Poor, White, and Brown: The Ugly Side

It's very ironic that the four years I spent in Frye's Mobile Home Park & Hog Farm-a trailer park typically being a clear symbol of first world poverty-were some of the most enjoyable years of my life. Outside of school, my siblings and I were rarely short of total freedom. There were always people around, so we could always find something to do, whether or not that entailed trouble.

Also, in some strange way, though I was ashamed of my home, this was a time in my life when I feel as though my self-confidence peaked. It was during these years (8-12 years of age) that I realized that I was able to perform very well in school and in sports. I was one of the best students in my grade and was always one of the best players on my football and baseball teams. I also learned during this time that I had artistic abilities. I had a lot of friends. This was actually the only point in my life that girls wanted to be my girlfriend. I felt intelligent, athletic, talented, and popular. 

This was also the the time in my life that I realized for the first time that we actually were poor. Yet, it was a time when I was more sure of myself than at any other point before adulthood. Life was full of contradictions. Perhaps one of the biggest examples is how at peace I felt in the midst of chronic conflict. I'm not going to dive into any conflicts within my family here. What I would like to do is take a few minutes and recall some of the many instances of violent incidents that I remember in that time frame. This is not to glorify that conflict, but to show how absurd life could be sometimes in those years in Frye's Mobile Home Park. I can't stress enough that these occurrences were not the norm or an overall characteristic of life, but they did occur. The degree of seriousness varied drastically.

Here's another of my lists. Recollections of violent or dangerous incidents:

• A man in the trailer park who was our neighbor killed a stray dog in our front yard with a knife (fortunately I was not present to witness this).
• I saw that same man get in a fist fight with another grown man. It's was like a movie scene. The other guy approached and swung. The neighbor ducked and threw the other guy on the ground, mounted him, and punched him in the face several times. In the middle of this, a woman came running up and cracked my neighbor across the head with a tent-pole. My neighbor looked up at her unflinching, called her a b-----, and punched the other guy a few more times before stepping up and walking away.
• The same neighbor's dad, an elderly war vet, used to visit from Pennsylvania periodically. He'd tell my little brother and I that we could do whatever we wanted to him and it wouldn't hurt him. Naturally, we wanted to test this out. So, while he sat in a wooden rocking chair, we proceeded to hit him with leather belts across his body over and over (with his consent!). We hit him hard as we could repeatedly. This is no exaggeration: he never winced or flinched! This was not actual conflict. But, I have to at least give this event honorable mention.
• Once my brother and I were playing football in the backyard with two other brothers who were our same ages. At one point my brother punched the other little brother in the nose. Blood poured out. I've never seen so much blood to this day from a punch. The older brother was mad because this was not the first incident between our brothers, and he (the older brother) didn't want to get in trouble with his mom for letting his brother get beat up again. So, I reluctantly stepped in to fight the older brother. I use the word 'fight' very loosely. I've never punched someone in the face in my life. We grabbed each other and wrestled on the ground and choked each other for a minute until we were separated. I'm pretty sure I received most of the choking.
• Another time we were leaving the trailer of these other two kids after a conflict. They were deriding my brother and I as we walked away. Never one to back down, my little brother hurled a clump of tar and gravel that was on the ground toward them. It hit the ground, skipped up, and hit one of the kids right in the mouth. More blood flowed, and a tooth may have been lost.
• One time my older brother and I got into a brawl with six or seven grown Mexicans that lived next door (the previous neighbors had moved) in their front yard. I was around 11 and my brother was around 14. When I recall this, I remember us being the aggressors and victors. I remember spearing one to the ground and scratching their car with a rake. The actual reality is probably that we were kids and they were adults, so they weren't going to fight back. Or maybe we did win. No one except them will ever know. My memory compels me to feel like a winner.
• A woman who lived two trailers behind us (who was very tall and was a stripper) knocked a drunk man out by hitting him in the head with a giant wrench. I think he grabbed either his girlfriend or my mom and wouldn't let go. So this other woman came to her rescue by charging in with a giant wrench. Thank goodness for neighborhood strippers.
• A similar incident occurred outside of the trailer park. I was with my mother at the home (another trailer) of a family that moved across town. The dad was chronically drunk and also thought he was a pirate (long hair, mustache, bandana on his head, drink in hand, frequent 'Aarrrgghhhs!'). He grabbed my mom by the arm for some reason. I tried to break his grip, as did his wife. Our lack of success lead her to step into her kitchen and slam a wooden chair on the ground to break it in pieces. She picked up a wooden leg from that chair and clocked him hard across the head. Then he let go. The cops were called, so he ran outside into the woods. He spend the night there, so the cops didn't find him. But someone else did: poison ivy. Full retribution.
• One time two kids got in a fight on a school bus while it drove through the trailer park. Since they were outside of the trailer of one of the kids, the bus driver-driven by prudence and a sound presence of mind-let them both off the bus to finish their fight. The kid whose house they were in front of received a bloody nose. He was also the son of the woman whose boyfriend got knocked out by the monkey wrench. The apple didn't fall far.

There are more events I could think of if I tried, but I think this is a good survey. All of these events can be verified with my family. Life in those years for me was really characterized by joy, but there were still many incidents of conflict and violence that our environment exposed us to. I have to say that, though that I am glad that these types of charades no longer have a presence in my life, they have been entertaining to recall.