You Don't Have a Story: Growing Up Black and Poor in Scottsdale, Arizona

By Zachary Q. Watson

Zachary Watson, a young black kid from Chicago moves to an upscale rich white neighborhood in Scottsdale Arizona with his single mother and older sister. Overwhelmed by anger, racism, and the bullying of his classmates, he spends his formative years trying to prove his detractors wrong and rise above the stereotype labels they place on him. After losing his friend and collaborator to cancer, he is forced upon a journey that causes him to discover more about himself than he ever thought possible.

Growing up Black and Poor in Scottsdale Arizona is Zach's first literary creation, a memoir that shows the unjust and racist side of modern American society and highlights the struggles that people of color have in growing up in racially biased communities. Through his book, Zach intends to teach self-love, healing, and the art of dealing with prejudiced behaviors to achieve success in life. This memoir follows the memories of Zach's childhood to coming of age in Scottsdale, Arizona, highlighting the trials and tribulations of adolescence and adulthood. It also shows the difficulties and challenges with dating as an African American male, and how, due to politics and lack of funds, Zach couldn't quite make it as a music artist. A dream he had been chasing ever since he was a kid. Zach also deals with depression, hardships, rejection, and heartbreak. This book is a journey through the life of a young man raised in an all-white world and how he could never quite fit in.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingmaker Press
• Release date: Nov 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215125809

Book preview

PART I:

MY EARLY LIFE

AND CHILDHOOD

"Memories of childhood were the dreams that

stayed with you after you woke."

– Julian Barnes, England.

Chapter 1 - Moving to Mackinac Island and Coming to Scottsdale, Arizona

My name is Zachary Watson. My family and I are originally from Chicago, Illinois. We lived in a suburb called Calumet City, and my parents met at Markham Roller Skating Rink. They broke up a little bit after I was born, and immediately, my mother fell into the trap once again of becoming a single mom.

My sister, Bonnie, was her first child, but she was from another man, then, a little while later, seven years precisely, I came along on May 30th, 1997. My dad and I had some good times when I was a kid. He spoiled me a lot, and I thought he was rich because he would always buy me action figures and toys, take me to the park, and purchase whatever I wanted. I would usually tell random strangers my dad was rich. Me and my dad connected a lot through basketball because he loved it. We would hoop together, and I thought I loved it too, but it was really the bond we shared from it. Those were probably the best times of my life, and it was all temporary.

Being a kid is so simple that we take it for granted. Living carefree and not having to work a job or pay bills but to chill and watch Batman movies all day was so fun. When the movie Spiderman came out to the cinema, and I saw it for the first time, it was a great experience. I also recollect having a Spiderman birthday when I turned five; it was the best birthday I ever had. I had it outside in the park with a lot of my family and friends from daycare. I got so many Spiderman toys, and no birthday I had could ever match that one. Thanks, Tobey Maguire, for being the first spiderman that made my childhood great.

My father was in my life only for a little while because my mother decided to move. I was not bitter about my dad not being in my childhood, but that does not completely erase the pain. I only visited him twice throughout my whole childhood living in Arizona. He only visited me once after we made the big move, and he didn’t even attend my high school graduation.

Dad always got into one argument after another with my mom when I was a little kid. I could vividly recall how much I begged my mom not to make him angry. At the end of the day, he just left. However, as he walked out of the house, I ran after him and asked, Dad, will you come back soon for me?

He only lied and responded, Yeah, son, I will.

After he patted my shoulder, I watched him disappear into his car and drive off. I didn’t see him for months. I remember waiting for him to come back and being hurt, but my dad was an unapologetic person; he made me suffer to get back at my mom.

He had a hard time forgiving people, and I knew he could hold on to those grudges for long periods. I tried to call him, but it always sent me straight to voicemail.

One day, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I left him a message: Dad, please come and get me, I love you, a tear rolled down my cheek, and I got off the phone, very angry at my mom.

It’s all your fault, you made him angry, and you made him leave me, I said.

But mom only hugged me as the tears were falling down my cheeks.

