After visiting my dad for Father’s Day last weekend, I woke up this morning to 90 degree temperatures in New York. News of the extreme weather conditions brought me back to one sweltering hot day during the summer of 1984.
I was barely a teen then, and as the days transitioned from June to September, the only real change came on Fridays and Saturdays when my homeboys Daine, Keenan, Keith, Dana, Junior and I watched New York Hot Tracks (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Hot_Tracks), and argued about which one of us could get a date with the girl from Lionel Richie’s “Hello” video. Otherwise we would be listening to the ‘80’s greatest deejays: Red Alert or Chuck Chillout if not Mr. Magic and Marley Marl as they graced the airwaves with hits like Whodini’s “Friends.” Once the sun set we would listen to the radio or homemade “pause” tapes until the wee hours of the morning, while we played Monopoly. My eighteen-year old cousin “Ant”, who was the OG amongst a set of pre-teens and teenagers, would invariably punk us for our properties before victoriously bringing every game to a close by 4am. Eventually, we got the heart, confidence and strategy to stave off his attacks, and won a few games. But win or lose, by morning, we would awaken, and empty our socks of Monopoly money before going home to shower, and meet up for basketball or football. We’d then finish the day swimming in the pool attached to our apartment building.
175 Prospect Street in East Orange, New Jersey was a building in transition in 1984. The only young black faces at that address, my crew and I were a reflection of that transition. The affects of that transition, however, smacked me like a Tyson blow one afternoon at the pool. On this day, my crew, short a few heads, was only Keenan and I. Therefore, we were the only two to overhear the two older, white gentlemen who sat near us discussing how the building was changing and that the “niggers were taking over.”
As a child, I was made aware of such hate groups as the Klu Klux Klan, during family trips to the South and rural Pennsylvania. As far as I knew, only the KKK used the “n” word as so freely. Moreover, my father schooled me on his active involvement in the Civil Rights Movement; friends of his who had sacrificed and even died in their efforts to gain equality; about the Mississippi Three; Emmett Till; church bombings; Jim Crow laws; and how when he was a kid, being called “black” was damn-near a curse before James Brown sang his prideful anthem. These teachings defined many of my values and shaped my view of American history. But at 11 years old, I never imagined that in the comfort of my backyard, miles away from what I considered to be the racist South, or the backwoods of the North, that white people without white sheets would say the “n” word, let alone to my face. I learned otherwise that day.
The men sat no more than three feet from us. They probably said it to insult and humiliate us, almost daring Keenan and me to do or say something. Suddenly, I was paralyzed and didn’t know how to respond. I’m a man now, but I admit that at that moment, I was shook. Because long before the word would become a term of endearment for some who had become desensitized to its intended meaning, Keenan and I were outnumbered and rendered mute by its racist effect.
As dusk displaced day, I sat at home that evening still not knowing what to do. Monopoly, the Dallas Cowboys, rap songs and the girl from Lionel Richie’s video were the furthest things from my mind. My parents were separated and as was customary, within an hour or so my father showed up to see how my sister and I were doing. I immediately told him what had taken place earlier at the pool. His only response was, “that’s interesting-I am going to come over tomorrow, and I want you to point this person out to me.” I remember Keenan’s father offering to come as well to which my father responded, “Nah, don’t worry, I’ve got this one.”
When my dad, Keenan and I arrived at the pool the next day, the men were holding court. Their party had grown from two to a total of seven. I pointed the culprit out, and we all approached. My dad pointed towards the joker and said, “Can I have a word with you?” He obliged. I am not certain what remarks were exchanged between he and my father, but in the end my father looked all the men in the face, gave the culprit a firm handshake, and said, “ I‘m certain that this won’t happen again, because I don’t want my son or his friends having to deal with the same nonsense that I had to deal with growing up.” They all gave their assurances to my father and apologized for their infraction.
My father must have immediately realized that although I was only 11, he could not protect me from the world. My friends and I would continue to face the issues that he and many of his peers made sacrifices to correct. But on that day, he showed me how to effectively address racism, injustice and demand respect and consideration in the face of pure ignorance. After that day, I wasn’t shook anymore. My dad showed me that, in addition to educating and providing, a father’s role is to protect his family. Thank you, Dad. I love you!
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The 80s
Njeri Dietrich Brown, Esq. (the best sister in the world)
Nia Brown
Daine & Keenan Grey
Junior & Keith Parrish
Dana Carvalho
Anthony “Tone Legend” Haig (Monopoly Rematch ’07)
Ralph Featherstone
PLAYLIST
“Friends” by Whodini
“Dear Summer” by Jay Z
“Too Hot” by Kool & The Gang
“Papa Don’t Take No Mess” by James Brown
“Young, Gifted and Black” by Aretha Franklin
“That’s The Way of The World” by Earth, Wind & Fire
