No one in my family has "sounded black" for many many years. If you were to listen to an audio recording from one of my mom's holiday dinners, it'd make the celebration at Colin Powell's house sound like A Very Wu-Tang Christmas.
This story takes place in 1989. My family had done alright over the last hundred years; they were financially secure, in fairly good health, and all of their children sounded nice and White.
Imagine their shock and horror when their golden son, trashing 5 generations of assimilation, came home from school one day sounding like Double Trouble from the Rock Steady Crew.
I didn't push it onto them intentionally – I wasn't that kind of punk-ass – It's just that I thought I could be both people and never get caught. I mean, what were the chances my grandmother would ever be hanging around the freedom tunnels or show up at the ghost station?
But bust me she did, and it's a moment I think about a lot.
Look outside - the weather was the opposite of what it is today. It was a warm summer day, sun shining, and I was out on the block with Ben and a bunch of hoodlums we were trying to impress - 4 or 5 realblacks and puertoricans from east of Amsterdam that definitely did not go to our private school. We were salesmen trying to build credibility as graffiti writers, all of us with our blackbooks out, drawing wack tags in each other's shit and talking about statistics.
"Nah, nah, Vane and Most2's Broadway mission was all out - he bombed that one church, that's corny but that nigga's style is dope tho!"
Little did I know that about 20 feet behind me, my mom and my grandma were getting out of a cab loaded down with bags from Zabar's. My mom was still paying the driver in the back seat, but my grandma was standing right behind me probably drinking it all in. Funny; shortly after this, I remember being worried about how much exactly my grandmother had heard - whether she'd be able to understand enough of what I was saying to bust me - as if the words I was saying mattered one iota. She just rolls up on her computer geek grandson, who a year ago was taking apart the light-buzzer circuit from a game of Operation, he's hanging out with a bunch of street kids in front of the house talking black and practicing graffiti, and I'm wondering whether I've given her enough data to decode the situation.
Ben nodded for me to turn around. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my grandmother standing there. I ignored her, my stomach burned, and I started to pray.
My mom came out of the car, and she's cool as shit - she just headed for our apartment, without saying hi or anything - didn't want to embarrass me. Goddamn give me the strength to do that for my kids.
My grandma though, she wasn't havin it.
This is the refined grandma that used to stoop to take me to Twin Donuts on 91st street to play Tempest, Qbert, and finally, praise jesus, Dragon's Lair. (Please god does anyone remember video games at Twin Donut or Optimo on 88th?)
I wasn't allowed to go alone (a yo, whassup shortie, yeah you know me right? yo man I'm just gonna KEEP this shit ok you cou get a new one aight bet) so she always came with me when my parents wouldn't. She used to embarrass the shit out of me by fucking up all the principals of early 80's video game culture:
She hated when kids would stand by the machine and watch me play. She used to give them quarters and go "here you go – go on – go play your own game." Best of all, when kids would put their quarters up on the machine to "get next," she would scold them "no no, get your money off the machine until he's done stop messing around with his game." Epic.
So she's standing behind me, and I can feel her there. She's not close enough for anyone to really notice except Benjamin - it obviously got awkward for him real fast, so smiled at her and gave a little wave. It forced me to turn around and say hi to her.
"Hi gramma" I said.
"Bob, say goodbye to your friends and come inside; we bought H&H bagels and Zabar's famous whitefish salad."
She literally said Zabar's famous whitefish salad - write Ben an email and ask him.
My face burned, hard, and everyone was laughing. I was paralyzed, not knowing what to do because I was stuck in the middle of a shit sandwhich. I couldn't communicate with my "friends" OR my grandma - opening my mouth in either language would have fucked me with someone.
(Option 1, Talk White to my Grandma)
1a: Grandma, not in front of my niggers!!
1b: Ok grandma I'll be right in! Love you!
...Both would result in immediate cred eradication, demotion from all writing crews in perpetuity, never being taken seriously again (not that I ever was), and a lifetime ban from Twenty-One billiards.
(Option 2, Talk Black to my Homies)
Option 2a: Fuck yall niggas i'm hittin the Zabars kid.
Option 2b: Aight peace yo, lemme grab my book back realquick?
...This would result in my grandmother shaming me further, possibly including the ultimate death sentence: publicly asking me why I was talking like that.
Well, why the fuck was I talking like that?
The obvious answer is that it's a scene, just like any other. It's ok to be a part of it, but you have to admit that it's pretend, like wrestling. I like wrestling! But nigga plz.