She said, One day, Zach, you will see I’m not the bad guy. A lot of the time, parents make their kids pay for their issues. I will always love you no matter what because the love I have for my kids is unconditional.

After that day, I learned that mothers can’t stand to see their kids hurt because it makes them hurt. So, she decided to be the bigger person in the situation.

Both of my parents’ birthdays fall on the exact same day. On February 27th, she sent him a gift in the mail and apologized. And just like that, he was back in my life for a little while longer.

I was sad sometimes while growing up, seeing all the kids, regardless of the color of their skin or race, have a dad, but I grew a thick skin with time. After so many years, I got used to it and stopped caring. It’s just like when you’re the only black kid in school—you don't really know any different. But still, not having your dad hurts, and it hurts even more when you know he was busy somewhere taking care of another family. Either way, I was just grateful to know him; some black kids don’t even get that. 

My dad even had a daughter that he didn’t want to see, and that means I had a sister I never met, who didn’t get the chance to meet our dad. However, my paternal aunt told my mom that when my dad married this girl after high school, she had a kid, and he thought that the baby was his and raised her. I guess it broke him when he found out, so he became bitter and cold. I understand because I have had my heart broken, perhaps more than my dad’s. I guess the best times of his life were his high school days because that’s all he talked about, and like most of us, he was still living in the past. Deep down, through all that, I always loved my dad and always will. I’d remember the times we’d swim together, play basketball, go shopping, and see movies. He sent money from time to time, and sincerely, that was nice. He did the best he could and the best he knew how. He was fighting his own past, demons, and trauma. Something happened to him, I just never knew exactly what. He wouldn't open up about anything, only the good stuff, but that's unhealthy to keep everything inside. Sharing experiences can help your family or other people because they feel less alone and can relate and know that they're not the only one that suffered.

Through all these struggles, it was evident my mom was going through a lot. Most of the time, she was depressed and unhappy because of all her family drama. She wanted to get away and experience something new. But before we moved to Arizona, my mom had this desire to go to Michigan in a spot called Mackinac Island, a really small town she watched in a movie that starred Christopher Reeves, called Somewhere in Time. My mom looked at the end credits and affirmed her desire to go there. She also wanted to start a business with a friend of hers, a novelty shop, so she took money out of her 401k and quit her job. She listened to a pastor on TV that said, step out with faith, and that’s exactly what she did. So, we left it all behind, the house, our dog, and her family. I remember it like it was yesterday, packing up and having this big road trip to Michigan, driving a lot, and staying in many hotels listening to Nora Jones as we left it all behind.

On the ferry boat over to Mackinac, my mom went to the bathroom. At the same time, my sister and I sat across from some people who asked what our parents do for a living. I replied, my dad is rich. And my sister said, Zach, stop, and she went on to tell them how my mom was about to start her own business. We moved into a nice small house on the water on Mackinac; everything was old fashioned. You would see horses and carriages all the time. Our family movie while living on Mackinac was What about Bob with Bill Murray. We watched it so many times because it was hilarious and made us laugh. If my mom didn’t take me to school, the pastor’s wife would drive me on the snowmobile, and I loved those rides.

I started at an all-white school with very few black kids. It would end up affecting me because it was the start of all the mistreatment I would have to deal with for most of my life. What's crazy is I was so young I didn't recognize the mistreatment at first. I was bigger than most kids, and I would accidentally step on their fingers in class. It didn’t seem like the teachers or the kids liked me very much. The only people that liked me were the upperclassmen; they would give me high fives and pick me up. It was a small school, and the only school in Mackinac. It was kindergarten all the way up to 12th grade. I remember I had a crush on this one girl in class, and I told this white kid who said, perhaps, if you paint yourself white, she will like you. I had no idea what that meant, for that kid to be so young and say something like that was mind blowing for my mom, but Mackinac did have a few racist families, so I guess it wasn't too surprising. But that first time I dealt with racism was the first time that I knew I was black. And maybe that kid was right. Because in my later years, I would never have much luck with girls, let alone white girls. They would choose the white or Mexican boy over me every single time.

