ESL word causes a motha sucka moment

I had a friend over for dinner.  He told me about this nice lady he met at Bukoms in DC.  “She was beautiful - had a nice body just like yours… chubby,” he said.  Now, I assumed because English is not his first language or even his second, he simply chose the wrong adjective.  I'm sure he was looking for "phat", but because I wouldn't know if he was using "ph" or "f", he was still SOL.  Girlfriend may have some meat in all the right places, but I am not chubby.  Therefore, I amiably corrected his enormous mistake by giving him some other choise words to use: thick, healthy, voluminous, sexually stimulating. (smile) But let me tell you, dear friends, had he called another woman chubby, that would definitely be a motha sucka moment.  LOL! ;o)

Jennifer's Bloggin': African / American Women

Jennifer's Bloggin': African / American Women: My friend told me that a good African woman is a woman that cooks and cleans for her man. He said that men don’t cook and clean in Senega...

African / American Women

My friend told me that a good African woman is a woman that cooks and cleans for her man. He said that men don’t cook and clean in Senegal, and I should be diligent with cooking and cleaning because I have a good man. (Yes, you read that right). Ok – let’s step back for a moment. First of all, in Senegal, Africa, most housewives have maids. Ain’t that a bitch! Housewives got maids! Toss out some mula for a Merry Maid, and I’ll quickly shut the hell up, but until then… motha sucka… realize we ain’t in AFRICA, and I am ALL AMERCAN! I can bring home the turkey bacon and fry it up in a pan, but I'll be damn if I'm doing the dishes too. LMAO!

School Fight

Son: Mommy, can I get your opinion on something about something that happened in school?

Me: What's up?

Son: So, this guy comes up to this guy and says, "This is my chair.  You need to get up."  And the other guy says, "I don't see your name on this chair, and there are no assigned seats in this class."  So, the other guy pushes the guy out of the seat.  So, the guy who fell down gets up and pushes the guy who pushed the guy and the teacher sees.

Me: So, which guy were you?

Son (Eyes wide opened): How did you know?  

Me: How many times have I told you to get the teacher?  Now, you're going to pay the price for fighting.

Son: I was sitting there minding my own business, but now I have lunch detention.

Me: And I hope you learned your lesson.

Lord have mercy!  It ain't easy!

Jennifer's Bloggin': Bill Collectors

Jennifer's Bloggin': Bill Collectors: I’m an advocate of paying the debt I created but sometimes (unforeseen) circumstances causes financial setbacks.  In thos...

Bill Collectors

I’m an advocate of paying the debt I created but sometimes (unforeseen) circumstances causes financial setbacks.  In those times, it is imperative that one addresses bill collectors to prevent further financial penalty.  Still, you have to be in the right state of mind to deal with a bill collector.  When I’m not ready to speak to a bill collector, but I want to know who’s calling (nope – don’t have caller ID on my home phone), I sometimes answer the phone in a different accent or language.  It adds a hint of light to a dark situation.  Just don’t mess around and have this happen…

The delayed answer and slight echo in the background automatically put my hand in hang-up motion, but the operator said hello before I could replace the receiver.  So…

“Hola.”

“Hello, may I speak to Jennifer Lightburn.  It’s Wells Fargo with an important business matter,” the woman said, sounding like she came from deep, deep, deepa in the woods of Tennessee.

“Me, Jennifer.  Me, no habla ingles,” I said in my best Mexican accent.

“No problema. Me hobla Española.”

F*CK! LMAO! ;o)

Jennifer's Bloggin': Soul Brothers - Chapter 2Copyright 2009By Jennifer...

Jennifer's Bloggin': Soul Brothers - Chapter 2Copyright 2009By Jennifer...: Soul Brothers - Chapter 2 Copyright 2009 By Jennifer Lightburn

Soul Brothers - Chapter 2

Copyright 2009

By Jennifer Lightburn

Soul Brothers - Chapter 2

Jennifer's Bloggin': <!--[if gte mso 9]> 0 0 1 2889 16471 Consul...: Soul Brothers (Copyright 2009) By Jennifer Lightburn Chapter 2 Cruise sat on the locker-room bench with his head i...

Soul Brothers Chapter 2

Soul Brothers 

(Copyright 2009)

By Jennifer Lightburn

Chapter 2

Cruise sat on the locker-room bench with his head in his hands.  Getting the starting point guard spot was gratifying, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it.  Not with his performance compared to Eddie’s.  What made it worse was the effortless way that Eddie schooled him on the court. 

Cruise hated Eddie.  He didn’t hate the Afrocentric sportsman because Eddie beat him in every sport since tee-ball in kindergarten.  He despised Eddie because of his arrogant response to victory.  That last dunk Eddie made on Cruise in practice didn’t compare to the drama Eddie displayed after he made it.  One would have thought, with that dunk, Eddie saved the human race. 

“I hate him,” Cruise said into his hands.

“Don’t hate the player.  Hate the game,” Vinny said, passing his locker with a towel around his waste.

Déjà vu.

Don’t hate the player.  Hate the game.  Those were his mother’s words, which were usually followed with, “Practice makes perfect.” 

