A Boy And His Joyless Smile

By DK Walker

Welcome to any Black household in ghetto America; welcome to Kevin McCall’s world...

Forget falling out of love; his parents fought their way out of love and into a deep soul searing hate, with the only hate Kevin knowing worse than his parents was what his brother Leonard had for him. Leonard’s hatred was so black and evil that it was a God’s Mercy away from Kevin being dead from it. And through this Kevin managed to SMILE.
And like love, hate knows no bounds as ‘you just like your damn daddy’ cursed Kevin from his mother’s lips. Leaving Kevin struggling to decide if it was actually him or the Pop-Pop (Kevin’s father) in him that his mother was growing to hate. And even with an indifferent mother Kevin still managed to SMILE.
Unknown to all, Kevin’s smile was just a painted on happy face that he used to mask away the pain of a horrible secret; a secret so dark that it swallowed Kevin whole. Now he’s lost and has become that horrible thing that has consumed him, leaving behind that ever present smile minus its joy. And they say that weeping may endure for a night and joy comes in the morning; but for Kevin morning is always a day away...
Follow Kevin’s coming of age story as it takes him on a journey of what looks like the life of a typical curious child that gives way to a struggling teenager, only ending up as a lost man alone at the cross roads of life’s right and wrong.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DK Walker
• Release date: Nov 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311129260

DK Walker

Married father of two who as a child had enough imagination for every neighborhood kid. That imagination coupled with a love of reading was the beginning of DK Walker becoming what is now labeled as an author, but he will always be known as a great story teller.

Book preview

Preface

Before you judge me, try hard to love me,

Look within your heart then ask,

Have you seen my Childhood?

________________Michael Jackson

Measure a man by his actions; from the beginning to the end. Don’t take a piece out of my life or a song outta my music and say this is what I’m about; judge me from the beginning to the end

__________________Tupac

Proem

I DO SOLEMNLY DECLARE UPON MY HONOUR AND CONSCIENCE THAT I WILL ACT AT ALL TIMES TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITY AND KNOWLEDGE IN A MANNER BEFITTING A POLICE OFFICER

Her body was tight and calling me suggestively like the micro mini was calling for freedom from that apple of an ass that it was covering

I WILL PRESERVE THE DIGNITY AND WILL RESPECT THE RIGHTS OF ALL INDIVIDUALS

She asked me ‘what was up daddy?’, but besides my dick I couldn’t think of nothin’

I WILL DISCHARGE MY DUTIES WITH INTEGRITY AND WILL PROMOTE UNDERSTANDING AND CONCILIATION

Her lips were full and inviting and who am I to be rude and not cum when I’m called

I WILL EXERCISE MY AUTHORITY AS A POLICE OFFICER IN THE MANNER INTENDED BY THE LAW

So I did what the situation called for when night was giving way to day and the only thing open during this time of night were hospitals and the legs of a whore

I WILL FAITHFULLY OBEY THE ORDERS OF MY SUPERIORS AND WILL BE READY TO CONFRONT DANGER IN THE LINE OF DUTY

Besides the rats and cats taking turns and chasing each other we were the only ones in this dead end alley where absolute power had corrupted me absolutely and her unwillingness made sure of that

I WILL ACT WITH HONESTY, COURTESY AND REGARD FOR THE WELFARE OF OTHERS, AND WILL ENDEAVOUR TO DEVELOP THE ESPRIT DE CORPS

I am the officer of the goddamn law and you will obey my command… now spread ‘em

I WILL ACT JUSTLY AND IMPARTIALLY AND WITH PROPRIETY TOWARDS MY FELLOW OFFICERS

Now that’s a good lil’ whore and stop your blood clot crying; who’s gonna believe you anyway…

I WILL CONSTANTLY STRIVE TO HONOUR THIS OATH IN MY SERVICE AS A POLICE OFFICER

This is my crooked officer’s oath…

Chapter 1

This decision for a four-year-old to make wasn’t hard like deciding what kind of ice cream to have with your cake or who gets the blame when you broke something in the house. This decision was much harder than that and should never be asked of a child, much less your own.

