Home Sweet Home

This is probably a post that should've come earlier, but I've been thinking about the experiences and what I want to say about them for a few weeks. For the first time in his life, Dante went to Florida for practically the whole summer. He's always gone to Kentucky, because his dad and my mom live in the same town (just a few blocks apart, actually). But this year he was desperate to go to Florida. He had arranged it all by Christmas, and the rest of his life past that point was one big countdown to get on the airplane. He flew nonstop to West Palm Beach where his grandma picked him up. It was the first time he'd ever flown by himself, and the parting was pretty traumatic for both of us. But then he landed and he was happy about the whole thing.

Things did not go as planned. Well, they did at first. Dante has only really ever known places that are predominately white. He's used to being the minority. The place he stayed was a black working class neighborhood. Whites are the minority there. This pleased him. Not because he wants blacks to dominate whites, but rather because of the role model factor. He told me, "Mom, black people do all the important work here. I like that." Because he's never seen it before. It's easy to write off experiences like that when you're white -- but the way whites are used to looking at the world is perceived as the norm. For white people, it's normal that everybody who owns a store is white, or that nurses are white or people who deliver the mail are white. We don't give it a second thought. We don't notice it, because it is normal for us, and people don't notice the norm. For blacks, that is most certainly not always the case. So he was happy to see black postal workers, black store owners, black nurses, etc.

Soon after he got there, he started having trouble with his living situation. Dante is an only child, and while he is great at sharing, maybe even to a fault, that's not the same thing as living with other kids. There were between 10 - 14 people in his Florida house at any given time. The two grandparents were there as well as two of their daughters and the daughters' kids. One has three kids, the other has four -- ages five and under. Then there were a couple of boy cousins his age who came over to hang out because they knew he was there. It was crowded to say the least. And so he had to learn to cope with a big family -- people going through your stuff, never enough hot water, somebody always wanting to use the bathroom, fussing at each other. And most of those lessons were good lessons. But some of them, especially as it related to a breakdown in discipline, were not so good lessons. As in, "just hit him back."

The level of violence was something Dante wasn't familiar with. At all. The grown ups didn't hit the kids -- the kids hit each other. And Dante was incredibly uncomfortable with all that, as he should've been. And, because he was uncomfortable with it, his aunt S tore into him one night at the kitchen table, calling him soft. According to her, he was soft primarily because he'd been raised by a white mother. She took a few shots at me, although he was vague on those details, probably assuming he didn't want his mother in jail for murder. He told me about the incident over the phone. He seemed surprised when I wasn't upset about what she'd said about me. The aunt who lit into him is the one with four babies five years old and under. She's 26. We talked about how frustrated she must be, how she must feel like you have to be hard to get by in life. We talked about his other cousins, older ones, that she considered "hard" (and therefore good) and what was going on with them right now. One was out running with gangs, a few others were in jail. Most didn't do much with their lives -- they were too "hard" to give in and negotiate with people. We talked about the class differences, the change in a big family from a small family, and how it wasn't a black - white thing but more of an income level/cultural thing.

We talked about stuff I've only ever talked about in grad classes, just with less big words and more realistic examples. That's the problem with being a bi-racial black/white boy who splits his time between two broke "intellectuals" and a family that makes what little money they have in factories and cane fields -- you can understand what the problem is, but that doesn't shield you from experiencing it. To whites, he's black. For some of them, if he talks too loud, gestures too wildly, or speaks anything other than proper English, he's acting black. If he raises his voice at another kid, he's threatening to escalate into violence. Of course he wants to play football and basketball, and I bet he'd be good at them, too, after all, he's black. To some blacks, he's too white if he hugs his cousins, speaks anything besides ebonics, and doesn't pull back into a fist when something doesn't go his way. What do you mean you want to do some art shit? Art is for faggots. Journalism? What the fuck is that? Now, Jamal, he's starting on the football team next year. That boy's going places. For either set of idiots, the answer is obviously more education and exposure to people who aren't exactly like you.

And I think what's really frustrating, is that while I try my best to educate him, he is the one who educates them by being around them. And as a mom, I just think that's so damned unfair. I'm the adult, put it on my back. Don't put it on the boy's back. It's not his load to carry -- but he's the one who ends up carrying it. Back in Kentucky, more than one set of racist white parents had their hearts melted by his big grin and by how good of a friend he was to their troubled son. He is the center of bi-racial boy culture where we are now. He and his friend Andre recently titled themselves "delicate chocolates" -- hilarious, and certainly better than "oreos", which was the joking slang that went around my high school. But it also highlights how fragile they think their position is, not to over psychoanalyze it, of course. They know they walk in two worlds.

Even back in Kentucky around his father, bi-racial step sister, and his half Palestinian cousins, I think the pressure from White Nana was just a little too great. She goes the other end of the spectrum, because she wants to claim she doesn't "see color". In my experience, those people are just colorblind. Doesn't mean it doesn't exist, just because you think you can't see it. Color and the way people treat it exists. If you can't see it, it's not because you're making a "big deal" out of it and perpetuating it. It's because you're not looking. So, she tends to denigrate the black aspects of Dante out of ignorance and refusal to examine whether she sees color or not, especially when it comes to hair. White Nana can't stand his hair out of braids. The afro puts her off. But she also won't take him to the Kingdom Hall with his braids, so that's an added bonus in our opinion.

Needless to say, all he talked about for the last two weeks of his summer away was "When can I come hoooooooome???" He couldn't wait to come back to the two broke intellectuals. Hell, he couldn't wait to get back to his stepdad. That should tell you something. It's the first time we ever drove him home and he didn't cry. I asked him if he thought he wanted to go to Florida next summer. "Nope. And you know, I don't think I'm that interested in Kentucky, either." Whoa.

In the end, despite the bad experiences, I think there was some net good that came from this summer. On the practical side of things, I don't think I will have to experience my heart sinking when he asks to go live somewhere besides with me. Puberty might change all that, though. But he certainly appreciates what he has now in a way I don't think he ever could before. We're not wealthy people. El Hijo is in grad school, and I make less than $40k as a college prof. We're not poor, we just watch where our money goes. I think he understands that now. He appreciates the "luxury" of a hot shower with nobody banging on the door; he appreciates the privacy of one's own bedroom and things. He understands there is no limit to the value of not being judged for being yourself. He has figured out that adult problems start from childhood behaviors, and that posturing with violence only leads to something worse. In short, he appreciates where he is in life.

He told me this while he was in Florida, and it's practically word for word, because it touched me so deeply and lodged itself in my brain. "You know, Mom, I thought about what Auntie S said, and I think she's wrong. Or it doesn't matter if she's right, I mean. I mean, if I'm soft, so what? I don't want to be hard if it means I'm getting into fights all the time or yelling at my Mom or pushing little kids around. I don't want to have a bad life. And you know, I thought about it, and I think I have a good life right now. I mean, there's stuff I want that I don't have. But I like the life I have right now. I like being in your house and I like (stepdad) and I like my friends and I like my school. And I like the kind of person I am. Because, I mean, I think I'm a good person. I think a parent would be glad to have me as their kid. Because I'm good to people and I can do flips and stuff that other kids can't do. I think I'm a good friend. I like me and I like my life. I think S don't know what she's talking about."

Right on, kiddo. And yes, we then spent the next ten minutes bashing Auntie S with her four kids by two different dads, all under five years old before she turned 26, living on her baby daddy's child support money, mooching off of Grandma, running off at her mouth self. Because I think she deserved it.

And he's right -- any parent would be glad to have him as their kid. I certainly am.

-- Dante's Virgil