For a moment, Cruise drifted in thought.  He remembered his mother trying to console him in the very same men’s locker room that he was sitting now.

“You can’t get mad that someone is better than you because there’s someone who is better than them.  You can’t be mad that someone is giving himself praise because sometimes gloating is what the human spirit needs.  Just be happy you have a chance to play with such good talent,” his mother had said.

Be glad that you’re starting and take this time to show everyone how good of a player you really are, Cruise thought.   

He sat up, grabbed his towel from the locker, headed to the showers, and ignored the player’s taunting and loud talk. 

“Mom would never make a decision that affects me without telling me first!” Cruise vented. 

            “Leave your mother out of this, Cruise.  I’m not your mother.  I’m your coach and she’s not here anymore,” Cruise’s father replied. 

Cruise noticed his father’s awkward expression, as if his father jammed his foot completely in his mouth.

What an ass for saying that, Cruise thought.  

Cruise stood up and walked to his father.  “What happened to word is bond?” he asked sated with irritation.  Then he swung the door open violently, as if it wasn’t made of glass.

“You said I would start!” he yelled outside his father’s office, as he punched large dents in several lockers that lined the wall in the locker room.

His reaction startled several players, and they grabbed their backpacks so Cruise and the coach could have a moment. 

With his father on his tail, Cruise retrieved his backpack, after carelessly turning the lock to the correct combination, and he left the locker room abruptly, kicking closed locker doors as he made his exit. 

The assistant coach bear-hugged Cruise’s father, as the teenager’s flagrant disrespect was more than the coach could tolerate. 

            “He’s been through a lot this year.  Just let him be.  You can deal with him later tonight, and tomorrow he can take a hammer to the dents.”

“That’s if he lives to see another day,” the coach replied. 

On his way to first period, Cruise saw Eddie leaning against the wall and talking to Vinny and a couple other guys that Cruise called the ghetto squad. He wanted to say something smug to Eddie, but Eddie was standing around his gum smacking homies and Cruise felt too outnumbered to speak his mind. 

He watched as Eddie grinned, showing far too many teeth, as Cruise walked by. 

            “How does it feel to be sitting on the sidelines of one of the most important games this season,” a school reporter asked Cruise from behind. 

Cruise turned to face his assailant. 

“The same way you would feel if I jammed that tape recorder up your butt,” Cruise responded.  

The reporter yielded further questions and walked away, at the same time that Sharon Halley jumped in front of Cruise’s strut. 

“You could always pull a Tonya Harding,” she said with a smile that would ordinarily make Cruise’s body respond in uncontrollable ways.  This time her ill humor was only a source of humiliation. 

            “Harding was a fool to jeopardize her sports career by hurting someone else.  If I can’t play in a basketball game because of my own skill then I don’t want to play!” he said, walking away before Sharon uttered more ignorance. 

            The rumor, that Cruise failed to make the starting lineup, spread throughout the school like wild fire.  Even the pocket protecting, tri-focal-wearing geek-squad eyed him down as he took his seat in the far back row of history class. 

            When Eddie walked into the class, Cruise literarily felt ill hearing all the congratulations.  In the arrogant way that marked his personality, Eddie took his bows and thanked everyone for their continued support, as if he was accepting a lifetime achievement award.  Cruise could feel the unabashed taunting upon him, even though; he buried his face in his arms. 

The classroom was noisier than it typically was when Cruise was the ringleader, and the pitch only seemed to magnify until Mr. Simms’s presence stunned the class to silence.  

Mr. Simms, a former NFL player turned History teacher, didn’t have to tell the class to settle down.  He had a reputation of not taking any mess, and therefore, his students didn’t give him any.  He started and finished role within a minute and then wrote in all caps: HARLEM RENAISSANCE across the chalkboard. 

            “Who can tell me the significance of the Harlem Renaissance in the American culture?” Mr. Simms asked. 

            No one raised his or her hands. 

            “Wake up Mr. Russell,” Mr. Simms said, walking up and down the aisle.  He stopped at Eddie’s desk.  “Mr. Mitchell, can you please tell the class the significance of the Harlem Renaissance?”

            “No, Mr. Simms, that’s your job.  Can you please explain it to the class,” Eddie replied sarcastically.

            “Yes, it’s also my job to give grades for class participation.  Did you read your homework assignment last night?” Mr. Simms asked rhetorically. “Why don’t you at least try?  I’m sure you can come up with something.”

            Cruise looked up to see once and for all the great Eddie Mitchell choke under academic pressure.

Eddie’s eyes followed Mr. Simms, and he saw Cruise watching him.

            “The Harlem Renaissance is a period of time between World War I and World War II when there was a great rebirth of the African American spirit, and blacks expressed their joy through many forms of art,” Eddie said.

            “That’s a very good answer for someone who didn’t know the answer, Mr. Mitchell,” Mr. Simms said, writing Eddie’s name on the board.

            “Name one of the greatest writers of the Renaissance,” Mr. Simms asked the class.  Again, no one raised his or her hand.  “Mr. Russell?”

            Cruise looked up at Mr. Simms and the class as a whole turned around to gawk at him, adding anxiety to an already stressful situation.  Cruise looked at Eddie and Eddie flashed a Colgate grin. 

