Yikes It's Tyrone Biggums! No It's Not That's My Brotha.

Broken glass everywhere. People pissin’ on the stairs you know they just don’t care. I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise. Got  no money to move out.  I guess I got no choice. ~Grand Master Flash and The Furious Five, The Message. 

I used that except from one of the most powerful and prolific songs of all time to help me illustrate how the ignorance of yesterdays ‘ past  still emits  toxic fumes that pollute our communities and choke out some of the inhabitants.  

I was at work last Thursday running my P.E. class which consisted of a slew of 8^th graders when a modern day Tyrone Biggums opted to expose my kids to some sodium rich shrimp fried shenanigans.  The only difference between this random man and Dave Chappelle’s dope fiend character was that his vice of choice was alcohol instead of crack cocaine.  And now the story begins. 

 I stood outside of my school in New Orleans East just off of Read Blvd near the levee conducting class as usual.  I was teaching my 8^th graders the fundamentals of middle distance running, keeping a good pace,  endurance and circular breathing when out of nowhere  the vocal stench of 5000 flatulent feta cheese eating fugitives erupted out of the open oral orifice of an aged alcohol sponge of a man.  I stood on the corner with my stop watch as my students pushed themselves to levels of endurance they never dreamed of when  the resurgence of the unknown elder man’s voice echoed  off the front of the school and bounces off my ear drums. My students where so exhausted they were unintentionally tuning him out but I had to work my mental muscles tirelessly in order to ignore his liquor linguistics of lunacy. 

Just as I prepared to give myself credit for exemplifying maturity by ignoring this ignorant man and resisting the temptation to burst in to stomach somersaulting laughter, he elevated his levels of ridiculousness to pure DJANGO Unchained  status.  This Side Show Bob stunt double was determined to get all of our attention and he did when he embarked on a mission to offend everyone within ears reach as well as unborn children in different zip codes.  Three junior high school girls were rounding the corner closest to the elder alcoholic when he looked directly into my eyes and verbally broadcasted buffoonery in the following statement:

“I see you looking at me Nigga! I see you. You aint real Nigga! You want to be real you need to get like me Nigga! Smoke a moutha fucking rock Nigga! Yeah Nigga I smoke crack! You aint real moutha fucka! Ole Bitch ass Nigga! You aint smoking no CRACK Nigga! You aint ready for this.”

At that point I had heard enough and I was forced to address this misguided man who appeared to be marinating in malt liquor or moon shine.  I cut him off in mid-sentence as I shouted, “Sir I want you to stop using all of this profanity in front of my students right now! Brother you are wrong! You are a terrible example to these kids and you are too damn old for this.  Just stop it right now! Please!

I was not at all prepared for the next series of events. In a matter of seconds he stood up from the milk crate he was sitting on and started to make his way across the street towards me.  I immediately yelled to my students, “Go inside now! Just go!” I didn’t want to hurt this old man and expose my students to violence but at the same time I had to protect them and  myself from the potential , unpredictable disaster that was approaching. 

  I put down my clip board and my cell phone, knuckled up and prepared to knock this old man back into the Civil Right Movement and pray about it later. He was not about to overcome a tail whooping that day if he succeeded in crossing that street to assault me. I pleaded with the elder alcoholic, “Sir don’t come over here! I’m telling you don’t do it man!” He ignored my pleas for his own safety and made his way to my sidewalk. I would have  walked away but I was still waiting on four of my students to finish the run. They were out of ears reach when I gave the command to go inside.  As he continued to walk closer towards me I prepared myself and scoped out just where I was about to hit this old cat so he could take and involuntary nap and avoid an all-out Molly Whop.

  The elder alcoholic successfully crossed the street and cried out, “Nigga I’m sorry! I aint shit. I aint never gonna be like you. Look at me! Just look at me!”  I interrupted him in mid-sentence and read him the riot act, “Sir, I accept your apology! You didn’t have to come over here.  I just wanted you to stop all that cursing and yelling  in front of my students. No matter what you think about yourself you are still God’s child. It’s not over for you big brother. You’re still alive.  Hey we gotta go brother. I gotta take these kids back in the building. God bless you man.” 

 

I shook his hand and turned around to leave with my students as he continued to offer his apologies. Initially I had to hold in my laughter at the pure Rick James(ish) antics that he expressed. As  I entered the school building I had to hold back tears. I wondered to myself how did he end up like this. I'm sure he never in a million years envisioned his adulthood would turn out like this. He wasn't a child who dreamed of being that drunk old dude sitting outside of a school building cursing crazily in front of children. What series of events in his life had caused him to drink himself silly and sloshed? 

Student after student kept on asking me, “Why were you talking to that crazy man?” All I could say was, “That man was sick and he needed help that’s all. I just tried to help.” 

This random man wasn’t so random after all. This man was my stepfather. He was all of the guys who stood in front of the liquor store when I was a little boy harassing customers as we walked bye. He was countless hurting men and women who were and still do self-medicate with alcohol. Honestly he was me when I’ve had way too much to drink in the past and couldn’t  recall what happened for the remainder of the evening. How could I look at him in any way aside from being my injured alcohol abusing brother? 

 

I'm not hear to tell anyone to stop drinking. Drinking alcohol is not a sin and alcohol is not a problem. Abusing alcohol is a problem. My heartfelt prayers go out to all who have been and are being affected by alcoholism (victims, codependents and loved ones). There is no peace in that poisonous liquid prescription. Problems must be identified and solved through paradigm shifts, intentional  actions and spiritual conviction not liquid antidotes.  Love blessings, grace and peace.