Excerpt STICKS AND STONES I was takin Li'l Brotha Man ta Little Bit's place ta spend tha weekend wit' us when... "Daddy?" "Yeah, my man?" "What's a faggot?" Day-am, where the fuck that come from? Li'l Brotha Man is just too fuckin much. He smarter than I was when I was his age. But since he started school, he be askin even mo' questions. He say his teacher tells him not ta be afraid of askin, and I don't think he should be. But sometimes, them questions just be wild.... "Daddy, what are the clouds made of?" "Daddy, how does the sun know when to come out?" "Daddy, how does the moon know when to come out?" "Daddy, if the world is round, how come when it turn we don't fall off?" "Daddy, if there is a God, how come we can't see him?" "Daddy, how do we know God is a him?" "Daddy, how do they get the Rice Krispies to talk to me?" But this question was straight-up wack. Well, I guess it ain't that tha question was wack but that he was askin it. I mean, he was only five. So, I just had ta know... "Where you hear that word?" I asked, tryin ta look at him and drive at tha same time. "Terrence." "Terrence? Who he?" "Remember, Daddy, he's my friend from school." "Oh, yeah." "He has a twin sister. Her name is Theresa." "Uh-huh...did he call you that word?" "No. He said that's what his daddy called Michael Jackson." "Michael Jackson?" "Yes. I asked him what it mean, but he didn't know. He said that his daddy said it because he didn't want him to watch Michael on TV because of what he did to those boys." "Did his daddy say what Michael did?" "That Michael touched them, and that he slept in the same bed with them." Me 'n' Sunshine had already talked ta him about lettin people "touch" him, so I know I ain't had ta go over that again. Li'l Brotha Man, he real sharp. But this? I had ta take a real deep breath. "Li'l Brotha Man, listen ta me real close, a'ight?" He folded his hands in his lap, his eyes wide, and looked at me. "Yes." "We don't know if Michael did anything ta them boys...they just allegations. Can you say that word? A-lee-gay-shuns." "A-lee-gay-shuns." He just loved soundin words out. "Right." "What does that word mean, Daddy?" "A allegation is somethin that ain't been proved yet. You know, it's just one person's word against another. So we don't know if what them boys say is true or not." "You mean...they could be tellin a fib?" "Yeah, they could be tellin a fib." "Why would they do that?" "I don't know...maybe cuz they parents know they can get some money from Michael.... Anyway, we don't know if anything happened, so it ain't right ta prejudge somebody. You know what that word mean, prejudge?" "Pre-judge? I think so. Is that when you think something about someone without knowing anything about them?" "Yeah. How you know that?" "We talked about that in class. Misses Scott says it's not nice to prejudge." "That's right. And you wouldn't want nobody saying things about you that ain't true, or prejudgin you by what somebody else say, right?" He shook his head. "No." "So, I don't want you going 'round sayin things you don't know ain't true or not." "OK, Daddy." He smiled. He seemed a'ight wit' what I said. I was glad, cuz explainin shit ta him is hard. But then... "Daddy?" "Yeah?" "You didn't answer my question." Day-am ...I almost got away. I tried playin it off. "What question?" But he wasn't havin it. "What is a faggot?" Shit. What tha fuck do I say? This is one of them times when bein a parent ain't tha least bit cute. You gotta explain things that are hard ta explain, 'specially when they so young. I took another deep breath. "Li'l Brotha Man, it's a bad word...some people use it when...well, they say it ta boys who...boys who don't act like boys." "Boys who don't act like boys...? What do you mean, Daddy?" "Uh..." Day-am, where's Little Bit when I need him? This is somethin he be good at. "Some boys don't wanna be boys...they wanna be girls...see, there are boy things and girl things...like, jumpin rope is a girl thing, and if you see a boy doin that, jumpin rope wit' girls, people will say that he trying ta be a girl, that he is...that word." Tha tip of his left thumb went inta his mouth. He was thinkin. It reminded me of...me. "So Terrence's daddy said that because Michael jumps rope with girls?" I chuckled. "No, Li'l Brotha Man. I guess Terrence's daddy called Michael that cuz...some people think that Michael don't act like a man...cuz he wear makeup, and he got a high-pitch voice...but you callin somebody outa they name when you do that, and it ain't right." "So it's not a nice word?" "No, it ain't, and I don't want ya usin it or callin somebody it. You don't like it when somebody calls you a bad word, right?" He nodded. "No, I don't." "So, don't do it ta nobody. It's like you prejudgin somebody cuz of the way they look, or act or talk, or sound." He understood; I could tell by tha look on his face. We was quiet fuh a bit, and I was able ta breathe a big mutha-fuckin sigh of relief. I smiled. "You like Michael?" "Yes, I do. But Terrence says I shouldn't." "Well, if you like him, you like him. Don't be listenin ta what Terrence say. People always comin down on Michael. I mean, I don't really like him, but it prob'ly aint' easy fuh him, bein tha richest Black man in tha world." He looked at me like I was buggin. "Michael Jackson is Black, Daddy?" "Yeah, he Black. Whatcha think he is?" "He looks white!" "I know he do, Li'l Brotha Man, but he Black." I laughed. Excerpted from 2nd Time Around by James Earl Hardy. Copyright © 1996 by James Earl Hardy. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