            “Richard Wright.  Some of his controversial writings include Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Black Boy,” Cruise said. 

            “Very good Mr. Russell,” Mr. Simms said, adding Cruise’s name to the board with a checkmark beside it.  “You get an extra point for giving me two titles.” 

            Cruise’s basketball heartache took backstage when he took the lead in African American trivia.  He had even answered questions that neither Eddie nor any other student in the class could answer.  He began hitting his desk as if it were a buzzer, with sound effects coming from his mouth.  “BONK! Isa B. Wells.” 

“BONK! Marcus Garvey.”

“BONK! Elizabeth Taylor Greenfield.”

“BONK! Zora Neal Hurston”

The score was twenty – seventeen Cruise and there was thirty seconds left on the clock and one final question.

“For three points and a chance to tie the game, name the Supreme Court Justice that Herbert Hoover nominated and who said, “Participation of the Negro in politics is a source of evil and danger to both races.”

Cruise could not prevent Jeopardy’s game show theme music from intruding his mind, and it blocked his ability to extract facts.  He remembered that the Justice’s aim was to drive blacks out of Republican politics and that his name started with a J. 

“BONK!” Eddie said, mocking Cruise’s sound effect and receiving applause from the majority of the gifted and talented class.  “Who is John J. Parker,” Eddie said.

Cruise’s heart sank as Mr. Simms announced that it was a tie game.  When the class bell rang, Mr. Simms shouted out the reading assignment and short paper due the next day.  Everyone scattered to get out of class in order to get to their next class within the allotted ten minutes.  Everyone, that is, except Eddie and Cruise.  Impressed by Cruise’s knowledge of African American history, but wanting to rub the non-victory in Cruise’s face, Eddie sauntered over to his classmate.

“Good game Cruise,” Eddie said.  “Better luck next time.”

Cruise left his class wishing the great divine would stop testing him.  At this point he’d become the ultimate player hater, for he not only hated the player but he hated the game.   It was bad enough that Eddie embarrassed him on the court, but to be neck and neck in academics too...  Cruise’s self-esteem reached an all time low. 

The next thing you know, Eddie will be on ice skates, Cruise thought. 

“Can a white man have a sport?” he said, walking out of class.

“Hockey,” Michael Luz, Cruise’s best friend, said waiting for Cruise outside the history classroom.  Michael was a member of the “rich click” by luck, as his parents won millions in the Virginia lottery. He was short for his age and developed a case of Napoleon syndrome that warped his sense of humor.  

“Black people don’t like the cold, so they won’t advance in hockey until engineers create heated ice-skating rinks that won’t melt the ice,” he said.

Cruise chuckled, even though, he didn’t really consider the joke funny, and he and Michael walked down the hall to their lockers amongst the throng of students who were rushing to exchange books.

“There aren’t too many in wrestling either, but I think that has something to do with all that straddling physical contact and being perceived as gay.”

Cruise stopped walking and forced Michael’s immobility with his hand twisted around Michael’s Hilfiger sweatshirt. 

“First off, I’m not gay and don’t have anything against gay people, but if you try to insinuate that I am gay again, I’m going to take it personally.  And secondly, you need to get your facts straight.  There are plenty of black wrestlers.”

“Get the heck out of here, dude.  Can’t you take a joke?”

“No, I can’t – not today!” Cruise said loudly. 

Michael covered his mouth after an Asian girl sneezed in front of them.

“Can we keep moving before we get bird flu?” Michael replied. 

The Asian girl said a few profane words, which only made Michael laugh.

Cruise released his grip, and the two hurried to their lockers and then to class right before the bell rang. 

Eddie was seated in the front row and he and Cruise exchanged sour looks of acknowledgment. 

Sharon Halley sat in the back of the class.  When she saw Cruise, she took out her cell phone, which was already muted and she texted: 

I’m sorry about earlier.  I was just trying to be funny.  I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night if you want. 

A minute later, Cruise turned around and Sharon blew him a kiss.  His body naturally responded.  He turned back and glared unseeingly at the chalkboard, and in the middle of his exotic daydream he said, “Here!” when his name was called.

Cruise listened as best as he could to the boring science lecture on sediment and volcanic rocks, wishing he could push time by.  His teacher’s lecture was as boring as listening to scripture on Sunday afternoon when a major football game was on.  

His head bobbed up and down as he fell in and out of sleep.

The bell awakened him.

“You need to go to bed earlier,” Michael said.

“Was I snoring?” Cruise asked.

“Do Mexicans sneak across the border?” Michael replied sarcastically.

“I could sleep all night long and still pass out in this class.  How long was I out?” Cruise asked.

“Cruise Russell, come see me please,” Mrs. Franklin said.

“That long, huh?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll see you at gym.  Don’t forget to get a pass.  You know your father is twice as hard on you.”

Cruise strolled into gym with the notion of failing science on his mind.  He had one shot to bring up his science grade, and that was a long shot from the pits of hell.  If he didn’t get a B on his test tomorrow, he’d get an F on his report card. Though Cruise appreciated the heads up from Mrs. Franklin, he wished she could make science more exciting.  Only the gawkiest geek cared about how rocks were formed and the chemical make-up of various elements.  With no intention of being a scientist or a doctor, Cruise could care less about science.

