A Life Foolishly Lived :: Personal Narrative Essays

A Life Foolishly Lived   Ive never kind of understood the whole racism thing. I grew up in suburbia, just now in the part of town con boldnessred the contraband neighborhood. When I was younger black kids were no different from everyone else, and I was happy that way. It wasnt until middle school and my encounters with Joey that I became aware of a difference. I was young and impressionable, and totally bought into what anyone who would consider me cool down was saying.   Joey was a 30-something-year-old quadriplegic man who lived near me. I was considered a nerd and matte desperate for guidance of some sort. Joey became my mentor. Before the accident that left him in a wheelchair, he was a rocker, and I spent hours by his side listening to his stories.   I enumerate you, Owen, I had it all. And the girls loved me, he would tell me, while I emptied the bag of urine strapped to his leg. up to now though he never graduated from high school, had no job, would get dr unk and hopped-up all the time, and lived with his parents, I wanted to be just like the individual he used to be. Hed had girlfriends and lived the rock-and-roll lifestyle, but that ended when he was pushed take away a porch and snapped his neck. He attempted to continue his old life by dint of kids in the neighborhood.   Joey would tell us how he used to make hollo bombs, so naturally we had to make a bomb and blow up a chunk of the street. But we didnt have the know-how or the supplies to make a pipe bomb, so a gallon of gasoline would have to do the trick. Sadly, we picked a bad place and set a mans lawn on fire. The jurisprudence and firemen were on my street that night, putting out seven-foot high flames and asking questions. Even though nobody knew exactly who blew off the gas bomb, most had an idea. Im original people in that neighborhood could think only of Wheelchair Joey and his gang of misled youth.   Joey listened to weighty metal and sported Charles Man son and Confederate flag t-shirts. Before I knew it, I was doing the same. He convinced me to wear the flag shirt in school the mean solar day we watched Roots for Black History Month. We laughed when I told him about the reactions I got, and therefore he congratulated me with a beer and some vodka mixed with juice.