THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE INFAMOUS CMR: THE INTRODUCTION TO A POOR BLACK CHILD OF THE GHETTO

At the tender age of one I was placed in the hospital because of upper respiratory problems and the inability to gain weight at the rate a normal baby would. I was in the hospital two weeks as the doctors worked to diagnose the problems. I was diagnosed with a lot of allergies that still plague me today and a severe upper respiratory infection that hampered me throughout my youth. I was released to the care of my Mother. Now that my Mother was aware of my condition she was able to care for me adequately.

At the age of three my meddling Grandmother once again intervened into my Mother’s business and suggested that my sister be sent to live with my Aunt Melissa and Uncle Edward. My Uncle E had just enlisted in the Air Force and they wanted a playmate for their daughter, my cousin, Tanesha who was their only child at the time. My Grandmother persuaded my Mother to let them adopt my sister and away they went. The last vivid memory I had of my sister before she left was the day she was playing with matches and she set her dolls hair on fire while we were playing outside. The last words she uttered before she departed still stay with me today; she said “if you tell anybody I am going to set your hair on fire just like these dolls”. I said nothing until I was told she was not coming back anytime soon I told my Mom.

We resided on Gladstone Court on the upper end of the Franklin Terrace. At age four my Mother enrolled me at the local Head Start Program offered at the Community Center a few blocks away from our residence. I still remember my first day; needless to say it was a horrible one. My Mother got me up out of bed and proceeded to get me ready for the first day of preschool. After I was ready and it was time for the bus we waited outside and a short yellow bus soon pulled up and that is when the nightmare began. I was forced onto the bus and I remember screaming and hollering at the top of my lungs. At this particular part of my life I can honestly say I was a Mama’s boy and she was the only one I was around everyday except for friends that lived close by us. When we arrived at the center I was placed in a room with a bunch of other kids my age or a year younger. During my short tenure at Head Start I did not learn much; as I now reflect back I feel that the people who operated that particular Head Start at that time were more focused on babysitting than the educational needs of the children at attended. While going to the center I got into my first fight with a kid named Jerell that lived across the parking lot from me. I can’t even remember what it was about, but it had to be something big because at that time in my young life I was a very shy and timid child. The end result of the fight was me giving Jerell a bloody nose. I not going to say that I was tough or a bully because I more of a cry baby and a wimp than anything else. My Mother soon found out that she was wasting my time sending me to a program that wasn’t preparing me for Kindergarten the following year; little did I know my playing days at the center were coming to an end. I was taken out of the program and I was taught by Mother at home to get prepared for Elementary School.

In the spring of 1983 we had to move from Gladstone Court to East 7th Street because of remodeling that was getting ready to take place on mostly all of the units on the upper end. I was tortured nearly the whole summer by Mother; as she kept driving home the importance of education and me being five years old at the time I didn’t catch on to what she was saying. I just would have rather been outside playing with my friends. Today I see what she was talking about, so I stress education to my children just like it was stressed to me. I was given a chance to play only for a short time period each day during the summer of ‘83. We had a free lunch program that I attended faithfully during the summer months. After lunch it was back to the learning grind that afternoon. If I didn’t get the right answer during this time I would usually receive a whooping. I got whooped so much as a child that I was use to the pain and it started not to affect me at all. Overall I feel the whoopings I received fueled my anger problems that surfaced later in my teenage years.

The school year was just about to begin and it was time for school shopping. We didn’t go to regular stores like most people except to get shoes because we did not own a car the Erie Metropolitan Transit Authority (EMTA) was our only transportation. Local boosters would bring clothes by for my Mother to purchase. Boosters are thieves if you didn’t know. As for shoes I was taken to the Central Mall was located on West 18th and Peach Street. There were no name brand shoes in my immediate future I received the poor people special a pair of ProWings or as I like to refer to them as likeys. I call them likeys because ProWings always styled their shoes to look like other name brands. Now I am ready for the new school year; I guess.

