If I Were President Pt. 2…
So this is a continuation of yesterday’s post, aptly named If I Were President Pt. 1. I left off telling you all how I almost murdered a woman at the bowling alley last week cause of her ill bred child. Today I want to talk about how things used to be back in the day. Now I am not going to talk about how things were before my time, but I am pretty sure if you go back far enough you could challenge someone else’s baby to a duel at high noon if he so much as burped at you funny. Since I wasn’t alive during those times I am just going to focus on my experiences.
Needless to say I was raised way differently than the kids I have been bitching about. I had fear in me when I was young. Fear is a good thing. I wish there were more scared little children today. Now this is not to say I did everything out of fear. Some things, like manners or respect for elders, were just part of my psyche. They were taught to me from a very early age. However, fear is what kept me from doing a whole host of dumb ass things. You know how there are things where we say “he/she is old enough to know better”? Well what is it that keeps a kid from doing bad things when they are not old enough to know better? Common sense? Yeah, try again.
Fear is what. When it wasn’t something that I could look at and say to myself, “I am not supposed to do that”, I looked at it and instead said to myself, “I am gonna probably get my ass whooped if I do that so maybe I’ll just keep playing with these legos.” It wasn’t just fear that my parents were gonna get me either. I honestly believed that any adult could beat my ass at any time if I gave them a reason to. Partly because my Dad used to tell everyone (my teachers, babysitters, neighbors, bus drivers, camp counselors, the mailman, etc.) to light my ass up if they felt it necessary. I say this only half jokingly. On top of that I knew the easiest way to get an ass whooping from my parents was to mess with an adult that wasn’t in my family. Yesterday I talked about how kids today are untouchable. Well let me tell you, as a kid I was very much touchable. (That did not sound right at all.)
Let me share a story with you. This is why I love my parents (even though I hated them at the time of this story):
I was in sixth grade and school had let out early for a half day. Now instead of going straight home, I decided to go to the park with my friends without permission. After playing for about an hour we headed to the store for some quarter waters (thats juice for all you white folk). Just as I am running across the street to head into the store a car comes out of nowhere and hits me. I go flying in the air into a street sign on the side of the road. The woman in the car was of course panicked. The driver of the bus I had just gotten off of immediately called 911. My best friend Brendon looked like he had just seen a ghost. All eyes were on me.
I lay on the ground for a second trying to catch my wind. All I can remember is that I was trying to tell everyone I was fine. I did not want anyone calling an ambulance. Ambulance meant parents being called. I wanted none of that. I began to try and walk the getting hit by a car off, but no one was having it. I remember limping and smiling at the bus driver and the woman, while waving to signal that I was good. I couldn’t actually say that I was good because the wind was still knocked out of me. They finally grabbed me and told me to sit my stupid ass down and wait for the ambulance. The ambulance came a short while later, checked me out and determined I was fine, and then took me to my grandmother’s house where my Dad was waiting for me.
The woman who hit me followed the ambulance to my house. She was pale as a republican. She met with my Dad and apologized a million times, but my father assured her that everything was fine. I remember him telling her to let him know when her leg was better because she had hurt her ankle trying to slam on the brakes before she hit me. Meanwhile he told me to go inside and wait for him in the room. I almost shat myself on the way there. I knew what was coming.
After doing his own personal check to see if I was okay, my Dad gave me a mild spanking for all the crap that happened that day. “What the hell is wrong with you? Did you see how that poor woman was limping? She really hurt her leg!” This is what the man said to me not an hour after I got hit by a car. I remember the spanking didn’t hurt at all. It was just the principle of the whole thing. Spanking me so soon after such a traumatic incident. I was so pissed. I’ll tell you what though, now that I am a driver, I get it. Now that I am in a position where I could be that terrified woman, I understand.
Still, that was kind of fucked up right?