Life in the 'hood

Even though I didn't grow up in "the 'hood" (I grew up in a suburban community created by UNC for families of its African American workers, a community that has now become mostly student housing/supplemental income for the descendants of those workers) -- even though I didn't grow up in "the 'hood," I have a certain sense of identification with it. It's in the hood that I sort of came into awareness of myself. It's in the hood that I got to shake off the confusion caused by forced integration, New England prep schools, the Arizona desert and Wall Street all layered onto a person with no intrinsic understanding of themselves.

ANYway, yesterday I realized that there's still a good bit of the hood in me. I'd left Tonni's, and was tired so decided to take a shortcut through Mount Morris Park. Back in the day, when I lived in another part of the 'hood, I knew better than to go into Mount Morris Park even in the daytime. But this neighborhood is all gentrified now, and cutting through the park would save me a few blocks. Plus, I refuse to be intimidated cuz I'm a New Yorker, right?

So I'm cutting through the park and I see this guy. He's coming toward me and he has on a jogging suit with a jacket on top. No prob. Except that he's going into his rear waistband. And I'm thinking "can I take him? could I run for it? who's around?" All this stuff is going through my head, but my steps don't falter, and I lock eyes with him. Inside I'm wondering if he's carrying and if he's going to try to stick me up, but my eyes don't leave his. My look is not menacing, but it's not wilting, either. It's like, "yeah, what you got?," but with a little bit of a smile. I figured he had been up to no good when he didn't smile back, but he adjusted his jogging suit so it fell over whatever he had in his waistband, and he kept going.

Now there may have been absolutely no danger -- he could have been coming from relieving himself or something. I don't know. What I know is that I thought for a moment that I could have been in danger, and my first instinct was just like when I used to fight: size up the person in front of you without telegraphing your next action. I was happy with that.

This morning I walked to church, which is just over a mile. I had on heels. That's a new experience for me, walking (relatively) comfortably in heels. It's not something I need to do every day, but the weather is nice, and even with my collar on, I enjoy walking the streets of Harlem, greeting my neighbors. I also like walking to church on Sundays. It's how I was raised, that the Sabbath begins at sundown the night before, and you don't do any labor on the Sabbath. I think I'd like to observe that tradition more. It's restful and relaxing, and helps me, a good Methodist, to intentionally put observance of God into all my actions. It literally helps my walk match my talk. I walked back from church, too.

On the way back, I stopped at DD for a cappuccino. I don't know what happened, but it tasted funny. First of all, I think they may have put sugar in it instead of Splenda. Actually, that was second of all. First of all, I think they gave me a latte instead of a cappuccino. Cappuccinos, I believe, are like 1/3 coffee, 1/3 steamed milk and 1/3 foamed milk. Lattes are warm milk with coffee in them. The fun of a cappuccino comes from the foam and how it "melts" into the coffee drink below. So I'm pretty sure they gave me a latte instead of a cappuccino. Which annoyed me.

So I came home and cleared some space on the countertop, cleaned off my espresso machine and made myself a soy vanilla latte. I have everything I need (6 quarts of soymilk that don't even need to be refrigerated, a tin of decaf Cafe Pilon or El Tico or something, tons of Splenda, dominican vanilla and plenty of cinnamon). I didn't have to spend a penny and can have all the cappuccino, latte, or espresso I want, without having to worry about someone confusing my cappuccino with a latte, or giving me something with sugar instead of Splenda.

I realize that if my biggest problem is getting a latte instead of a cappuccino, that my life is tremendously blessed. I watched 60 minutes tonight as they profiled several people in my salary grade who've been out of work more than the Federal maximum of 99 weeks for unemployment benefit coverage (the maximum weekly benefit is $405, which I don't believe would even cover my mortgage). It's a blessing to have a job, and to not have to wonder how to pay for insurance, the mortgage, etc.

And it's a blessing to be able to have a life. I leave for Egypt a week from tomorrow, and am already making plans for a 2011 trip. I'm still looking at getting a car in 2011 or 2012, and I want to redo my mortgage for 15 years instead of 30. I don't know that I have the resources to do all that -- yet -- but at least I can begin to plan for it. I remember when, in another lifetime, I was without a passport for two years because I could never come up with the $35 or $55 it took to apply for one. I remember the day, in another lifetime, when I opened a drawer, found $0.75, and was delighted to be able to buy a fifty cent beer and a Little Debbie. I have to remember that horror, but I never have to relive it.

Life in the hood has changed a lot since I've been here, but as my Dad said, "I don't know why you ever thought you had to live like that. That's not what you come from." It took me a lifetime to realize who I am and what I come from. Now, I know who I am. I know my identity. I know who I am. My name is Victory!!