I didn’t have many friends, just one good white friend, and we would usually go over to each other’s houses to play. I remember going over to the pastor’s house and hanging out with their two sons; they were more around my sister’s age. A mutual friend of their family came over with their kids, and they had a daughter named Melody; she was a pretty blonde – my first kiss. I think this is where my fascination and love for blondes would come into play in my later years.

We got a new white kid at school; his name was Kenny; he was a big Harry Potter fan, had glasses and everything. I became best friends with him, but the dynamic changed; the upperclassmen started to show him more love because he was the new kid. Melody, the girl I had my first kiss with, became his girlfriend, so I got jealous. However, I quickly got over it and developed a crush on my sister’s friend, Maddie; I made her this creative bracelet. I was ready to give it to her in the school gym.

One day, I walked up to her and said, "Maddie, I made something for you."

She shook her head and said, No, thank you, and walked away. I watched her go with a sense of dejection. I was still so young, so I couldn’t exactly feel as bad as I would years later when I faced more humiliating rejections. Even when I was 5, I was hopelessly romantic. I guess it was the start of my many rejections with girls. At 5, I wasn’t heartbroken, but it still hurt a little.

After that happened, Kenny and I started play-fighting in the gym, and I hit him in the nose by accident, and he started bleeding. I really didn’t mean for it to happen; we were just playing around.

I got into big trouble with my teacher. I couldn’t go on the big school field trip. I remember being bored sitting in school while all the kids were having fun on the field trip; even my sister went. I could hear their excited cries and the joy in their strides as they followed the teacher for the trip. Not one of them noticed me as they hopped on the school bus. I was terribly hurt because they even filmed it and put it on a VHS and gave us a copy, and everybody was in it except for me. I would watch it and wish I was there. The song that was in it was a song by Sarah McLachlan called, I will remember you. I think of Mackinac every time I hear that song.

Somehow, I was being prepped for all the unfairness in my life, all my sadness, and people’s cruel ways. Towards the end of the year, I remember seeing the seniors graduate; they seemed so old compared to me. It felt like a long time before that would be me up there getting my diploma. I felt a little resentment for Mackinac for not being able to go on that field trip. I’m in my 20s as I’m writing this, and it still hurts. It’s crazy how a memory from that long ago can still make you feel something just thinking about it, but that’s not to take away from the good memories we had there with my family. Sledding, having fun in the snow, our friendships we made with different people; it truly was an experience.

My mom’s business didn’t work out for her. She and her friend didn’t really have a plan or enough money. She was hurt by this and mad at that pastor for telling her to step out on faith and that God will supply all her needs. She believed in God and blessings, but she realized it was still up to her to do most of it and then put it in God’s hands because he isn’t a Genie. Nicole, who was supposed to be her friend and business partner, completely switched up on us. I think she was upset because the business didn’t work out, so she left for a while and returned to get her things with her boyfriend; her energy was completely different. She went from being nice to being completely distant towards us and hardly said a word. She walked out, and we have never seen or talked to her since.

Eventually, we left Mackinac; we were there for just nine months. Mom would read these Scottsdale catalogs that had a lot of different places to stay in them. Then she decided she wanted to move to the hot state of Arizona in 2002 because she thought it was the second-best thing to San Diego. She had always wanted to live there. I had just turned six years old, and we were lucky enough to get a lovely apartment in a complex called Casa De Amigos, in one of the most admirable and wealthiest cities in Arizona, on the Mexican side of Scottsdale, close to Tempe. 

