“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.”

OMG – My Baby Boy is Going to Leave Me

I wasn’t prepared for this.  My son said he wants to stay with his father for the entire summer.  Many single moms like me may have rejoiced with this opportunity. 

Shoot – I barely have time to use the bathroom in peace.  And my son wears out my name like that annoying child on The Family Guy.  Every time I turn around, it’s “Mommy can I…” 

If my son were to stay with his father, I’d have an entire summer with a clean house. 

I wouldn’t have to come home fussing about crap being everywhere it shouldn’t.  I would have quiet.  I’d be able to just do me without thinking of my son’s needs first. 

I wouldn’t have to cook dinner every night.  I could actually watch whatever program I wanted without feuding with him about turning the channel when a commercial came on.

But Lord knows I’d miss that loud-ass kid.  I’d miss him blasting some B-bop on YouTube.  I’d miss him hogging the big couch as he watched Nickelodeon.  I’d even miss him complaining about having to walk the dog that he begged me to adopt. 

I asked him why he wanted to leave, and he said he’d be bored.  With daycare costing a fortune and my son being a mature young man, he’d have to stay home. 

Instead he wants to work at his father’s company washing cars so he could make some extra money. 

How could I say no to him wanting to do something positive for himself?

How could I say no to him wanting to spend time with his father?

I suppose him leaving for the summer would prepare me for the day he actually leaves the nest and goes off to college.

After I sulked for a few minutes, I said into the phone, “But I’ll miss you.”

My son replied in his adolescent voice, “Daddy lives right down the street, and I’ll see you on the weekends, mommy.”

I laughed aloud but then thought, OMG – My baby boy is going to leave me!

A Date With Destiny - Fiction

I was summoned to come and say goodbye to my mother before she died.  Even though I knew for months that my mother was sick, I was ill prepared for such a phone call.  I simply wasn’t ready.  But then again, who is ready for death?  As much as I tried, I couldn’t wrap my head around the notion that, except for family photos and video tape, I’d never see her again.  I’d never be able to call her for advice and lean my head on her shoulders.  She was more than my mother.  She was my best friend.  Mournful of my impending loss, I strained my voice to tell God how much I hated him.  He is the all mighty and the all powerful.  How could he take her away from me?  For a moment, I was angry with my mother too.  Why couldn’t she fight harder?  How could she let her soul slip away?  How could she leave me here on earth to deal with life without her presence, encouragement, love and support?  These were only some of the feelings that violated my mind. 

Other thoughts made me cringe.  On the drive to the hospital I felt as if it was a beautiful day to die.  The sky was the most magnificent shade of blue, and at six o’clock in the morning, the weather was already seventy-five degrees.   I spent more time looking at the sky than at the cars that were racing in front of me, and for a fleeting moment, I considered accelerating to the point of dangerously losing control, but hurting someone else in the process of ending my own life kept my foot from flooring the accelerator. 

Somehow, without being mindful of my surroundings, I made it to the hospital.  My mother was lying on the bed.  She looked well older than her sixty years.  Her hand was cool; her body still.  I sat there, holding her and crying hysterically as the gurgling in her throat became even more intense.   And then I gasped and had a crazy sense of relief.  My mother smiled after taking her last breath. 

TO BE CONTINUED

End of Chapter One - Murder In Queen County

“Just give it to him,” Monica said.

Annette shook her head and then handed over her license. 

The Sherriff walked away.

“He can’t do that!” Annette said with her voice slightly elevated. 

Monica combed her hair back with her fingers and said, “Calm down.  He can and he did.  He’s just being a prick because he obviously has nothing better to do.”

“I’m not used to these backwards hillbillies.”

“And I am?  Look, we’re both tired and worn.  We’ll find a hotel and get settled and then go get a bite to eat.  Just let me do the talking.”

“Fine.”

The Sherriff came back to the car and threw the licenses in the open window.

“Handle it,” Annette said, turning to look out of the passenger’s side window.

“Are we free to go?” Monica said with pierced lips to the Sherriff.

“Yeah, you free to get out this town.  We don’t take kindly to strangers in these parts,” the Sherriff replied.

“Actually, we’re staying for awhile.  Thought this may be a good place to lay down some roots,” Monica retorted in an accent that mocked the Sherriff’s southern drawl.  “Matter fact, can you tell us where we might find a hotel to lay our head for the evening?”

“Ain’t none,” the Sherriff said.

“From the looks of this place, I know you don’t have a Taj Mahal, but you’re telling me that you don’t have a Sheraton, a Hilton, a Comfort Inn, a Motel 6?”

“Ain’t no need,” the Sherriff said.

“But they have a Bed and Breakfast,” Annette said, pointing to a wooden sign up ahead. 

“Ain’t no vacancies,” the Sherriff said.

Monica blew out a gasp of air and nodded.  “Ok, Mr. Sherriff man, you win.  We’ll leave.”

“And don’t come back now, you hear,” the Sherriff said, as he turned around.

Monica waited until he took one step and then put her gear in drive.  She spun around him and into a parking spot in front of the Bed and Breakfast.  “Wait here.  I’ll check us in,” she said to Annette, jetting out of the car.

Before the Sherriff was able to run into the lobby, the clerk at the Bed and Breakfast handed Monica a pair of keys. 

Monica turned around to face the Sherriff and waived the key.  “You were wrong Sherriff.  They had one room left.”