Ok, why did you wake me up eh? Why on God’s green earth did you wake me up? Mannn, and I was bursting a good sleep too. Oh no all that smiles and baby talk not going cut it. Its cold outside, do you not see the snow on the ground? You know what that means don’t you? It means that it is sleep in day. Yes, sleep in day. Can you read the wuffing coming out of my mouth? Maybe you should learn to talk dog. You see that blanket next to me, yes that soft warm cuddly looking thing. When you see that covering me up and it is cold outside, that means, DOG SLEEPING. In human language it means DO NOT DISTURB. I was having a good dream too. Beach, sunshine, a really cute pitbull flexing near the surf, golden brown fur glistening in the sunlight. No no no, none of that baby talk going work, I already told you that. Just go to work or whatever you humans do, me I am going to crawl under this comfy blanket and go back to my dream. Go on, and don’t forget to pick up some of that gourmet dog food on your way home from work.
My first Halloween in America, I was walking back to my dorm when all of a sudden I heard an evil laugh. At first I was confused. How can such an evil laugh from what sounded like a little girl. All of a sudden, out of the dark, a frightful little person darted around the corner, she was wearing a black dress and a black hat with a peak. Her face was smudged with some kid of black stuff as she stopped and looked up at me. She smiled up at me,
“I will get you my pretty she screamed! Then ran of, I looked at her puzzled, that was when I heard a grown up voice,
“Happy Halloween!”she said, holding the hand of a two year old who looked like he had just woke up from hundreds of years sleeping in his grave. I shook my head and kept walking muttering to myself,
“Whats up wid dese crazy Yankees, what are dey up to now?” I kept walking turned the corner into a residential neighbourhood and stopped short as I found myself in a community of characters. I mean there was Mummies, witches, Jumbies, ghosts, you name it they were there. I stopped a little startled. What the hell is going on here? What was even stranger was they were all holding bowls or baskets, they walked up to people’s front doors and the residents would drop something into the bowls, the little monsters and goblins will run from the house screaming with glee. I remember thinking these people have lost it, this is some strange ritual that no one bothered to warn me about. Why are all the grownups dressed normally and yet all the kids are running around dressed like dead people to the dorm, walked up to one of the other ball players and ask,
“Its Haloween man,” He said, I thought, that lady told me to have a happy one of those, but what is this Halloween. They ad to sit me down to explain. Flash forward to today. Here I am at work, dressed a Papa Jumbie, jumping out at kids, laughing like a madman as they screamed and bolted out of the haunted house created by my fellow workers.
Now back to my place of employment. I was not aware how easy it was to get pot at work until I had worked there for a while. My first few days of working in that call center I was approached and asked if I needed any smoke. Pills, cocaine, you name it, it was offered. It was like a small business existing in a corporate environment. Hell, you can even have it delivered to your house. It was not limited to the young people only; older men and women eat the pills like vitamins. Bloody people were glutinous.
This older lady, blue-haired and stately looking, gave me forty dollars to give to one of the resident pill pushers. In return he gave her two small pills and the woman was so excited she was practically drooling with anticipation. Her hand was shaking when I handed it to her. A quiet squeal escaped her quivering lips. Nothing is more disturbing than an old lady having what looked like an orgasm over some bloody pills. The situation was so bad there, one day someone came in and spread a rumor that the cops would be in the building later with narcotic dogs. I have never seen a work place clear out so fast. Even managers packed their things and left for the day. The sad thing is some of those people have died since I last worked there. They just never could kick their habits.
I had picked up two jobs before he was born. Yes, my friends, I once was a victim of fast food employment. The day my ex-wife went into labor I did not call in to work. Hell, I was so bloody scared I did not know what to do with myself, much less remember to call in. When I did, the manager screamed at me, complaining that I did not call in two hours before not showing up. I told her the next time I felt that my wife was going into labor, she was the first one I would call. The day after my son was born, I walked into the restaurant when it was the busiest and threw my uniform at them.
This is too complicated, too much work.
We are lost in our cultures, love is second nature
nothing is natural, nothing comes easy.
What we have forgotten is that easy is natural
Animal instinct is highly over rated
Its an excuse for us to act unnatural to each other
I want to let go, be myself be human
Be what I was created to be, not black
Not Grenadian, not labeled like a product
I want to be born again, a born again human.
I want to love because it’s the most natural thing to do
I want to feel because it satisfies my soul
No second thoughts, no hindrance form the truth
Ahhhhh, I am frustrated, so much to feel no space to do it in
So much emotions, so much…. ahhhh, time cannot explain
Man can not explain, this world is a puzzle of false emotion
Something I realized about some people was that since they don’t consider me black, they will say anything in my presence. This particular scenario happened over a week’s period. I must tell you it tested my resolve. A manager and about two other female employees were sitting in the break room eating lunch. They made it a point to discuss their feelings about interracial relationships. I remember one woman who was vehement about her disgust with such relationships. I mean you should have seen the faces she made. You would have thought she was being made to eat baby poop just thinking about the idea of a black man dating a white woman. It was like not mixing the races was one of the Ten Commandments. She even almost said the word “nigger”, but caught herself when I looked over at her.
At the end of the week, I was still steaming silently. Quite frankly, I had had enough of that bloody conversation. All a brother wanted to do was eat his bloody lunch and mind his own business. The second I sat down and opened up my lunch box, there they were talking about some woman whose daughter was dating a black man. They were giving all sorts of reason why it was an abomination: God did not want it, such relationships would somehow dilute the race. Hell, they were talking as if dating a person of another race was incest. I remember thinking, “People do you realize where we are? We are in Wild and Wonderful. Don’t throw rocks if you live in a glass house.” After about five minutes, my head felt like it was going to burst. I blurted out, “I understand what you mean!”
The room got real quiet; you could have heard a gnat having a conversation with God. They looked at me, puzzled. Four white women, all red faced, waited for me to explain. One woman in the middle of chewing, her cheeks puffed out at the sides, looked like she was about to slap me. I stood up slowly and looked down at them. I remember thinking, “Damn, these are some ugly people. These are not the tourists I saw on the beach back home.” I snapped back to reality when one of the women cleared her throat impatiently.
“I would not want my son marrying any of you Yankee women. I see how you act when you come to the island, spreading your legs to every Dexter that smiles at you.” You should have seen the looks on their faces. The manager scoffed at me. “But you married one,” she pointed out. I looked at her as a small smile began to form on her face.
“I did, but she is not racist or as ugly as you old bats or your daughters. I would never let my son marry ugly.” She was almost purple-red with disbelief. How dare I say that their daughters were not good enough for my half-immigrant son?
Now this coming from a woman whose daughter was a lesbian. Strange enough, her daughter also hated mixed relationships. Now that is taking marrying someone like you to a whole new level. I often wondered if she would date a black woman. I mean the whole diluting-the-race-excuse thing would be null and void in her case. Her mother looked at me and shook her head. She could not respond. I guess she never expected to feel unworthy. Hey; she was the one who insisted on the separation of races. Now here she was faced with a new idea: the separation of nationality.
Top of the tree
They are using my height to decorate the Christmas tree at work. ha ha ha ha