This Understanding [applies to all things in life]
by j.charles @ textproductions
“Sometimes opportunity knocks. Sometimes you gotta call opportunity up on the phone and invite it over.” -Sanford and Son
“Education by streetlight” is the term I use for it. The constant pursuit of the underlying truth behind anything which is tangible and fascinating. I had originally taken to hip hop in very much the same way that a raccoon takes to a shiny thing; it’s beyond captivating to me. My eyes would grow as large as a boy achieving his first orgasm, delivering a similar feeling to the entirety of my body, every time I walked into a live music set.
I had to know why people were so god damned imbedded in this society, as opposed to the one I lived in. I was ten or eleven at the time. Ice cube was on his descent ion off the charts, public enemy had already made its mark on free speech. In fact it was them and 2live cru that can almost exclusively be credited with the invention of the parental advisory label seen on almost every tape and compact disc I owned, in spite of my mother’s knowledge or approval.
I got my license in February of whatever year, and by March I had enough absences that the school began to worry about my education. Fuck you. I was getting my own education. Not one that relies on standardizing tests, offering healthy balanced and tasteful school lunches or english class. My classroom contained the entirety of the bay area and I tended to show up pretty regularly, if not sober. I found out how to get from one side of the city to the other with the Divisadero; discovered north beach, mission and the T.L. I learned about homelessness and how hard it is to work for a meal when you have no job. I talked to a homeless man that day that wished no money from me, rather the leftover contents of a doggie bag I had from lunch. For the first time I felt bad for them. That day I went into the Carl’s jr. and bought as many famous stars as my pocket would allow, save for bridge toll back to the suburbs. I passed them out only to the homeless men and women who I had spoke within the previous hours, each one thanking me after I simply walked by, placed a cheeseburger in heir change cup, and walked away. These were good people the likes of which I could never ever learn about in school. This was compassion for your contemporaries no matter what the class. I learned that I came from a privileged place, even though it didn’t feel like it until I left it.
This understanding applies to all things in life.
Sometimes it’s nice to go o the city alone to just wander. I hold in high regards the days that I get on at the Ashby bart station in beautiful south Berkeley Ca, ride to Powell with my nose stuck in a book, and spend the rest of the day doing the same Following the sun to the sunset, propelling myself with only my energy. I don’t have to talk to anyone the entire day, and that is so dope to me. A city with so fucking many people and I can walk all day without talking to a single person. Including ordering lunch, buying fare or cigarettes (to pass out to homeless instead of change).
In middle school I got beaten up by two “gang” members. I say “gang” because there really isn’t any such thing as a gang in the suburbs. There is not a Cripp alive that wants to control the suburbs, and if you do than I can say this much…ain’t too much for you here, I promise. I got beat up because I wasn’t ever given the opportunity to realize that people do use violence as a way to resolve things. I said the wrong shit, day in and day out, to a kid that I shouldn’t have talked shit to. He said to me, in the presence of a teacher, that he was going to kick my ass in the hallway after class. It was third period English. The bell rang, and I didn’t believe him. I walked out of class to a shot in the face. A hard shot in the face by a kid who could barely reach it. The guy on he other side of the door tried to pull my shirt up over my head while the hard puncher hit me again, hard right in the face. My teacher looked on like a bitch.
I got a free right hand and took the first punch I had ever used to hit another person. It knocked the kid straight into the wall, and gave me enough room to turn and face the punk that was trying to pull my shirt over me. The adrenaline was pouring into my body now, and I had no intention of letting him go without first delivering a fatal wound. He must have realized this when I broke free and turned around to return to my attacker. I was a fat white kid, and I quickly dropped him to the ground while using him to break my fall. I grabbed his thin black braid and slammed his head repeatedly into the waxed cement of the floor. Blood covered me and him. It was such a contrast to his dark hair.
Blood began to splatter onto the walls. The teacher looked on as it happened, waiting for security to arrive. Obscenity poured from my mouth as I insisted on dominance. I owned this person’s life at that moment. If I had it in me he would’ve been very very dead. But for some reason I stopped. I stood up, surveyed the crowd of people instantly amassed for the show. Normally the onlookers are chant, yell racial shit, or get involved. They were dead silent with much the same look as the one missing all the blood. I still had the look of the reaper in my eyes. I was the reaper. The crowd parted as I walked toward the door at the other end of the hall, bloody footprints trailing me.
I learned from those poor kids and they learned from me. Neither one of our lessons had anything to do with school except for the issue of confined space. I learned that just because you’ve never seen it doesn’t mean it’s not very much out there. They learned that just because you think you’re the shit, doesn’t mean that you are. More precisely: it’s not the size (or quantity) of the dog in the fight. It’s the size of the fight in the dog. Lastly I learned to trust myself no matter what the situation. I haven’t been in a fight since. Maybe because I never had to, maybe because I’m scared to pull the trigger.
This understanding applies to all things in life.