It was just a few minutes away from Scottsdale’s all-white side, also known as ‘Snottsdale, or Snobsdale’ because of how the people would act, and their mean attitude. They drove nice cars and lived in beautiful homes. Most of the kids were trust fund babies. It was like the Beverly Hills of Arizona without the big movie productions. There were a lot of retired old folks and snowbirds. The biggest misconception about Scottsdale is that everybody who lives there is rich. Other poor people lived there, people like us who got lucky, got a good deal on an apartment, and moved right in smoothly. We basically lived off 400 dollars a month in child support and 400 dollars a month in food stamps for 18 years living in Arizona. My mom hated going to the Des office in AZ to get food stamps. It gave her a lot of anxiety. She would have to wait in a really long line and wait for her number to be called. When she got in, the lady asked her, so, do you have a boat or land? My mom said no then the lady said, is anybody sending you money? My mom says no then the lady says, how did you get here, do you have a car? My mom says she took the bus and that she put that on the application. The lady says, don't you get an attitude with me! I will deny you so fast, now is anybody helping you pay your bills? My mom says no then the lady asked, do you have any jewelry or gold? For the last time, my mom said no. Going to the Des office was like an interrogation. My mom felt all kinds of ways when she had to get food stamps: anger, shame, frustration, discouragement, and most of all poor.

Mom never really had to work a full-time job while living in Arizona because section 8 won't allow you to make a certain amount anyway, and you can't go over that amount or save much. So, most of the time my mom would work temporary jobs and be home a lot. How lucky were we to have so little but make it in Scottsdale? My mom always said, people would not believe you if you told them.

One day mom got a call from the water delivery company. They said, "you have a bill and we are trying to get your debt resolved and paid because you owe us.

My mother said, "I don't have any money.

How you don't have any money living in Scottsdale?

After that my mother hung up the phone.

My mother regretted moving to Arizona the second she got there; she would cry a lot, saying, Lord, what have I done? I made the biggest mistake of my life. She talked about moving back home. We attempted that move twice, but the doors were closed, and it didn’t work out, so we moved back to AZ. There was nothing there in Chicago but a dysfunctional family. I let it go and accepted Arizona, but my mom couldn’t. Every year, she would try to figure it out and strategize how she would move back. Still, nothing ever worked, and to this day, my mom reminded me that it was such a miracle where we ended up and that God placed us there for a reason. 

When we first moved to Scottsdale, we found a lot of comfort in going to the Scottsdale public library. We would check out a lot of movies. I loved watching old black and white films on VHS at the time. I liked Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, Dean Martin, and Jerry Lewis Films. Most of the time, I wanted to be like Fred Astaire, tap-dance, and wear black suits and robes. After seeing Fred and Bing in the Holiday Inn movie, I wanted my mom to get me into tap dance lessons. But my mom couldn’t afford it.

Most of the librarians in the library watched me grow up from a little kid in the children’s section to becoming a 6’7 adult. Another place we went to frequently was Scottsdale fashion square mall, a vibrant fancy mall where one can see the prettiest white girls.

It shocked my older cousin when he visited years later; he said, Wow, Zach, there are a lot of fine white girls up in here. I was used to it. I had been going there since I was a kid. They built a luxury theater years later. I didn’t like that because the movie prices got high, so Tempe Marketplace became my central mall. My mom hated that we were always followed by a store attendant every time we went into the stores. Since we were black, it happened frequently, usually at fashion square. I mean, I never noticed because I was so young. But a particular time that my mom could remember quite well was when we walked inside Dillard’s and saw a host or greeter standing at the door. She was telling all the white people hello and then when she saw us, she had a rude look and did not speak at all. Then we walked past her and again we saw her greet another white family very nicely. She said hi welcome to Dillard’s. My mom says to my sister, Bonnie, Oh, I guess they don't speak to black people, huh. Bonnie says, I guess not. There really are a lot of racist people in Scottsdale. Then my mom realized we were being followed throughout the store so then she goes up to the cashier and says I need to speak to the manager right now. The manager comes up to front and says, how may I help you guys today. My mom says. Look, we are being followed. I don't know if it's by some kind of fruitcake or racist store detective, but I do not appreciate it or like it one bit. The manager says, Ok ma’am, we will get to the bottom of it, sorry. We walked out the store and mom said, Man, I'm sick and tired of these racists. I will be reporting that to the corporate office as well.

I don’t know if one can ever get used to the Arizona heat, even if you were born there. Some do, and some don’t. I mean, when I tell you it’s hot, it’s scorching. You can boil an egg and cook food on the ground; that’s how hot it is, above 90-100 degrees or much higher. There are four months of perfect warm weather and 8 months of pure heat; you couldn’t do anything but stay indoors. Summers here are brutal, and my mom didn’t like the hot weather.

