The moment of my conception I imagine was a pleasant one, but my parents could not have known what they have just gotten themselves into. My name is Sammy Goodman, Sam for short, and I grew up in the slums of the west coast, better known as the city of Compton. Out here you either gangbang or rapping and most people are doing both. This is why it is rare for anyone to make it out of the ghetto, especially doing something positive. The weather here in California is always seventy degrees and sunny, people say it’s the kind of weather you can wear every item in your wardrobe year around. People around the city say “Sam as much as you wear that Lakers jersey they should be paying you for endorsements” because the only outfit I own has been a number eight Kobe jersey and black Dickie pants. For the past three years I have had to find ways to provide for the both of us. I wish that I could buy new things for Joey and me, but it’s either a new pair of pants or groceries for the week. So shopping isn’t the first item on my list of priorities, number one is taking care of my younger brother Joey. It is the summer before my senior year at Compton High and all the other seniors are making plans on where they will be attending college the next year and I’m stuck with the decision whether or not I should leave my brother behind with a so-called mother who pretends we don’t exist. Summer is supposed to be the best time of the year for kids and while society would determine that I am a child because of my age, there is nothing about my situation that would agree.