When he walked into the gymnasium fully suited up, he gave his father his tardy pass. 

“I didn’t appreciate your behavior this morning.  We’ll speak about it when you get home,” Cruise’s father said bitterly under his breath in a tone that Cruise recognized but dismissed.

Sharon Halley was leaning against his archenemy, Eddie, looking pretty in pink and hopelessly devoted. 

Cruise walked away from his father who was steadily talking and jogged across the basketball court, near the pads where the two were stretching. 

“Leave her alone,” Cruise said.

“He’s not bothering me, Cruise,” Sharon said, tossing her dirty blonde hair over her shoulders and smacking on a piece of watermelon Bubblicious.

Eddie stood up.  “First of all, she came to me, and I can talk to whomever I want to.  And besides that, I don’t know if you got the memo, white boy, but slavery days are over, so step before you get stomped,” Eddie replied, stretching his neck so he could look down at Cruise, even though, they were both six feet tall. 

Cruise’s bolo punch caught both he and Eddie off guard.  He was about to follow through with an uppercut when his father grabbed his arms. 

Eddie fell to the mats below. 

“Oh, you want to sucker punch me!”  

Eddie got up but was held back by several students.  

“Let me go!  Let me go!” Eddie shouted unable to break the students’ grip.

The coach grabbed Cruise with the same bear hug he’d received earlier that morning and dragged his son out of the gym.  “Go the Principal’s office!”

The coach walked back into the gym, red faced, angry and cursing under his breathe.  

Still confined in a tight squeeze, Eddie yelled profanities at the guys who prevented his vindication and at Cruise who was long gone. 

“Let him go,” the coach said.  “Everyone get back to what you were doing.  Eddie, come here.  What happened?” the coach asked.

Eddie walked closer to the coach. 

“I was minding my own business, and your son assaulted me.  I have several witnesses who can validate this.  He started mouthing off to me… telling me that I needed to leave some chicken head alone.  I wasn’t even tripping on that girl.  I told him to step and he punched me.” 

“So you threatened him.”

“I didn’t threaten him.”

“What were you going to do if he didn’t step?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?  Go the principals office.”

“Why?  What the hell did I do?”

“I don’t get paid enough to deal with this teenage, psychological BS.  That’s what the principal gets paid for,” the coach said.

“She didn’t even see what happened.  I need my witnesses.  Where’s the justice?” Eddie mouthed, as he walked out of the gymnasium. 

Detention was inevitable and suspension was likely, Cruise thought, as he sat in the quiet office filled with scholastic plaques of recognition.  He listened to the water running out of the ceramic sculptures while trying to not think about his full bladder.  He hoped that whatever punishment he would receive would not be recorded in his transcripts.  He wished he could start the day over, and realized that the moment he awoke and saw a black star dart from his face to the ceiling, that his day would be marked with disaster. 

After waiting several minutes, Cruise became impatient and was about to walk out of the office and head towards the bathroom when the door opened and Eddie walked in. 

“Have a seat, Eddie,” Mrs. Sheppard said from behind Eddie.  The principal walked around her desk and took a seat.

Eddie pulled the chair next to Cruise a few feet away, sat down, and looked up at the principal.  

“Eddie, I spoke to Sharon and people who saw the incident.  You need to stop provoking situations by spewing slanders and making threatening comments.  You could have used better judgment and prevented this situation.”

The principal, who wore glasses that were a half an inch thick, then turned to Cruise.  “And at the same time, you need to start learning how to control your aggression or you’ll end up a very lonely person because no one will want to hang around you.”

Cruise swallowed. 

“I’m not going to suspend you two; though I should.  But I want you to leave the campus immediately.  Any work that should have been submitted today will be counted as zeros but you will have the opportunity to work for extra credit,” she said making sure each teenager received an adequate amount of her rehearsed stern look. 

“I called your mother at work, Eddie, and you know how she feels about that.  She wants you to go home and stay there.  The same goes for you, Cruise. Now, I want you both to stand up, shake hands and apologize.”

“And after we say sorry, will Barnie come out and sing a song?” Eddie said sarcastically, thinking about the purple dinosaur that his sister adored and he could not stand. 

“I could suspend you, and you’ll miss tomorrow’s game,” the principal said.

“Sorry, man,” Eddie said to Cruise, knowing that as soon as they got outside, it was on. 

“My apologies, dude,” Cruise said, ready to finish the beat-down he started in the gym.  

Both teenagers gathered their books from their locker and left the building. 

Their umbrellas barely kept them dry, as rain fell from the sky like a Bermuda storm.  

When Cruise’s door did not immediately unlock, he remembered that he needed a battery for his door control, and he continued pushing the button to his remote as lightning crashed against the pavement.  From his peripheral vision, Cruise saw Eddie jump from behind an SUV.  Startled, he sprung into a fighter’s stance.  Just as they both swung an uppercut to the other’s chin, they saw an old an elderly woman glide across the parking lot as if she were wearing power-operated skates.  They heard her wicked laugh and the clouds part.  They felt lightening strike them.  As their bodies fell to the wet pavement, their spirits raced upon the sky, dashing in and out of clouds, passing the moon and several stars, forging towards the light. The light gave them no entry so the spirits fell back down to earth.

