Testin' My Gangsta (or lack thereof...)

The other day, I was sitting my office and my co-worker's son comes in. We begin talking (you know about random stuff) and I asked him if he was going to play football with his dad. He told me that he didn't like that stuff and when he grew up, he wanted to be a figure skater.

A WHAT?!!!

What is this world coming to? Kids wanting become figure skaters and choreographers with lisps... I think it's the case of having too many hugs and too much Internet access. Nowadays, kids are being raised to be soft. When I was growing up in my hometown of Chicago, kids were raised to be different... let me take you down Memory Lane to show you how a real man is born.

November 1995.

Won Fish, myself and our teammate J are riding home from football practice. As we were waiting for our train to arrive, two young men walk next to us and begin to engage us in conversation. They complimented us on our attire as well as accessories. While this might seem like a normal scene to some, it sure in the hell wasn't.

The following is a transcript of what took place:

Young Man #1 (YM1):
What up, Joe dem some nice J's you got on!
Young Man #2 (YM2):
Fa sho, where you get dem from, Joe?
J (visibly shaken, in a soft, scared voice): The store?
YM1:
How much you spend on dem?
J (looking like he's about to piss on himself): My mama bought 'em for me
Me:
(visibly annoyed) Shut up, J!
YM1 (looking at Won): How much loot you got on you?
Won (digs in pockets): I ain't got none...
YM1 (turning to J): What about you, patna? How much you holdin'?
J: (shaking) I got a dollar!
YM1 and YM2: (simultaneously turning to me) What about you, quiet guy?
Me: I got some loot but y'all ain't getting' it!
Me:
(thinking to self)
These dudes are trying to test me - but I ain't even about to go out like that. Gotta keep it real, son! Mama Sharon didn't raise no punks! I was taught to stand up for myself, be a man and don't take anything from anyone plus, I got my boys to back me up.

To make a long story short, I am glad I was blessed with speed and agility because I surely needed it that day. I still didn't show any weakness though and I'm proud of that (even though my pride almost resorted in a major ass kickin'). I also earned respect (although I lost it when I started screaming for help, but that's beside the point).

With that being said, I implore all of you stop the coddling of these youth. Parents, it starts with you. Stop naming your children names that will get their asses beat.

For example, Little Blaine might sound adorable on the birth certificate  - but it's an open invitation for Atomic Wedgies for the remainder of his scholastic career. Don't let him suffer the beat down of his humanity.

Be like me: name your children intimidating names. All of my offspring will have names like Rock, Concrete, Granite, etc. No one will EVER punk them. Heed my advice and we will have less triple axels to watch...

I'm out - have a good weekend!

Jorge.