My first day in Kindergarten at Edison Elementary School was an enjoyable one a lot different from the Head Start program I attended. When I started Kindergarten back in ‘83 we only went to school half a day, so the teacher had to teach you a lot of things in a short period of time. My Kindergarten teachers name was Ms. Polito. Ms. Polito taught me in the morning at Edison Elementary and taught my cousin Nikisha at Lincoln Elementary in the afternoon. I only lived three blocks from the school, so after a week or so my Mom allowed me to walk to and from school with a group of other children from my neighborhood. I think that ended up being a bad decision. I was picked on daily because I was born with good hair and most of the kids use to say I had a curl kit in my hair. Like I told you earlier I was a cry baby, so it caused me to get picked on even more. I had to fight several times that year; a lot of those fights I was handed my ass. I even ran a few times to avoid certain kids. I never told my Mother because she would have lost her mind. I said that because I recall our next door neighbor was say disparaging remarks about my Mother and needless to say my Mother kick her ass in front of the unit we lived in. That was the first time I actually saw my Mother fight someone and that would not be the last time. The neighbor never ran her mouth again to my knowledge. I was averaging at least two to three fights a week at school and four to five whoopings at home a week. I was getting tired of receiving it on both ends, so I had to get tough quick and learn to humiliate people physically and verbally. I had a long road ahead of me.

TO BE CONTINUED………………………

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE INFAMOUS CMR: THE INTRODUCTION TO A POOR BLACK CHILD OF THE GHETTO

As far back as I can recall my life has been a hard life to live. I was born in May 1978 to an unwed mother of one. My Mother was only nineteen years old when she gave birth to, her first son, me. My Mother is a light skinned pretty black woman with the temperament of a Brahma Bull. Her light pigmentation was passed down from her Father who is of Puerto Rican descent. My mother had a lot of odds against her before I was born or even conceived, but she still strived for acceptance from white and black people. She was looked upon negatively by some of her peers because of her skin color and she was treated differently by White people when they found out she was black. So far you can probably tell by now why she was a mean and aggressive woman.

I was born on an unseasonably hot day for late Pennsylvania spring. At just a little after 10:20 am I was removed from my Mother by means of a cesarian section. I was not even in the world five minutes and the controversy was already starting. The argument began by my grandmother was about my mother placing me up for adoption. I had just taken my first breath and I was already the center of attention for the wrong reason. Needless to say my Mother was upset by what my Grandmother was proposing to her, so I was not named immediately like other children that came before me. For a day or so I sat in the newborn nursery with the tag that read Baby Boy Roberts taped to the side of my crib.
My mother despite what my Grandmother proposed decided to keep me and my Aunt named me after a baby that was featured on a long running Gerber Baby Foods commercial.

When I was taken home from the hospital it was to the Infamous Franklin Terrace Housing Projects located on the lower east side (L.E.S.) near Lake Erie. I lived in the Terrace for the next 10 years and believed these were the most influential years of my life. I learned how to play sports, fight and take care of myself. I was exposed to so many different situations growing up in the Terrace that I believed I was ready for manhood by the time I moved. When most kids my age were watching cartoons I was in the street hanging with kids almost twice my age. I was learning different tricks of the game and being turned on to a world thugs, drug dealers and hustlers. I was part of the drug trade since my birth and I sat back and witnessed things only seen on television. That means most of the stuff I saw and heard was R-rated with a lot more to come.


To Be Continued………………………………………………..

The Life and Times of The INFAMOUS CMR: The Introduction to a Poor Black Child of the Ghetto

Last year I told everyone that read my blog that I was going to write my autobiography piece by piece trying to give out every detail I could remember. I am going to start immediately. Stay tuned in for the true story.

The Return.................

I am back!! I would like to say thank you to the Iceman for being my inspiration to start blogging again. As for me, I been basically just sitting on my butt being an unproductive part of society (except for going to work). I have so many things I want to do, but I feel that I do not have enough time to do all the things I want to do. I guess the first thing I would need to do is get off of my butt and begin. For starters let me tell you about my workplace.

I am currently a supervisor at my current place of employment, but I feel I could do more and be more somewhere else. I thought being a supervisor at my place of employment would allow me to correct the wrongs and provide all of my coworkers with a better work environment (it has not happened yet). It is a hard mission to accomplish when everyday someone is waiting to stab you in the back. I express my opinions freely some good and some bad, but I feel they are for the best. I hardly ever shy away from problems that may affect my work environment; I try to face everything head on , but like I stated earlier it is hard to do when most of the stuff is coming from behind. I have ZERO RESPECT for the powers that be at my place of employment because instead of trying to improve relations with the workforce they do just the opposite. The majority of the time when we hear from the head honcho its because we did something wrong. A lot of the time we hear from her incompetent sidekick,Mr. Jheri Curl. He has the IQ of rock and the people skills of turd. The truth hurts. I know it probably sounds like I'm a whiner or a complainer, but I'm not. The truth is the truth and I'm sorry if anyone is hurt over this but I really don't care.

I appreciate a lot of the people I work with. I don't like to say they work for me because we work together and they really work for themselves. Thank You all for understanding.

Come back for more of the Truth