Single Mom (32 page)

When Jamal and I caught the bus to Madison, I noticed how people treated me with a lot more compassion. They were all willing to give me a helping hand with him, and they were a lot more talkative than usual. I don’t believe I paid much attention to that when I was with my own son years ago. I began to wish that I could do it all over again. Then I realized that I
was
doing it all over again with Jamal.

One woman even asked me, “He looks more like his mother?”

Jamal had them small eyes like his mom’s, and a pretty-boy face. I nodded and said, “Yeah, he looks
just
like his mom.”

That made me want to have another son who looked more like me. Little Jay didn’t. He only had my brown skin and my height. Then again, Neecy’s father was tall and dark brown, too, so that wasn’t even something I could brag about.

I kept thinking,
This is just what I get. No passing down of my last name, no looks or nothing.
All I had was the first name Jimmy and the skill of basketball to relate to with my son. Hell, any kid could learn to play basketball. Nevertheless, Little Jay loved me. That brought a smile to my face. I figured if I hung around long enough, Jamal Levore would learn to love me too. That bought an even bigger smile. Imagine that, a kid who wasn’t even your son growing to love you because of what you were willing to do for him, and the quality time that you spent with him. It was the same code that I had learned from being in the Gangster Disciples. The older guys looked out for the younger guys like real fathers should. However, once the love for money got to be too high of a priority, all kinds of loyalties began to be tested. As the saying goes, “Money changes everything.”

I didn’t even know most of the new guys coming through, nor did I
want
to know them. I was leading a totally different lifestyle. I was never a hard-core gang member anyway, I was simply misguided, like most of them are, desperately seeking something to belong to.

I got to the barbershop with Jamal, and a few of the barbers knew who he was already.

“Hey, Jamal. Where’s your grandmother?”

“At home,” he answered.

All eyes were on me, as if to say, “Who the hell is this guy that you’re with?”

I asked Jamal, “Who’s your favorite barber?” to break the ice.

Jamal looked around and spotted this short, young guy with low-cut hair. He had the look of a young slickster. He had gold rings on both of his pinky fingers and a gold chain around his neck.

“Hey, Short Dawg. You next. Aw’ight?” he said to Jamal.

The older barbers in the shop started grumbling about the youth connection.

“Man, we gon’ have to fire him if he keep taking all our customers away. That boy ain’t even got no mouths to feed yet?”

“I got one on the way,” the slickster commented.

“Oh yeah? And what do you plan on doing about that?” another one of those older barbers asked him.

“I’m gon’ take care of him.”

“Who said it was a
him?
” somebody asked. We all started laughing. I don’t think women will ever understand how men feel about boy babies. Even if you don’t take care of them, brothers are always pressed to have those hardheaded boys.

“The doctor told me,” he answered. “So you next in my chair, aw’ight, Short Dawg?” the slickster said to Jamal again. I didn’t like that nickname that he kept using. Those nicknames were an easy way of being sucked right into the gang crowd. The wrong people start being attracted to you simply because of the name. In fact, that’s one of the first things police ask you when you get booked for jail: “Do you have any other names or aliases that you go by?”

Jamal nodded his head and said, “Okay.” He was obviously impressed with the young barber’s coolness. I used to be impressed by those slicksters when I was young, too. So were my brothers. We all wanted to grow up and be slick ourselves one day. I learned my lesson the hard way about following those guys. A lot of them slicksters weren’t the best examples to follow. I was wondering if that young barber had something going on outside of the barbershop, if you know what I mean. Maybe he had a little extra money action in illegal pharmaceuticals.

One of the older barbers was finished with a customer before the younger guy was, so I told Jamal to go ahead and get his haircut. It was perfect timing to get him away from a flashy influence. I wanted Jamal
to learn how to honor and respect the hardworking older men who were not as concerned about flash and fast money.

Jamal pouted and said, “I want to wait for him,” referring to the young guy again.

I got hip on him and said, “If we want to make the movies on time, then we have to be out of here as fast as we can.”

Jamal cheered right up. “Okay.”

Mission accomplished, I told the older guy to give him a close fade and a shape-up.

The younger barber gave me a look as if I was taking money out of his pocket. I said, “No offense to you, man, but we have to split.”

He shook it off, just like a slickster would. “Oh, no problem. I’ll just get ’em next time.”

When we walked out of the barbershop twenty-five minutes later, Jamal asked, “So what movie are we gonna see?”

I had forgotten all about it. I thought fast and said, “Well, we can go down to the Navy Pier and see what they got playing. I think they have the Children’s Museum down there, too.”

He got real excited about that. I wanted to go to the Navy Pier on the waterfront for a while, I just hadn’t gotten the opportunity to go. So I waved down a cab and got us a ride. Of course, once we got there, Jamal was more concerned about the Children’s Museum. It was a good thing it was a Thursday night, too, because the museum usually closed at five o’clock, and we got down there closer to six. I had no idea. So by the time we finished looking around at all of the attractions inside the museum, it was too late to catch a movie. They all started at around eight o’clock. That meant that the movie wouldn’t have ended until after ten, and we wouldn’t have made it back home until close to eleven. That would have been cutting it too close for me to make it to work in time. Besides, I didn’t think it was right to have a six-year-old out that late on a school night anyway.

“Let’s get a video movie then,” Jamal said while riding back to the apartment in a taxi.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten to get the video card from Kim that day. Then we happened to pass a toy store that was still open downtown.

