Poor, White, and Brown: The Jump
It's fun and cathartic to periodically share childhood stories. It helps me to preserve them, and I genuinely believe people like to hear real stories about real people. We all have them, and it is good to share in the experiences of others. With that said, it's time for another segment from me.
I lived in the dynamic metropolis known as Aynor, South Carolina from the ages of eight to twelve. Even more impressive, our lives centered on a local dual business venture: Frye's Mobile Home Park and Hog Farm. It's ok to be jealous. Aside from socioeconomics (we were all on an even playing field), Frye's was a very diverse place. We were white, black, Mexican, old, young, kind of poor, and really poor. There was frequent racial tension and violence. Among the very same individuals, it was normal to have days of irredeemable, friendship-ending conflict followed by days of adventure and laughter.
One of my good friends from the trailer park was a black guy named Jeffery. I can only specifically recall one incidence of serious conflict between us, which was characterized by antagonistic racial mocking of one another. I'm lucky he didn't kill me. He could have. He was bigger, stronger, and much more physically mature than me or any of our peers. He was like a grown man compared to my minuscule self. In spite of this incident, I think back on our friendship as a time of safety and genuine closeness and loyalty to one another.
One day when I was eleven or twelve-either a weekend or a summer day-we were playing outside in my yard. A combination of boredom, an adventurous spirit, lack of supervision, and a poverty-induced lack of risk aversion led Jeffery to vocalize the brilliant desire to do a front flip off of our roof. It was a trailer that was probably about ten feet or so tall, factoring in the underpinning. Using the air conditioning unit and a combination of junk piled up in our backyard, it was relatively easy for us to climb up on the roof. Jeffery made the ascent and my siblings and I waited excitedly in the yard.
As we looked up at him, Jeffery walked to the edge of the roof with a new-found hesitation. He rocked back and forth with a look of doubt that was less prominent before the reality of the height was a factor. He'd take a few steps back and disappear out of sight, only to walk to the edge again looking down with increasing fear. We responded with a boldness that emerged as a result of our absence of invested risk in the endeavor. As logic and youth dictated, we jeered him on with words that challenged his masculinity. 'Don't be a punk!' 'You chicken!' 'Do it!' "Stop being a b----!' 'You're scared, you p-----!'
This had it's intended effect. With his bravery in question, he straightened up and, in a moment of decisiveness, exclaimed 'I'm going to do it!' and backed out of sight again. He then approached the edge again, this time in a run instead of a walk. We were so thrilled to be part of such a brave task with no physical risk to ourselves.
He got to the edge and began his flip. It was in slow-motion. He glided through the air, slowly completing his flip. He actually made it all the was around. There was, however, a problem at this point. He completed the flip, but was still in the air and momentum did not stop as he was supposed to have forced it to do.
He kept flipping. Luckily for him, he was close to the ground when his second flip began, and his fall was broken. By his face/neck/shoulder hitting the ground before any other part of his body. We were silent. It was awesome. We weren't sure if he was ok, but we knew we were unscathed. So all we could do was wait to see if he was still alive.
The slow motion stopped soon after his uppermost extremity made contact with the ground. He laid still for just a second. He then jumped up triumphantly and threw his arms up into the air. 'I did it!' he shouted. Anyone else would have been seriously injured, but this was Jeffery.
We never had any doubt. He did it. We were all winners.
This was a slightly above-average day of a life in Frye's Mobile Home Park.
I lived in the dynamic metropolis known as Aynor, South Carolina from the ages of eight to twelve. Even more impressive, our lives centered on a local dual business venture: Frye's Mobile Home Park and Hog Farm. It's ok to be jealous. Aside from socioeconomics (we were all on an even playing field), Frye's was a very diverse place. We were white, black, Mexican, old, young, kind of poor, and really poor. There was frequent racial tension and violence. Among the very same individuals, it was normal to have days of irredeemable, friendship-ending conflict followed by days of adventure and laughter.
One of my good friends from the trailer park was a black guy named Jeffery. I can only specifically recall one incidence of serious conflict between us, which was characterized by antagonistic racial mocking of one another. I'm lucky he didn't kill me. He could have. He was bigger, stronger, and much more physically mature than me or any of our peers. He was like a grown man compared to my minuscule self. In spite of this incident, I think back on our friendship as a time of safety and genuine closeness and loyalty to one another.
One day when I was eleven or twelve-either a weekend or a summer day-we were playing outside in my yard. A combination of boredom, an adventurous spirit, lack of supervision, and a poverty-induced lack of risk aversion led Jeffery to vocalize the brilliant desire to do a front flip off of our roof. It was a trailer that was probably about ten feet or so tall, factoring in the underpinning. Using the air conditioning unit and a combination of junk piled up in our backyard, it was relatively easy for us to climb up on the roof. Jeffery made the ascent and my siblings and I waited excitedly in the yard.
As we looked up at him, Jeffery walked to the edge of the roof with a new-found hesitation. He rocked back and forth with a look of doubt that was less prominent before the reality of the height was a factor. He'd take a few steps back and disappear out of sight, only to walk to the edge again looking down with increasing fear. We responded with a boldness that emerged as a result of our absence of invested risk in the endeavor. As logic and youth dictated, we jeered him on with words that challenged his masculinity. 'Don't be a punk!' 'You chicken!' 'Do it!' "Stop being a b----!' 'You're scared, you p-----!'
This had it's intended effect. With his bravery in question, he straightened up and, in a moment of decisiveness, exclaimed 'I'm going to do it!' and backed out of sight again. He then approached the edge again, this time in a run instead of a walk. We were so thrilled to be part of such a brave task with no physical risk to ourselves.
He got to the edge and began his flip. It was in slow-motion. He glided through the air, slowly completing his flip. He actually made it all the was around. There was, however, a problem at this point. He completed the flip, but was still in the air and momentum did not stop as he was supposed to have forced it to do.
He kept flipping. Luckily for him, he was close to the ground when his second flip began, and his fall was broken. By his face/neck/shoulder hitting the ground before any other part of his body. We were silent. It was awesome. We weren't sure if he was ok, but we knew we were unscathed. So all we could do was wait to see if he was still alive.
The slow motion stopped soon after his uppermost extremity made contact with the ground. He laid still for just a second. He then jumped up triumphantly and threw his arms up into the air. 'I did it!' he shouted. Anyone else would have been seriously injured, but this was Jeffery.
We never had any doubt. He did it. We were all winners.
This was a slightly above-average day of a life in Frye's Mobile Home Park.
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