Home Sweet Home

OCEAN CITY, NJ/“THE ISLAND”

What is the meaning of “hometown” and where is it? Hometown is defined in a plethora of ways by languages, perspectives, feelings, security, self expression, culture etc. People of various cultural and religious backgrounds create their reality of home through personal meaning. For me, culture and spirituality mixed with highlights of inner rebellion have influenced what and how I perceive my hometown or a place I call home. What I became adapted to see and hear influenced my internal forces of what I was inclined to value, perceive myself as micro and macro cosmically, my relationship with others, the environment, and what to hold on to as “special.” This personal process is referred to in past tense due to the peeling away of onion illusions of my perception. As one layer dissolved, my eyesight burned away the facade of seemingly social oppression and sharpened my internal senses to know that my mind is the place I call home.

OCEAN CITY’S ATMOSPHERE

The atmosphere of OC seeped through the crevices of my mind with an energetic material to build up the barriers of its ideologies, mores, and norms within my developing consciousness. Ocean city, NJ is not the place I call home. I never blended in with the crowd. Indeed, I have many memories that I store away as treasures deep beneath the layers of my heart and the gated compartments of my mind, but some memories were too painful to remember. The positives were unforgettable and fortunately, led me to my soul mate. Due to a willing inability to suppress who I was to blend in, I didn’t feel secure or a sense of belonging. I never became a chameleon. I was always defending myself against danger. The danger was forgetfulness and a shattered glass of identity scattered in minute pieces throughout a world of quiet racism. The silence extended through the branches and leaves of its trees, the stillness of the suburban homes that were separated from “the projects,” grocery shopping at Acme vs. Super Fresh at the time, and each greeting or non greeting of its residents.

FIRST TIME

I remember moving to OC when I was 8 years old. The first group of friends I met were my uncle’s friends. My uncle and I are 3 years a part. So, we shared many social experiences with each other. Because these were not my personal friends, I already felt a sense of withdrawal. My thoughts were being pulled inwardly like a child being dragged in the house by the arm of his or her parent. However, I still desired to make my own friends, mistakes, shoulda-coulda-woulda excuses, eat sweets, and be irresponsible. My thoughts drove up and down hidden roads looking for freedom. They sat next to the bedroom window of my eyes weeping to go back out as I desired this. Reflecting upon these experiences that I will further detail, has revealed that OC was the infancy stage of my consciousness’ development. Ocean city’s small borders and lack of diversity created an enclosed environment. We were like children in a play pen thinking the pen was the entire world. All racial groups were divided into sects and socially rated by one’s talents, coolness, self hate, and ass kissing. The more popular you were as a black person, the more white people who shared your social values accepted you by degrees in doses. This meant that friendly relationships were biased, intimate relationships were casual and transient, and social experiences were routine. What it meant to have fun to me was dull and severely lacked spontaneity. The vibrations of the atmosphere wreaked of generational racism, biased favoritism, a facade of perfection, conservatism, and patriotism. Every person and waking moment were waiting for the right stimulus to manifest what was simmering underneath to boil over by the right temperature. Winters felt like a harsh 25 degrees racist to summer of 88 hate degrees. The shit was intense at times, but I learned how to dress appropriately for each “condition.”