I have to go out on a limb here and say that 90% of graffiti writers today still pretend to talk black like that, in order to sound credible and cool. It's just part of the scene. Go look at the comments in that Freedom Tunnel post - they even type black. But yo, don't mind me, you all do sound pretty cool; Like Madonna when she talks English.
I remember that summer, being at the upper west side apartment of a certain 13-year-old who had been a pretty well-known graffiti writer since he was a fetus. He was skateboarding around his room in circles while we all talked shit and sounded black. Then the phone would ring, and he would turn down the music and tell everyone to shut the fuck up.
"Hello? Hello how are you, she's not in right now, may I take a message?"
...sounding like a secretary at the Harmonie Club. Then he would hang up and switch right back to Black, and none of us would mock him since he was famous, had such big balls, and in general was just a total badass.
He could get away with it, but I couldn't.
Even 5 years ago, when I was 28, I would still find myself slipping into blacktalk when I was dealing with people I was nervous about judging me. Big black bassists, guys making my burrito, beggars on the subway:
"Sorry, yo."
I guess I'm still just as affected as Madonna, because I still put forth a conscious effort in these situations: I make it a point to sound as white as possible, just like I do with any old graf friend I run into randomly. I'm still immature enough to want to make a statement to them instead of acting naturally: "Remember that shit before? Yeah, I was full of shit. This is how I really talk. I talk how I talk; I talk like Colin Powell, WHAT."
Ha, I'm still a dumb kid.
RIP: Tony, Bronx Science & David, Hunter High; Two smart boys who knew how to talk in Black and White.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
33 comments:
"no no, get your money off the machine until he's done stop messing around with his game."
Ok, you know how sometimes you hear something, and you are sure you remember it, but the memory is so old that it is hard to tell whether it is really real, or it just sounds so familiar that you are just filling in the memory gaps?
Well that's how your Grandma quote sounds to me. I am 90% sure that I was one of those other kids.
And I spent between 10% - 20% of all the money I possessed before the age of 12 playing Contra at the Optimo on 88th, and probably another 10% on Spy Hunter.
Good times.
thank god for you, Knickerbocker.
I still slip into blacktalk when I feel it's necessary. Sometimes it comes naturally-- on the court or if I'm in an argument with someone I can relax with... But sometimes I'm troubled with it, and I never, never respond to white kids/men who speak to me like they're black.
Shit, if the white kid listening to Wu over the iPod at the coffee shop gives me a nod and a "S'up, man" (after giving a cheery barbershop trio goodbye to the white guy in front of me) like he's selling me more than a cafe au lait, I drop into my Eddie Murphy White Man voice. Fuck him.
I'm fucked up enough with my own color and place-- I don't need to play a part in anyone else's lifemovie.
Great writing, as usual.
A gentleman is never more hood then when he is trying to look tough-- like, during a "lets pretend we might fight!" showdown. Fronting is the term, I think. Dudes fronting talk HILARIOUS.
One of the guys I was recently dating (and by dating I mostly mean fucking) told me that his kid's baby momma did not want him taking his own son on his own visitation time to a museum because she did not want him to turn his kid white. I said, "Whu???"
There's identity, there's the scene, and sometimes there's just plain stupidity. And bubbeh's always seem to know what's what.
Happy Chanukah.
more bullshit JA references.
I've always wondered how realblack street talk actually was.
Here's a good one for you: Throughout my late teens and early twenties, I'd use certain words - slang or street, if you will - in an ironic, mocking sort of way. Not long after, I realized that I was no longer using these words in jest, and that they had actually wormed their way into my everyday vocabulary.
Shameful, yo.
I talk black to burrito men and homelesses and I'm half white and half yellow.
I don't think you can call it talking "black" anymore, though. I was watching Intervention, the best show on TV, and it was the one about the wheelchair fella with the million dollar settlement, his shitheel brother, and all the crack and dope they smoke(d?). They are classic "wiggers," if you will, but it occurred to me that it probably never was a conscious decision to talk how they do, in their weird peckerwood-meets-fiddy argot. I think their peers, heroes, enemies, dealers, and indeed anyone they likely interact with on a regular basis, talk like that, regardless of race.
The kids' white mom or aunt was LaVonda.
see? book material.
Sorry but I think you are full of shit. Usually when black people go into that "I'm not like those other ninja's" stories they are trying to compensate for something.
