Fight!

By Greg Carter

Chapter 11

I was playing in the living room with my brother when I heard the rumbling from the kitchen. I had to have been about three. My grandmother was seated at the table, and my father was standing near the refrigerator. And sitting on the floor, God as my witness, bleeding from every sweat gland in her body, was my mother. Greg, Sr., had an umbrella in his hands. To this day I have no fucking clue how he did that shit.  It was like he had poked her with a fine little pin a thousand times. She wasn’t afraid of him. Her tears were strong and heavy, and her voice was low and demanding, telling me to go back in the living room. You could tell she was more afraid for me and Shannon than for herself. My father was in the zone. It’s like I wasn’t even there.  Maybe the look on my face would have informed a fool I was scared shitless. But had I been older and bigger I’d be doing life for killing my dad.

They got so high they really didn’t have the time for us kids.

My father boxed professional. The rest of the time he was on heroin. This nigga would be at the dinner table, a plate full of food before him. He’d go to put the fork in his mouth, close his eyes then drop his head. It’d fall like a ball. Fork still in his hand. He was an addict, all right, and I loved him. He taught me that fighting is not about who’s stronger or faster. It’s about out-thinking your opponent. I remember one time my mother caught him in the bed with another woman, and he told the other woman that my mom was his sister.  Now if that ain’t pimping, I don’t know what it is.  After my mom left him, she met a man named Lionel who looked just like Billy Dee Williams.  Every time you seen this dude he had a Colt 45. He must have really thought he was Billy Dee.  Anyway, he brought along with him his drug habit, so everybody was getting high at Mom’s place. They got so high they really didn’t have the time for us kids.

We were not poor.  We were just broke. Poor is when you have to drink cereal with water.  I never had to do that. My mom always made sure we had something to eat. But my moms and my aunt was into drugs, heavy, and drugs have a funny way of making people selfish. The drugs get all the attention. This was a problem because when you’re living in the projects in New York City there’s really not much to do. There was always the park. But to us if it wasn’t dangerous it wasn’t fun.