Micky from Queens

I did not know what racism was, or that it existed, until I went into grade school. I grew up in Queens with my mother and my little brother Sammy. I was always told my father was gone on work, but I later learned my mom did not want to tell me he was beaten to death by a group of men in white hoods. My mother was still pregnant with Sammy and I was still in diapers when it happened.

My mother was a strong women. She hid the cruel world from me and Sammy for as long as she could. God bless here for that. My childhood was filled with lies but it was all done to protect me. It did for a long time. Until I had to go to school with the white kids in New York.

I knew white kids existed. I knew Mexican, Chinese, and Indian kids existed. I just never knew people thought we were 'different'. I only saw another boy or girl to play with on the playground. I never saw them as better than more, or worse than me. My mom wanted the very best for me and Sammy. So she worked like a dog to make up for my dads death. She was the greatest, and he work paid off.

She was able to enroll me in a private Christen school when I turned 8. On my first day, my mom walked me to the school so I knew where it was. As we got closer to the building I saw kids running from all directions to the biggest, most wonderfully fun looking playground my 8 year old eyes had ever been blessed to see. I went to go run with the other kids when there was a great yank on my arm. I turned and realized my mom had not let go of my hand and tears were watering in her eyes.

"Whats wrong momma?" I asked confused as to why she was so sad. She whipped the tears on her sleeve, but it did not help. They just kept on rolling down her cheeks. 

"Micky. I need you to know something," she said to me. "In this world, people have grown very cruel and very mean. People will treat you badly, but you need to know Micky, you are not a bad boy. They are the bad people. And what did momma tell you about bad people?"

"Stay away from the bad ones, and find the good ones and love them forever." My mom used to repeat this to me my whole childhood. Stay away from the bad ones. Love the good ones forever. As a kid, these words did not mean too much to me. I had never met a bad person. Now that I have grown old, I realized how right my mom really was.

My mom leaned in close to me and hugged me tight.  "I love you Micky, and your brother Sammy with all my heart."

"I love you to momma. Don't cry anymore today," I said to her. Almost every night, after I was meant to be in bed, I would tip toe down the hall and see my mom crying at the kitchen table with bills spread across the top like and ocean of pain. 

"I won't cry anymore today Micky. Just for you."

I kissed my mom softly on the cheek and ran into the school. Thats the day I found out people did not like me because of my skin color. They did not even know me, and the first thing the white kids said as I walked into class was, "hey look! There is a nigger in our class." I had never heard that word before, but I got used to the name calling really quick. I no longer was Micky from Queens. I was Nigger from the ghetto. It broke me. I no longer was human among them. I was a creature.