Saturday mornings...


Waking up to the scent of our homemade fragrance tapping me on the shoulder. Either that or the two harmonizing voices of mom and pop at each other throats. Wondering who would draw first blood. Which would scare a normal kid...Not me...All I could think about was when were they going to finish so I could get my fade lined up on that Saturday morning.


Classic cartoons such as "Power Rangers" and "X-men" kept me occupied. Remember that n***a Zack?? Haha he made Power Rangers worth watching on Saturday mornings. I look back on those mornings and realize how happy I was in the mist of a broken home. Who would fix it?


I tried to make mom pies out of mud just to cheer up her Saturday mornings. I remember granny calling us around 10:30, silly me thinking she just wanted to hear our voices. Little did I know she was calling to verbally referee those Saturday morning fights.


How could I forget about my homies I rolled with? Courtney, Johntay, April, Jamie, Big Lenard aka Augy. Man, Courtney dad was evil as hell! I swear he was yelling "I told you kids keep them f*****g bikes out of my yard!" every Saturday morning. Then one Saturday morning we didn’t hear anything. His wife had blown a hole through his chest, leaving him motionless. He would never see another Saturday morning.


Mr. Broom came by to visit on the regular. He always kept a smile on his face. I assumed he was a man of importance by the way mom would rehearse her lines minutes before he arrived. Little did I know, the words she so cleverly assembled together would determine if he would sweep the house from right up under us or let us live. Normally as soon as he would leave her tears would roll "why moms crying on a Saturday morning?” Being homeless couldn't be that bad right?


The simple mindset of my toothless years could not process the complexity of a real Saturday morning. Mornings that in reality consisted of near death arguments, murder, marijuana, crack, and eviction notices. Far from a good Saturday morning I would say...


It was not until years later that I fell into the trend of looking at Saturday mornings as the devils time shine. Preying on the weak and ignorant. Beating on "we" the people just enough to have us running to the Chapel on Sundays.


Though I know the reality now, he cannot take away the fact that I use to love my Saturday mornings. A fancy house that comes equipped with a butler speaking French more fluently than the sharpest depiction captivated on television was never a good fit for me. Or maybe that shoe was put on a shelf so high up that my poor little arms could not reach it. Please do not misconstrue, nothing is shallow about a white collar American family. Somebody has to do it. I was just handed catchy word play during the raffle instead.


Back then I am almost certain Satan enclosed a contract in my box of Captain Crunch. Laughing at me with every bite I took. Forcing heavy debt on my mental innocence. Who would have ever thought a Saturday morning would come with such a price tag...Lord knows I am still paying on it.