I guess someone forgot to clue my parents in as we all three stood in the living room, my mother frantically holding on to me like a fierce lioness protecting her youngest with all of the strength her five-foot, one-hundred-twenty-pound frame could muster. She warded off my father as best she could as her best defense was tears and love.

My father effortlessly held on to the other side of me and when he wanted to, he pulled all three of us across the room with ease, only stopping when I yelped out in pain. Did anyone remind them that I was their child and that children weren’t meant to be pulled and tugged on like a candy filled piñata? But what was far more painful, was each parent telling you to tell the other that you loved them more and you were staying with them. Thus the reason for the human tug of war and the hardest decision a 4 year old shouldn’t have to make; which parent he wanted to stay with.

I guess all of the fighting between them had come to a head, and along with property being divided I was the last thing to divvy up. My mom was spent physically and emotionally and she was becoming unnerved. She let me go and my father being a burly man, snatched me up with little to no effort as he stopped breathing excitedly to flash a smile of victory.

If looks could kill, my mother would have murdered my father quite a few times over by the way she was looking at him. Her hate filled eyes only made room for the stream of tears coming from them; if she was becoming unnerved earlier you couldn’t tell it now. I was just glad that all the pullin’ and yellin’ had stopped, but the tension in the room only seemed to get worse.

Just ask him, don’t tell him, just ask him! my mother said. Her voice shouldn’t have been this calm, not in the midst of all this craziness.

My father finally put me down and looked at me like he does every day when he comes home from work, tired but happy to see me. He looked like my Pop-Pop, my hero; but a hero should never make a woman cry if he can help it. And no hero with the strength of ten Supermen could ever compete with tears of a woman, let alone the tears from a mother as her child watched.

So my father didn’t bother to ask, he just looked defeated and left. The loss didn’t rest with him alone; it rested with the whole family that day. A house divided usually means that a family is conquered and this was the first of many losses for us.

Chapter 2

So when is Pop-Pop coming to stay with us? I asked my Mom. She just smiled and said he’s not. I thought I was smart for a kid aged four, just slow when it came to understanding what breaking up meant. So you know I was really confused when Pop-Pop would come over once and a while and even stay some weekends.I guess breaking up meant just taking a break.

Eventually his weekends became weekdays, then it became weekdays and weekends, and that added up to seven days for me and then Pop-Pop was back home with us. And home life resumed to be like most in any ghetto Black America; a touch of ‘Good Times’, a hint of ‘What’s Happening’, a dash of ‘The Flip Wilson Show’ because we always had something to laugh at and ‘The Jefferson’s’ because we always felt like we was moving on up when it was payday.

All in all, the show just moved from 30th Street SE to 15th and Alabama Avenue SE minus the consistent arguing and fighting. The four of us fell into our roles and lived life; my father, Pop-Pop, was the bread winner and could drive anything that had a motor in it no matter what it was. So his main gig was driving dump trucks up through Sandy Spring and the Rockville, Maryland area. His other gigs were side hustles; some were legal, most were not. We never went without the necessities. Because of this, if you had to describe my old man in a word it would be provider.

My mom stayed home with my brother and I while we were still in elementary school, she believed that she just didn’t trust anybody enough to watch over us. This was back in the ‘70’s. Shit so crazy today, she probably would have gone to school with us now if we were still in school because of how often the teachers stay in the news these days.

My middle brother Leonard, who wasn’t my father’s biological son, was two years older than me and was on the smallish side for a kid his age. Sometimes I think his mean streak was wide and deep to compensate for his lack of size, but I’m sure there was more to it than that. God knows we fought more like mortal enemies than family should allow and I often wondered if he was my brother’s keeper like Cane was to Able?

I had an oldest brother Robert who was raised by my Nana in South Carolina and I only saw him during holidays and some summer vacations when we would head south. I will never forget when I asked my mother who that boy was and she’d say, ‘boy, that’s your brother.’ I mean, how you supposed to know if no one tells you.

Last, but far from least, was me Kevin Henry McCall. The baby boy of the bunch with a huge imagination who was very curious way before some monkey named George. Born September 3 1969, at 1:06 AM at DC General Hospital I came into this world, but I have had moments in my life that if given the choice of being born or missing life altogether I would have choose not to be bothered.