My sister, Bonnie, disliked Arizona a lot as well. She was thirteen when she came. She quickly became homesick and didn’t fit in at school. She and my mom also missed the food because Arizona food is terrible compared to the food in Chicago, something I didn’t realize until I was a teenager. I would eat, and they would complain all the time and take the food back. You couldn’t get a good pizza at all. One time Mom ordered a pizza and the pizza delivery guy knocked on the door and said Scottsdale Pizza. My mom opened up the door and he has a big smile on his face until my mom gives him a little pocket change as a tip. He went from having a smile to having a frown. He looked confused and disappointed. He said, Man I’m I really in Scottsdale right now. I guess the pizza guy didn't want just a few quarters.

As a kid in AZ, I had terrible asthma. I was always using a breathing treatment and inhaler because I was short of breath. I missed a lot of days at school because I was back and forth from the emergency room. One time, I was in the hospital for two weeks straight because I got pneumonia, and my mom was there for me through it all. My mom was a Christian woman, religious, loved God, and we went to so many different churches. Mom just wanted to find the right one, and we did for some time. We regularly attended a church every Sunday, located in North Scottsdale, the Desert Life Church. Most of the people that attended were famous ball players or retired ball players and wealthy people. The pastor there was Troy Johnson; he was a Motown singer back in the 80s who had a few hits before dedicating his life to God. It was a mixed church, and we had fun going to concerts, bible studies, church gatherings, and I loved the free food. On a very hot Sunday morning, I went to church as usual with my mother. I soon discovered that we had a Sunday school conducted in an extension of the church. The Sunday school was filled with children about my age, and there were games, bible drills, and refreshments passed around there. The youth pastor, a young African American man who was also a personal trainer for many professional athletes, welcomed me. It was fun because I didn’t have to sit with the adults in the main church anymore. Our church was full of kind kids. One of the boys from church invited me over to his place. He was a cool guy, one year older than me. His dad was a professional baseball player who lived in a mini mansion in the mountains in Paradise Valley; his crib was dope. The guy had his own indoor basketball court. I looked around and thought this is the kind of life I would love to live someday.

Most of the schools in Scottsdale are named after Native American tribes. I attended a school called Yavapai for first and second grade. It was a majority Mexican school, and like I said before, I was the only black kid in my class. For third grade, I attended Kiva Elementary. It was a vibrant, rich all-white elementary school. And once again, I was the only black kid in class. Mom told me about how she heard one kid had a private plane and another kid's family owned the Harkins movie theaters. My mom bought me a suit from Walmart because she knew how much I wanted to be like Fred Astaire and look good in school. Mrs. Winston, at that time, would always say I was dressed for success. Then I came with my regular clothes one day, and a girl in my class who was trying to be smart sarcastically said, Zach, you’re not dressed for success today. To this day, my mom still finds that funny.

I really fell in love with reading. At this time, I was an elite reader and would do all these reading AR tests. I would come home, shut my door, and read. It felt like watching a movie. If I liked the book, I could just picture it in my head. It was just something about coming-of-age books that I connected to. I was a big fan of an author by the name of Beverly Cleary. I loved reading her Henry Huggins books. At school, I would be on announcements for reading and passing my AR Tests. I read every book that came my way. Most of the books I read were stories written by great authors. And it was something that improved my sharpness.

Back then, I never would have thought I could be an author. Something that happened in school was that my teacher assigned books to read about different influential people in our history and make a report. My teacher gave me a Frederick Douglass book and said, Zach, you will learn a lot about your people in this book, and granted, at the time, I didn’t know much about my people; it just felt like a scene from the TV show; "Everybody Hates Chris." I took the book home, and Mom and I opened it. There was a picture of Frederick Douglass getting whipped. My mother was very mad, and she said, Oh, heck! No, I’m talking to your teacher tomorrow. The next day, my mom informed my teacher calmly, I don’t want him doing this report about a slave getting whipped. It’s unacceptable. He’s too young; I will catch him up to speed on our history,

My teacher, Mrs. Winston, sighed heavily. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you! How about a report on Denzel Washington? He’s such a handsome black man, and I’m sure he’d enjoy that one. Mom informed my teacher that I didn't even know who Denzel was and why did it have to be a black person? 

