Growing up

                                                                                                                                                             
    Growing up, I always felt like my life was a dream. Nothing ever felt real. Maybe this is why I found it "hard to take life seriously", as my dad would say. One of the main factors I had to deal with growing up was RACE. Let me first inform readers of this blog to understand that I am of a mixed race. My mother was white, and my dad was black. Because of this and the timeline of my life and society, I went through stages during my younger years where I wasn't accepted by blacks and also was not accepted by whites. So I was a poster model for outcast. Growing up, I felt left out a lot, but looking back on everything I would not trade it for the world. It opened my eyes to the real world, and not that fairy tale shit your read as a kid. Don't get me wrong, that fairy tale shit is good entertainment, and helps you fall right asleep. But that shit won't prepare you for the real world. And in the real world, no knight in shining armor is going to ride in on a horse and rescue you. Because the reality is, he can't afford the damn horse because child support is kicking his ass. And ridding in with that shinning ass armor is going to attract the wrong attention, like the police. And he doesn't want that, especially since he has a warrant for unpaid traffic tickets. On top of all that, this knight better not be black, if so, you may as well expect to wait for a long while, because of course he is going to be late.
    So you see, instead of setting myself up for failure like most people, I look at life for what it is, and deal with it. How do I relate this to race? Good question, even if you didn't ask it. You see growing up; I was raised by my dad (black), because my mom was killed. But I still associated with my mom's (white), side of the family. So I guess you can say I got the best and worst of both worlds. Anyway, as a young kid I would kick it with the white folks and listen to them tell nigger jokes and laugh there asses off. Then they would just look over at me and say, (in the most convincing bullshit way), don't worry Joey your one of us. ONE OF US. What the hell does that mean? Especially at 7 or 8 years old. But with a half ass grin on my face, I would just nod in agreement. Then I would discreetly look down at my skin, and know deep down inside that I was not one of them. But believe it or not, at the tender age of 7 or 8, I so badly wanted to be "ONE OF THEM". Not because I felt that being one of them was right, but because I knew I wasn't white. But even when I was around blacks and after being criticized over and over being called a honky or cracker. I would again look at my skin and feel like I'm also not, "one of them". Where did this leave me as a child? In limbo. Most of my years were exposed to the black culture, but kids can be cruel, worst than any adult. And when I was 7 or 8 we had not yet been exposed to Christopher Williams or baby face. No one knew Obama yet, so yellow niggas were not in. you mattered only if you were dark as chocolate or white as snow. So playing with black kids, I got a lot of torture and of course they called me white. Well going over to the white side of the family, also forced me to accept the negative points of being a nigger. My grandmother was so prejudice that all she called me and my youngest brother was little nigger or little black bastard. So I experienced strife on both sides of the track. But again I would not trade it in for the world. The experience alone was unmatched. Let me give you an example of that, and then I will tell you what I learned.
    True story. Even growing up with my dad I was always aware of the racism that was going on in the world. Well I have a whit aunt who actually loved to be around me. So when I was about 13 or 14 years old, she told me that we have an uncle jimmy that wants to see me and my brother. He has not seen us since our mom's death. He lives deep in the country of east Texas. So me, my baby brother, my aunt, and a couple of her kids took a road trip to east Texas to see uncle jimmy. Now let me clear up that, I grew up with my black dad. And my baby brother grew up with my white grandmother. Keep this in mind as I tell this story. Anyway, we were all packed up and on the road, heading to east Texas. Well half way down there, my aunt decides to share some vital information. She tells us that it slipped her mind to tell us about our uncle jimmy's lifestyle. She says that not only is uncle jimmy a member of the KKK but he was the grand wizard of that area. My mouth dropped and you can assume the rest of my reaction. Sitting in the front seat looking at my aunt I said, (well we need to turn around then right?) she just smiled and told me that there was nothing to worry about. Yea right, coming from "one of them". She did her best to assure me that it was going to be ok. She told me that the only time that I would have to worry was if he puts on his hood, I guess KKK rules are that they are not allowed to do anything without their hood. Bullshit! So she continues to tell me that, if so happen he does put on this hood, my instructions were to run to the nearest highway and she would pick me up. This was starting to feel less and less like a family trip, and more like a game show. What about my little brother in the back seat you ask? This is when you refer back to the comment I made earlier. I grew up with my dad; he grew up with my grandmother. I grew up black, he grew up white. Throughout this whole conversation with my aunt, my brother is sitting in the backseat totally unaffected by this information, playing his hand held game. Now growing up, he could pass as white. So maybe he had a sense of confidence in his head that his skin tone would make him safe. Maybe because of the skin tone, he was inexperienced with that side of racism. Or hell maybe he just did not care. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother to death, but he was on his own that day. Well after a couple of hours of driving we arrive at this house deep…deep…deep in the woods. Of course I'm the last out the car. As we approach the house. I felt a little sorry for my brother, imagining them tying a noose around his fat little neck. My aunt knocked on the door and uncle jimmy's wife opened the door and we entered through the kitchen and walked towards the dining room. Jimmy's wife stops in the hallway to look at us as she yells down the hallway in the countriest voice I have ever heard in my life, "jimmy they are here". But I was wrong about that voice. The response that returned from the other end of that hallway was by far the C O U N T R I E S T damn voice on this planet." I'll be there in a sec", uncle jimmy yelled back. Then looking at me with these deep eyes, his wife says, "no jimmy I think you need to come out now, it's something we overlooked". I swear I did not feel good about this. We were standing at the end of the hallway. And I heard jimmy cussing saying god dammit hear I come. This mother fucker took two, maybe three steps into the hallway from that last room, and stopped, and cocked his head. All I heard from his lips was "god damn!!" as he disappeared back into that room. Two minutes later he returned with a black hood on. All you heard from that point was the screen door banging back and forth after I ran out the door. I ran across fields, jumped fences, and ran past cows. Not having any idea where the hell the highway was.
    What may have only been 30 or 40 minutes, but seemed like hours, they found me hiding in a sugar cane field. We returned back to jimmy's house to discover that jimmy and my aunt planned this from the beginning. Although my uncle jimmy was a real KKK member and was grand wizard of that area, this was a lifestyle that he let go. We talked for hours about that. He turned out to be my favorite uncle. Not because he didn't hang me, but because he was the first to open my eyes to the hard reality of the world. He made an attempt to let me see what it was like in his shoes. Explaining that the lifestyle he lived was the way his dad raised him and that was all he knew. And his dad's dad did the same, and so on. As he began to grow out of it he saw the world in a different way. Don't get me wrong, at that time he would have been the first to admit that he had not completely kicked that raciest attitude, but he got better and better every day about seeing the world different.
    You see that opened my eyes to something. We are what we are conditioned to be. We are model creatures. So whatever we are taught, so shall we be. It's like raising your kids, if they become successful doctors or lawyers then the parents take blame. But let them turn out to be shit and no one takes blame. As I grew up and reflected on the behavior of my family members, I began to feel sorry for them. It was not their fault. That's how the parents raised them. But even then, it was not the parents fault, because they were raised that way, and so on. So prejudice is not a gene, it's a habit. Anyway, my family is not perfect but I love them, good or bad.



                                                                                                                                          -jboogie