It ain't gonna be no walk In the park

By Michael Warren

Michael Anthony Warren Grew up to a single black mother in North Minneapolis, and had a Caucasian father whom he never met. This created issues in his life that lingered on into adulthood until he realized that the true father, GOD, loved him unconditionally, and this love trumps any earthly love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098301941

Michael Warren

Michael Warren served as a missionary in Bolivia for several years and in the church in various capacities throughout his life. God has healed him through prayer ministry training, courses, books, and personal revelation, but mainly through his relationships with men and women seeking God. A land surveyor, he lives in Sacramento, California, with his wife and two children.

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Warren

Chapter 1

I was told, many years later by my aunt, that when she went to change my diaper she screamed out Mama, come here! There is something wrong with Tony. My grandmother came into the room, looked down at me with me smiling back up at her and said there ain’t nothing wrong with that boy, he jus half white.

You see, my mother was black, and my father was white, so my lower half was consistent with my father’s genetic makeup. My aunt hadn’t been used to such a sight, but my grandmother had seen many children resembling such a spectacle, even though she grew up in the deep south. At that present moment, we were in the cold mid-western city of Minneapolis, Minnesota in late 1963.

I wouldn’t say that experience had an effect on me, but my ethnic situation during this time period (1963-1970) had some negative effects on me, This was the time period of the Civil Rights movement, along with the animosity being generated by the Vietnam War. At the time Black Power was catching on, I wasn’t considered black enough by some African-Americans, and I surely wasn’t white enough for the White Americans. So, I felt somewhat out of place in my youth.

Even within my own family, I could feel some tension about me as a child. Not from my own brother and sisters, but it was from my aunts, uncles, and my grandfather. On the other hand, my grandmother didn’t care about my race, Mulatto; she loved each and every one of us the same, unconditionally.

My mother was a single mother on AFDC (Aid to Families with Dependent Children), and she worked now and then until her death from Cancer in 1982, the same year I graduated high-school. She couldn’t handle us five children, subsequently we were left alone for extended periods of time, days on end. This was how and why, I learned so many negative behaviors as a young black child, from the streets.

One of the bright spots in my days growing up was always the holidays spent at our grandparent’s house. When anyone spoke of that particular house, would say I’m up to the house. This held a symbolic feeling of comfort, warmth, and togetherness, which my grandmother fostered with her elaborate holiday meals.

My grandparent’s house, was located on the city’s north side on 16th Ave and Penn. In those days, the area was predominately Caucasian with a spattering of African-American’s who usually resided in the North-Side Projects about 3 miles from my grandparent’s house. The big yellow stucco duplex held my grandparents on the lower level, and an uncle on the upper level.

On one particular day, while spending the night up to the house, I watched as my grandmother, mother, and aunts cooked the next day’s holiday meal. I couldn’t believe the time it took to prepare the amount of food they cooked. On this occasion the evening before Easter Sunday, the foursome of cooks prepared ham, turkey, cornbread dressing, lime mold jello, greens, green beans, sweet potato pie, cookies, cakes, along with my grandmother’s famous dinner rolls. The tremendous amount of food was prepared with the loving touch of my grandmother’s supervision, for everyone ran to her for her approval, even my mother.

The next day, as the table was being set, I felt a twinge of anticipation in the air as I smelled the heavenly aroma of all of these wonderful foods fill the air at once. My favorite of all of these aromas was the dinner rolls grandmother had baked, which were the last items to be cooked before we ate. I can still search my memory and find that heavenly sweet-smelling bread baking in the oven. Oh, what a wonderful smell and sight, because as one pan was taken out of the oven, another one was placed in the oven. And while one was baking, my mother, aunts and grandmother, fumbled with the rolls just released from the hot oven, cutting them open to place a perfect portion of butter inside.

I couldn’t believe the sight as the table held this tremendous amount of food, and what the table couldn’t hold, the buffet and smaller tables surrounding the long dinner table held. It was a table literally fit for a king, and everyone around the table waited with anticipation as grace was said by my grandfather.

Holidays were a source of inspiration for me, due to the food that was cooked, as well as the camaraderie that the family setting held. Also, we expected and received holiday gifts most of the time. This Easter we would put on our new Easter clothes and head to church, then eat the family feast. However, I was anticipating the Easter basket we would receive from the Easter Bunny, but that would have to wait until my sister, my brother, and I went home that evening.

Well, that evening as  my sister, my brother, and I were dropped off at the duplex on Irving Avenue North, just north of Plymouth Avenue, I was in for a surprise. I remember us being dropped off in front of the house with out anyone walking us up the stairs to our upper level home. However, this wasn’t unusual, as my mother left us alone on numerous occasions.

