My parents divorced when I was six years old and mom and I moved into the "Rochester Meadows" apartment complex. The kids I went to school with who didn't live there called it "Rochester Ghettos." It was probably the cheapest apartment complex in the area, the carpets where cheap, the kitchens were worn the carports roofs had ragged holes with pieces of jagged wood sticking out.

It never bothered me much, I don't know why, I've never been the kind of person to give a fuck about other people trying to keep me down. The apartments boardered a nature preserve and had a little creek running beside it, the nicest park in the area was real close by, it was a wonder land to me.

I'm sure the kids in school learned "Rochester Ghettos" from their older siblings and shared it around. The toughest kid in class also lived in the Ghettos and he was my best friend and a real ass beater, we were poor but feared. Saw him break a kids arm in a play ground fight in second grade, guess we were just poor dumb thugs who had a fun time playing in the creek and woods.

My family gradually became more comfortable financially as I got older and by the time I was in middle school and high school my folks had bought their own home. Being solidly middle class seemed to bring no stigma even around the rich kids in our high school.