The sounds of Elton John and Kiki Dee slowly invaded the sleep-induced unconsciousness of the groggy fifteen-year-old. As he tried to squeeze a few more moments of slumber out of the early morning, the words of the song coming from the radio ran through his mind.
It wasn’t a bad song…it was the opposite, it was light-hearted and fun—it was a pop tune. He’d heard these pop tunes so much, sometimes he sang along in his head. But it reminded him he needed to get home after school. This was San Diego in the late Seventies, and they only played black music on the radio from 4:00 p.m. until 7:00 p.m. on 92.5 FM. So he needed to make sure he was home and ready to hit the record button on the cassette player at exactly the right moment if one of his favorite songs came on. He loved sleeping and waking to music and there was always new music to record. Eyes still closed, he mentally practiced dance moves to some of his recordings for later, but his thoughts were rapidly replaced by an emotion born of a different thought.
“I hate school.”
This thought went through the mind of Benjamin Frazier just about every day, at least until he was on vacation or school was out for the summer. Lunch time was good; school dances were fun too, but for the most part, school was the place where adults went through the motions and out of their way to purposely bore everyone…or at least that’s how it seemed. The teachers didn’t even TRY to be interesting; plus, they obviously loved bossing students around but they were suddenly absent or out of time whenever anyone needed anything really important. Half of the them seemed scared—the other half probably didn’t care about anyone except for the super geniuses.
Benji, as his mama fondly nicknamed him, opened his eyes and stared for a moment at the ceiling, thinking maybe if he lay there completely still long enough, the necessity of going to school would magically disappear. But as he continued to lie in his bed, he shook his head gloomily and grimly remembered times past; you just never knew when it was your day to serve as the target of the inevitable verbal onslaught that goes along with living where he lived. His turn had come recently:
“This cat got a name sound like he a runaway slave.”
“Sucka so black, when he fall down in the street, look like a skid mark.”
“Nah, Doo Doo ain’t just black…he blackety black black BLACK! Doo Doo the “hide & seek” champion of the world…ain’t NOBODY finding home boy…lookin’ like everybody’s shadow…”
And other similar barbs. Sometimes the attacks came out of nowhere and once initiated…were relentless.
But that was just how they played around in Benji’s Southeast San Diego neighborhood known as Skyline. Supposedly it was all in fun; when someone said something funny, Benji had to laugh, even if the joke was on him. In truth, Benji normally gave as good as he got though; sometimes he could be pretty clever and even got the better of them all in the ghetto sport called “basing,” which was probably their second-favorite pastime—after slap boxing, of course. But this morning, he frowned remembering the sting of some of their insults—even though he laughed it off, as he usually did. But when it went too far, his hidden irritation was very real. Like when even one of the girls randomly screamed in the cafeteria, “Benji so black…he look blue!” and another followed with “No! Benji so black, he PURPLE.”
Benji didn’t like being attacked by girls because he couldn’t attack them back—basing on girls crossed the line for him. So he shrugged it off but honestly thought at the time, “Where’d THAT come from? And what are they ALL talking about anyway? Ain’t we all black? I don’t get it.” It was around then for the first time, Benji noticed he had darker skin than anyone else in his family.
By far.
He’d never really noticed before.
But the litany of dark-skinned jokes wasn’t nearly as bad as the name Benji despised more than any other; the name he was ultimately stuck with—the aforementioned “Doo Doo.” The hated nickname stemmed from Benji’s extremely bad eyesight, which forced him to wear glasses with very thick lenses. Last year, a group of Skyline teens was all over him again:
“Yo glasses so thick, I bet yo ass can see the future!”
“Them glasses so thick, I bet you solve the mystery faster than the chick on Scooby Doo do!”
Scooby Doo…do.
I didn’t get it at first.
The insults got a huge laugh from the crowd, though, and the final insult stuck. Initially, it was Scooby Doo Doo…ultimately, the nickname simply got shortened to “Doo Doo”…which also doubled as an offensive reference to his dark skin, “which made it even more funnier to everyone”, Benji supposed with a shrug.
The real problem was, when the streets are laughing because they’ve decided to nickname you something like “Doo Doo,” you only have a few choices…and none of them all that great. You can choose to not answer to it or get indignant, which brings attention, shows sensitivity or the perception of having hurt feelings, generates more laughter and lets people know without a doubt it bothers you—but doing it displays a vulnerability. You can respond with something extra clever to make people forget, if you can think fast on your feet—but there was always the chance of someone being even MORE clever which could escalate the situation and result in an even worse name. Or you can stay non-reactive, go on about your business, ignore it or answer like it’s no big deal, until the name either dies on its own or becomes so normal, people forget why and how you got the name in the first place. But the problem is—if the name doesn’t die, you’re stuck with it. Maybe forever.
Or you can fight.