Chapter 3

Men of my father’s day were a strong, proud bunch who if they had sons took great stock in them not being a mama’s boy; meaning them being weak, sissified, or anything resembling being gay. So imagine the joy my father showed as he sat in the barber’s chair getting his hair cut as I thumbed through a few magazines near me, stopping on an old copy of Playboy.

I was five, six at the most and for some reason I knew it was wrong to be looking at this magazine. I looked up sheepishly only to find my ol’ man smiling. I smiled back at him and went to close it, and before I could put it down his voice boomed over to me, Shit, ain’t nothing wrong with you looking at a little pussy. Pussy got you here, with some help from me of course.

The barber who was cutting Pop-Pop’s hair, a few other barbers, the men in their chairs, and a few guys waiting to be next, laughed and nodded in agreement. That changed the direction of conversation from sports to sex…two of the three topics barber shops always have going on, with politics as the third.

Say Duck (that’s what grown-ups called Pop-Pop), I know you happy to see your boy liking women early in life, said a man who’s hair was so nappy that none of the barbers was in a rush to damage their clippers on his head.

Shit Pop-Pop said, speaking with a slight lisp so it sounded like shiiiiit. He look like me, act like me, so it’s only natural that he loves pussy like me.

Look like you? Don’t know how to tell you this Duck, but I was cutting the neighborhood mailman’s hair a few days ago and your boy could pass for him. A barber a few chairs down chimed in between laughs.

Mama’s baby, Papa’s maybe, I suppose. Either way if the mailman was fuckin’ shows he likes pussy and as you can see my son ain’t stop lookin’ through that magazine yet, so I’mma thank the mailman next time I see him. As always my father popped off slick since you can’t talk greasy to a can of oil.

Duck you a fool, said one of the barbers.

You know that ol’ yellow nigga stay with some ol’ fly shit to say, said another.

The focus moved off of me as the guys in the barbershop was busy talking jive to one another; my huge imagination was racing in fifth gear as I absorbed the pictures I was looking at. Like my first taste of candy, I had discovered a new kind of sweet tooth. I didn’t know exactly what those pictures were saying to me, but whatever it was I liked what it had to say.

Of course they were white women and Playboy never (at least not back then) had their models pose provocatively, more so artsy. It didn’t matter whether it was tastefully done, lust filled, or making an artistic statement; they all had nudity in common and that was all I needed. I was lost in my own little world, funny it wasn’t sexual or anything, just awe and wide-eyed wonderment. Not sure what the desired affect was supposed to be, but by the reaction of the men in the barbershop I gathered that a naked woman was a very good thing.

I didn’t need the rest of the men at the barber shop to give me their approval; I got that from Pop-Pop. But it felt good to be amongst men, to hear them talk shop, to speak so freely, and to hear their back and forth banter; even if their views were skewed on women and relationships.

Chapter 4

Sometimes my mother was justified in saying I was just like my damn daddy (sometimes) because I was just like Pop-Pop; he was my hero. So what did you expect when it was me, Leonard, and my mother visiting family in South Carolina when I came out the bathroom butt naked and wet from taking a bath? Pop-Pop did it, so it had to be alright. Right?

Kevin!

Kevin!

Kevin! My mother shouted repeatedly behind me as I had the family in a laughing uproar. I had a sway back, had no ass, and my little man flipped flopped back and forth as I walked around the room smiling.

Boy ain’t got no damn shame, just like his damn daddy!

Aww, Octavia that boy alright, my uncle said between country laughs. My mother shot him just one look that killed his laughter and let the rest of my family know that the show was over. Wrapping me in a big towel and taking me to the bedroom to get me dressed and of course have a stern talking to.

My mother loved me without question, but I was a ham for my young age. I knew how to play my parents against one another and I could find the most innocent ways to push her buttons. I got my fair share of ass whippings and I’m surprised I didn’t get more. When I did get them I always felt that maybe her hand was a little heavier from trying to beat the likes of Pop-Pop outta me.

