Warren It ain't gonna be no walk In the park

1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-0983-0194-1
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 230 Seiten

The book's content is about a biracial child growing up in the 60's, and 70's without a father figure. As a child growing up without much adult supervision, he experienced many death defying situations in his early years before the age of 10. Adulthood held not much better luck, but with the protection of God's loving arms surrounding him: He finally understood what life is about.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Warren, Michael

Leseproben

Chapter 1

I was told, many years later by my aunt, that when she went to change my diaper she screamed out “Mama, come here! There is something wrong with Tony”. My grandmother came into the room, looked down at me with me smiling back up at her and said “there ain’t nothing wrong with that boy, he jus half white”.

You see, my mother was black, and my father was white, so my lower half was consistent with my father’s genetic makeup. My aunt hadn’t been used to such a sight, but my grandmother had seen many children resembling such a spectacle, even though she grew up in the deep south. At that present moment, we were in the cold mid-western city of Minneapolis, Minnesota in late 1963.

I wouldn’t say that experience had an effect on me, but my ethnic situation during this time period (1963-1970) had some negative effects on me, This was the time period of the Civil Rights movement, along with the animosity being generated by the Vietnam War. At the time Black Power was catching on, I wasn’t considered black enough by some African-Americans, and I surely wasn’t white enough for the White Americans. So, I felt somewhat out of place in my youth.

Even within my own family, I could feel some tension about me as a child. Not from my own brother and sisters, but it was from my aunts, uncles, and my grandfather. On the other hand, my grandmother didn’t care about my race, Mulatto; she loved each and every one of us the same, unconditionally.

My mother was a single mother on AFDC (Aid to Families with Dependent Children), and she worked now and then until her death from Cancer in 1982, the same year I graduated high-school. She couldn’t handle us five children, subsequently we were left alone for extended periods of time, days on end. This was how and why, I learned so many negative behaviors as a young black child, from the streets.

One of the bright spots in my days growing up was always the holidays spent at our grandparent’s house. When anyone spoke of that particular house, would say “I’m up to the house”. This held a symbolic feeling of comfort, warmth, and togetherness, which my grandmother fostered with her elaborate holiday meals.

My grandparent’s house, was located on the city’s north side on 16th Ave and Penn. In those days, the area was predominately Caucasian with a spattering of African-American’s who usually resided in the North-Side Projects about 3 miles from my grandparent’s house. The big yellow stucco duplex held my grandparents on the lower level, and an uncle on the upper level.

On one particular day, while spending the night “up to the house”, I watched as my grandmother, mother, and aunts cooked the next day’s holiday meal. I couldn’t believe the time it took to prepare the amount of food they cooked. On this occasion the evening before Easter Sunday, the foursome of cooks prepared ham, turkey, cornbread dressing, lime mold jello, greens, green beans, sweet potato pie, cookies, cakes, along with my grandmother’s famous dinner rolls. The tremendous amount of food was prepared with the loving touch of my grandmother’s supervision, for everyone ran to her for her approval, even my mother.

The next day, as the table was being set, I felt a twinge of anticipation in the air as I smelled the heavenly aroma of all of these wonderful foods fill the air at once. My favorite of all of these aromas was the dinner rolls grandmother had baked, which were the last items to be cooked before we ate. I can still search my memory and find that heavenly sweet-smelling bread baking in the oven. Oh, what a wonderful smell and sight, because as one pan was taken out of the oven, another one was placed in the oven. And while one was baking, my mother, aunts and grandmother, fumbled with the rolls just released from the hot oven, cutting them open to place a perfect portion of butter inside.

I couldn’t believe the sight as the table held this tremendous amount of food, and what the table couldn’t hold, the buffet and smaller tables surrounding the long dinner table held. It was a table literally fit for a king, and everyone around the table waited with anticipation as grace was said by my grandfather.

Holidays were a source of inspiration for me, due to the food that was cooked, as well as the camaraderie that the family setting held. Also, we expected and received holiday gifts most of the time. This Easter we would put on our new Easter clothes and head to church, then eat the family feast. However, I was anticipating the Easter basket we would receive from the Easter Bunny, but that would have to wait until my sister, my brother, and I went home that evening.