“Doo Doo” was way better than being nicknamed “Velma” though. She was the girl with the thick glasses in the Scooby Doo cartoon who always solved the mystery. A few people tried to make that nickname stick, but it didn’t take hold. It was a good thing too. “Doo Doo” was bad enough, but if “Velma” would have stuck…
It’s fight time. Every day.
Even people who didn’t know why he was called Doo Doo started calling him Doo Doo…and though they shouldn’t be allowed to, a few teachers even called him Doo Doo. There should be a rule or a law to make teachers call students by their real names. Or let students call teachers by some crazy, insulting nickname too. It was just a guess, but Benji figured not too many teachers would enjoy being called Mr. Butter Tooth or Ms. Booty Breath to their face. They’d probably think it was a little bit disrespectful.
In any case, Benji hadn’t laughed during or after the “Scooby Doo do” incident. Honestly, he seriously considered punching the offender in the face, but since everyone laughed so hard, Benji was forced to just let it go. Because like I said—the problem is, if you get too emotional about things, it gets even worse, and the attacks get even more personal. There’s a price to pay when you show any level of weakness in Southeast Dago, so a lot of the time, it’s better to just shine it on. That’s just the way it was. But that meant Benji would often not wear his glasses, especially in school. Even though it meant not being able to see the board or follow the lesson—and taking beatings from Pops because of repeatedly losing his glasses. Truth is, he just set his glasses down and walked away. He thought it a small price to pay; Benji was like that sometimes. He often thought, “If I do this, I’ll probably get a beating later.” Then he’d still do it anyway.
Ah well.
It was time for Benji to get dressed. Nobody who lived in Skyline had a lot of money, but if clothes didn’t match, were dirty, torn or didn’t fit—that was ammunition. Floods were a definite no-no too. You could see those white socks from way down the street no matter how much you tried to pull your pants down to pretend like they were really the right length. Wearing the same thing multiple times in a week would also not escape notice. Even Mama knew—school shopping options were limited, so Benji and his little brother usually wore hand- me-downs. So for the few clothes Mama could buy from the discount store, she was always careful to buy clothes where the colors complemented each other. “Everything matches black and blue,” she always said. So Benji could make a lot of different combinations from his three pairs of school pants and four school shirts—when his sisters remembered to wash and iron clothes.
Benji had two older sisters, and it was part of their chores to take turns washing and ironing clothes, but now they were older, so when Mama wasn’t around, they were always complaining, “I ain’t your maid, boy!” Then they would either not do it, do a lousy job on purpose, or not do it at all and say they did. “I should snitch on them like they always snitchin’ on me if they don’t do it today,” Benji thought with a chuckle. “But nah…way more fun to front them in front of their boyfriends or put some hard government peanut butter spread on the inside of their dresser drawer handles—or on their panties!” Benji thought with a devilish grin. “It doesn’t spread too well on bread, but it works pretty good on my sister’s underwear.” Only problem was they always knew who did it. It’s not like Benji could blame some invisible peanut butter fairy for flying around and sprinkling cheap peanut butter on underpants.
By the time he was ready for breakfast, Benji’s father, Pops, a garbage man or “sanitation worker” as he was supposedly known, was already at work. Pops couldn’t care less about what he was called. He said call him whatever but he added, “I make honest money, and if I stop doing my job, people can swim in their own shit and they gonna call me ‘sir’ and beg before I’ll come back, so don’t piss me off.” It sounded angry, but it was funny how Pops said things like that and Benji always quietly laughed at his Pops’s rants—Pops was hilarious. But he laughed quietly because his father was not a man to laugh at unless you knew he was joking…everyone giggled as soon as he left the room though, even Mama. Benji often thought Pops knew they were all laughing at his rants, and just maybe he did it to make them laugh—because laughing was free for poor people. One time, though, when he thought his father left, Benji came out of the kitchen after laughing and his father was sitting in the living room. Benji thought, “Shoot—Pops heard!” but his father just looked at him with a little smile in his eyes, gave Benji a wink, and left for work. So Benji thought his Pops knew the deal…but he wasn’t 100 percent sure. Better to not take chances, because Pops worked hard and was very proud. Even during those times in the past when the Frazier family was forced to make Christmas presents for each other from whatever they found in the house and wrap them with newspaper, Benji did not remember a single night of ever going to bed hungry like a few of his friends did sometimes. That was because of Pops…a man of few words, a man whose words counted when he decided it was time to be heard on any issue he felt was important, and definitely not a man who would suffer disrespect from ANYBODY.
