What It’s Like Growing Up With A Live In Crackhead Uncle

And he’s not just my crackhead and drunk uncle. After my grandad passed, my uncle was physically the closest thing I had to a father figure. After all, he lives about 18 steps and a few rooms away from me.

If you’ve been following my medium page, just kidding no one follows my medium.com/@TheStoneBuddha page! But I have been posting a few open and vulnerable stories into my world starting with my grandma. This particular story will be a two part post, I don’t just want to paint my uncle as a crackhead because as a human being he’s more. I have actually learned a few things from his choices and that’ll be inthe second story.

First off, I’ll introduce my uncle. He’s like a 53 year old bald, handy man, his friend/boss or coworker, whoever comes by to pick him up to go somewhere and fix houses or some shit. He’ll let us know he’s leaving or whatever and he’ll come back high as a lost kite or drunk as a 13 year old irish kid. He never straight up told me he smoked crack and I didn’t put it together until I was older. I would catch him every once in a while and he’d let me know it was merely a cigarette, which i naively believed. I joked about it with friends if I ever saw him in the yard when they were dropping me off but at times it was kind of scary seeing him stumble down the street.

I don’t blame him entirely though, part of it is definitely choices about 66% to me and the rest is environment 33%. How many good choices can you make it to escape in East Lake AKA Little Vietnam in the 90’s? Look at this video.

The old East Lake

Watch that shit! All of my older cousins I grew up with in my house got stuck in the streets and have been in and out of jail. I got lucky, I was a generation after Tom Cousins and all those white people came to take the golf course and gentrify shit like what’s happening throughout Atlanta now. I grew up across the street from the crack house up until like 5th grade when I watched cops raid it from my window. I’m glad my uncle wasn’t in there, it was like 20 people that stumbled out in cuffs probably too high to know what reality they were in. The house is still vacant to this day even with all the building up happening over here now, I’m sure somebody will snatch it up soon.

My view of the raid

Now, back to my uncle, he never really did the crazy exciting shit you would think I would have to include here. He smelled and drank old english 800 and Mccormick’s vodka while mumbling every day. I can’t remember a week or more than a few days going by where I wasn’t hounded with requests for change. He took care of the house though actually, maybe out of guilt or as a way to pay some dues. My uncle was almost something like a butler on some real handy man country ass shit. At the same time though, he would do crackhead shit like steal me and my cousin’s whole piggy banks when we were kids lmao. Shit funny now but I know I had a hundred plus dollars in mine and his ass ran off on me twice! I guess cartoons are a good high thing for anybody cause he stayed watching those and forensic files type shit. A$ap Ferg made a song about his crazy uncle called psyho. Oddly enough me and my cousins nicknamed my uncle psycho cause he used to watch hella syfy channel. Sometimes I would sit in his room and watch cartoons with him when I was bored. He never tried no touching me type shit but he would be creepy and come to my room to tell me like “Come here”. The guy never wanted a damn thing!

The few things I remember the most is that I would just catch him staring off into space with one hand doing a come here motion to some ghost or invisible crackey spirit. Or he would just be Thugger style mumbling without the fye beat or flow. He’d come upstairs and talk to any of the 5 people up here in their rooms, about like how much chicken we had left to cook or something you’d already spoke about. (Not 5 bedrooms by the way lol, didnt get my own room til before high school.)

My older cousins used to get into fights with him and beat his ass sometimes, probably for stealing or something. My grandma kicked him out a few times, possibly for smoking crack in the back room or on the porch, or stealing. She was too good of a woman to let him stay out in the streets forever though. Surprisingly, I don’t remember him ever really being arrested for a guy who occasionally staggered down the street talking to himself with his dick out pissing as he walked in the yard.

Overall, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. I didn’t mean to crush everyone’s exciting view of crackheads in Atlanta, or maybe those crazy , dancing and shit talking crackheads are on the Westside and Eastside crackheads know how to handle their dope.

Or maybe I just wrote this to humanize a person usually limited to the contents of their pipe and not the characteristics of their personality.

Deon thinks crack is whack, follow me on twitter if you agree or disagree, no judgements here bro!

If you got anything out of this, please click the little heart for ya boy! Thank you for reading.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.