Well, that evening as my sister, my brother, and I were dropped off at the duplex on Irving Avenue North, just north of Plymouth Avenue, I was in for a surprise. I remember us being dropped off in front of the house with out anyone walking us up the stairs to our upper level home. However, this wasn’t unusual, as my mother left us alone on numerous occasions.

When I look back at this scenario, I become angry with her for having us children, who were only 9, 6, and 4 years old, with my sister being the oldest at 9, me being 6, and my youngest brother only 4 years old being dropped off alone. What was so important to leave your children on the steps of your own home without even seeing them into their house safely, let alone leaving them alone at such an early age? I can’t understand!

My brother, sister, and I made our way up the stairs of the duplex and went inside, only to find that our Easter baskets had been tampered with. I had anger seething inside my little body, so when my sister yelled “tony, come here. There is someone sleeping on our couch”. I ran over to take a look at who it was. When I got there, I recognized the little S. O. B. as the boy who lived downstairs. My next thought was to punish him for stealing from me and my brother and sister, so I looked around for something I could use as a switch. I ran into the kitchen and looked into the drawer. Finding a lighter, I ran back into the living room and set his hair on fire. I never in my life saw a little Caucasian boy scream so loud, “mama, mama”, as he ran down the steps to their lower level dwelling. At that point I yelled, “you m—F—er, you shoulda never stole our candy”, then slammed the door.

Well, in the next few minutes I felt the front steps begin to shake. I knew who was on their way up: Shamoo, the killer Witch from downstairs. She was coming up to defend the thievery of her son.

Boom, boom, boom went the echoes of her pounding on the front door, while yelling “open the door, you little m–—F–-s, I gonna whip your asses”. I went and opened up the door and quickly stepped back as she lunged at me. I ran for the corner of the living-room, she couldn’t even attempt to keep up with me. I guess she must have weighed over three hundred pounds and was as slow as ice cream melting in the north pole, it ain’t happening. She then yelled “ you guys better get in that room and go to bed”. Well, my brother and sister were already in the room, so I went and joined them. Next she started yelling “I’m going to tell your mother. I’m supposed to be watching you bad-ass little kids. Why’d ya set Jerry’s hair on fire”? My response was “fuck you, you fat-ass bitch, he shouldna stole our candy”.

I can’t remember the results of my actions that evening, but I guess my mother didn’t approve nor did she discipline me. However, my personal escapades into delinquency only rose, as I was left to fend for myself all too often.

I can recall being left alone one afternoon, and as a result of my curiosity, I set my mother’s box spring of her mattress on fire while I was underneath it. I did this to test the Watkin Man’s Product, a household fire extinguisher my mother had purchased a week earlier. First, I set the fringes of the box spring on fire all around me, then proceeded to put the flames out with the fire extinguisher. When my mother got home, she said “What is that I smell”? I said, “you know that new thing you bought from that Watkins man”? She said “ya,” and I said, “well, it works”. She then went into the bedroom, saw the fried fringes of the box spring, and went to whopping my ass.

I ca look back and still see my mother leaving for work, which I don’t know what she did, and as the rain drops fell to the ground. My mother skipped over the puddles of rain like an elk, so gracefully and effortlessly. While the raindrops fell, my eyes swelled with puddles of water then flowed upon the window ledge in perfect rhythm with the rain falling onto the window, with a tap, tap, tap, tap. I cried inside my soul as well as onto that window ledge, because I wanted to be with her so bad. Why couldn’t she be with me?

That next day, my mother still hadn’t come home, and we were not allowed out of the house when she was away. However, I decided to open the door and look into a dresser my mother had placed on the plateau of the upper step. I looked inside and found a long, slender tube, like a lip stick case, bit it contained a hard, black substance that was similar to lava. So, I inspected the other side and found a spring like lever that, when I pulled it back, it appeared to run into the black substance from the opposite direction. I then looked back at the black substance, while pulling back the spring all the way. I released the spring, and the explosion of that substance flashed into my face and eyes with a vicious force, leaving me screaming and temporarily blinded. Unknowingly, I had just used a self defense mechanism sold in hundreds of stores and magazines, that consisted of...