“What are you laughing at nigga?”

I couldn’t believe my ears.  Besides the nonchalant blaring of the word nigger on film and rap songs, I have only heard someone say it (using its malicious connotation) in front of me one other time.

That was twenty years ago.  A white guy in a group that I hung around decided to tell a racist joke with the N-word as the punch line.  I had never been so offended, and it shocked me how one little word could make me want to hall off and punch the guy in the face. 

The childhood adage: “sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me” was complete bullshit that day.

My boyfriend, Juan Carlos, had to hold me back.  I was outraged.

Later that day, I remember thinking about my mother’s generation and generations before my mother’s generation – having to hear that word roll off the tongues of people constantly.  And I didn’t understand why my own people would use it – especially openly or as a term of endearment.

Anyway, the white guy ended up apologizing to me.  He said he didn’t think I would get angry. 

Fast forward twenty years. 

I’m at the pool with my son.  There are kids selling lemonade across the street.  A little Spanish boy walked to the gate of the pool where we were sitting and asked my son if he’d like some lemonade.  My son said, “No, thank you,” and started laughing because we just saw Dennis the Menace the day before, and he remembered Dennis urinating in the pitcher and passing it off as lemonade.

So, the little boy said to my son, “What are you laughing at nigga?”

My son immediately stopped laughing.  He stood there shocked.  It had been the first time anyone called him that name.   

Being that I was older and experienced many vulgarities in life, I was not as outraged as I was twenty years ago, but I was hurt that my son had to experience such wickedness being spewed upon him.

The little boy didn’t see me initially because I was in a lawn chair with the back facing him.  So when I stood up and turned around, his eyes said what his mouth didn’t, “Oh, fuck!”

Children who heard the kid’s ugly words gathered around. 

I was juggling in my mind what I wanted to say to this kid, knowing that I had to speak carefully. 

In an authoritative voice, I said, “Young man, I am ashamed of you and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

This white pre-teen shouted, “Yeah, we don’t tolerate racism on our block.”

A Spanish kid said, “If you’re going to talk like that then you can’t play with us anymore.”

The little boy looked at me as if to say, please make them stop. 

“You need to apologize.  That is a mean and hurtful word.  Don’t you ever say that again,” I said.

(For those of you thinking he has the right to say whatever he pleases, I say, so do I ;0)

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry,” the little boy replied and then walked away.

The kids who were gathered around jumped in the pool.

My son walked over to me and said, “I couldn’t believe my ears.  I don’t care that he’s a kid; you should have cussed him out.”

I laughed and replied, “I can understand your anger, but two wrongs don’t make a right.”