I bet your ass grew up in the projects. And your Mom had 13 kids before she was 30. Just be proud you made it out.
I only talk black when I'm with Japanese girls.
What Would Zaxxon Do?
I remember being twelve, in my boy scout uniform, waiting for my dad to come out to the car so we could go to a meeting. I had my CD player and my headphones on, and I was listening to the Wu's first, loudly. I was also singing along, and watching the front door, or so I thought.
"Bring the mother, bring the mother, bring the motherfucking ruckus!"
"What?! Excuse me!"
I didn't notice my Dad until he was right next to me, I guess I was really into the music. I nervously fumbled to get my headphones off, expecting harsh retribution for my language. Instead, nothing. My father and I rode to the meeting in silence. What could he say?
hey anon 2:03
I'm really glad you've got these 'blacks' all figured out. Usually when anonymous posters randomly invent irrelevant bullshit to comment boards, it's because they are compensating from being self-hating, in the closet homos,
right?
the real question is why are you such a miserable little bitchcuntasspussy?
Mad that Fleet Foxes sold out?
Hentai tentacle porn site down?
I wouldn't give a fuck if BN turned out to be a 17 year old Talibansman, it's still funny.
douche.
I have no desire to talk black to black people, except to the Trinidadian nanny who refuses to understand me unless I speak creole.
"You carry she back to de house an go by dem people what sell de mangoes 2 for dollah," etc etc.
My new thing is when black people start their shit with me, just because I am the only white person around, "SIR, I need to get together twenty dollars for groceries for my son," is not just to ignore them, but to stop and look around puzzled, as though I can't figure out where the sound is coming from, and then to walk on.
My friend likes to taunt blacks who push by him on the subway and get mad about not enough room or whatever, "Yeah, yeah, the angry black man routine, I've heard it before."
They've got nothing my friends. The jig is up, so to speak.
most people of color who live as the minority of a population are bilingual in this way (talk white/talk to yo peeps). we all need substantial amounts of it just to get by.
i'm biracial, and growing up i never had enough attributes of either blacks or whites to be completely accepted by either side.
but now they can all suck it. i am a proud, nerdy nigra till i die....
The one race I try to not talk black to is black people. I used to do a lot of drugs so I bought a lot of heroin and crack from a lot of black folk and I used to cringe when my whitest friend would be all "Good look dog that shit is official baby boy yo yeah dog." (It didn't help that the neighborhoods we were in were largely Crip areas, so "dog" wasn't the preferred nomenclature.)
Then there was this dude I knew who would talk kind of quasi-black to black drug dealers despite being white and having a law degree and it annoyed me because it's like although you may have trouble understanding black, it's not like black people don't speak white. The fucking TV speaks a good bit of white and the radio speaks a lot of white and it's not like they need you to talk like someone botoxed your lips for them to understand you.
There's no JA references in there Anon 12:11
I grew up in a Catholic household in the Chicago housing projects. As such, I had to code-switch as I moved between worlds. My normal speaking mode was the one I used at home and in school. With my non-school friends I simply adopted the ambient style of speech. It was not an affectation since we were all learning vulgarities and contemporary slang as part of the growing up process. As an insider I was never accused of “talkin’ white”. My slightly more “proper” ‘hood speech was seen an acceptable eccentricity. I was by no means the toughest person in my neighborhood; I was simply tough enough to not be anyone’s punk.
Oh Stewardess, I speak Jive.
This is EXACTLY why I like Barack Obama.
It will be as harmless and charming as Madonna's English accent when:
Black excellence is the norm and,
Blacks pursuing excellence are able to do so without fear of being exiled from Negrostan.
Until them, fuck all those jive talking motherfuckers. They must defer to us.
That's another good postt. Pretending to be black, or otherwise is always a good source of amusement....how many times black friends, white friends, family, your family, that fuck on the corner...has describe me as black when my skin is clearly albino.....but seriously, you can't pretend to be black. It is a mindset...something dependent on your treatment as an individual--how the community responds to your presence. Post-Lincoln America has made it easy to label as black, but a prejudice or cultural difference is not a black or white issue...always. Like a Portuguese (brown skin, neither black nor white) friend wisely told me, you're only as good as what you respond to, nigger.
I feel sorry for black people-dig how even smart dudes like Blogni99er hisself have to twist themselves into knots buying a soda or similar shit.
It's like Ralph Ellison-style everyday for ya'll bitches.