            They awakened with a new outlook that nearly rendered them unconscious.  When their eyes met, it was as if they were looking in a mirror.  Though, the only mirror around was the rear view mirror in Cruise’s car.  Trembling and soaking wet, they stood and hollered until they were nearly hoarse.

            “I can’t believe this is happening,” Cruise said in the voice and body of his archenemy, Eddie Mitchell.

Jennifer's Bloggin': Soul Brothers

Jennifer's Bloggin': Soul Brothers: Soul Brothers is a novel I wrote back in 2009 and am editing now.  I wrote this story for my son and the neighborhood boys (ages 12-17).  T...

Soul Brothers

Soul Brothers is a novel I wrote back in 2009 and am editing now.  I wrote this story for my son and the neighborhood boys (ages 12-17).  The story dives into stereotypes, racism, sports, family life and girls. 

Teenage archenemies, Eddie Mitchell (black) and Cruise Russell (white) are zapped into each other’s body, and they must learn to work together to find the genie in the hood before it's too late. 

Please let me know what you think about chapter one.  Though, its chapter two that really takes off.  Don’t be afraid to respond.  I enjoy both positive and constructive feedback.  Yes, I'm sure there are typos.  I will be getting this novel professionally edited.  You can best believe that!  ;o)

Thanks for reading!  Have a fantastic day.

~ Jennifer

Soul Brothers

(Copyright 2009)

By Jennifer Lightburn

Chapter One

Eddie Mitchell saw the old witch just before his fist slammed against Cruise Russell’s chin.  He saw his body and Cruise’s body fall to the ground as he flew up to the sky.  He soared above the trees and through the clouds and into the atmosphere so elevated that the earth’s continents and oceans were minuscule.  Eddie was the spiritual form of himself, neither white nor black or any other variety of the human race.  He was a beam of light, shooting across the sky like a meteor, and just as he was about to touch the moon… BUZZ!!! His alarm clock assaulted his ears. 

The annoying noise rang in his mind even after he hit the snooze button and knocked the clock onto the floor.  His body felt heavy, stiff, and his mind lethargic, but he forced himself to sit up, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d snooze right through the morning.  As he sat with his back against the headboard, a black star darted off his face and onto the ceiling and exploded into several tiny vanishing pieces.  Am I still dreaming, he drowsily pondered, as he removed crust from his eyes. 

Without any logical reason, he was anxious and irritated first thing in the morning.  He half-heartedly tried to recollect the events that dramatized his slumber.  Not able to shake the funkiness that plagued his mind, Eddie climbed out of bed, slipped on his slippers and robe and removed the silk Du-rag from around his head.  He walked to his bedroom window and wiped the condensation to see yet another dreary day.  “Funky.  Funky,” Eddie said, feeling the coolness penetrate the glass and listening to the steady fall of rain.  The current weather condition was reason enough to skip school, but he knew his mother would go upside one side and downside the other if he made such an irresponsible decision. 

Just as the teen turned to start his morning routine, he saw the old woman that was in his dream.  She lived in the building across the street, and she walked casually alone in the cold rain without a coat or umbrella.  Her long grey hair was soaked and stuck to her face, and she spoke noticeable aloud, as if she was speaking to someone next to her. 

Since Eddie could remember, the elderly woman gave him the creeps, and not many people freaked him out.  The constant whispers and horrific rumors were too many to ignore and not be cautious.  Like some project residents, the old woman was given a nickname.  People called her “hood witch,” and they said she had powers that were supernatural.  So, when she peered into Eddie’s window with her stone cold eyes, he moved quickly behind his curtain to avoid eye contact. 

That was close, Eddie thought, as he pulled out the pajamas that were lodged into his butt, relaxed his Frankenstein swagger and walked into his sister’s room to wake her up. 

Eddie shook Jasmine gently. 

“It’s too early to be morning.  Please.  Please.  Please give me five more minutes,” Jasmine moaned.

Feeling absolutely no remorse, Eddie pulled her arms until her body fell to the floor.  “Nope!  It’s time to get up.” 

We can’t be late, he thought, remembering his coach’s warning the morning before.  Even though, Eddie’s excuse was valid… His sister did forget her lunch box.  Eddie did have to run home to get it, causing both of them to miss their school buses and forcing big brother and little sister to walk to school...  Still, the coach made no allowances or exceptions for being a responsible brother.  Therefore, Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling that his coach was being overly stern because the coach’s son, Cruise Russell, wanted to start in the semi-championship game, and there was only one starting point guard slot. 

“That spot is mine,” he said aloud to himself, shooting the invisible basketball perfectly off the tip of his fingers and into an invisible net. 

