Unadulterated Love

Unadulterated Love

Tensions were always high at home. My father drank and ran the bars. Mom was usually depressed, broke and sick. They were always fighting because he was going out all of the time. She was stuck at home raising the kids. Needless to say, the neighborhood and Mom raised me. A series of trial and error would teach me most of my lessons. Taught me my values and instilled core principles. The street smarts I gained made me the strong person I am.

The neighborhood I lived in was diverse. Every race, religion and creed could be found in a three block radius. I learned a lot about racism and made bonds that would last for the rest of my life. Some bonds were positive, some negative.

See racism was instilled by my father. As a kid I knew it to be the gospel because it was implanted. It grew and festered like a sumac seed. These uninformed thoughts created a lot of trouble for me. This system of petty beliefs and bigoted indoctrination would led us to discord. I'd have to fight for my pride, self esteem, and it would create an ego that I still struggle with.

I found a lot of trouble in my neighborhood. Kids would call my brother and I dirty white boys, crackers, hillbillies and white trash. While kids thought these words were funny to throw around, they hurt. My brother and I were no different. We used race as a way to aggravate and belittle the kids in our neighborhood. Our father embedded racial stereotypes and we were loyal students. He would talk about blacks as if they were second class people. His ignorance had no boundaries. Asians, African Americans and Hispanics, were nothing but an annoyance to his so-called perfect society. He was trying to ingrain a cultureless mindset and uneducated hate into his children.

There is one word I found as a kid that I could use, that would piss my enemy off to the core. My brother and I used the “N” word as a dagger. We knew no matter what was said to us, no word would piss somebody off more than that word. It was sharp, it sliced through someone's emotions like an X Acto knife.

The first time I found trouble with this was when I was playing on the porch with my friend Joe. I had a bag of potato chips and Joe wanted some. I didn't mind if he had some. I informed him that, in no way did I want his hands in the bag. While at the time I failed to realize it that racism made me tell him that. He sure took it that way. Joe started calling me all the standard white trash names he could think of. There I stood trying to find a way to verbally tear him down. In actuality he was a good kid, and probably right to be pissed at me. I knew I had a one word weapon; I used it. As soon as “nuh, Igg” came out of my mouth he popped me in the eye as hard as he could. Standing there holding my eye as bubbled shut, I was pissed. Joe was a little bigger than me, so I knew I needed another tool and the only thing I could find was a gutter nail that was laying on the porch. I grabbed the gutter nail and he started to bolt. I threw the gutter nail and hit him. He fell to the ground, jumped back up and started to run. As I watched him run off I realized the nail was still dangling from the back of his skull. I thought, “I've done it this time, I killed a kid”.

I was scared shitless. Luckily the gutter nail did not penetrate Joe’s skull. Simply jabbed into the back of his head and rested underneath his skin. That action and racial slur would set the tone for the longest summer ever. I knew Joe’s, momma, and I knew my momma. It was time for the great race war of 1989 to begin. See no one read about this war in the papers. They didn't talk about it in the coffee shops. It was real and things were going to get ugly in the neighborhood. See ignorance is not bliss when it comes to racism, ignorance will always be plain ignorant. There would be no sense of community that summer. Sides were taken, racial lines drawn and hate started to fester.

The battle began. The summer would be nothing but war for us. Mothers fighting mothers, dads pulling guns on each other. Two sets of brothers fighting brothers. Laotian kids trying to decide whether to jump on the white side, black side, or stay in their own lane. The Eritrean kids couldn't relate to the African Americans, yet struggled to side with the whites general hatred. White kids banded together because it was expected, blacks banded together because they had strength in numbers.

My brother and I were very creative. We knew how to hedge our bets. We didn't have the numbers but we were very creative. Our garage became a workshop. We had a surplus of rubber bands, nails, and wood. Using our creative style we honed in on our designs. We were going to make a nail gun. See, the kids down the street loved throwing rocks at us. We were a little younger and could not toss rocks as far as the others. So we were going to make sure that we hit our targets. We constructed a hybrid slingshot-nail gun. It was a flat piece of board with a groove in it. We mounted a pistol grip on the bottom. Tore our slingshots apart. Found a way to mount the power band and made a perfect sleeve to launch carpenter nails. This thing was effective. It would launch the nail about 40 feet with a perfect trajectory. Our favorite thing to do was launch a nail into the target's ass as they ran off.