I guess the locus classicus remains the Newscaster you posted lapsing black when he got a bug in his mouth.
I say whatevs. It's called street talk. You probably wouldn't swear in front of your grandma either. Even Richard Pryor changed his game up in front of his grandmother. You can be both shit talker and white talker without being a phony. It's the duality of man, the sacred and the profane if you will, holmes. Funny post though, keep them coming.
Ty, for the love of Christ, stop your incessant dickriding. You're starting to become a distraction.
This is an excellent post - I think that nearly all kids go through something like this. For my mom, it was when my siblings and I went through phases of dressing like 70s hippies in paisley & fatigues, talking like surfer/stoner/hippies - it pissed her off to no end.
I'm a few years older than you, and my mom was a young mother - she partied harder than I ever have or will - but I think the conflicts between older/younger generations are the same in this kind of situation.
Very nice to read your blog.
So what did you end up saying in the situation?
Those 1989 kid quotes were great. I still have that George Bush #1-era of slang rattling around my head that comes out every once in a while. I just got asked "why do you say 'good lookin' out? all the time" and felt like my dad saying "groovy."
Everybody wants to be cool when they're little and pretend that they're dangerous or a lowlife. That's what punk's all about. You get to pretend to be like your heroes who did heroin and died but if you're a mature person you get out of that phase by 23.
BN:
Gotta follow up again because this post has opened a few memory floodgates for me about the old neighborhood.
Your blog always makes me feel good. The subject matter always gets me thinking, and the references to the old West Side are more than the icing on the cake, for me its more like getting a blow job under the table after a great meal at a steakhouse.
So allow me and try to return the favor with one word:
Menash
I almost forgot the old store next to the decrepit Red Apple on 83rd and B'way. It was the pantheon of the old school "Paper Store" which is something that would never survive in the current NYC. They had one of the better toy sections in the area (I remember saving my allowance to buy the the first ever space Lego there). They even served ice cream in the front of the store. It wasn't a pretty place, but any one under the age of 15 could spend hours there, and still have a fight with Mommy when it was time to go.
But the thing that made Menash truly great was the small upstairs loft in the back where they kept the best hidden arcade on the West Side. It was only 6-8 games, but they were usually new and well kept.
You remember it BN? I almost forgot it. After thinking about your post, now I remember it all.
The amazing thing was that all the kids were aged 7-17, without any supervision, and from all types of socio-economic backgrounds, all during a serious period of economic downturn.
But it was not Lord of The Flies. Far from it. At worst, there was some chest beating, screaming over "next" and occasional swearing, but I never saw a fight, nor did anyone "take it outside". We were just there to play. No cameras, no parents, no cell phones, no problems.
These days, people would never give there kids $10 and send them off alone to Chuck-e-Cheese (or whatever). The kid would probably be put in protective custody and the parents arrested for child endangerment before lunchtime. But back then, that's exactly how I spent most of my weekend afternoons.
Back then, we didn't know the implications of the race riots, recession, or even Nixon. We were just kids who wanted to get our initials in a high score screen so all the other kids in the neighborhood could see that we were the best.
That's the real goal. Isn't it? To prove that I am better than you because I am better at a game, not because I have some unfair advantage over you because of some 'birthright' or because someone may be carrying a weapon?
Is it just the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle? Do we change the way kids are by telling them to be afraid or angry over everything? Or has basis for fear actually grown for objective reasons during the last 30 years? When I talk about this, everyone tells me "things are different now". and I always respond, "Yea, now it safer!"
Back then there was a real place where kids from all backgrounds could meet and find a way to play without letting our race or parents income level divide us. The only real dividing line between us was your best score on Tempest.
BN, I am guessing that this experience forms part of the foundation of your writing. The notion that social/racial imbalances are no more than an abstraction. I think it's because you've been to a place where this notion is reality. I think you have been to Menash.
So thank G-d for you too BN. And thank G-d for all of us that remember Menash.
knickerbocker- can u plz shoot me an email?
@ Knickerbocker: That was incredible.
This all reminds me of that awesome book 'fortress of solitude'.. It makes me feel like I've been to a place in a certain time- (even though I live in Australia) like actually seeing it and feeling it.. I guess in the same way Nas' 'Illmatic' made me 'see' New york..
-Jess
a friend of mine had a short lived crew called OPM "optimo paint magic" based on that optimo on 88th.
around 1989
Post a Comment