Saying that Eddie loved basketball was an understatement.  Basketball was all part of his master plan.  With his master plan in mind, Eddie double-timed his morning routine with images of becoming the next NBA great and showcasing his beach front penthouse on MTV Cribs, which made his present residence look like a concrete jungle.  His mind was constantly focused on money.  Even though, his mother always said that money can’t buy happiness, Eddie wanted to find that out for himself.  He was tired of being underprivileged.  It wasn’t as if his family of three was wanting for anything; at least that’s what his mother always said.  They had a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs and food on the table.  However, in the American sense of economical status, he and his family were poor.  Not dirt poor, sharing a chicken leg poor, or begging on the street corner poor, but poor all the same.  His mother couldn’t even afford an X-Box, for God’s sake.  Her notion of designer shoes was Shaq’s line sold at Wal-Mart, and Eddie was lucky if he got that. 

Eddie’s wants were not unrealistic for an American teenager.  He wanted more, but not just for him; for his family too.  He wanted to move his mother and sister out of the ghetto and into a house with a backyard that had a swing set for his sister.  He wanted to buy his mom a car so she didn’t have to take the Metro.  He wanted to wear clothes that didn’t make him uncomfortable.  He wanted to wear a pair of shoes that weren’t bo-bos or Wal-mart specials.  He wanted money in his pocket.  And if money could buy it, he wanted some dignity.  He hated that he was poor, the sales rack clothes that he wore and how people stereotyped him because of where he lived.

He reached in the cabinet for cereal, with the thought of someday being on a box of Kellogg’s.  After putting Corn Flakes and a banana on the table along with two bowls, spoons, and milk on the table, Eddie shouted, “Jasmine, get up!”. 

With no response, he returned to this sister’s room to get her moving.

Jasmine was sound asleep on the floor when he walked in. 

“Your five minutes are up,” he said as he dragged her sleeping body to the bathroom and threatened to douse her with water if she didn’t start getting ready for school. 

“Is daddy going to come and see us this weekend?” Jasmine asked.

“Probably not.”

Their father was almost completely out of the picture, so it always surprised Eddie that his sister still asked about him.  Eddie was brother and father now.  He’d voluntarily taken additional responsibilities so his mother could work extra hours in order to make ends meet.  He hated those words “ends meet”.  Those words haunted him since he was a child, even though as a child, he didn’t know exactly what the words meant.  He just knew that he didn’t like his mother’s tone as the words rolled off her tongue.  When she said those words, berating his father’s name would soon follow.  Eddie tried to dismiss his father from his mind, for he was the man of the house now, and he did what he could in his father’s absence.

“I miss daddy,” Jasmine solemnly said.

Get over it.  He was long gone before he was long gone, Eddie thought but he replied, “Get dressed, Jasmine.” 

While Jasmine was in the bathroom, Eddie made their lunch and hung his sister’s Sponge Bob lunch pail on the same hook with her coat.  He then took time to wipe down his bo-bos, and he made his bed so that his mother wouldn’t have a conniption when she got home.  After he tucked in his pillows, he picked up the Nerf ball and shot for three points from the doorway. 

“Swish!  And the crowd goes wild,” he said imagining making the game dunk. 

Pictures of a few basketball greats lined his walls along with Malcolm X, Martin Luther King and President Obama, and he gave them all an in the air pound before closing his bedroom door. 

“I just want one pony tail,” Jasmine said from in front of the television, after they finished eating breakfast. 

Eddie washed the bowls and spoons and grabbed the remote from his sister’s hand to see what the meteorologist predicted.  Then he grabbed the grease, one bright blue pony tail holder, and a comb as he wished for the day his little sister could comb her own hair. 

“Why do we put grease in our hair,” she asked.

“Because our hair is naturally dry,” Eddie replied.

“Do white people put grease in their hair?” Jasmine asked.

“No, their hair produces excessive oil, so they wash it out,” he said, preparing for his sister’s next question.

He finished brushing her hair, and then he double-checked that they both had all of their belongings before leaving the apartment, and they walked briskly to the bus stop.  His sister’s bus pulled up as they arrived. 

“We’ll have to get up earlier,” Eddie said. “Have a good day.” 

He watched his little sister get on the bus and watched the bus pull away.  On any other day, his bus followed hers by no more than five minutes.  After seven minutes passed, he debated if he should walk up to the next bus stop to keep warm or stay put.  The weatherman predicted the weather correctly.  It was bitterly cold outside with a wind-chill factor cold enough to make steam flow out of Eddie’s mouth.  His teeth chattered and goose bumps sprouted up and down his body. 

If anything happened to the bus, at least I’ll be making time instead of standing here freezing to death, Eddie thought. 

As he strolled up the block, he was thankful that he didn’t have to walk uphill, ten miles in the snow with a coat that was too small.  Eddie could expect his mother to recite this tale anytime that he complained about taking the bus.  He often pondered the legitimacy of his mother’s story, and wondered if it was urban legend, for the irony was that most of his friends’ parents had the same story as did his grandparents.  Eddie walked backwards, against the wind and drizzling vertical rain.  He walked backwards, passed the projects where he lived, passed the middle-class apartments, and the siding and brick townhouses to ensure the bus did not zoom by, and he gave a high-five to his friends that stood at the bus stop in the various subdivisions.  Eddie passed the luxury apartments and ventured pass the single family houses before he finally made it to school.  The bus was still nowhere to be found.   

