I didn't think anything for me was too hard or too easy growing up. I loved making jokes here and there about my growing up Christian, being a military baby, being an active Book Club member, using Quizlet a weebit too much in college, hitting a girl's eyeball with my teeth on my first kiss. But everything seemed fine I think, not positively sure. Only about 15 emotional tons of suppressed anger.
Humor had begun to be my defense mechanism right around 16 or 17. I never particularly thought it helped and didn't try to be funny (at all!) but it aided me to shuck and jive through high school and part of college. There was the additional fact I wanted to be a wallflower to subconsciously let the proverbial Cody, Jo(h)n Trent, Huckleberry Finn Forest, Connor, and the boys do whatever they wanted to without any consequence in 11th grade.
Skrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt, stop, hold the phone. We will start our story here, as our fellow antihero, Jon, discusses how he allowed 'dem boys to shout racial slurs at marching band games. Yes I will say allowed.
First of all my high school was racist. Like it was Boondocks satire meets a dumpster fire, and the dumpster fire is filled with miracle whip that Kramer initiated. I am not properly punctuating miracle whip because it does not deserve my respect. I am sure everyone was aware about how '50s racist it was but I am also aware that nobody necessarily cared about trumpet players in the band playing dixie whenever we played Savannah High or literally any other school. Didn't say anything, ever. I felt embarrassed but that went away. I felt flustered but then that went away. I felt humiliated but that went away too. Felt like I was at Camp Green Lake and kept digging holes to bury my feelings but it didn't fill them the hole back up and it destroyed my foundation.
In the course of all of this, I would eat lunch during transitions before it was lunch time, taking 25-30 minutes to read in the library. I did not go to a single party in high school. A girl I had a super duper crush on came over my house when my parents weren't home, and I threatened to call the cops on her because I wanted to finish beating Modern Warfare 2. I quit the basketball team. If you saw a picture of what literal shucking 'n' jiving in the dictionary was, I was doing it after school in the senior parking lot.
At that time I didn't want to die, I just didn't want to be there anymore. Every attempt at being social failed talking to my fellow peers was 45% slurs. One of my favorite teachers from high school I speak to now recounted about my isolation had hit its peak to where I didn't even want to speak to 'em. Pizza didn't hit the same.Who would have thought racism made pizza taste bad.
I wondered if I was wearing blackface during that time. Never being angry, retaliating, or acknowledging feelings, this was one of the anomalies never was able to figure out as a teenager. I had been stopped by the boys in blue over 5 times those 2.5 years in my hometown. Broad daylight. Normally going for a jog in my own neighborhood. The lady beside me thought I stole her lawn chairs or knew someone who did do it. I knew who did it but I ain't tellin' because I only snitch if you didn't know Deandre and Zo sped off in their dad's white ford pick up truck to Midway on that Tuesday, hauling some mahogany wood furniture.
Why didn't I ever have that n*gga moment? Well Jon does sound like a really good name for someone who uses his father's inheritance money to take 7 years to finish college even though they are enrolled full-time. They did try to strip me of whatever melanin I had by repeatedly letting me know "I was one of those nice black guys". She told me to tell my ex-best friend that because she didn't feel didn't like how the sun hit off of his skin.
I didn't stand up to anyone at that point, especially not myself. Tried to leave out the front door without checking my own mirror to get the crusty from my face. Which did not do wonders for my S-curls, I tell ya'.
I came out of that school looking like I worked in a coal mine all summer. All of these black streaks coming off of my face real easy. Thankful to have met the beautiful and intelligent folks at my college to righteously and assertively check people, even without saying a word. But even after blocking everyone and resetting my friend group IMMEDIATELY after high school graduation, I realized that I am not done yet. High school reunion is in two years and in similar fashion as my 26 year old self, I kept notes and journals on different conversations and thoughts. My public speaking improved handsomely and so has my openness, even without liquid courage. So I kept notes on everything, even before I was kissing girls on the eyeball. On everything.
On. Every. thing. Welcome to the Minstrel Show.
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