never offered a single
positive solution to help my current situation. She said she would see what
she could do to help me out, but she said that last month and didn’t come
through. I wasn’t about to rely on her again. I don’t think I was really ready to

172
make the move to Tennessee, so I allowed my mother’s negative perceptions
to deter me. I decided to stay in the apartment. I had sold at lot of my stuff
and made close to $1000. I put it toward the rent which left me only one
month behind. I settled back into the apartment, scrambling to figure out my
next move.

I was tired of feeling like a burden, especially to my mother. Her actions

toward me have always forced me to grow up fast. The last few weeks in my
apartment I felt so defeated like my spirit had finally been broken. My
grandmother taught me how to have faith and how to rely on God in my
darkest hour. I know that’s how I eventually made it through. In the midst of
the storm when I kept calling his name I couldn’t hear him speaking back. I
did not hear Him because there were too many distractions and too much
noise around me. My mother was noise, Dereke was noise, and when there
was no noise, I created some by placing constant distractions in my life. I
didn’t like spending time alone so I would always go around other people
because I couldn’t stand the silence. I didn’t know that God waits for that
silence to speak to you so I kept running from it. Those last days in my
apartment there was nothing but silence all around me. Dereke had left, my
mother was in between popups in my life, and I was tired of running. I felt
seized by the silence. I fell to my knees and I started to pray.

“God I know you can hear me please tell me what I am supposed to do?
Where am I supposed to go?” I tried to get up but I couldn’t because I had no
strength in my body. I collapsed into the weakness and started to weep. I
started having foresights and I realized it was God’s way of speaking to me.
He was showing me exactly what I had to do to extinguish the darkness. I
called this point the first defining moment of my life. It was my epiphany. I
was blinded by the light that starting seeping in because it was so bright and
beautiful. After 24 years I finally felt free of affliction, darkness, pain and
emptiness.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to pull off what he was telling me to do. But I
trusted him one hundred percent in that pivotal moment and it changed my
life forever. He showed me that I was allowing other people to have the
control over my life and that I should have been giving that control to him.
When I got up from my knees I had relinquished all control of my life over to
God. I had to do what God was telling me to do and trust it was the right thing
for me. He told me that from that moment on I would have to stop taking calls
from my mother until I got myself together. Accepting that brought a certain
ease and peace to my spirit that I had no idea could exist. In that moment I

173
realized that my mother was the darkness over my life. God told me I needed
to take responsibility for my life and that I was more than capable of doing so.
I no longer worried about how I was going to keep a roof over my children’s
head without the support of my mother. I no longer desired to have her
acceptance of me or for her to prove her love to me. I accepted she would
always be my mother but that I had to start living my life without her. God
showed me that I was going to lose everything, but reassured me that it would
be alright. It was scary to know that I had to let go of the people and things in
my life that were a hindrance to me. But the relief that came along with
letting go far surpassed my fears.

The time period between 2011 and 2013 was a very dark time in my life.
There was so much loss, hurt, pain, and anger. My only source of light was
my children. I was living and doing what I needed to do to take care of them.
But I was a shell of myself. Every ounce of energy in me went into loving
my children and making sure they felt the love. I struggled to make sure they
were unaffected by my demons. I was paying so much attention to how I was
raising and parenting my kids that I had no time to give in to the darkness
within me. The fact that my kids kept me up did not stop the vicious internal
battle that I was fighting. I couldn’t tell if I was winning or if I was losing the
battle. That’s how disconnected I was from everything going on inside of me.
When I put my kids to bed at night is when I felt the lingering void and
darkness the most. Following my epiphany ,the darkness subsided and I
instantly felt a change within me. My faith was restored and my hope was
renewed.

Without the support of my mom I had no choice but to become self-

sufficient. I no longer doubted my ability to stand on my own two feet. I
applied for countless jobs. Unless you’ve experience a spiritual breakthrough
it’s hard to explain how your thinking is transformed. I no longer think I
can’t. I always think I will. I always believe that I will have everything I need
so I no longer worry. One of the jobs that I applied for was with State Farm
Insurance Co. I studied everything there was to know about the company so
when I had my phone interview I knocked it out of the park. They offered me
the job on the spot. I was working at Sears part-time. The State Farm job
didn’t start immediately so I still wasn’t able to make the rent so they took me
through tenancy court. It took them almost two months to get a favorable
eviction ruling against me and by that time I owed them two months back
rent.

Dereke had already left like he is accustomed to doing when the going gets

174
tough. Initially he was staying with his parents but then they allowed him to
move into one of their rental properties for free. It was nearing the end of
August and I knew I had to be out before September so I asked my cousin
Lashawn if the boys and I could stay with her for a few months until I got on
my feet. Of course she said yes. She lived in the same complex as I did so I
put the majority of my stuff in storage and was moving other little stuff in her
place day by day. The final week of being in my apartment I decided I would
ask Dereke’s mom Elizabeth if the boys and I could stay with Dereke in the
rental house. She said that the boys were welcomed but that I couldn’t stay. I
was a little shocked but it was okay. I think Elizabeth was still in her feelings
about the disagreement we had over the repayment of the loan she gave us for
the rent back in February. I declined for the boys to stay because there was
no way in hell my kids were going to stay someplace where I was not
welcomed.