HAPPENINGS

Cops unceasingly patrolled the 4th street Wawa, the chill out corner of the town in the back alley, and the projects (the low income community of minorities) looking to catch the next “offensive” thug. The projects was bordered by a presence of perpetual socioeconomic failure, shadowed by misguidance, and smelled like an infusion of clustered depression and anger. The homes were literally surrounded with fences with a melting rust color of crocodile green. The rectangular and square shapes of the homes all spoke “prison.” The colors, exterior design, and lack of ventilation expressed the very hate for the lower classes in this “hometown.” There was no beautiful landscape to uplift the youths’ spirits. All the beauty was concentrated in “The Gardens” and other suburban areas of OC. Parents would invite you over for dinner if it meant their child had a friend athletically popular or institutionally intelligent. These instances occurred throughout all of my school years which penetrated my soul with an eerie feeling, a lack of motivation, and sadness when I was isolated in my thoughts away from all distractions. My Primary through Intermediate school days were filled with excitement from holiday parades, kickball, sleepovers, Chuck E. Cheese, skating, school trips, school sports, and community gatherings. It was definitely a joy when it flooded; we made our own ships to sail on and act like ghetto pirates, lol. The holidays filled everyone’s spirits. Literally, everyone celebrated each holiday to the core. Christmas was the most passionately celebrated. The lights literally lit up the entire town. The neighbors would walk out with Christmas on their faces. The places to eat were Mack O Mancos pizza, Express (the spot), Bakeley’s, the Chatter Box, and McDonald’s. After every adrenaline pumping event, grabbing a bite was the next stop. We all overcrowded and transformed the atmosphere of local diners with laughter, curfew resistant attitudes, and appetites large as Hulk Hogan’s muscles. I greatly enjoyed my childhood experiences, but I always felt a gnawing tremor of emptiness, pointlessness, and aimless targets. My childhood in OC left me unfulfilled and hungry right after eating up swimming at the beach, going to club Shampoo in Philly, riding the Wonderland rides, and hooking up with the popular athletes. It was difficult for me to get attached to these happenings. Ocean city reminded me of a stranger offering a child candy luring me to a childhood full of misery. The moments were sweet, but the process of growing was challenging. Nothing tied me to its heel besides finding true love’s kiss in my 8th grade year right before high school. My now husband and three kids later are the gifts Ocean city blessed me with.

HIDING OUT

The town was hidden with underage drugs, drinking, teenage abortions, and racial slanders. Beside these negatives, our fun stretched beyond the walls of school to places like the boardwalk and its wonders, the music pier, house parties, the beach, local restaurants, downtown shopping, and field sports. Out of all places of enjoyment in Ocean city, the boardwalk was my favorite place to go. I looked forward to the shining lights glittering like stars, the harmonious symphony of everyone’s voices speaking at different rates and tones, and the waves of the ocean characterizing the collective moods of its audience. It was all mind encaptivating and enticing. The funnel cakes, lemonade, high standing Ferris wheel , out-of-town shoobies, and the climate brought the most variety of our summers. These experiences drew a canvas of originality, genuine laughter, and teenage exploration into our hearts and minds.

HIGH SCHOOL

During my high school years, a profound period of intense identity struggle was the central theme. I struggled with bulemia, domestic abuse and discordance, and open ignorance from students and teachers. My dreams were killed by a monster in the dark. Cheerleading, basketball, my boyfriend, and a few friends were my outlets to get away emotionally. I did not want to participate in class. So, I didn’t. All classes were full of regurgitated vomit; some inspirational and some as a hypnotic trance. I only looked forward to summer with my best friend. Her and I were long lost sisters with almost the same smile. We were the chocolate vanilla swirl ice cream on a cone of a friendship. She’s the vanilla and I’m the chocolate with sassy outgoing spirits. We slept over each other’s houses like we lived there. Hanging out was SUPER FUN! We played on all sports teams together. We would ride our bikes singing on the top of our lungs in our bathing suits to go pick up our favorite summer foods, cold hoagies, chips and sodas while people looked at us like we were crazy. We watched block buster movies all night, snuck out of the house at times, and took the bus out of town to go shopping. We got into so much trouble sometimes and did not care because we knew we would be off punishment soon to do it all over again. Those are the times I truly miss of Ocean city.

TOTALITY- CONCLUSION

Overall, I call OC the hamster’s wheel of routine, redundancy, and smallness. The summertime is definitely the gravesite of remembrance that I revisit in my mind sometimes of the buried wildest and darkest teenage secrets. The fall was the kicker-in-the-ass-back-to-reality when summer completed menstruating. The most bitter sweet unorthodox experiences were growing up as a “black” girl in OC. My insatiable desire for expansion and adventure led me to break free and transition to bigger towns such as Galloway and Mays Landing, NJ. Ultimately, it led me to New Hampshire which I fell in love with not because of the people, but the White Mountains, hiking trails, beaches, lakes, trees, flowers, health conscious vibrations of foods, learning, wider highways, and fresh air. Massachusetts and Connecticut are a drive away for more cultural foods, ethnic people, and flavorful music. I love that!! The silence of racism, prejudice, division, and lack of diversity still lurks heavily, but nature is here to protect and provide for me; I embrace her magnificence, splendor, and peace daily. Nature is my mother, power is my father, and my mind is my hometown.