The other America

 

At the early age of five, I would sit by the television. And watch the Courtship of Eddies Father, Father Knows Best, Leave it to Beaver, and dream of what it would be like to have a father to teach me about life. I would envy these kids. Not realizing that their experiences,  had nothing to do with reality. My relationship with my father, was different  than theirs. I began to compare those differences. Mr. Cleaver was a very hard working individual. My dad worked hard too. Mr. Cleaver would sip his martini, the same way my Father did.

The Beave thought the world of his father, and so did I.  It would seem like the world revolved around his father. Just like my father. I mean people were knocking on my fathers door, all day and all night. There was only one difference, between Mr. Cleaver and my dad. Mr. Cleaver, left home in the morning to go to the office.  And came home for dinner, after a hard day work. My father left home in the morning, to go hustle on the corner. And never came back. I would visit my father on Christmas holidays, in hopes that we could spend some time together. I had only two weeks, to try to form a relationship, with a man, I knew nothing about.

Pimp hats, processed hair, platform shoes, coup deville Cadillacs, silk shirts,  snake skin boots, alligator shoes, tailor made pin stripe suits, the best that money can buy. Drugs being weighed, brown powder being put, in multicolored balloons, red, blue, green and yellow. My father  had millions of dollars. That he stacked in piles, that he would lay across his dinning room table. Going from one end, to the other. Every day, the piles would just get higher, and higher, and higher!

I want to take you higher, oh!

I got to take you higher, oh!

Baby, baby, baby, light my fire, Oh!

Boom, laka, laka, laka!

Boom, laka, laka, laka!

 

 

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