Growing Pains

On 602 Condon Terrace, Apartment #21, a large six-apartment brick complex with a large concrete front yard. In that front yard, four wooden benches laid out in a sideways L-shape. In the 70's, people young and old would crowd the streets as usual. Any bright and sunny day and I was always ready to enjoy every minute of it.

On a good day, I'd wake up to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking in the kitchen. After a brief stretch of my young growing body, I would peek out the window to see what was new on the block. Loving life and surprised by the slightest thing, I loved sitting out front of our three-story apartment complex. However, every time you peeked out the window, you ran the risk of seeing something that you didn't want to see. In the projects, it was usually something that would definitely get you in serious trouble if the wrong person caught you looking.

Although in our community, it was that very challenge that got the best of my common sense and I would peer out the window in pure inquisitive fashion. For some reason, the peek wouldn't last long because I knew that my grandmother had a nice surprise in the kitchen. I'd make my way to that raggedy ass bathroom. Yes, my grandmother kept a nice clean home, with the latest in 60's style furniture in the mid to late 70's, but she had no control over the bathroom's conditions.

Reflecting on this bathroom, imagine going into a roughly five-foot by six-foot bathroom that had a tall slender wooden door at the entrance. The walls were bright pink in color with the cracking of the plaster slowly creeping through the paint on the ceiling and upper corners of the walls. The cracks were so visible that you could literally draw a road map out of the cracks. To the right of the entry way at eye level was a tall rusty white metal medicine cabinet hovered over an old porcelain style sink that hung from the wall by two hangers with no frontal support. The toilet directly next to the sink was huge and could flush the skin off your butt if you sat low enough. Only the residents from European and Asian countries could appreciate such power coming from a toilet or bidet.

Directly across from the sink and toilet was empty space that we used for storing the dirty clothesbasket. Above it was a high tech toilet-paper dispenser. What do I mean by high-tech? Well as a kid I used to use it for making my G.I. Joe guys jump off of it like it was a repel tower. It had no real purpose and didn't really hold the toilet paper in place because the screw holes were larger than the screws that held the dispenser.

Looking into the bathroom, the tub crossed the room like a "T" with its rust stained drain that proved to be tougher than any drug dealer on the block was. There was a small, but usable window in the center of the shower wall. I definitely can't help but to reflect on the matching shower curtain and window curtains made of a polyester/plastic type substance. I call it that because no matter which way you bent this material, it seemed to stay that way like one of those bendable action figure toys where you bend the arms and legs how you want them and it just stays that way.

Then there were those one-inch square mix & match tiles that would make you have a seizure if you stared at one spot too long. This is just a small sample of the living quarters of a housing project, but at least it provided shelter.

Because my grandmother had instilled good manners into my body (mostly with the aid of a nice long leather belt), I always walked into the kitchen and greeted her with the biggest kiss of the day. To me, it was important to express to her how much I loved her and appreciated her in my life. Besides, that breakfast was well worth it. It was just the two of us, but there would be enough food for a small military squad. Eggs were cooked any way I wanted them, a selection of bacon, sausage, fatback, or scrapple; usually fried potato wedges or shredded potatoes, and either homemade biscuits or cornbread. Some mornings I would get a treat of homemade pancakes. Did she make them from scratch? Of course she did! She opened the box of Aunt Jemima or Bisquick and whipped up a batch of the complete powder faster than you could eat them. All she had to do was add water and pour it in a pan and within minutes, I had little tan discs flying on my plate for me to tackle with lots of syrup.

Unfortunately, this was the good side of waking up some mornings. Sometimes a nice hot breakfast wasn't what I woke up too. There were times when I woke up and walked out of my bedroom to find a hurricane had hit the living room and kitchen. Besides, my grandmother passed out in her bedroom; this demonic side lived within our walls. Family knew about it, but no one dared confront her about them. It was my grandmother's alcohol problems.

It was almost like clockwork that when midnight struck on some late Friday's, there was a different side to my grandmother. Anyone that knows her would tell you that she was a true Gemini being born in mid-May of 1917. She was roughly five and a half feet tall and her long bushy grayish hair, caramel skin tone, and high cheekbone almost looked as if she was part Indian. I remember as a child I used to comb her hair and practice corn rolling it to style. I'm sure this is where I got my infatuation with long hair.

Her eyes were also unique in color. They were a light brown with a green ring around the outer circle of her pupil. Her eyes made it that much more difficult to look at her when she was upset.

She was as strong as any man was and had hands the size of a large man with the strength that told the story of a hard worker. She had a mean bear hug that would squeeze the life out of anyone, but she always knew when to let up. One of her famous lines was, "Hug your mama and squeeze me as much as you love me!" I would always try my hardest to hug her and squeeze as hard as I could, but she would always give me that hug that had me begging for air.

After midnight, all bets were off and there was no hugging. She would go on a tantrum about anything that upset her from bills, to her two daughters, to her past. Most of the time I ignored it because I was young; but as I grew older, I started to listen and understand that her alcoholism was a result of a deeper and darker past… one that she didn't like to touch upon very often.

When my grandmother went on her rampage on some of those weekends, anyone could have been a recipient of her anger. Sometimes it would be a lingering issue bothering her. I remember when some drug dealers were shooting craps in the hallway leading up to our doorway. Being drunk and full of fight, she opened the door to warn them not to be next to her door. Being stubborn, they ignored her because she was just an old woman.

She boiled a huge pot of water and grabbed a hatchet. Once the water boiled, she prepared her ammunition by...