My name is Pit Daniels, and I am fifteen years old. I live with my grandmother in a bad part of town; I live in Chicago, Illinois.
My real name is Kyle, but nobody calls me that to my face if they know what's good for them. Instead, I go by "Pit" ... as in "Pitbull", because I'm kinda like one in temperament. Mean. On high alert. Ready to attack from all sides. Yeah, that's me, all over. Gotta be, to make it in this part of town.
My parents died in a robbery gone wrong five years ago. Guess this is what made me the way I am today. I still miss them, and I still feel anger at the ones responsible because they were in jail for only a short time before a "legal technicality" got them out. They're now running the streets, free; what's to say they won't strike again, make someone else's life a living hell??
I even look kinda like a pitbull. Short. Stocky. A rather blocky-looking head, with short, close-cropped hair (brown), hard, mean green eyes that could cut a person in two if I looked at them long (or hard) enough. So my nickname of "Pit" suits me perfectly, in more ways than one.
Grandma was kind enough to take me in, but I worry about her constantly. She doesn't drive; if she needs anything, she will walk to the store, which is just up the street. I tell her not to go out at night because she could get mugged. My grandma is tiny, only five foot-nothing, and she toddles around on a forearm crutch because she has a bad leg. I'm scared someone will jump her or do her serious harm because she is so vulnerable: that is my greatest fear.
Grandma is the kind of person who would give a hot meal to a homeless bum if one showed up on our doorstep; she has such a giving spirit. Grandma is very religious and is always talking to me about Jesus. Well, that may all be in good, but I don't see this "Jesus fella" helping us out; we aren't exactly livin' large, y'know??
If we had money, we'd be living in an affluent part of town, not here in this dump. We're anything but rich!
Because of the shootings and drug deals that are a regular occurance around here, I have learned to become extremely vigilent. I know how to watch my back, and the backs of others, especially my poor, crippled grandmother. I love her, don't get me wrong, but she drives me crazy with her "Jesus-Talk"!
School is okay, but I could find better ways to spend my time ... like b-ballin' with my closest friend, Tank Gilmartin, and sleepin' in until noon or later (but grandma usually gets me up beforehand 'cause she wants me to do things for her, since she exactly can't, not with her bad leg). Or reading: that's another thing I adore. Sticking my nose in a good book, and let the story transport me to a better time and place, away from all the cares of my life. Yeah, if only it were that easy in real life, we'd all be a lot better off!
School is located in a bad part of town, so a lot of the kids who go there are like me: from broken homes, poor, mainly minorities (I'm one of the few token white boys there), or kids who don't have a good future. Fights and ambulance runs are quite common: at least two to three times a week.
I do have a brother and sister (both younger; they're ten and six; their names are Marcus and Jenniffer), but they live with an aunt. Guess the foster care system figured they'd be too much for grandma to handle, with her being disabled and all. I haven't seen them excepting at Christmas, and I miss having them around. Guess that's why I like Christmas so much because then I can see my brother and sister.
Well, I gotta go. School, y'know. I will write in here again soon; you haven't heard the last from me, Pit Daniels. Take care; talk to y'all later!
~Pit.
*to be continued.*