When I look back at this scenario, I become angry with her for having us children, who were only 9, 6, and 4 years old, with my sister being the oldest at 9, me being 6, and my youngest brother only 4 years old being dropped off alone. What was so important to leave your children on the steps of your own home without even seeing them into their house safely, let alone leaving them alone at such an early age? I can’t understand!

My brother, sister, and I made our way up the stairs of the duplex and went inside, only to find that our Easter baskets had been tampered with. I had anger seething inside my little body, so when my sister yelled tony, come here. There is someone sleeping on our couch. I ran over to take a look at who it was. When I got there, I recognized the little S. O. B. as the boy who lived downstairs. My next thought was to punish him for stealing from me and my brother and sister, so I looked around for something I could use as a switch. I ran into the kitchen and looked into the drawer. Finding a lighter, I ran back into the living room and set his hair on fire. I never in my life saw a little Caucasian boy scream so loud, mama, mama, as he ran down the steps to their lower level dwelling. At that point I yelled, you m—F—er, you shoulda never stole our candy, then slammed the door.

Well, in the next few minutes I felt the front steps begin to shake. I knew who was on their way up: Shamoo, the killer Witch from downstairs. She was coming up to defend the thievery of her son.

Boom, boom, boom went the echoes of her pounding on the front door, while yelling open the door, you little m–—F–-s, I gonna whip your asses. I went and opened up the door and quickly stepped back as she lunged at me. I ran for the corner of the living-room, she couldn’t even attempt to keep up with me. I guess she must have weighed over three hundred pounds and was as slow as ice cream melting in the north pole, it ain’t happening. She then yelled you guys better get in that room and go to bed. Well, my brother and sister were already in the room, so I went and joined them. Next she started yelling I’m going to tell your mother. I’m supposed to be watching you bad-ass little kids. Why’d ya set Jerry’s hair on fire? My response was fuck you, you fat-ass bitch, he shouldna stole our candy.

I can’t remember the results of my actions that evening, but I guess my mother didn’t approve nor did she discipline me. However, my personal escapades into delinquency only rose, as I was left to fend for myself all too often.

I can recall being left alone one afternoon, and as a result of my curiosity, I set my mother’s box spring of her mattress on fire while I was underneath it. I did this to test the Watkin Man’s Product, a household fire extinguisher my mother had purchased a week earlier. First, I set the fringes of the box spring on fire all around me, then proceeded to put the flames out with the fire extinguisher. When my mother got home, she said What is that I smell? I said, you know that new thing you bought from that Watkins man? She said ya, and I said, well, it works. She then went into the bedroom, saw the fried fringes of the box spring, and went to whopping my ass.

I ca look back and still see my mother leaving for work, which I don’t know what she did, and as the rain drops fell to the ground. My mother skipped over the puddles of rain like an elk, so gracefully and effortlessly. While the raindrops fell, my eyes swelled with puddles of water then flowed upon the window ledge in perfect rhythm with the rain falling onto the window, with a tap, tap, tap, tap. I cried inside my soul as well as onto that window ledge, because I wanted to be with her so bad. Why couldn’t she be with me?

That next day, my mother still hadn’t come home, and we were not allowed out of the house when she was away. However, I decided to open the door and look into a dresser my mother had placed on the plateau of the upper step. I looked inside and found a long, slender tube, like a lip stick case, bit it contained a hard, black substance that was similar to lava. So, I inspected the other side and found a spring like lever that, when I pulled it back, it appeared to run into the black substance from the opposite direction. I then looked back at the black substance, while pulling  back the spring all the way. I released the spring, and the explosion of that substance flashed into my face and eyes with a vicious force, leaving me screaming and temporarily blinded. Unknowingly, I had just used a self defense mechanism sold in hundreds of stores and magazines, that consisted of mace.

You would figure that I would have stopped my snooping through that dresser, my mother called it rambling through my stuff when she had an inclination of me or my siblings going through her items. But no, I kept going through that dresser until I found a strand of 100 firecrackers, Black Cats. I decided to light the strand off at the top of the stairs, so I proceeded to fire up the wick, slam the door, and wait for the results. After the popping off of the 100 firecrackers, I opened the door to find a haze of smoke, with that hint of gunpowder smell in the air.

