Part IV: Boyz in Da Hood

I was raised in a middle/upper class neighborhood where poverty did not exist.  Things like welfare, food stamps, and housing assistance were unfamiliar to me.  Unnecessary.  Beneath me.  My parents worked, I worked, and everyone I knew worked.   This all changed when I realized that I was on my own with two small boys who needed to eat and get medical attention while hiding from the ex and his psychotic ex-policeman father.  It was suggested that I apply for assistance immediately, so I did.  I received $400 a month in cash and $300 in food stamps.  I was placed in "transitional housing", where I would live for a year.   Not to sound ungrateful, but when they sent me to look at the apartment, I was immediately pissed off as soon as I got out of the minivan that my parents had lent me during this time as (prior to that we were using SEPTA to get around which did not fare well with my son who has autism.)   I was in the  middle of one of the "harder" neighborhoods in South Philly.  I had lived in some pretty bad neighborhoods back in the eighties when I was living with my Aunt and others in South Philly, and then on my own years later, but those were either Italian, Irish, or mixed neighborhoods.  This neighborhood was a hardcore, old school, all black neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood the college kids from Jersey came to to buy certain party supplies back in the day. What some might call "the hood".  I was a little intimidated after a guy on a bicycle rode past me and asked me if I was "working".  In my naiivity, I answered him:  "No, not right now..."  Suddenly I realized what he meant, and kept on walking, ignoring him.  I had been on my own since high school, so I was pretty street-smart, but still somewhat intimidated. I also tried to see the good in everyone.  Now, transitional housing is  designed to help single mothers who either had no work background, were educated but displaced, (that was my label).  The program offered low cost rent and utilities for the women, with many rules and regulations, certain educational or occupational things put into place, and nental health treatment.  You were interviewed, checked out, and had to be accepted.  Now, you won't find many of these places in "nice" neighborhoods ,because other residents don't want them there.  Same thing with low income housing such as Section 8 and HUD.  I hate to say it, but people are very, very judgmental.  However, there are some legitimate reasons for people feeling this way;  The statistics of drugs and crime in some of these places speak for themselves.  Not many people are packing glocks on the streets of Nether Providence or Glen Mills. Nobody is drinking Colt 45 out of a bag on the corner in Strath Haven. (Suburbia has country clubs and Xanax, don't get it twisted.  They just hide their evil deeds a little bit better).

  Anyway, I was immediately accepted into the graduate program at Alvernia University, and began classes. I hated the fact that I was on food stamps, and was ashamed to be seen on line at the grocery store.  To me it was embarrassing.  I have heard many people turn their nose up and say things like "Oh, there's no excuse.  You should have just gotten a job and paid for sitters"  or "You should have stayed with your family".  #1. I was being hunted down by a psycho killer who would have found me at any job.  (Unlike the ex, who works "under the table" for his family business, who claims they haven't seen him in years).  #2.  My parents live in an over 65 senior citizen oasis where children are not allowed.  And #3.  Don't judge me based on your ignorance.  For people like me, welfare was a "step up", not a "hand out".  And I only used it temporarily while attending part time mental health treatment.  My kids and I ate at soup kitchens, churches, and parks.  Some of the neighbors made plates for us and introduced us to "soul" food. I learned very quickly to be humble, and learned a lot about the ghetto culture.  I made a few friends and some of the housing residents used to laugh and laugh at my "whiteness." (But not in a prejudiced way!) 

All went well for a while, until one day my 4 year old called me into his room and said "Mommy!  those kids are throwing rocks at my window!" I looked outside and saw four African American kids who looked about eight to ten years old.  They were, indeed, throwing rocks at his window.  I screamed out the window "If you throw one more rock at this window, you're going to jail because I'm calling the police!" One of the boys looked at me and said,  "You're the one who's going to jail!"   Wait.  Wut?  "Why am I going to jail?"  I asked.  "Because you're white!"  He replied.  I felt the adrenalin rising inside of me and fought off the urge to scream obscenities.  Instead, I took my boys by the hand and went outside.  I saw one of the boys grab a nerf football from my yard, but he didn't see me.  I politely asked them to "Come here for a minute."  They did.  I asked the "ringleader"  "Have you ever cut your finger?"  "Yeah", he replied.  "What color was your blood?" I asked.  "Red!"  he replied.  I then turned and asked my sons the same questions, and they, of course , gave the same answers.  "What's that supposed to mean?"  asked one of the boys in the rock throwing group.  "It means we're all the same, ya big dummy!"  said the ringleader, smiling.  This was my sons first lesson in racism, what it is, and what it wasn't, and that it would not be tolerated in or out of my home. I glared at the rock throwers with a sarcastic sort of smile.  "We gotta go",  said one of them.  "Wait a second.  Where did you get that football?"  I asked.  "I uh, found it, around the block."  "Nice try," I replied.  "Now give me the football."  He gave it to me .  One of them muttered something about his mother coming over to kick my ass, but the other 3 smiled at me, said thanks, said "See ya", and went home.  His mother never did come over to kick my ass, but someone else did, and it wasn't my husband.  That rock throwing child must have been a psychic, because I did go to jail.  

Until next time...Have a great day! :)