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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Doing the Pee Wee Dance From I am a Dirty Immigrant

One of the funniest incidents happened one hot summer day. I had become good friends with one of the ball players because when I first saw him, I thought he was from Africa. He had that purple-black complexion that glittered in the sun and always had a ready smile. He was about five feet ten inches tall, from Hoosier City, and was a really good person. We were sitting on a wall just up from the main street that ran through the campus. Around 4pm every day, truckloads of coal miners would drive through on their way home. My friend got off the wall he was sitting on and started doing the Pee Wee Herman dance. I did not think anything of it until I saw one of the trucks stop and back up. I turned to say something to him, but all I saw was the back of his head because he was halfway to the dorm, running like a mad man. I had never seen anyone run so fast, not even when we were running from the soldiers during the invasion or from the secret police during the riots. Let’s just say that Carl Lewis had nothing on this brother. We laughed about it later and he explained to me that for some reason, the rednecks would get really upset when a brother did that dance. That’s when I got an understanding of the impact that popular culture had on society.  

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Stories Storyteller

You are tall, I can ask you anything, or say anything to you.

So here I am at the store when this young woman walked up to me. Eyes wide open, mouth dropped, hey hair long and unruly. She first pretended to look at the cereal boxes, but glanced over at me. “How tall are you?”  She asked in her Appalachian accent.  I told het seven one. Oh the excitement in her eyes kind of took me by surprise. She looks left then right and asked with a silly giggle, “Hows the weather up there?” Then right after that she said “I bet people ask you that all the time and I bet its annoying as hell.” I looked at her, she was waiting for an answer, I said, “If you think it would be annoying then why did you ask?” Her expression changed, as if she did not expect me to say that. She looked left then right, smiled then said, “It don’t matter you tall as hell anyway.” Then she went into a barrage of questions. Do you special order your clothes, damn you have big feet, do you have a big one too, do you hit your head on doors, can you drive a car, and the big one, do you ply basket ball? I walked away and she was still firing off questions.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Mobbed From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

In the fall, an incident transpired that totally turned me off from playing ball. I was walking to the dorm when two school buses drove by and all the kids screamed at me. Their voices echoed through the small city as the busses rounded a corner just down the road. I thought nothing of it until the busses came back, stopped and all these kids ran up to me. I was a little unnerved and almost took off running. This one red headed kid frightened me so bad, all I thought was “Children of the Corn”. Bloody kids were like vultures, jumping and screaming, pushing notepads and pencils at me and basically treating me like I was a big star or something. You would have thought that I had just stopped a hurricane, or brought peace to the Middle East or something. Their faces were red from the cold. Yeah that is something I noticed: lots of red faces, their little eyes wide with excitement. Hell, I had not even played a game yet.

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Autograph NOW From the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

In the fall, an incident transpired that totally turned me off from playing ball. I was walking to the dorm when two school buses drove by and all the kids screamed at me. Their voices echoed through the small city as the busses rounded a corner just down the road. I thought nothing of it until the busses came back, stopped and all these kids ran up to me. I was a little unnerved and almost took off running. This one red headed kid frightened me so bad, all I thought was “Children of the Corn”. Bloody kids were like vultures, jumping and screaming, pushing notepads and pencils at me and basically treating me like I was a big star or something. You would have thought that I had just stopped a hurricane, or brought peace to the Middle East or something. Their faces were red from the cold. Yeah that is something I noticed: lots of red faces, their little eyes wide with excitement. Hell, I had not even played a game yet.

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Stories Storyteller

Oh the Shame

Oh the Shame

It was the eighties, those were the days when men wore booty shorts to play basketball. So here I was, 18 years old, six feet eleven inches, a twig at one hundred and forty seven pounds. The game was on, it was hotly contested, the tropical night was hot except for when we ran, and the breeze coupled with our sweating bodies cooled us down. I was uncomfortable, the bloody hot pants were too tight, go figure, as skinny as I was, those shorts were too tight. They must have gotten mines in the little girls section of the store. So after some spirited hustle, the ball went out of bounds, I ran after it, bent over and heard the most horrific sound I had ever heard in my life, worse than the fighter jets dropping bombs, worse than the sound of A K 47 rifles. The I felt the dreaded breeze, up my leg and I swear, it felt like I was not wearing any pants. At first it was silent and then the laughter. I ran of the court to screams and laughter. Some were rolling on the ground as the unpantsed human Ostrich lumbered off the court, my hands covering my ass. And to add insult to injury, when I got home and told Mommy Charles what had happened she asked “Yuh was wearing clean underpants right?”

