It's all what you become...

Sometimes, even the most regal of us have to start in the dirt.

I wasn’t always the Neighborhood Queen. No my beloved subjects, yours truly was far from it. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t even a Duchess, or even a peasant. I was whatever was less than a peasant. Why was this? Because my momma ruled with an iron fist.

This moment in nostalgia has been brought to you by the ever-so-lame-ass Power 106 Mickey-Fickey Mix

I was listening to “Boyz In Da Hood” by the late, great, Eazy E (RIP) and something stuck with me. It was the part where he said, “…grabbed the stupid girl by her basket weave”. I realized I was deprived of the Compton Dream by never being allowed to have the infamous Basket Weave. All the Piru girlfriends (yeah right, try hoodrats) had burgundy basket weaves, and I wanted one so bad, you can never know how bad I wanted one. Almost as bad as a pair of black coudoroy houseshoes. Mom’s didn’t let me have one. I wanted one so bad. I used to beg and beg every time I saw a broad with one. It earned me many looks of wrath, and a couple of smacks upside the head for my incessant begging. Basket Weaves came in all sizes. I didn’t necessarily want my whole right side of my head covered, just a little basket. But no. Mom’s wasn’t having it.

I was deprived. And that was all before I was even a real Piru Girlfriend... by then it was cool for me to just have on burgundy footsies. But I didn't do that, because my favorite color is blue. Go figure. Anyway, yeah. She deprived me in a big 1987 way.

Another 1990's Compton Dream I was robbed of was the almighty Peace Treaty. When the Bloods and Crips decided to unite that summer, I had to sneak my ass off to the picnic at Magic Johnson Park (formerly known as Willowbrook Park). I said I was walking to Vons on Avalon and El Segundo, right across the street. I did go to Vons, got me some Cinnamon Toast Crunch. But I took a detour on the way home. And it was so much fun. I watched a million dice games and domino tournaments. But I wasn’t allowed to stay long. One of the Grape Street Crip OG’s recognized me, since he was from Watts and knew my damn momma! I was floored. He was like, “ay li’l mama, your mom’s know you’re here?” Me and the homie was like, “uhhh…” So he was cool, and said, “look li’l bit, take ya boy and head on back, and I wont tell Heart you was here. Tell ol’ Heart-attack [name removed] said hey”. I was ever so pissed. I was robbed.

How do you just rob your child of the Peace Treaty? And you ain’t even around? Cold business.

I couldn’t leave my front porch unescorted until I was 16. When I was 16, she told me that I couldn’t ride my bike around the entire hood until I was 17. Then the nigga next door stole my bike the week after I turned 16. So no legitimate hood rollin' for Misty, because mom’s wasn’t buying another bike. So I was trapped.

But in retrospect, it's all good. I was mad as hell most of my childhood, but I ain’t mad now though. Its funny, because since she was so strict on me and held it down in such a real way, I am the Queen that I am now. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably have about 3 kids with various gangstas (since I had such an affinity for them), no high school diploma, no job, no nothing. Just a dusty ass basket weave. All that pain and isolation from the hood life (well as best as she could isolate me… I was one hard-headed and sneaky little broad between 16 and 19) served to elevate me to what my hoodroach counterparts now despise. I’m the shit, because mom’s raised me. Not just had me and let the streets raise me, but she kept that foot in my ass as much as she could. All that made me what I am now. And when I look at myself, I may not be all that to some folks, but I’m pretty damn tight considering the alternatives.

Damn I love my momma. I’mma be just like her when I grow up.