My mother and I had a special relationship, kind of odd in a sense because it wasn’t your typical youngest son/mother relationship. She made sure I had what I needed because I was pretty independent and she was a hands off kinda mom when hands off wasn’t fashionable. I mean for a young age I thought that I had a great understanding of life and how people worked. If something or someone held my attention I’d want to learn all I could from them.

My mother just wasn’t the fussy type when it came to me, I guess parents knew early on which of their kids would be ok in life and for the most part my mom was right about me (for the most part). I was good in school, liked math, got along well with others, and I was well liked. Life was good for a kid, mainly this kid.

My mom took note of this and her stress load was lessened a little. I mean between Pop-Pop, Leonard, and life as a Black woman trying to hold her family together was enough stress in itself. No wonder my mother smoked long and hard when she was troubled, blowing smoke in the air and watching it disappear like her dreams I’m sure.

What shouldn’t have been a dream and should have been an everyday reality was affection between my mom and Pop-Pop. It was more of a coexistence than anything else, like for whatever reason they each just settled and had grown into a lifeless rut of accepting that this was as good as it would get. I mean I rarely seen them kiss, hug, or even touch in any intimate way.

I know that Washington DC is known for its museums where you look but don’t touch, but in my home my parents epitomized that. Pop-Pop would pick on my mom; you know joke and clown around, but I believe this was more out of boredom than anything else and this was as affectionate as they got.

My mom would stay on my father about his eating habits since she knew that high blood pressure and diabetes ran heavy on my father’s side of the family. It could have been out of genuine concern maybe, but also could have been her looking out for her only source of income since Pop-Pop was the only one working in the family.

So with my house lacking in wholesomeness and endearing moments I gravitated to how my father interacted with women outside of my mom; outside of the house and in the streets. It wasn’t love, it was that other four letter word ‘lust’ and it struck a chord deep within me. And lust with all its wrongs and ills was the beginning of who I would later on become.

Being honest about the situation, I learned firsthand from my parents that love is unfulfilling and thankless work. Even more so I learned from Pop-Pop that lust was instant gratification. Either way this was my blueprint for love or lack thereof and both of my parents were the architects of an indifferent child that would grow to become a cold and callous man.

Chapter 5

Harmless fun and pranks for others were sowing an early disconnect with the opposite sex for me. We had family that stayed a block down and around the corner from us who had recently moved into the neighborhood. It was my aunt and her kids who were my cousins, and during the last month of summer back from our trip down south my cousins and I would find almost anything to get into to beat away boredom.

It was usually Leonard, my cousin Michelle, and me out and about walking with no real destination in sight. Michelle would always be the one to get some shit started since she was older than my brother and I and she was a big girl.

Kevin I dare you to go over there and rub that girl on her butt, Michelle would always prod me into doing something crazy. She’d always pick the girl she thought was cute, and her jealousy would show its green-eyed monster.

I would either rub or hump the girl on her butt and soon as she would turn around ready to whip my little ass, my cousin would look at her like ‘bitch I wish you would’. Shit was too funny as we’d all laugh, and if the girl was with her friends they’d be laughing at her too.

Harmless fun or not it was still wrong and the fact that I was a kid was lessening because even at my young age I derived some pleasure from it. So much so, that I don’t recall myself interacting with girls my age, not in a manner of liking them like girlfriend-boyfriend.

What I liked was that the older girls and the women who knew they still got it ‘cause they never lost it in the first place. You know the ones who were filled out already, they would seem to have the magic of hypnotism in their asses when they walked because grown men would just stop doing what they were doing as overexcited drivers in their cars would blow the fuck outta their horns. The fast ones that had sass about them were the ones my mother and aunt would sit on the stoop and debate about which would be pregnant first. I especially liked the ones my old man and his friends were extra nice to; the nicer he was to them, the extra hell my mother would give him when she caught him, and this was often.

I remember Pop-Pop took the family to a beach just outside of DC. There wasn’t any white sand or clear blue water, but the place was filled with the type of women I liked so that made it exotic enough for me.

My family was notorious for taking pictures for every little thing and a day at the beach was no exception. It was more so my mom wanting to capture moments of my brother and I while we were young. I wanted to capture the woman who had to be my mother’s age that had set up her things right next to us.

She was a tall plus sized woman with long