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“Hand me that bowl of Nigger toes,” my grandfather shouted at me across a large oak table filled with family and holiday dressings for Thanksgiving dinner.
I must’ve been around eight-years-old at the time and before I could ask him — what bowl of who — his two daughters, one of them my mother, shouted back at him, “Dad! We don’t talk like that here!” He shrugged them off and pointed at me, “There, boy. By your hand. Shove over that bowl of Nigger toes!”
When I was growing up, children were expected to get good grades in school because it showed they had a love of learning and were dedicated to being a proper part of society; however, that didn’t mean some Lincoln, Nebraska children with smart parents were not paid $200 USD for an “A” grade, $175 for a “B” and so on along a sliding scale in 1980’s dollars.
It has always been treacherous to be Black in America — and if you’re a Black Man in America — your chances for even average survival are slimmer than your White peers.
The sexual tension between men and women can be misunderstood, betrayed, and set on stage for public examination.
Michelle Obama, Barack’s wife, has been coming under fire for “emasculating” her husband — in Nebraska we call it “castrating” — in order to promote her own interests as “a strong black woman” who will bow down to no man… including her husband.
Alright, I confess. I love the Seventies. The post-Vietnam 1970’s formed me as a person and provided an aesthetic sense and a moral core.
A city loses its innocence in increments — not in batches. I was alarmed to learn my hometown — Lincoln, Nebraska — recently had an incremental loss of its innocence blared in headlines and broadcast in frightened feelings. The incident happened between two strangers caught in the February chill on a Lincoln Public Schools bus. The city was irrevocably changed.