Saturday, July 24, 2010

Easy Like A Sunday Mourning



A gentle disclaimer:
*Dear reader I hope you do not expect a Michael Eric Dyson type dissertation here. I'm not as eloquent as some of the great purveyors of the Negro race. I am an angry little pygmy from the low end.  This posting is dedicated to my pals in Chicago.  Thanks for reading. Or not reading. Touch yourself anyway.

Cue the faux-revolutionary music maestro.

Friends, Chicagoans, countrymen lend me your ear!

Dr. Slick here with an update in the sad case of fallen Chicago Police Officer Michael Bailey.  I wish my comrade Dr. Who would lend me his TARDIS, so that I could go back in time and stop this heinous crime. A 20 year veteran on the force who was on the verge of retirement.  After completing a tour of duty (he spent the night before protecting the residence of Mayor Daley), Bailey returned to his south side home.  He was still in uniform when at 6:30am he was gunned down in a robbery attempt.  He was cleaning his brand new car, in front of his own home. He was executed by children. He was only 62 years old.

Children.

As of today, 3 teenagers ages 16 & 17 were captured and charged with his murder.
3 teens arrested in police officer's shooting death :: CHICAGO SUN-TIMES :: Chicago Crime

I did not personally know Officer Bailey, but I certainly recognize him every time I see a photograph of him.  I know him the same way I've known so many black men to rise early Sunday morning to wash and shine their cars.  Herb Kent and other dusty disc jockey's transported them all back to a time where we loved on another.  A time where if one of the children was acting a damned fool, you could yank their little asses off the asphalt and drag them back to their mothers house.  And if mama was at work, and daddy wasn't around a "Michael Bailey" type would whup your ass out of love.

I remember once as a tom boyish 7 year old I thought it was a fine idea to climb a mountain of dirt with the other boys on the block in my white dress.  My mother had just pressed my hair and cloaked me in tyke couture foolishly allowing me to go outside and play.  I can't even remember how I got on the mound of dirt, but I did. And baby, I was sifting thru that soil like nobody's business when a neighbor walked by.


Pill: De Anna Nicole Josephine Brooks! I know you are not out here acting like a little boy! Get down!
Me: I'm aint!

It's a shame that in the early 80s young children didn't know the number to DCFS because I could have used their help.  I woke up a week later after encountering the wrath of Pill, and then my own mother.  That reprimand--or whupping saved my life.  And it didn't matter who the ass beating came from, as long as it came.  I know some of you are against spankings, and I'm not here to debate the pros and cons. The point of the lesson learned, was never to roll around in dirt with boys.  It only leads to trouble...well shit maybe whuppings don't work??--if only I would've remembered this lesson in my early 20s I could have saved myself a lot of bullshit. *You know who you are Voldermort.

Villages raised children, and I dare say it was Utopian.  Then crack came. Disrupted our 'hood ecosystem and people kept fucking and a lot of the kids mutated.  And now these little monsters have grown up.  These La Dante's, AirNike, Shaquantay's, Lexus, Caligula and any other stupid fucking namesake you can come up with.  Yes I know children are innocent, they didn't ask to be born, yada yada yada. I don't believe in naming a human child after stupid shit.   Save it for your dogs and pet komodo dragons okay? Half of these children are out shooting now because they can't get jobs. And why can't they get jobs, because they have repulsive names, and are raised by their aging grandmothers.  But in the age of Rap and Misogyny I sound like an antiquated babbling idealistic Pollyanna of yesteryear.  Still,  I wish I could construct an Erector Set to pluck these mothafuckas out of the hood.

I'm just angry y'all.  This is all coming out of love and--no its coming out of heartache.

Its not like I grew up in a drug free environment.  Thankfully drugs were not in my home, but I grew up watching Billy Ray and Zig do seedy shit.  But it didn't make me wanna grow up and be like them.  I know I may be daft in my thinking, but for fucks sake! Don't these fucking kids of today know how to turn the fucking tube to WTTW and enjoy some Public Televison? Stop watching the coochie poppin shoveled to us by Viacom and go get a fucking job. Or join the Peace Corps. Fly a kite. I don't know!  Just stop fucking killing cops. Stop killing kids on the way to school.

I was raised by a cop.  4 of my good friends from college are cops.  They all serve the great City of Chicago.  A knot fills my stomach when I look at images of the fallen officers in recent months.  I know the police force is not perfect, but that's not my point.  I'd just like to see this war end.  It's dense, complicated and layered with angst.

I salute the many fallen soldiers.  Civilian and protectors alike.
May the Gods keep and forever hold you Officer Bailey.

And as for the accused, I don't quite know what to say.  They're children. I can't even get started.

C'mon Dr. Who. Lets get in the TARDIS and fly away.

x