But it didn’t work out like that. I couldn’t get into the gang.
Gangbanger: “You too cute. You gonna be something one day. You can come and kick it, but you can’t gangbang with us. If you want a drink or something, you can have a drink.”
Tiffany: “I don’t drink.”
Gangbanger: “You don’t even drink! Take your ass to school, bitch. Get the fuck up off the block.”
Tiffany: “Let me hit the weed.”
Gangbanger: “Your ass can’t hit no weed. You don’t know how to smoke, bitch. Go take your ass home and go read one of those heavy-ass books you got in your backpack.”
They could cuss me out all the time, but I didn’t mind. I just wanted to be a part of something, you know?
And the cool part was, I got to party with them, but didn’t have to do all the terrible shit you have to do to be in a gang. Best of both worlds. Not a lot of shit went my way when I was young, but that did.
Grandma
Like I said, my grandma eventually got custody of me and my siblings when I was fourteen. I was still in the system, because even though my grandmother got custody of me, she wanted to get paid. So we had to go to court and stuff. And the social worker came and checked on us every month and everything. We were with our grandmother, but we were still state property.
Even though my grandmother was my legal guardian, she didn’t want to teach me to drive.
Grandma: “I don’t want to be responsible if you kill somebody. I’m not signing any paperwork.”
I took the driver’s ed class in school, and I did good.
I needed to be able to drive, because at that time I was making money as a hype woman for Bar Mitzvahs, and most of those were out where there wasn’t many bus routes. So I had to get my social worker and a judge to sign that paperwork, for me to be able to get my driver’s license.
I had the money to pay for the driving class and all of that, because of the Bar Mitzvahs. I remember my grandma was like:
Grandma: “Oh you think you just so smart, huh? You just figuring out ways around everything, huh? You think you so smart.”
Tiffany: “Grandma, I’m going to be somebody. I’m going to be something, and I know I’ve got to have a car to do it.”
Grandma: “You got that right, you do.”
I never understood my grandma. She would be so encouraging sometimes, and so mean at other times. I’d be like, I don’t know who this bitch is. I don’t know if she here to help me or she here to hurt me.
When I was eighteen, she put me out. She wasn’t getting paid for me anymore, so she just put me out. I was just homeless.
Daddy
My first real memory of my daddy is when I was three and he head-butted my mom.
She was wearing one of those all-white jumpers like the girls had in the eighties, those sexy jumpers that women used to wear. I don’t know why they were fighting, but I remember being on the couch and screaming loud and stuff and seeing blood. He head-butted my mom, and beat his own head, and blood was pouring down his face and her nose, and her white jumper was just covered with blood, all over.
Not too long ago, I asked my mom about this:
Tiffany: “Was that a dream that I had, that Dad head-butted you and your nose was bleeding?”
Mom: “No, you remember that?”
Tiffany: “Why was y’all fighting?”
Mom: “Because I threw hot water on him.”
Tiffany: “Why did you throw hot water on him?”
Mom: “Because he came in the house at two in the morning, and he didn’t give me the $300 he was supposed to give me, so I went in his wallet and I took the money. And then I found another woman’s number, and I called the number, talked to the lady, and then I boiled some water and threw it on him.”
Tiffany: “You threw boiling water on him?”
Mom: “His skin wasn’t burnt, I just wanted to get him to wake up.”
My dad even admitted this when we briefly reunited.
Dad: “Yeah that happened. She stole my money, so I beat her ass.”
I thought it was some crazy dream I’d had. I remember screaming so hard, till I couldn’t scream anymore, you know like when a baby screams himself out?
Mom: “Yeah you pulled your hair out. There was blood, you had my blood on your face and your hair was missing.”
At three, trying to make them stop fighting, I remember screaming until I pulled my hair out.
My dad is Eritrean. He abandoned me when I was three. I was reunited with my dad when I was twenty-seven. That’s when I got married. He even came to my wedding. He was part of my life for a little while.
But then he just abandoned me again. It happened as I was working on this book. He was supposed to stay at my house. I flew him out, paid for him to be out here in LA. When he got here, I bought him all these clothes. All this stuff he wanted. Everything he asked for, I got it. Got him an iPhone 7, even.
Then I woke up on Monday, and he was just gone. He decided to take the Greyhound home. I called him:
Tiffany: “You know you had a plane ticket to go back to wherever you came from.”
Dad: “No, I just decided to take the Greyhound, ’cause you made me feel like a pauper.”
Tiffany: “How did I make you feel like a pauper?”
Dad: “Because, you think you’re better than me!”
Tiffany: “When did I ever say I was better than you?”
Dad: “You walk around like you’re better than me.”
Tiffany: “What do you mean? Everything you asked for, I gave you. Anything you wanted, you had. How is that better than you?”
He hung up on me.
My friend told me that the answer to my question was right there, in his answers. He pointed out to me what he was trying to say, but couldn’t say. This is what my friend said:
“He’s ashamed of himself, because he left you when you were three, did nothing for you, and you ended up being very successful without him, and then you buy him stuff. You are not only a better person than he is, but you are kind and responsible where he is not, and you’re providing where he did not. Not just as his child, but as a woman, providing for him. Your goodness holds up a mirror to his ugliness, and that is too painful for him, so he has to project this onto you, by saying you make him feel less about himself. It’s nothing you did. It’s guilt.”
I don’t get it. I don’t get it, ’cause he’s my dad, and whatever he asks for, he can have it. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for your parents?
I don’t know. I just know that I was crying all day after he left. I was crying all day, because I just felt like that abandoned three-year-old girl again. I felt horrible.
All I wanted was for my father to be there with me. I didn’t care about none of that other stuff.
Watch Yo Back
When I was twenty-three, I was staying at one of my grandma’s properties. I told my grandma I’d take care of the property, so she’d let me stay there for free.
One day, I was getting ready to leave from the house to go to a party, and I had a cute little outfit on. All of a sudden, I heard this loud-ass knocking on the door.
It was my mama.
Mama: “Let me in the house. Let me in the house.”