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

You are not Black From I am a Dirty Immigrant

I can’t talk about Lexington without mentioning some of the culture-shocking encounters. Between you and me Hillbillies are naturally funny. This one incident stuck with me. It was the first time I had to reassure anyone of my “blackness”. I was working at a toy store when this blue haired white woman dressed like a dame in her lacy white blouse and dark blue skirt walked past me. She went to the aisle with dolls and surveyed the shelves, then looked round. I saw in her face that she was hesitant to ask me any questions, but had no choice. I was the only worker on the floor at the time. She wanted a doll but all we had was the black ones. The shear look of dismay in her eyes was hysterical. I thought here is an opportunity to have some real fun. I was mean like that. I asked her if I could help her in any way. I was sweet like brown sugar with a big smile on my face. Hell I had to show them tropical teeth.

I saw the stressful look on her face disappear when she realized I had an accent. Confidence seeped into her expression as she asked me if we had any of the white dolls, but it took her a couple of seconds before she stuttered the word white. After I told her that all we had was the black ones, she turned to walk away, but stopped. She looked at me and told me that I was not one of them. I looked at her, her blue eyes a little red with age and asked who was the “them” she was talking about. She looked perplexed at my question, then leaned into me, her eyes tilted upwards. She told me in a strange whisper that I was not black. I looked around. Was there some ethnicity god around? Did she think he would smite her down if he heard? I told her I was not from The City of Golden Streets, but as god is my witness I was black. She looked flabbergasted for a second as if surprised that I would admit to being black; she insisted that I was not black, but foreign. I asked her what she thought being black meant? She did not answer so I proceeded to explain to her by using a Peter Tosh song lyric: “No matter where you come from as long as you are black, you are African.” She looked at me, puzzled. I mean, what was I thinking? This poor lady did not have any clue who Peter Tosh was.

I could tell by the look on her face that I succeeded in totally confusing her. She was quiet for a second and then insisted again that I was not black. I was at my wits end. The perplexed look on her face only helped with my growing impatience. I looked around the store and decided to illustrate my blackness emphatically by using the only thing that most white people here seemed to believe about black men. I reached down and started unzipping my pants. Hell, if she did not want to listen to reasoning, I was going to show her. She turned around and ran for the door, her face red as a beet, her little legs churning like a propeller. I was surprised she did not report me to the bosses, or worse, call the cops. Can you imagine the headlines: “Former Basketball Player At Christian College Arrested For Attempted Indecent Exposure”?  

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The giant

The giant

When you are seven feet tall sometimes you get photos like this lol

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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

The Coal Miner’s Daughter (From the novel “I am a Dirty Immigrant”)

Jenny had dark brown hair brown eyes, caramel complexion and a beautiful smile quite frankly, she had an island personality so I immediately felt comfortable with her. The first time we kissed was in front of the little chapel in the middle of the campus. I remember her looking shocked and then said, “Look what you went and done.” We were inseparable from that day, she always found a way to make …me laugh, she was and still is a good person. Our wedding was completely crazy, no one knew about it but my friend from Ethiopia and another friend from Zambia and her best friend, who now hates me, I guess because I am so bloody good looking, was also there. We left the campus and drove three hours to Richmond Kentucky. When we got to the courthouse I was told I had to have identification, so we drove the three hours back to the school and low and behold the bloody car broke down. We borrowed my friend’s car and drove the three hours back to Richmond. We got married at the house of a preacher, an older black man with his aging mother in attendance. When all was done we drove back to the school, I went to the gym and got dressed for a ball game, I played the game and after I saw her for about ten minutes then went to my dorm. Yes my friend I spent my wedding night sleeping on the top of a bunk bed that was about five inches too short for me.
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I am a Dirty Immigrant

Book trailer

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00E91DDE6