First of all let me sooth you guys, I'm really not crazy as I may 'sound'. After all I'm just typing what I am feeling before I go backrupt. I'm just counting the days now before my last paycheck from the job I quit from that two job situation. That leaves me with only one job and living in a cold drafty house that I'm not paying for. My former public school students used a word that befits my predicament: DRIVING, OR DROVE, AS they put it. The let down in life is that I was made aware that there are more crazy adults influencing the same DRIVING antics that the kids had.
They never use the proper pronunciation, DRIVEN, but they (the kids and adults) nailed the meaning on me all day long. It was very bad because of consequences paid for their own choices. Many of the kids, despite their gifts and intelligence, chose a life of crime that I, at the time, could not see their reasoning for. I was above that. To make a long story short, as I approach homelessness and bankruptcy, I can sort of see the reason for their desperation. For all those who knew me as an athlete and singer at St. John Vianney you may have wondered why I didn't major in music, art, or athletics in college finishing my high school program. Well, my father was a product of the depression segregation era. Being so, he was a SEVERELY INTIMIDATED MAN and abused to his heart when it came to certain issues, specifically those offending white people. Dave Chappelle talks about his 'black power' father in his comedy. Well, my father was just the opposite, he hated integration. Like so many he felt that 'niggers' had lost a vital place in society due to integration. He frequently dropped civil rights leader's names with disgust. Thus, anything that offended white people he hated, including points of my development.
I often mentioned to him that I wanted to continue with my sports, music, & art endeavors ... the things that I had proven to be good at. But, he being a loud mouthed criminal would put me down with the mention of each of those proven successful areas. He was criminally schizoprenic and had commited crimes in his childhood. But, the worst one was an assault on my mother when I was a child. This ended their marriage then and should have been the final curtain. But, she let him back in the door after my brother was nearly killed in an auto accident thinking we needed his authority, I guess. Under her guidance I started playing baseball, pursued art, and even started playing guitar and pursued music theory. My father, moreover, graduated at Xavier in music with a bachelors, but, as he put it, his jacked up nerves were too bad to be employed. He was a skilled musician, brilliant ... but, there was already a Robert Johnson in the music world; and, with him being paranoid schizophrenic it messed him up mentally to be compared with the other one.
He played the role of the dutiful father buying sports equipment and even computer systems and books to read. But, the man was a product of segregation and the depression. His mind was swiss cheese. You had to look at people's faces to tell you what side of the street to walk on. Racists posted signs as to what water fountains you could use and bathrooms were off limits. What people fail to realize is that laws may change, but that training IS STILL A PART OF MANY WHO EXPERIENCED IT. Therefore, what Jackie Robinson, Hank Aaron, and Jesse Owens did was UNHEARD OF, and I got an earfull of it everyday. He was at once proud of it, but fearful for anyone who tried to duplicate the success. I heard the chorus of such racist hits like 'bow wow on the prowl' and 'the monkey played the fiddle on the sweet potato vine' daily. Not only that, but I got the nickname that I came to hate ... BOBBEE, a true bastardization of the name Bobbie. The story is that he hated the concept of junior, and the mention of his brothers James, Jr. and Edward, Jr. made him hollar something fierce. But, he had no problem with giving me his own nickname from childhood, thus directly using the concept of junior, only with that more 'ee' feminine twist. In short, there came a time when my shoulders got too broad and my balls started to descend, my voice had that famous BASS in it, and when hair showed up on my face and old school parents see that as trespassing on their territory. What's more, you know I was the Michael Evans militant of the house. As I started to express my adulthood and points of view I was often told I was pissing on the wall and smelling it, in some form or fashion. Sound familiar?
Little did I realize that a large part of our society is still partial to this abuse, not seeing anything at all wrong with it when it comes to responding in fear to black men today. But, I finally figured out what was scaring my dad: I was too good at anything I set my mind to, and I often brought home nightmarish stories about what I'd experienced in the mostly white environment of SJP. What he could see, and often heard, was complaints about my performance level, competing too hard. I'd started out a freshman on the baseball team at SJP performing on the senior level back in 1982. By the time I was a senior those skills had been eroded due to frequent arguments about whether I would pursue sports on the college level. I think my dad was intimidated by what he heard behind the scenes from various parents who's children I struck out, typical things racists say about blacks who perform too well. Thus, as my body peaked, he discouraged me from going any further in sports (and similarly in music and art.) The white boys have all the resources and the skills in everything. But, he and my brother hogged the computer and that became 'their thing' ... and they left me behind to pursue what I can only describe as that criminal lifestyle associated with militants, street thugs, 'my friends' outside with our 'sexual talking'. Mind you I don't hate my father, but imagine a man bringing home his (typical victim) abuse in the army and other racist institutions unabashed not knowing what it was. His favorite device was 'the little king who couldn't see the forest for the trees'. I was that king. Another device used socially is the word 'chief', denoted the deposed dead racial chiefs who had their countries taken from them.
So, what's this have to do with the Holy Spirit or Obama? Even though I'm quite long winded (explaining too much), I had to use the power of forgiveness from the Holy Spirit to pursue a next course of action. That is, being barred from sports, music, and art I majored in Physics/Engineering ... starting out very poorly of course because I'd put all of my eggs in the other baskets (art, music, sports). It took me a long while to become proficient in advanced math and the sciences to survive finally graduating from Xavier University, La. and making into Kansas State University graduating from there in Physics education. I then returned to La. teaching in the private school system first (with some social problems), then switching to the public school system, getting another masters degree (M.A.) in Curriculum and instruction and my Louisiana High School teaching certification, 160017, and getting recertified as a lifeguard. Then, after difficult years getting though to generation X as a teacher with its ghetto pop cultural points, I decided to go on leave in 2005 (just after having a bout with pnuemonia). Katrina struck and that ended my leave, we all got fired (which I did not know), and I ended up in Rapides parish (Tioga Jr. High School) teaching again (and in no shape to do so). All the while I prayed my way through each incident. I was obese and out of shape by that time and didn't know I had high blood pressure. But, I still prayed. When I went back to New Orleans advised not to do so and worked in television, I still prayed. Through the Saints' Superbowl victory and the election of President Obama I gave thanks to God (ever notice that everyone responsible for the Saints/New Orleans recovery was punished or went to jail?)! The Holy Spirit has been with me, however, all this time.
So, finally after being laid off from television and opting not to continue with year round status as a lifeguard I ended up a Vinson Security Guard working over night (again) and a tutor at Delgado Community College. Well, I couldn't keep working the 12 straight hours at Vinson I needed to get fully paid, so I let that go. So, now I'm waiting for my final pay check from Vinson knowing that my Delgado Check is not going to pay the bills. Bankruptcy looms as I wait for my book revenue to start counting. So, whatever happens next, I've at least told someone my story, again. We'll just have to see.
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