This was very effective until one day my friend Taurus realized that he could flank us. So he did. He came up from behind, chucked a rock and hit my brother right in the head. He dropped his nail gun, and I dropped mine to help him up. As we ran off we noticed that Taurus and his sister Joanie now had our weapons.

Now that we lost our weapons we were hosed. See, the neighborhood kids caught on to my brother and I. They were going to get us back and it was going to hurt. One day, we all got off of the school bus. It was the last day of school and we were excited to start our summer break. We weren't thinking about much, we thought everything had blown over. So as we walked around the corner to the ally we noticed the whole damn neighborhood was standing in front of us. They were equipped with mini ball bats, bb guns, slingshots, and our nail guns. First thing I noticed was the nail hitting me in the chest, it stuck. Then the rush began. It felt as if the Chicago Bears entire defensive line made a blitz and they were sacking both of us. These moments seem like they last forever, in truth it took very little time for the collective to beat the shit out of us. All I can remember was thinking they can whoop me but I’m taking a piece of somebody with me. As I am fighting my way off of the ground and putting my back against a fence I noticed my little brother Jeremy sitting there with his hands over his head guarding himself. I made my way back to Jeremy and I pulled him to his feet. I smacked him, he needed to be brought back to reality. After waking him up he snapped into the craziest kill or be killed offensive that I have ever seen. He ran person to person in a perfect ballet of just knocking everyone out that he came to. Sadly, It motivated me. Left eye shut, nose bleeding, heart racing, my violent streak ensued. This shit was going to end today. Both of us worked through the crowd chopping the neighborhood down like rotted trees. Bark was flying. Finally the crowd broke up, kids laying there crying, running in every direction, racial slurs floating on the breeze. My brother and I made our way down the alley and into the house. Proud, thinking this was over, It was not over. My mother was pissed and somehow not impressed with our actions. She understood the gravity of the situation. She knew that our actions had started something that was going to be hard to get out of. She was tired of not being able to relax in her own home. Her children were indoctrinated. Our ignorance compromised what was supposed to be our safe place. She knew this would only add to what was already an aggravating situation. Dad was never home and would not have to deal with the repercussions.

That next week we ended up in family court. Arguments between mothers in front of Judges; all were right, yet everyone was wrong. My brother ended up having to take some kind of anger management course, somehow I slicked my way out of any trouble. This is something that would serve me through my teenage years. I could talk my way out of just about anything. Restraining orders were enacted. All of us were ordered to avoid contact. This order would be worthless.

The reason I say it was worthless is because no more than a week later my brother and a couple of my friends ran into Taurus, Joe, and Tyrone down at the local creek (sewage runoff). As we made our way towards them we came to a complete stop. We realized we were tired of fighting but resolved to do our best. My brother and I were too proud to run. We were ready to take our lumps yet were going to make sure to give some too. We knew if Dad ever heard that we ran from a situation like that, we would surely find welts. Any damage these kids could do would be less severe than the bastard's wrath.

Standing our ground and ready to fight Joe’s little brother Tyrone offered his hand, I thought, ” this is a setup”. Apprehensive, I accepted his handshake. Shaking his hand with one fist balled up and ready, I remained trained on the look in his eye's. One twitch and I'm going to drop this dude. Looking to the left, then to the right I noticed Ty’s brother Joe and Taurus making their way toward my brother and I. I knew this was going to be bad. There were no adults near us to break up this melee.

With tears welling in his eye's, I could tell that Tyrone was doing the most courageous thing he had ever done in his life. Apologizing. He was taking the high road. At that age I couldn't conceive the notion. It was alien to me. Standing there shocked, my brother and I accepted and reciprocated. We all apologized to each other. We realized if we did not find a way to get along, our mother would kill us long before each other. We all found a seat on the creek bank and had a conversation that would change the trajectory of our lives.

