I grew up what was probably upper middle class. Not quite that, but close. Maybe a little less than upper middle class. My mom grew up in a lower income blue collar neighborhood but got out, and her and my dad did well. We were not rich, they both worked, but we were very comfortable.

Anyway, one day my mom's old best friend from middle and high school got in contact with her and my mom and I went to visit. She was living in an area out in a sticks in a house that had clearly at one time been a nice place, but had not been taken care of for decades. It was just run down and there was junk in the yard, giant weeds everywhere and stuff.

Her son was exactly my age, I think 12, but seemed way older, and when we walked in he was sitting on a couch smoking a cigarette, with his mom right there. For me that was a crazy thing, like mind-blowing. Neither of my parents smoked, and I knew if they even caught the scent of tobacco on my I would be in a world of trouble.

The mom hollered something about taking me outside to play and the son said, exactly, I will probably never forget this, "I will when I finish my cigarette, quit bothering me, bitch."

I think I almost passed out. A few minutes later he put his cigarette out and we went outside where he showed me a car his uncle was fixing up, and then we went into a little shed that had no doors and he showed me how he had been making molotov cocktails, though he said he couldn't use them around there.

My mom came out and called for me soon after that and we left. We never visited them again.