Day after day as I sit in place and contemplate my life and the world around me, I often stop to ask myself, if it was possible, what words of advice or guidance would I share with my younger self? No, I haven't lost my mind completely yet and I am aware that I can't give a message to the younger me, but if I could, what would that message be today?
Humor me for a moment as I take a stroll back down memory lane and share some of the lessons that my parents taught me in order to survive. As a naughty little boy interested in only playing games with my friends such as playing jacks, shooting marbles, playing baseball, dodge ball or hide n'seek. When I think of my childhood, nothing but fun memories and laughter fill my head. Once I was at the age to enter first grade, the situation became different and my parents started to look more and more worried having 3 children, 2 boys and a girl. I was the youngest with a brother in the middle that was like my own personal Hercules defender and then an old sister that preferred looking in the mirror instead of being stuck with a younger brother nagging her.
To this day, I still remember lessons that were shared and taught to all of us by my Mother. My Dad died when I was young and my Mom became the mother and the father. At a young age, lessons were taught everyday on how we should behave in public, taught about etiquette, how to use good manners and how to respect elderly people. Most of it I didn't understand completely but I dared not ask a question or interrupt my mother. Today I look at how children misbehave in restaurants and stores and tell their parents what they will or will not do. I wished I could have gotten away with that behaviour, but I would be in a grave today if I had. It's so interesting how I remember some of the things that stuck in my head, almost like a tape recorder was installed so that nothing would ever be forgotten. I wonder if only black and brown children received these lectures or if all children received them.
Some of the lessons still scare me today, but probably helped me to survive. I can still hear my mother's voice as clear as a bell, even today. Some of the lessons taught me the importance of being proud of being a black man, although I was only 6 or 7 years old. She placed emphasis on kindness and treating everyone the same, whether they were the garbage person, postal person or the bank manager, preacher or teacher. One big lesson she kept drilling into us was to always stand for truth and what's right. She preached that we should always respect someone who looks like us or is a person of colour. She didn't forget to school us to identify what she called handkerchief heads that would betray us in an attempt to get ahead as a result of lies and jealousy. In case you don't know, handkerchief heads was what she called black uncle toms like those during slavery. Even today, they are still around in suits, on interview panels, in court rooms and wearing police uniforms too. Growing up in a ghetto, our neighbours were Latinos, Asians, Blacks, Cubans, Italians and French and they all took care of the kids in the hood and fed us. They also made sure we all completed our homework. Other lessons were more serious and still weigh heavy today. We were taught that Black people would never be as good as White people and that it was mandatory to study harder and perform twice as well and only then we may just may be able to pass a course or get a decent job.
As I got older the stories got more intense in the areas of physical and psychological survival. We learned that police, even if they look like you, will beat you and try to kill you because they hate anyone with your skin colour. You see, it's important for the black and brown police officers to be accepted by the white racist officers and to show that they don't show any favouritism. So we were taught how to stay under the radar which was hard for a little bad boy like me with a big red afro. Neighbours would tease me and call me lil' baby Malcolm X. All of my friends, especially the black boys, including me, would be harassed, detained or arrested by the police several times during our lives. From the age of 9 or 10, I was harassed walking to school because I allegedly resembled someone who had just robbed a 7-11 store. The funny part was I had no idea what a 7-11 store was because none of us in my neighbourhood knew what it was nor would we ever be allowed to go to one of them for any reason.
As a young boy my mother taught us how to be overly aware of our surroundings. Those lessons still work today. As a young man I could assess a classroom, and staff meeting, an interview or even a dark alley and mentally and physically prepare and make decisions around survival. It was a great asset on jobs when working with some of the most vicious people. It helped to be able to clearly read the body language of others so that you don't waste time hoping that you will get hired for a job or appointed to a promotion or position that you deserved.