Closing the door, I felt as if someone was on their way to see me, I was right. A few minutes after I had closed the door, the sound of a light rapping on the door followed. As I eased up to the door, I heard someone with a familiar voice say Tony, come open up this door, boy. So, I opened the door and peeked into the haze of smoke, still present from the firecrackers and saw Aunt Dee. She was related to me by her marriage to my Uncle Joey, who was my mother’s brother.

Boy, what in the heck have you been into now? Don’t tell me, just go get your brother and sister so we can go get something to eat. I loved when she came over, because she usually took us to get something to eat, which was a treat for us due to our bare cupboards. I think that occasion we ended up eating White Castle burgers, I still love those burgers to this day.

My mother would take us shopping and out to eat, usually on the first of the month when she received her AFDC check. I enjoyed those trips downtown to get a new outfit at J. C. Penny’s, or a variety of other stores. Also, the restaurants were abundant with choices, from Big Boy, Nankin, Woolworths, and a self-service cafeteria where you picked up your food, ate, then paid when you left. Years later, I would dine and dash at the cafeteria-style restaurant.

I remember the time I wanted to go outside and play with my new cousins, who had moved downstairs at our rented duplex on Irving Avenue North. They were Aunt Dee’s brother and sisters, along with her parents, who were from the south. They were new, and related to Dee’s marriage to my mother’s brother, so obviously I had an interest in them and they had on in me as well. However, my mother felt I shouldn’t be involved with my new cousins, who by the way were from the south, and were as country as country can be. I asked my mother if I could go outside and play with my new cousins, and she said No. Instantly, I became angry and stated If I cant go outside and play, I’m gonna cut myself on that window over there, pointing to the window which was broken in half with a long jagged edge running smoothly like a roller coaster from the peak in the corner of the top of the window to the valley at the bottom left hand corner of the window. She said, go ahead, but you still won’t be going outside, boy. So, I placed my chin, with my head tilted to the right ever so slightly while pressing my chin to the cool edge of the glass, and slowly pressed while turning my head to the right. Blood started gushing out of my chin, and my mother, who was in conversation with my cousin’s mother, stopped and screamed at me, what the hell is wrong with you, boy? then ran and grabbed a towel from the kitchen to stop the bleeding. Next thing I Knew, we were at Hennepin County Medical Center. A place where I would become a regular and they would come to know me all too well.

I look back on this episode in my life, and think, why? What was I thinking about? Then the answer hits me smack dab in the face. We can never figure out these things we’re going through, until we reflect upon them, sometimes years later. In my case, 32 years later. I was 38 then, and 54 now.

You see, when kids are growing up, they’re looking for someone, something, to validate themselves. It’s like a person waking up on a desert island, he doesn’t know how he got there. He just knows that he is there. So, he starts to look for people, then food and shelter. Constantly looking and not finding anything, until one day he hears voices in the distance. He runs to the voices in the distance that sound like music to his ears. When he reaches the voices, he finds people who are unlike himself, but they welcome the stranger. Even though they don’t speak the same language, they clothe and shelter him.

After a few ears of staying with his hosts, he’s eating a bowl of soup and discovers a human eye in the broth. He doesn’t think about it, he keeps eating what has become nourishment for him, for now he is a cannibal. When parents wonder how their children could be involved with gangs, the wrong crowd, or develop psychopathic personalities that shoot up school grounds, parents look at yourselves, for you’re the ones who left the children on the deserted island to become the cannibals of our society, as well as today’s policy makers.

I, Too, was left abandoned and it took this whole time, to find the validation I needed. The validation I needed I just didn’t know it. The validation which comes from our parents in the form of love, affection, understanding, and the facilitation of what is right and wrong through the reinforcement models of our parents.

As I bring this chapter to an end, I want people who read this book to know that I am one of millions of children who grow up without direction. Some make it, and some didn’t. I would like for us as a community to try and help give children a chance at making it in our society. What would you rather do, build more prisons to hold our future generations?

Chapter 2

When I turn on the television and see acts of violence perpetrated by children under the age of ten, or even up to the age of eighteen, I can empathize with that child’s plight instantly. I can write these words, because I’ve done many delinquent acts in my childhood and beyond. However, my influences were not as abundant as today’s adolescents. If we sit down and think about all of these influences, cable tv, video games, and the internet, we could virtually spin out of control from sensory overload.

I sometimes sit and wonder, if I had grown up as a child in the early 90’s, what would I be like today? Given, I had the same conditions I did then, as a child today, I would be scared as hell for myself, or anyone with similar conditions.

On one occasion when my mother took us to Woolworth’s on Broadway Avenue in North Minneapolis, I chose the double holster six shooters the Lone Ranger wore on TV.