Written @ 3:01 p.m. on 2007-05-18
You have to read to believe this
I have to enter this story because it exposes my utter suburban priviledged white-kidness. I was befuddled.
We live in the city, in the nicer end, but a stone's throw to a stinking ghetto, k? I am from upstate newyork, which was completely devoid of crime. I went out the door on Sat. morning and came home saturday night for dinner, my mom had no clue where I was, and I was always safe. All of the mothers looked out for all of the kids. No one ever moved, and everyone knew everyone. It was a pod, and not the real world. I know this.
So, now, shockingly, I AM THE MOM. It still causes me to chuckle, myself, so go ahead and laugh. I live in the city and there are MINORITIES here, and DRUGS, and GANGS and INTERNET PORN (COOL!)! We had none of these things in upstate. I don't know how to deal, but my mother taught me to be nice to everyone and use good manners. Ok. I go by what I know.
We have no yard,so my kids sometimes do chalk on the sidewalk in front of the house, or ride bikes there. This little black girl with braids comes over, and is the sweetest thing ever! She says," We go to the same school! I know I'm in second, and N. is in first, but I like to have friends of all ages! (Insert gap toothed grin)" Great! Playmates. This is nice! Can we ride bikes in the alley? Ok! Well, let me do what my mother would have done. I will introduce myself to her mother, and then we will, uh, trade meatloaf recipes and have tupperware parties, or, uh, something. We might be best friends forever!
So, I ask the kid where she lives. She's walking me, and we are walking, and walking, and walking...she lives a clear block away, up a tall flight of industrial steel stairs, above a back alleyway entrance. Ok. Where's your mom? It's your grandma, ok. Go get her.
Waiting. Waiting........waiting! Finally this lady comes to the door. She is a heavy set, middle aged black lady, with braids sticking STRAIGHT UP in every direction on her head. I'm not kidding. Vertical from her head. I'm not talking like a hair style. I'm talking like a mad science project. The last inch of hair is black, the rest is a lovely silver color. This means she hasn't had 6 bucks for hair color in eight months, and she doesn't have a friend who will cut off the last inch of black, OR this is just a really fresh look that I am not aware of.
"Hi, our kids are playing together and I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Hil, this is N. and this is P. Your granddaughter is very sweet. It's nice to meet you. I can watch out for your kids and you can watch out for mine!" Nervous laughter. She can't watch her own hair. Her kids are a freaking city block away. It takes her an hour to get to the door. She ain't watching shit.
We hightail it out of there, and now there are 10 kids in the alley. Where did they come from? P. is riding the scooter, and everyone is hanging out. N. shouts to her new friend, "I have this awesome voice changer! I wanna show you! Lemme go get it!" N. runs home. I'm standing on the corner, trying to watch P. in the alley, and N. going home down the other angle of the block. Gahhh! This is getting bad.
That woman was weird. No one is watching the kids. Kids are coming from everywhere, and this is an alley, not a park or even a backyard. There are NO ADULTS ANYWHERE. Is this cool? Apparently other parents aren't concerned. What does a mother do? Why did they have to go in two directions?
I called my mom on my cell. "Mom. I'm in the alley with all of these ghetto kids and one was nice but her grandmother was scary and her hair was standing straight up and I don't want them to play but maybe I should because I shouldn't be racist, and I don't know them and I shouldn't judge..."breath"...how did you ever know I was safe because I was all over the neighborhood, and I don't want to be uptight but they are in the street and I don't know what to do!!!!"
"I knew the people you hung out with from before the time you were born,"she said." Make an excuse and tell them you have to go someplace."
"Ok." My mom always knows what to do.
So I collect N. and some kid I never saw before, they couldn't find the voice changer, and I cross the street to the alley where P. is playing, still with my mom in the cell phone.
"N.'s mom! N's mom! P. has a dead squirrel."
"Excuse me, small child, I didn't quite hear? It sounded like you said..."
"P. has a dead squirrel and she picked it up and is walking around with it and she put it in the puddle we were playing in. Tell her to move it."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "P. PICKED UP A DEAD SQUIRREL!" I yell.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"P's been out there five minutes and already she's in trouble,"says my mother, cool as a cucumber.
"A WHAT?! A DEAD SQUIRREL!? P. IS THIS TRUE!?!?!"
P. looks at me. "Yeah."
"It'sdirtybabydirtyandhasbugsandjustreallyreallyreallynotagoodideawehavetogobackhomerightNOWbyekidsseeyouaroundweareleaving!!!!!"I said,"Thanks,Mom. Gotta go. Bye."
"Why do we have to go home?"they ask. My kids ask. Their new friend asks. 10 little motherless children implore.
"Um, we gotta go to the store."
P. starts to cry. She didn't know she wasn't supposed to pick up a dead squirrel, I guess, and then was embarrassed that she did the wrong thing in front of all of these cool older new friends. That can be mighty embarrassing, you know. I remember the time I picked up a dead squirrel at the wrong social moment...tre gauche.
The sweet little girl says,"Don't cry, P. You can come back and play again real soon! It will be ok! You just have to go shopping with your mommy now."
Oh jeez. I bring P. inside and scrub the motherfuckingjesus out of her hands. This is one of those stories we will look back at and laugh. Right? Right? Remember the time, with the dead squirrel?
I'm not used to the city.