Determined to study very hard and make As and Bs in high school, I was very disappointed, like many of my friends who were told by our guidance counsellors that we would never be accepted into a 4-year college and the recommendation was for all the black students to switch tracks and focus on vocational school. It was shared how wonderful it would be to become a garbage man, or a mechanic, a plumber, a hairdresser or a nurse's aide. My mother was convinced that a great career would be working for a large bank as a messenger boy. My friends and I stood together on our decision to attend college and struggled to survive financially, even though our counsellor tried to prohibit us from doing so. Her reasoning, she was trying to protect us poor black kids from failing and being laughed at when we were humiliated. That never happened. We all finished college successfully but the ever present threat of bigotry's random brutality increased to attack us even more for supposedly thinking that we were good enough to be respected. We were openly called niggers or as today niggas and told that we were hated because of the colour of our skin.
My high school teachers were uncertain what I was since I was such a redbone with blond reddish hair. My teachers would laugh behind my back and often would ask me directly in front of the entire class if my father was the milk man? I didn't know what it meant, but when I arrived home to ask my mother the question it appeared that I opened a can of angry worms. I just remember being dragged back to school with an angry mother that spoke more elegantly than I had ever heard her speak. I still didn't understand but apparently everything was cleared up, I was changed to another science class with a different teacher and I never heard of the mysterious milkman again until I became an adult and was old enough to understand the negative comment that was designed humiliate me in front of my peers. Other black and brown students were crying for me.
I attended a white catholic college with 3500 students and only 6 black students. The white students were fascinated to see someone who looked like me. Whenever I would take a shower in the boys' shower room, all the boys would rush in to watch me exit the shower to see if my skin was actually white underneath my clothes. They told me that they had been taught that if they touched a black person, the colour would rub off on them. It was my most embarrassing moment in college to come out of the shower to 50 or more white students staring in awe.
Upon entering the workforce, other lessons were remembered. The mothers in our community taught us how to code switch in order to survive and to get ahead. Code switching was the ability to be able to speak a certain way at home vs. in public. We knew how to use correct English but were able to speak in slang at home, in creole, Spanish or other languages. We were also taught table etiquette at Mama Sis' house, one of the oldest neighbours that we all thought was our grandma. She also taught us to wash dishes, hang clothes on the line, make a bed, iron clothes and to take care of our parents too. When a group of us would get together, the fun and teasing would begin. We would get so carried away that we would code switch to slang and hood language with lots of laughter and huggings. This was hated by the white establishment and usually if we were walking home from the movies or or a game, the police would be called because we were disturbing the peace so we always had to run for safety into the nearest house. We were thankful to have while allies and families that were able to hide us until the coast was clear.
Getting a job and competing with a non-black person, even if they were as idiotic as our current president, more often than not they would get the job because they looked like the people doing the hiring and for some reason any dark skinned person seemed to frightened most white people. I use to wonder why white women would tightly clutch their purses if they saw a black man or young boy enter an elevator with them because of fear, however it was okay for white people to enter an elevator with a black operator to take them to the various floors in department stores to go shopping. However, white people were never afraid to allow their curiosity to get the best of them by reaching out to touch my hair. The difference is when a friend does it, regardless of their colour, it's welcome because it's coming from a place of genuine love.
So what would I say to a young me today? I would probably share many of the real lessons that I was taught as a kid that include: be proud of who you are, be proud of your blackness, learn your true history today so that you can understand what happened yesterday. Learn your own history and learn to think critically. I would also add, question everything and don't accept all that you are told, but go and research the information. There is power in true facts and they will make you stronger. I would probably have to keep my younger self for several months to infuse so much knowledge. Kindness to others would be a key ingredient along with respect for elders. Also, treat others the way they treat you and know when to walk away from negativity. Lessons from my grandparents and great grandparents will take longer to exchange but hopefully the younger me will inherit the ability to read people and situations for what they really are and not what they appear to be. Finally I would say connect with true friends that will never abandon you, my little self.
Think about it for a while and consider 4 or 5 things that you would share with your younger self to help them to survive today. It may help to jot those down in your journal or in your mind.
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