As powerful as Benji saw his hard-working father, it was his mother Pauline who really directed the day-to-day comings and goings of the Fraziers. Lina, as she was known to her husband and close family, was passionately dedicated to the welfare of the five Frazier children and was known for her intense devotion to them. She would stand against anyone, including their father, when their welfare was at stake. Blessed with a powerful impact, incredible insight, and a tireless work ethic, she sacrificed her energy almost to the point where she had no time or desire to care for herself. In addition to regularly dispensing wisdom, Benji’s mama meted out doses of discipline coupled with huge measures of humor and affection. Benji truly adored her, and their connection was a special one. Like when he was younger and Pops worked two jobs, Benji’s mama would wake him at 1:00 a.m. to ride with her to take his father to work or pick him up. Benji liked having alone time together with his mother. He had fond memories of sleepily keeping his mother company as they rode through the dark city streets together. In fact, sometimes he would wake to his mother singing along to James Taylor songs like “Carolina ”, the only kind of music on the radio at that time of the morning. Benji didn’t really know what the song meant, but after he heard it a few dozen times, he liked singing along anyway—there was a line in the song saying something about love being the best thing or whatever and Benji would always look at Mama with a finger to his lips and say “Shhhh” right before the singer got to the part where he requested his girlfriend to whisper something soft and kind for him. Mama always beamed and turned up the volume a little when she knew that part was coming up because she thought he was so cute back then. It was no real surprise decades later, Benji found he was a huge James Taylor fan. Mama was too; it was like their own special thing together.
Benji took it further and eventually liked Jackson Browne and Gordon Lightfoot too. In secret, of course. Benji’s eclectic musical tastes would have surprised his peers, but apparently, listening to folk music and actually liking it was a slippery slope.
Yes, Benji tried to make Mama smile during those special mother-son moments when he had Mama all to himself. He also tried to make her laugh when he found himself in trouble—as was often the case. A very mischievous teen, Benji demanded the majority of her time, even more than his younger brother.
Sid was in the seventh grade, two years behind Benji. Sid got teased too, but Sid was blessed with a personality that always lightened the mood. Sometimes he would start acting out a scene from Good Times and play the parts of every actor and actress in the scene and everyone laughed, even though it had nothing to do with what anyone was talking about. Sid was the only one of them who could’ve gotten kicked out of Cub Scouts for talking too much and still not get in trouble—because that’s what had happened.
Marcus was the oldest boy, extremely athletic; a senior, played football and baseball, had lots of girlfriends, and was always lifting weights or doing random push-ups for no reason. Everybody liked him and nobody teased Mr. Touchdown. He thought he knew everything too. He was a good big brother but he always felt the need to give advice; it was like he thought only he knew the super secret code of how to be the perfect Frazier man and he felt compelled to constantly share it. Was pretty cool to go to his games, though.
The brothers were quite close—it hadn’t been too long ago the three would pretend they were in a singing group like the Spinners, complete with dance steps and a perfect lip sync to the song “Mighty Love”, really believing they were going to be the newest musical sensation. And when they were even younger, they would fashion a makeshift football out of a bunch of rolled-up socks, then challenge Sid to score a touchdown in their living room by trying to get past his older brothers with socks in hand. They called their made-up game “Goal Line Stand.” Sid mostly got demolished…a few times he got hurt, but…to the brothers’ surprise, he actually scored a few times too. And all of the Frazier brothers celebrated when Sid scored.
Benji’s oldest sibling was his sister Angela; she was extremely smart and going to community college; she was also the bossiest girl in the world. She even bossed Marcus—Benji thought maybe his big sister thought she was everyone’s mom when Mama wasn’t around. Angela still called him “Stinky” because she changed his diaper when he was a baby. But now there were no more diapers to change, so she tried to check if Benji was doing homework and who he was talking on the phone to and what music he listened to.
Benji’s other sister was named Nicole, but everyone called her Nikki—she was as annoying as Angela was bossy. She never stopped talking—she would say, “Bridgette saw you playin’ ball today, Benji” when she knew Benji wasn’t allowed to go to Thompson Park, although he went there to hang out anyway. But leave it to Nikki to make it into a discussion topic. Nikki was a reporter; if you did it or said it in front of her, might as well write a letter to Mama about what you said or did, because Nikki was probably going to tell.
As Benji entered his kitchen, it seemed like any other school day. Pops was gone to work, Mama was singing along to her gospel cassette, Angela had left for her classes, Marcus and Sid were eating cereal, Nikki was complaining her brothers were smacking and slurping too loud when they ate—but Mama knew there was something special about today. She could feel it.
So did I.
Benji couldn’t see me though. Or hear me. He never could.
But I’ve been with him since he was born. He could only feel me in his spirit at times and occasionally in his conscience. You see, I am Benji’s guardian…a shadow, but not an angel…definitely not an angel. More like an advisor—I’m his guide. Although Benji usually ignores my advice.
But I know helpful things. For example, Benji doesn’t think there is anything special about this day, but I know this isn’t true. Because on this day, I know that on five occasions, Benjamin Frazier is going to be at a crossroads. I am not permitted to see where the crossroads will ultimately lead, but I am permitted to sense these five crossroads will present Benjamin with choices. And the decisions he makes or doesn’t make have the potential to take him far from home, away from his place of comfort…and alter the course of his entire life.