GUEST POST: Hood stays stuck on stupid; throws RIP GoGo
Guest Post By: Southeast Jerome
The other night one of my mans handed me a flyer for a RIP GoGo. (It whadn’t for Dr. King, son. Rest In Peace)
I usually let them shits just slide through my hand and drop to the ground, but I actually looked at this one for some reason. I used to wild out in the GoGos. I was like 12. I been on the scene as a lil’ slim and I knows it. I retired years and years ago from beating my mafughun feet. I just turned 23. I’m too grown for the ignence of my hood and beatin’ my feet. We can’t dance and party ourselves to the promised land. Feel me?
My mans saw my face get screwed up when I read the flyer. He said, “Naw son. It’s all good. It’s for charity son. The money go to the families of them yungins who got hit up.”
Bullshit son, and who really cares. I sure don’t. If you know like I know, you better get off the damn corner and educated yourselves. What I care about their family when I got my own family I take care of and am responsible for?
“I feel their pain, but, man, fuck their families. Just another sad story I don’t care to hear about. I got my own family and if something happens to someone or something happen to me, you know who’s to blame? The Lord God,” I said.
“What you mean, fuck their families? Come on Jerome, that’s some fucked up shit to say out your mouth, man,” my mans said.
“I ain’t speak no blasphemy. When my older sister was killed, and when my younger brother were killed ain’t nobody shed any tears outside our family. We dealt with it with nobody’s help and support. No gogos, no donations, no media. Nutsin. So nobody can tell me what to feel.”
“Tru dat. Your brother, man, the good die young. Alright then, I’m get up out of here. Be safe Jerome,” my mans said.
“Will do. Good luck with the show,” I told my mans.
He said, “Aight,” as he walked across MLK and passed out more flyers and yelled to lil’ Curtis, “Hey, lil’ Curt! Tell your girl, I got that!”
My hood is my hood and I love my hood. It’s made me the man I am today, but I wonder. Will throwing RIP gogos prevent another teenage pregnancy, another dropout, another parent selling their child’s back back to cop some smack, another victim, and another grief stricken family? When we take responsibility for regulating our own blocks and value education, that white people education, as oppose to living like nothing matters except gettin’ high, and gettin’ fresh, maybe something will change.
How many of these folks even read the paper? How many can’t even read? A lot.
When I take the 3o buses up Georgetown I’ve noticed some shit. It’s been the same for years. In SE folks listen to music or talk on they phones. I don’t have to have an Ipod to listen to music they way these yungins be crankin’ they music. But when the bus cross old man river and start to ride through downtown you see the white people, and sometimes black people too, reading. It could be books, newspapers, or some other shit, but they read. You know what we do? We talk shit, cursing, and crank our music. Whose fault is this? It’s ours. We ain’t livin’ right.
As long as my people throw RIP gogos, ain’t nutsin gonna change but the weather.