Some crazy shit we went through growing up in the projects. I owe everything to you. You taught me how to say my first "muddafucker". And remember the "stash"? Oh please my negro, you know what I'm talking about. Yes, the "stash". Whenever your moms and pops weren't home, we used to sneak into their bedroom where pops had his private collection of Hustler magazines. As if giving me lessons in female anatomy, you used to point them out and slowly say "That's a tiddy, a real BIG tiddy". You couldn't stop laughing when I repeated after you because I would always say "big tee tee".
By the way, you know your pops was a bad ass. To me, he was Issac Hays, Shaft and God combined in one. He was superfly cool. He had that shiny bald head with the pierced stud in his left ear that sparkled like some magic super nova. He wore that long burgundy leather coat like a royal cape as if fit for a king. I was honored to also call him "Pops" as you did.
Yo, remember that summer when we waited in line for hours at the Ward Theater on Westchester Avenue to watch Bruce Lee double features? After watching "Fist of Fury" and "Chinese Connection" back to back, we would go back to the projects and impersonate Bruce Lee. You were the wackiest looking-Bruce Lee impersonating-wise potato chips eating-welch's grape soda drinking-fat-negro I had ever seen.
Then there was that time when I started hanging out with the Puerto Ricans. I was mesmerized by their music, care-free life style, and hot Latinas. Ever since then, you called me "rice and beans". My negro, you always called me for who I was.
Just so you know, you are the black in me that I will never let go.
Black is beautiful.
Peace my brother.
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