"...life and times"

It was the early 1960's, and "Morning in America!" Jackie Kennedy was "jazzing up" da White House and trying to give us a little class fer Christ's sakes. Dr. King, and brave others was out there risking their lives for the soul of the nation. Because of that white folk's was finally starting to feel a little ashamed of all them lynchings 'n stuff they let pass.

We was putting up da first satellites, and planning to go to da Moon! For those of you who wasn't there I got' a tell ya this country was hot shit in them daze! Imagine...our folks had good jobs, gas was cheap, we had TV, and was watching till them radioactive came home! Eh...we sort of set A-Bombs off a lot. 

The schools worked, da trash was collected, Santa came every Christmas, we had flesh-colored Band-Aids...only pink but it was a start. That and any work'n Joe could buy a house. Shit! We had big plies of H-fucking Bombs and zillions of new B-52' to deliver them! So nobody dared give us crap. Not only that, but polio was licked, and comic books was 10 cents.

Hey! Was that a "Golden Age" or what?!!

Well, in da middle of all that bright and happy noise I decided I wanted to be a Boy Scout! 'Made sense given da times. I wanted to serve my country...over easy with fries. It was "Camelot" big time back then, and I wanted to do my bit for "Kennedy and Country!"

Also in my pubescent mind I figured da scouts was just da place for "Colored Sissy" kid, with Anarchist tendencies. I figured getting in would be no problem. After all I was real smart cute, sweet, and polite as hell! I also had the da frigging "Pope", my Mommy, and Robert Kennedy's Justice Department on my side.

How could I lose?

I had visions of wearing one of them "Smokey da Bear" hats that scouts gets ta have. Boy those things is neat! Better than cowboy hats any day. Anyway, I was dreaming of that, and all them badges, ribbons, medals', assorted bright and cheerful doodads they heap on ya in da scouts for being a good kid.

'Course then there was da official "Boy Scouts of America!" hatchet, canteen, compass, handbook, and surplus national guard folding mini shovel dancing like sugar plumbs over my innocent, and curly head! Eh...to say nothing about them cute scout short pants and knee sox. Well, okay that was a later fetish, but still ya gets the idea.

Let me tell you of my innocent boyish scouting visions...

I saw me, and my new scout pals out in da wilds tracking hunting mountain lions, digging up Spanish gold! building tree houses, sighting UFO's. We'd be capturing Atomic Spies, rescuing kat's, exploring unknown caves, and make'n friends with da Indians.

We'd be tying all sorts of knots, painting ourselves up like Sioux Warriors, eating wild berries shitting in da woods, wiping our butts with leaves. We'd run on all fours like wolves, and howl at da moon! To relax we'd go nekkid skinny dipping, have kissing contests, and build model airplanes!

At night under da stars we'd sing doo-wop songs, cook foot long kosher hot dawgs over a roaring campfire, and tell scary stories about robots from Neptune attacking Pittsburg. At bedtime we'd open up surplus air force parachutes use them as our communal tents. We'd all say our prayers, kiss each other good night, cuddle up like puppies, and slip into the gentle arms of Elysium. Perhaps some few might stay awake to chase fireflies or recite poetry to each other. Oh, such a sweet and innocent vision.

Unfortunately, 'none' of this swell shit went down. What did happen was...

My Mom: "What did you say?!"

Scoutmaster: "Eh...I'm sorry but it's just policy". "There's nothing I can do about it.
This troop doesn't admit Coloreds."

My Mom: "But this school which is integrated. The troop is part of this school."

Scoutmaster: "Technically yes, but the board has the final say in these matters.
As I said I'm sorry we can't admit your son into our program."

My Mom was gonna slug this jerk, but didn't because he seemed, (to her at least), ashamed of having to do this foul shit to someone. I'd have slugged him anyway, and maybe burned the school down too. Anyhow the 'I'm just following orders' cog went on to tell my Ma of another troop that was willing to take 'some' Negros. ...Swell. That bunch was a long bus ride away so thanks, but no thanks said my Ma.

Boy! ...All that evil crap going down just 'cause I wanted to wear a "Smokey da Bear" hat. Nice world we got here...swell. Thing is I didn't hear about any of this for years. My Mom did what all folks do. They protected their kids from evil as long as they can.

She told me this fuzzy story about there being no room that season. 'Made sense. Remember it was the height of da "Baby Boom" era. There was zillions of us kids all over da place. Hell, we was "Climbing in through da windows"...to quote Holden Caufield. So yeah, I bought it.

Next year I asked again...same story. The year after that I didn't ask...didn't wanna be a scout anymore anyway. Had other problems...like slamming headfirst into my teen years. A nightmare of burning dumpsters on greased skates full of deep shit and crushed desires.


Well, the seasons passed, and with one thing, and another I found myself a young man. Eh, perhaps I should put that another way. Never mind, look it was 1976 the Bi-Centennial year. We'd just lost the Viet-Nam War, there were mile long lines for petrol, the economy was in the toilet, Ford Pinto's were spontaneously combusting on our highways, we'd stopped going to the moon, or anywhere else for that matter. People thought platform shoes were cool, and the first rumblings of the Drug Wars were being heard. Yeah, da 70's... swell.


70's or not ya only gets one "Bi-Centennial" to a country, so we celebrated. I had gone home to visit my folks...I was living out west back then. I was sitting in the front room of da old family place watching the parades, and mayhem with my Ma. We finally got a color TV. Dad didn't want to get one. He thought they caught fire. A common notion back then.

Anyway, there was guys dressed in civil war uniforms re-enacting hell on earth. After a bunch of beer commercials six-gun tote'n cowboys showed up and shot at each other for a while. Then some white guys dressed as Indians did some sort of phony Native dance. Then a float with astronauts on the moon we no longer went to.

Next some old guy's weary fez caps driving "Model T's" chugged by. This was followed by high school "ROTC" drill teams goose stepped down 5th avenue. They flipped their M-1 carbines all over da place. A bunch'a folks dressed like pilgrims drinking Cokes on a flatbed pulled by oxen. All this followed by some poor slobs in hot dog suits shoveling up after them.

Yep that's "America" alright...recognize her anywhere.

After a while on comes the Boy Scouts, hundreds of 'em! Aw gee, they was wearing their "Smokey da Bear" hats too! Wow da boys was having a great time marching and horsing around with each other. I mentions to my mother that it was too bad about all that "overcrowding" when I was a kid. I told her that I really, really wanted to be a scout back then.

My Mommy gets quiet, she looks at me, and tells me da whole story..., all of it.

Like I said, parents, the good ones protect their kids. Protects their Innocence as long as they can. Many seasons later. Long after my Mommy had gone to Heaven. I got a call from my sister. She said her son, my youngest nephew had been called "nigger" at school that day. He was still crying...so was my sister. ...So it begins.

Let kids enjoy their Innocence for as long as possible. But when the demons finally approach your walls of love. Make them ready. Teach them to face the fire and survive.

(Btw... I still want one of them "Smokey the Bear" hats...I really do.)

Amen.

Wrote this over 20 years ago.