I Can't Make This Up: Life Lessons

by Kevin Hart

On the day he started dealing, he came home as proud as can be. His chest was puffed out, his jaw was set, and his eyes were steely. He then made a gesture I’d never seen him make before: He tilted his head upward and a little to the side, until his chin was pointing at me, like he was a Mafia boss. “Look,” he began in a confident voice. “I know Dad ain’t around. It’s just me, you, and Mom. So I’m letting you know I got us.” “Huh?” He winked at me. A slow wink, a do-you-have-something-stuck-in-your-eye wink, a teenager-who-thinks-he’s-grown-up-and-has-life-figured-out wink. “I got us,” he continued. “So if you need anything, you come to big brother and I’ll take care of it, knowwhatimsayin.” Then he raised his right hand and summoned me with his finger. This motherfucker really thought he was Scarface. “C’mere.” I walked over obediently. He pulled out a small wad of cash and peeled off a one-dollar bill. The wad was probably all one-dollar bills. “Get yourself something,” he said magnanimously. “Treat yourself to some chips.” Up to that point, I had no idea what was going on. But as soon as I saw that dollar, I didn’t care. My brother was giving me money, and that was cool. “Thanks,” I responded. “Love you, man.” He put on a pair of shades and left the house. The next day, my mom found his drug stash. He’d hidden it inside the grill at the bottom of the refrigerator. It was the worst place he could possibly have chosen to hide something, because the kitchen was my mom’s wo...