Mrs. Winston said, How about this? We let Zach decide. He can go to the library with the assistant teacher and pick the kind of book he would like to read.

My mom answered, That's a good idea. As I was looking for a book with my assistant teacher, who happened to live in the same apartment complex as us, she became nosey and relaxed. So, do you have any siblings? 

I have a sister, Bonnie. She’s older than me, I replied. 

The assistant teacher pressed on, Do you guys have the same dad?

I shook my head. No, we have different dads. 

I was only curious, is your dad in your life? she added.

No, I responded, He lives in Hammond, Indiana. 

The assistant teacher nodded and said Well, that’s typical black men. They never want to take care of their kids. That’s too bad. And that ended our short conversation. 

I ended up getting a book on Davy Crockett. He was a white folk hero, soldier, and politician, something for a black kid that’s not too typical. I got home and told my mom I got a new book. Mom nodded. I’m glad you were able to pick out another book. How was your day at school? she asked. 

I informed her about my assistant teacher and about the questions she kept asking about my family. I said, She asked if Bonnie and I have different dads.

My Mom was furious, What? Oh! heck no, I’m getting tired of these racist white people at the school being up in our business. She stormed to the living room, called up the school, and reported her. My assistant teacher got the message fast because she knocked on the door crying her eyes out, saying, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you or your son. I love black people. 

Mom only thanked her for apologizing and asked her not to ask any more personal questions. After she left, Mom closed the door and said, I’m sorry that you have to deal with things like that, that’s just how it is. 

However, growing up in Scottsdale also showed me the importance of having my immediate family. It also kept me safe from any real harm. My mother always sought out the best for me, even from the little that she made. I had many enjoyable things in my life now and then, and as it turned out, I also made friends who showed me what real friendship was.

Chapter 2 - School Ties

I’m going to take you where the real story of my life began—a pivotal moment, a little further into the future; the year was 2008, my second year at another school on the all-white side of Scottsdale, called Scottsdale, Elementary. I’m in the sixth grade, coming of age. It all starts right here, all the drama, my new best friends, and the struggle of being in school throughout the years. My life is like something straight out of sitcom, the type of thing you might only see in the movies. We had ended up moving out of the old apartment, and we had found a lovely townhouse on all-white side of Scottsdale. The place had stairs, which I always wanted; three bedrooms, a washer, and a dryer. We lucked up again and got a good deal.

I woke up in the morning and fell out of bed, because I heard my mom’s voice declaring that

Reviews for You Don't Have a Story

[isabela2199 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

"Ultimately, I have grown up to believe in one thing: I’m who I am, no matter where I’m from, no matter what I like, and no matter what I do. Never question my blackness. "

This is one of those books that are so good that it's hard to review. Hard to capture in words. The author did a stunning job, deeply human and for me in particular, heartbreaking and real. He manages to tell us through his experience what racism is like firsthand, how some aren’t born with the same economic possibilities as others, and go through difficult moments and decisions. The prejudices, the stereotypes that exist and how it feels to be rejected.

This is the story of Zachary's life through the years, and the people who were a part of his life, at the same time it inspires you and teaches you that despite the many adversities that come your way in life, we never have to lose faith, and we must keep going. He also talks about the importance of family and true friendships. I really admire Zachary and his mother so much; I think it's a story I won't forget.

It’s a novel that introduces a large amount of criticism of today's society. It covers various topics of human nature, racism, hatred, poverty, social inequality from a realistic and raw perspective. It’s what is needed so that we can all open our eyes and learn. I loved the characters and the author's way of writing was concise and straight to the point.

We need to talk about the injustice towards people of color in the modern world. We have to open conversations and we have to educate; we have lived for a long time blinded by ignorance. This type of works helps us all to start discussions and learn from others. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.