Black in China by Vessup Aaron A.;

Author:Vessup, Aaron A.;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Earnshaw Books
Published: 2017-04-25T04:41:52+00:00

20

Times Gone By

Every child loves his mother, at least I did. It must be universal because when growing up most of us kids could easily be goaded into a fight if anyone dared say anything besmirching their mother’s character.

“Ohhhh! He’s talking about your mother! Are you gonna let him say that?”

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

When these chants began, somebody would throw down and fists would fly. Anyone with an ounce of common sense knew just how far to push, and when to push back. Talking about your parents even to adults, to reveal any family secrets or what parents did behind closed doors was definitely taboo. Just was not done.

My mother was a hair beautician. She was attractive and people loved to hear her sing. But I loved her because she was my mother, and was therefore the most beautiful woman in the world. I knew she was attractive to others because grown men whistled at her when she took me along to go shopping. She gripped my hand tightly, unless she was trying on clothes.

She would spend long hours in the ladies’ dressing rooms or standing in front of store mirrors trying on outlandish hats. Such things were important for church-goers. Hats and dresses were sure conversation starters after the long sermons, and points of status among Black folk, which seemed important in those times.

Our lifestyle was middle class by most standards because we had many things most Black families in Los Angeles did not. We had a brand-new house in a new residential neighborhood of mostly ex-military personnel and professionals. The neighborhood was mixed with some Latinos or Spanish, but you rarely saw White people and there were no White kids on Crocker Street where we lived. On Towne Avenue, and Mettler, parallel streets to ours, there were a few older White couples. Everyone had good jobs. Home owners in this housing tract clearly took pride in property maintenance. Most could afford to hire Mexican or Asian weekly lawn care crews.

We had two automobiles, a new Chevrolet station wagon, and a Chevrolet ¾-ton pickup truck. Occasionally policemen would stop my father, and demanded: “Alright, pullover! Where’d you get this?” “So where do you work?” We had a large, deep Kelvinator freezer in the garage brimming with frozen food and steaks, and a General Electric automatic dishwasher. The only thing we did not have was a television.

If our family was looked down upon or joked about, it was because of size. It had grown to five children, then considered a large family, but was doomed to grow steadily ever larger because, I was told by our parents, that this was God’s plan. We had no right to question God.

Our neighbors to the right were Miss Irene, a single lady who chain-smoked, and her brother. We never saw him, but heard the loud parties he hosted on some weekends. A stash of empty beer cans and wine bottles were usually stacked outside their backyard gate.

On the left of our house facing our bedrooms, lived my best friend, George Anthony Bell.

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