Eddie pulled his cell phone from his pocket and immediately started running when he saw the time.  He had two minutes to get to the gym or he’d be doing extra push ups, benching practice, possibly losing his starting spot, or all of the above.  He ran into the school and through the halls and didn’t slow down when the old maintenance man hollered “Walk!” 

“I made it,” he said, as he entered the gym, gasping for breath and causing all attention to divert from the coach and assistant coach to him. 

“You’re late Mitchell.  After you get suited up, take a lap around the gym, give me fifty and then take a seat,” his coach said, wiping the perspiration from his massive forehead and turning back to the team’s huddle. 

“I’m not late.”  Eddie retorted, pointing to the gymnasium clock. 

The coach turned around to face Eddie.  “It’s not good enough that you’re in the gym at seven.  You have to be ready for practice at seven.  And I’m sure you don’t plan on practicing in that winter coat and backpack, so don’t argue with me.  Suit up and give me fifty.” 

“But…”

“No, buts!” the coach yelled.

“But, my bus never came and I had to walk to school.  That’s why I was late!  This is a crock of…”

“You’d better watch your mouth, young man, before you get kicked off this team,” the coach said, as he stood up from one knee and swept the few strands of hair he had from the left to the right side of his head.  “You’re always full of excuses.  Yesterday, your sister forgot her lunch box, and the day before that you came up with some cockamamie story.”   

Eddie wanted to use profanity, but he checked himself, remembering the rules of engagement.  First and foremost, respect thy elders or else.  That was his mother’s rule, and she stood fast and heavy behind “or else” even though, Eddie was seventeen.  But the coach’s son was another story altogether.  He wasn’t an elder, so the only rule that Eddie had to follow was not taking the first punch.  At that particular moment, however, Eddie wasn’t sure if he could follow that rule.

Cruise Russell mocked Eddie was made crude facial expressions while his father’s attention was diverted. 

Eddie threw his backpack to the floor.  “Keep it up, and I’m going to stick my size ten…”

“Suit up or get out of here, Eddie!” the coach yelled then turned around to see who provoked the situation. 

            Everything in Eddie but his love for basketball and his dream of going pro demanded that he quit the team, but quitting was easy.  His mother constantly reminded him of that fact. 

As much as he regretted it, an image of his father came to mind too.  “Getting what you want takes hard work and usually doesn’t come on a silver platter,” his father used to say. 

The thought of his father gave Eddie an ache in the middle of his chest.

He turned to walk away.

            “If you’re not back here in five minutes, you’re off the team,” the coach said.

Looky here white man, don’t take it out on me because your old lady is playing hard to get, Eddie thought then chuckled aloud and jogged to the gym’s bathroom entrance. 

Sneakers screeching on the court were music to Eddie’s ears as he returned to the gym with a few seconds to spare. 

Eddie ran around the gym as he watched his team sweat and run drills up and down the court.  He surveyed what he deemed to be the starting line up.

JJ, short for Jimmy Johnson, had much game.  Maybe because he was the prodigy of a basketball great or maybe because he practiced his game three to four hours a day.  He could fake out everyone on the team except Eddie, and could steal a ball and come down the court before anyone knew what happened.  His Achilles’ heel, however, was the fact that he couldn’t make a free throw from the line to save his life. 

Kwok Yo turned basketball into some kind of martial art, delivering high-kicks when he dunked the ball, and he hollered “Ya!” with every basket.  Though he measured in at five-five, his precision of three point shots was like no other on the team.  With the exactitude of his elevator two-handed double pump dunk, he would be the next Chinese Spudd Webb.

The coach blew his whistle.  “No karate, Kwok!”

Danny Hernandez had the height that coaches dream of having on their team, and players jokingly teased that he must be the product of the mailman because his father could barely get on the big rides at the amusement park and his mother wasn’t any taller.  The team’s height medium was at a steady five-ten and Danny was a millimeter short of six-two.  The team counted on Danny for rebounds and free throws, and Eddie knew his defensive skill would grant him a starting spot. 

Vinny Munoz had it all: height, skill and nearly a 4.0 GPA.  They called him the Rebound King because he was always stealing balls under the basket.  He not only got the attention of the local paper for his wise cracking remarks, but Vinny also received a lot of attention from young ladies of all ethnicities.  They lined up after every game and every practice to gaga over his Coppertone skin and hazel eyes, and each begged to be the one to escort Vinny home after the game.  Vinny lived in the building next to Eddie, and they’d been Ace Boon Coons ever since they could remember, so it didn’t bother Eddie that Vinny would surely be part of the starting lineup. 

What ripped Eddie out of his frame was the fact that Cruise Russell had a starting shot.  Eddie hated Cruise with a passion ever since kindergarten when Cruise used a Twinkie to bribe a girl with a Captain Hook hand into chasing Eddie around the classroom, knowing that Eddie was petrified of the metal prosthetic.  He’d held a grudge for nearly twelve years, but what Eddie hated most about Cruise was that Cruise’s father was the coach of the team and consistently played favorites.  Yes, Cruise could play some b-ball, for a white boy, Eddie thought.  Still, Cruise often chocked when it counted and subsequently became hostile and needlessly combative, often getting himself thrown out of a game. 