After the boys and I moved in with my cousin Lashawn, Dereke started
sneaking us into the house a few nights a week. It was like the roles had
reversed from when he was sneaking in the window when I lived with my
aunt. I parked my truck somewhere else and walked back to the house. Little
by little I started fixing up Dereke’s place, making it comfortable for the kids
and I. We ended up being there more than I was at my cousin’s house. His
parents kept busting us and I would go back to my cousin’s house for a few
days, then be right back with Dereke. His parents agreed to let me stay until
the end of the year after about the third time catching us. The kids and I
moved in with Dereke the middle of September 2013.

The finance company came and repossessed my truck shortly after I moved in
with Dereke. After they came and picked up the truck I was not sad or
disappointed. I felt relieved. It was the only thing that still tied me to my old
existence. I knew going forward that everything I would obtain would be
because of me and my hard work; nothing and nobody else. I started my job
at State Farm in November. I was doing well and the kids were happy and
content. Since my epiphany I had talked to my mother a few times but it was
basically only to check in. I wanted to introduce her to the new me. I
understood that her presence in my life was toxic and that she really didn’t
care to know how I was doing. She just called to hear my woes but I had none
to give. All I was doing was going to work, coming home, and taking care of
my family. Commuting on public transportation was hectic. Getting to work,
the kids to and from daycare, then back home was taking a toll on all of us. I
would leave at 6 a.m. and not get back home until almost 7 at night. I
definitely needed a vehicle. Once I claimed it, I received it. When I got my

175
first check from State Farm, I found this lady on Craigslist selling a 1993
Ford Explorer for $750. The lady was gracious enough to work out a deal and
let me split the payment in two so I took her $350 and she gave me the truck.

I knew that something was wrong with the steering mechanism when I test
drove the car but I still bought it. Dereke was so jealous and he started acting
like an ass. “You’re not anything special because you got a good job and
bought a piece of car. I can get those things too if I wanted to.” Thinking
about his behavior today makes me realize that it was straight hate. During
that time Dereke was almost thirty years old and he had nothing going for
himself except growing and selling weed. His misery was not about to rub off
on me. I just ignored him most of the time and stayed in my happy zone. A
week later my cousin Lashawn told me that her friend was selling her ’94
Ford Explorer. It was in slightly better shape than mine so I bought it for $500
and sold the one I had to Dereke for a little over $300.

Now that we both had a vehicle it was easier to get the boys back and forth to
daycare and for us to get to work. Dereke was responsible for taking the boys
to daycare in the morning and I picked them up in the afternoon after work.
Some days Dereke wouldn’t take the boys until late morning. One day while
he was in the house with the kids, they ended up playing in the bathroom
sink. Dereke left out and didn’t know they had left their toys in the sink with
the water running. I didn’t get home with the boys until late that afternoon
and the water had been running all day. We lived on the third level so the
water flooded all the way down to the first level. Anytime things are going
extremely well or extremely bad I can hear my grandmother’s voice in the
back of my mind saying, “nothing lasts forever”.

I called Derek’s parents and told them about the flood and needless to say
they were pissed. When they got to the house, Elizabeth immediately starts in
trying to blame my kids. I shut that shit down. “There is no way you can
blame a 3 and 5 year old for this. The responsible party is the one who was
watching them which is their dad.” She couldn’t say shit because she knew I
was right. Dereke and his dad started drying up the water. But Dereke’s
father was getting annoyed at him because it was winter and the house was
cold. “Son how can you have your family in here with no heat?” The house
used kerosene and to get the heat going would cost $500 to fill up the tank.
While they started getting in on Dereke about being a responsible person, I
took my kids upstairs to the only part of the house that was warm. A little
while later I realized that it got quiet downstairs. I went down to check and
noticed Dereke's parents had left and he was gone in my truck. I called him

176
immediately only to be met with a verbal thrashing. He cussed me all the way
out as if I did something wrong to him. I was so angry when I got off that
phone that I went and shook the hell out of his cannabis plant. It was the nice,
big healthy, looking one too.

