"How are you getting home?" I asked Mariah as she started out my front door. She looked into the night. "I'm walking," she said, but sounded uncertain. "Oh, come off it. I'll have my parents drive you," I told her. But she shook her head. "No. Your parents. They actually like me. I don't want them seeing where I live." And before I could say anything, she was out the door and into the darkness. I could see the flash of her silver coat as she turned the block, but then she was gone. I was freezing in my sweatshirt. I couldn't imagine how she would be after a few blocks. I shut the door and shuffle into the kitchen to make cider, thinking about what she said.
Mariah was ashamed of where she lived. I had never been to her house. We hung out everywhere, I realized, the library, park, countless food joints, our school's grounds, amd my house. But I had never been to her house. I knew she lived about a mile from me, but that was it. I knew Mariah didn't have much money, but who did these days? Mariah was a carefree, rebellious person, she didn't care what anyone else thought of her, so why did she care about my parents?
That was 4 months ago. I had just mentioned it to my dad last night, over dinner. He didn't look up from his salad, he just nodded, and a little smile played over his face. "I think I can understand that," he said, playing with his fork.
I didn't pursue it, and as I was clearing the table, my dad said, "You can't change what you were born into. You can't change who you are. You can only decide what you're going to be."
I think I understand what he was saying now. You can't choose your parents, or what they do. You can't choose the house you live in, the life that was laid out before you. The future is the only thing you have a say in. That hit me pretty hard. Man, I was brought up in an alright household. All I had done so far was doing a good job of screwing it up.
My father started his story later one afternoon during a commercial of some reality show I had my brain hooked on. "When I was younger, I went to Eastwood Elementary," he said, not looking at me. He was thinking hard, I could tell. "It was a school up by the college, in a classy neighborhood. I remember every day, those six years of my life after school; crossing the large ditch that kind of set apart those houses and where I lived. I hated that ditch. It represented everything I hated about my life. I know the few times when I would leave a little late and there would still be a few kids hanging around. Their eyes followed my little footsteps to that ditch. And I knew they were laughing."
The show came back on, but I couldn't concentrate. "Aw, Dad," I started, but he waved me off and smiled. "Do you think you'll tell Mariah that story for me?" he asked. I nodded.
Thinking back to my elementary and middle school days, I lived in a neighborhood where money was pretty tight, even though my family lived good. One year, I asked one of my good friends everything he got for Christmas, and he gave me a tight smile and he said, "Oh, you know, Christmas." And much to my shame now, I had rattled off everything I had gotten. I was so stupid. I still am.
Even though I'm smarter than I was then, my friends always seem to be so much more mature than me, so ahead of me.
Only one more story, I promise. Somehow I think I can only teach through my stories; if you all could bear with me.
It was early October, I think, and a couple of my friends were hanging out on my porch. One of Reanna's guy friends shows up, and he hangs out with us. Everything is fine until the guy messes with the wrong nerve in Ray. He has a huge temper, and a notorious reputation for fighting. Sure enough, Ray and Spence were wrestling and pounding each other down and Ray wouldn't let go. He just wouldn't stop. Not until Reanna burst out crying. "I'm leaving. I deal with so much of this crap at home; I'm not dealing with it now."
She didn't choose that. None of us choose that. Ray didn't choose to grow up in this broken home with two wild brothers. Maybe it was some of his choice to become this way, but not entirely.
None of us do.
For the first time ever, Mariah consented on my dad and I driving her home. And truthfully, I think she was alright.
Glitsygrl