Talking to Taurus I realized his life was no different than mine, like me his father was an alcoholic, unfortunately his mother had passed away while he was young. Taurus and his sister Joanie were raising themselves. They had to steal in order to get their school clothing and supplies. Joe and Tyrone lost their father to cancer when they were at the ages of 7 and 9. Their mother worked all the time so they had what they needed but had no father figure to look up to. Not even a bad one. We swapped stories, frustrations, and dreams. Tyrone wanted to be a fireman. Joe aspired to be a basketball player. Taurus wanted to be a teacher. He was especially interested in helping kids with disabilities. Apparently he had a cousin that was disabled and wanted to learn to help folks that were not as blessed as us. My brother told how he wanted to become a veterinarian one day. Myself, I wanted to write. Write anything even if it's my name with spray paint on a wall; which we did plenty of times. We all talked about our dreams, pain, trauma, and how bad we wanted better lives. What our houses would look like, our dream girls, the cars we would drive, even what we would name our children. We talked until dusk. Hearing our mother scream out “Todd and Jeremy!”, let us know it was time to get in the house. Before we all took off, we all shook hands and made plans to meet at the same spot in the morning. Due to the restraining order, we would now have to sneak to see each other.

As I look back, it seems the most impactful days can be the shortest days of our lives. That day is embedded in my mind. Every bit of it is vivid. I remember the creek's scent, barefoot feet in the water, pants rolled up, how good the Faygo cream soda tasted and eating stale Boston Baked Beans. I remember Ty’s thriller jacket and Joe's silk shirt and Levi sport jeans. My brother had his ugly leather jacket on and some Wranglers that were torn at the knees. I can almost see myself from a third person perspective sitting there with my Hypercolor shirt and a pair of Zubaz pants.

The first summer went fast. We had so much fun. We spent our days breakdancing and singing to Biz Markie, Queen Latifah, and Young MC. We did all the bad things that mischievous kids do. Tommy knocked, fireworks, egging windows, toilet papering trees, and stole candy. Yep, we were Bebe's kids. We would swim, fish, and sewer surf (we would literally sewer surf with trash can lids through a flooded tunnel). Baseball, football, and basketball were a constant. We were good too.

That summer was only the beginning of our lifelong friendship. Our bond would only tighten throughout our young lives and into the college years. Our friendship would always come full circle no matter the case. We would fight to protect each other no matter the cost. We stayed out of gangs, we had no need. Our friendly gang of shirt tales would stand up to the best of thugs. We were protectors and hell raisers from a different sort.

While my father still is a jackass he has grown as well. I think the relationships my brother and I made as children changed the way he looked at things. My father cut the drinking out and actually took an active role in the neighborhood. He would take us all on fishing trips or to the lake to swim. It actually got to the point where my Dad would take Tyrone and Taurus fishing and leave me behind. I wasn't much of a fisherman. I couldn't handle sitting there all day or night and staring at the water with no gratification. I guess I bitched too much! That was ok with me. I was too involved with school, baseball, academic team, and work. It is nice to see my father grow out of his racist behaviors. I think he learned that all people have gifts to share. I am happy to report that he now plays the role of grandfather for all of our families. He is a good one. His love is boundless and he no longer sees color or judges creed. For years I thought he had no heart but realized that he was a sick man that was able to finally heal. Maybe it was us kids that helped him to mend whatever was broken inside of him.

Now that I am older I am happy to report that we did not end up in prison. Not one of us became what we dreamed of, but that is ok! Tyrone wanted to be a fireman, he's now a police officer. Joe wanted to be a basketball player, he is now a drug counselor. Taurus wanted to teach and he is now a prison guard. My brother wanted to be a veterinarian, he is a construction worker. Currently, I own a debt collection agency. Not one of us has lost our dream. We all live in the homes we dreamt of, in close proximity to each other. We are all still best friends. Our families are large and they are diverse. Culture is huge to us. We embrace it with our traditions and instill it in our families. Weekend barbecues are simply family reunions. We realized that family isn't always those that carry our bloodline. They are the beautiful people we share our little lives with. Those people that lift us up and love us unconditionally. We are our own protectors and brothers with the best of intentions. We savor a life of variety. We all know unadulterated love.