The rest of the team where fill-ins and played as good as any fill-in can. 

Eddie finished his sit-ups, and the assistant coach let him off the bench. 

“Ok, fellows, let’s play some ball,” Eddie said, giving Vinny a high five, and then grabbing a roll-away ball and forcing it from his chest to Cruise’s. 

Eddie, Vinny and Danny played on a team together with two fill-ins against Cruise, Kwok, JJ and two bench warmers. 

The two teams scrimmaged, and even with adult supervision, the practice game was far from affable.  Within the first five minutes, Eddie and Cruise had three fouls against each other.  Both Eddie and Cruise knew this scrimmage could ultimately determine who would play in the semifinals and possibly the national championship.  With JJ’s defense, Kwok’s three-pointers,  Danny’s rebounds and Vinny’s all around talent, Eddie and Cruise knew they both had to prove to the coach that they were worthy of starting as the point guard.  Up until now, they took turns starting, so… it was on.

Cruise turned around, swiftly.  His baby blue eyes were stern and his body language projected his intensity.  “Show me how much you really want it because you’re going to have to take it away from me,” he said.  The lean and muscular Cruise had perspiration pouring down his red face, as he bounded the ball with complete control.

“I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your daddy, but that’s the only way I’ll start,” Eddie replied and smiled coyly to rub it in. 

It was the battle of the fittest. 

“Call your play,” the coach shouted.

“It’s time for Dominos,” Eddie said, starting down low, dribbling with his left, and finishing the dunk with his right hand, twice more than Cruise faked a left and went down the middle for two.  Eddie’s elbows kept Cruise at bay on the court and Eddie schooled the Larry Bird want-to-be as if Cruise was just learning the game.

When the coach blew his whistle and told everyone to head for the locker room, Eddie knew he’d start. 

In the locker room, the coach stood in the doorway of his office and everyone gathered around for an impromptu meeting. 

The coach swept his flyaway hair to the other side of his head and stood as poised as a middle-aged overweight man can.  “Everyone on this team is a winner, and everyone will get an opportunity to play in the semi-championship game, but here is who will start.”

Eddie considered himself a shoe-in.  In his mind, there was no denying the fact that with his skill he deserved to start in the game, and he bobbed his head and held his chest out in the cocky way that he typically did when he felt confident.   

Cruise’s face was replete with disappointment, that is, until his father called his name. 

Eddie could not control his outburst.  “Oh, hell no!” 

In a desperate attempt to mellow Eddie’s temper, Vinny put his arm around his best friend’s shoulder and walked him away from the coach. 

“You’ll get a chance to fill in,” Vinny said, which only added fuel to the fire. 

Eddie broke away from Vinny’s hold and marched to the coach’s office.  He opened the door and walked inside without knocking or getting permission to enter.

“If he wasn’t your son, you wouldn’t have given him the spot!” Eddie hollered emotionally. 

The team gathered and encircled the shouting boy and coach.

“If you were on time for practice once in awhile, you would have not only gotten the spot this game, but you would have gotten the starting spot on every game we played this season,” the coach hollered back.  “You’re one of the best players on the team but you’re not dependable!”

Cruise looked down shamefully, pretending to wipe sweat from his eyebrows.

“Can we talk about this in private, coach?  Please,” Eddie begged, though he felt that talking to the coach in private would be a huge waste of time.

 “Alright!  Nothing going on here!  Get in the shower or you’ll end up sitting on the bench too!” the coach said to no one in particular.

While the team headed for the shower, Coach closed the door. 

Eddie was about to lose his mind… up in here… up in here.  He walked as steady as he could and mellowed his tone of voice to the best of his ability.  “I know you think that I’m not dedicated to the team because I’ve been late for practices.”

The coach leaned back in his chair.  “Well, I hear you have to take care of your baby.  Where’s the mother?”

Caught off guard by that comment, Eddie rubbed his head quizzically.  “The mother is my mother, and the baby is my five-year-old sister,” Eddie replied, irritated that the coach automatically type-casted him into a teenage statistic.  “My mother is divorced and she’s raising me and my sister alone.  She has to leave early for work, so I walk my sister to the bus stop.  I’m not lazy nor am I making excuses.  I love basketball, and I’d be here even earlier than practice time if I could.”

Eddie didn’t like to look people in the eyes when he was uncomfortable, and he was.  There was an uncomfortable silence.

The coach leaned up and then back into his chair.  “Why didn’t you just tell me this before?” the coach asked.

“I didn’t want anyone in my family’s business.”

Coach rubbed his head and swept his hair over and then said, “Eddie, you’ve got to tell me these things.  It makes a big difference.  You can start.  Don’t say anything to the team.  Let me handle it.” 

“Thanks coach,” Eddie said then turned to leave.

“Eddie?”

“Yes, coach.”

I’m sorry, the coach thought.  “Good practice but watch your elbows.  I can’t have you foul out.”

“Thanks coach,” Eddie said, then opened the glass office door and headed for the showers. 

Though, Eddie had not said anything to anyone when they asked what was up, he could not prevent from smiling.