“Hey,” I told the taxi driver, “you can let us out right here.” I figured we could catch a bus the rest of the way. There was no sense in wasting more money on another cab. The bus or train would do just fine.

We went inside the toy store, and I knew exactly what I wanted to buy
him: a mini basketball hoop. We walked right in, found one that was sturdy, and bought it. Since we were right downtown, we ended up catching the train back home.

Jamal asked, “You’re gonna teach me how to play basketball?”

I nodded. “
If
you do your homework,” I told him.

“I do my homework,” he responded.

“And you get straight A’s?”

“Yeah.”

I didn’t even know if he got grades yet, but he sure believed that he could get straight A’s. If he was serious about it, I’d help him on his way, if I could. I had no idea how rusty I would be in schoolwork after so many years of not having any. Living in capitalistic America, most grown folks knew how to count money, but beyond that, we could all use a touch-up here and there on a lot of things. It wasn’t only me who was rusty. I guess that’s why older folks love crossword puzzles so much, to keep their minds sharp. It wasn’t as if I was a brainiac to begin with. Nevertheless, I was up for the challenge of helping Jamal.

We got back to the apartment and put the basketball hoop together. A lightweight plastic ball came with it. Jamal immediately started firing it up, and was making most of his shots.

“I thought you said you didn’t know how to play?” I asked him. I was impressed. The boy had good form with his shot. He had his elbow aimed at the basket and shot with good rotation and everything.

He said, “I didn’t say I couldn’t play. I just wanted you to teach me to play better.”

I couldn’t believe my damn ears! The boy sounded like a perfectionist! They were the best kids to teach because they were never satisfied. I used to be like that a long time ago, until I could finally beat Marcus playing. Once that happened, I started to get a big head when I should have kept working to improve my game,
and
my study habits.

The next thing I knew, I started talking basketball and showing Jamal a few things. Kim walked in on us hours later. She looked at the basketball hoop, towering inside of the living room with all of her furniture pushed out of the way, and said, “What in the world?!” Then she looked at me and shook her head with half a smile. “So, y’all are in here just having a
good
time, tearing up my damn living room.”

I laughed and asked her what time it was. I had taken my watch off once Jamal and I really got into things.

Kim looked at her watch and said, “Quarter after eleven.”

I was shocked! “Damn, I gotta get on the move then.” I had lost all
track of time. Funny how it flies when you’re having fun. “I thought you said you would be here before eleven,” I complained.

“I got tied up.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” I began rushing to get ready.

“Well,
I
wasn’t the one who got all wrapped up in playing basketball,” Kim responded to me.

Jamal asked, “We gon’ practice again tomorrow?”

“After you do what?” I asked him.

“Um, my homework.”

“And get what in your school grades?”

“A’s and B’s.”

“But mostly A’s, if you can get them,” I told him.

Kim looked at me, and
she
was impressed. “Well, isn’t
this
special,” she told me. “I don’t know what to say.”

I said, “You save it for later, ’cause I gotta get out of here.” I grabbed my things together for work and was ready to head out. Then I told Jamal, “It’s time for bed, man. You’re up later than you need to be.”

“Okay,” he responded to me.

I picked him up, squeezed him real good, and put him back down. Then I looked at his mother. She was all shocked, like she didn’t know what to make of things.

“And you,” I told her with a kiss, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

When I slipped out the door, Kim said, “I wish you could see me tonight, but I’ll wait until the morning. You just make sure you come right back.”

I ran down those apartment stairs feeling like a new teenager with a pocket full of money and no curfew. I knew that the transition I would be making with Kim and Jamal wouldn’t be all peaches and damn cream, but at least it felt good when it was supposed to. Those good feelings are what get you through all the tough times, as long as you had enough of those good times in between.

I felt real good about my budding relationship with Jamal, though. I was getting a chance to start all over again as a father figure. And the best part was that I didn’t have to change any late-night diapers.

was in a game of emotional tug of war, and I needed time away from Denise to think again. The only thing was, I didn’t have any long runs for the week and no one wanted to switch with me. It’s hard to get any swaps for the longer runs at the end of the year. Everyone wants that extra money pouring in before the holiday season. Longer runs, like anything else in America, meant longer pockets.

What made my situation worse was that Denise was constantly calling me up to chitchat. It seemed as if she was finally opening up to me. I was confused about that because I thought we were supposed to be slowing things down. I guess because of the problems she was having with her youngest son, Walter, we were heating up again.

I was thinking about Denise and her boys while loading my truck at the shipping docks. I had a short trip to make that day to Champaign, Illinois. I spotted Larry walking toward me. We hadn’t been talking as much as usual. I had cut back on some on my longer runs to be more available to Denise, so Larry began to team up with other guys for the income. For whatever reason, he seemed eager to talk to me that morning.

“Hey, man, you got a minute?” He was looking around and speaking in a hushed tone, like a man who wanted some privacy.

I was apprehensive and curious at the same time, wondering what he wanted to talk to me about. Usually, we only talked about sports, the job, and women, and not necessarily in that order.

Larry asked, “How do you deal with seeing a woman who has someone else’s child?”

I immediately started to grin. “Why, you’re seeing a woman with a kid now?”

He smiled back at me, still speaking quietly. “It’s only been over a month, but I feel like she’s sucking me into this thing. Her little girl is just starting to walk, as cute as she can be.”

I didn’t know we were talking about an infant. I said, “How old is she, nine, ten months?”

“Yeah.”

I cracked up laughing and couldn’t help it. I imagined rock-headed Larry holding a baby girl in his arms.