Dereke was pacing back and forth looking at me like he wanted to kill me. He
had already threatened me in every way imaginable. He even threatened to
choke the life out of me, so naturally my defenses were up. He picked up an
extension cord and looked like he was about to come at me. I ran out the
house and he locked me out. I called his mother and told her what he did and
that I just wanted to get my kids and leave. She came over to the house and
stood there while I packed up my TV and some clothes. I went to my cousin
Lashawn’s house. A few days later I called Elizabeth and told her I wanted to
get the rest of my stuff out of the house, so she met me there again. When I
showed up I could already tell Elizabeth was on one because I felt her
negative energy. “Did you break Dereke’s computer screen?” I did but of
course I played dumb because I wanted her to open that door so I could get
my shit out. “We’ll my son said you have to come back another day to get
your stuff. He doesn’t want to be bothered with your right now.” I told her I
didn’t give a hell what Dereke said. Either she could open the door or I could
break a window. Either way I was getting my shit out that house.

My cousin’s friend had a truck so he was helping me get my stuff out of the
house. I took everything out of there from my few pieces of furniture down to
the food. Elizabeth was sitting on the couch like she was playing on her
phone. But I felt her eyes burning a hole through my back and I was just
waiting for her to say something. I could feel it coming. Sure enough she
started with the snarky comments. I was trying to be cool and ignore her, but
she said something that struck a chord. “Really Elizabeth so you’re going to
sit there and condone Dereke’s bullshit? I swear you’re just like your son.” I
gave her exactly what she came looking for because she started going in.
“And you’re just like your mom, just like her.” I see my mother is still
everybody’s go-to when they are trying to take jabs at me. “Why you mad
for? Because I’m a strong woman and I don’t let Dereke walk all over me like
you do your husband?” She really sat up straight after that. She starts
laughing. “It don’t matter. At least I have a husband that’s why he’s going to
leave you with two kids.” I was really speechless at the things that were
coming out of my kid’s grandmother’s mouth. I use to like to think that
Elizabeth would make up for my mother being absent from their lives. But I
see that she and mom are one in the same. They both take their grievances
and frustrations out on me or my kids. That must and will stop. When we got

177
back in the truck my cousin’s friend was like, “Man that was wrong.” I told
him no worries. That been the story of my life from day one. “I was in a sea
full of sharks. They all smelled blood and wanted some of me but they will
never have me.”

My bond with Dereke had been strained for some time due to his infidelity
and blatant disrespect toward me. Interestingly my relationship with Dereke
was the only one that my mother did not try to sabotage. She supported
Dereke and I being together from the beginning. His parents, on the other
hand, tried to sabotage our relationship from the beginning. Dereke has
always had a very strong bond with his mother. I believe he allowed that bond
to interfere with us. Siding with Dereke even after he wanted to strangle me
with a cord, proved to me that she is the reason why he won’t grow up and be
a man. She is an enabler similarly to my mother, but with her own unique
twist. She enabled his immature behavior while my mother enabled my
financial dependency. I broke away from my mother’s influence. I am waiting
on my kid’s father to do the same.

Now living back with my cousin Lashawn, I was now awake as to to what I
needed to do to take care of myself emotionally. Most of that involved not
being a doormat for people to walk all over. Everyone noticed there was
something different about me. I was happier and not stressing or complaining
about anything. Even Lashawn saw the difference in me. I’m not sure why
my happiness made others uncomfortable. But for some reason it did. I was
very unhappy prior to my epiphany. Now I have a twinkle in my eye. I moved
in such a way that said I am confident and comfortable in my skin. I was on
my grown woman shit going to work at a great job, coming home, and getting
ready for the next day. I no longer desired to talk about my mother or
anything that was insignificance in my life. When I realized how
uncomfortable my happiness was making people, it made me skeptical to
share anything with anybody. I became withdrawn and focused only on me
and my children.

I’ve learned how to stay positive about everything and not allow anyone to
dictate my happiness. This new way of being has definitely worked to my
advantage. People handled me differently. My mother didn’t call expecting to
hear my struggles anymore, so the calls got became less and less frequent.
Dereke was acting like he had some sense. I could tell he was attracted to the
new Takari. I loved that he was giving me attention, but I didn’t and I won’t
put my guard down. I started looking for an apartment. I told the boys it was
our little secret so don’t mention it to anyone, including dad or Lashawn. I

178
knew it was only a matter of time before I had my own comfortable and cozy
place and I was right.

Everyone please spread love and light to the shadows of darkness in the world.

179
Table of Contents
untitled 2
FORWARD: The Woman, The Myth, The Legend 5 6
Chapter 1: Hood Rich (1988-1992) 23 7
Chapter 2: Legit Rich (1992-1995) 38 8
Chapter 3: The Transition (1995-2000) 48 9
Chapter 4: Growing Pains (2000-2002) 66 10
Chapter 5: Darkness and Depression (2002-2004) 85 11
Chapter 6: No More Home (2004-2006) 101 12
Chapter 7: A Different Kind Of Love (2006-2009) 124 13
Chapter 8: Little House of Horrors (2009-2011) 153 14
Chapter 9: Gone But Never Forgotten (2011) 167 15
Chapter 10: The Epiphany (2011-2013) 188 16

180