3 years later....
Lamont is in the bathroom getting dressed.
Lamont let's go!
I'm coming, mom!
Today I'm on my way to a funeral. My grandfather passed away. George Lee was not my biological grand farther but was the only grandfather I knew.
I remember spending the weekend at my grandmother's house. My mom would send us over there in the summer so that she could get a few days to herself
My grandma and grandfather had an odd way of expressing their love for each other and that was putting things lightly.
My grandmother loved her liquor and so did my grandfather and when they both got drunk my fun began.
Hey Shangpie and Boat. Hey papa! George Lee nicknamed me and my sister Shangpie and Boat. I never knew why he called my sister Shangpie but my mom said he called me boat because of the size of my head in proportion to my body.
I like to think it's because we spent many days on the gallery with his telescope watching the sailboats in the distance.
Papa can we look at the boats? Sure we can. We will do that later after I've had a nap. Papa took a lot of those in order to sleep off the liquor
Why don't y'all go outside and play? Ok, papa. There wasn't much to do on the gallery, 12 floors up peering down at the playground in front of the building. It was way too dangerous to go downstairs and play because at some point there was usually someone shooting.
This doesn't mean me and my sister were not entertained.
We would sit next to the door and listen to my grandparents argue
" fuck you"! " NO, FUCK YOU"! Suck my mother fucking dick. "Not before you lick my mother fucking pussy hole". Me and my sister would snicker and learn a few good cuss words.
I don't know if that was some kind of drunk mating call but after that, the house went quiet.
After years of hearing them fight and fuck it became normal behavior. My grandmother would toss on her housecoat and fix us something to eat and grandma always had the best food. While she cooked me and Charise would pick George Lee's corns on his feet as he laid in his boxers.
George Lee was a nice man. I loved me some him. He had salt and pepper hair and his eyes wear always red as fire.
I know now it was because of his constant drinking.
I spent all my time with him. I literally followed him like a puppy. We would take walks to the liquor store all the time and he always bought me candy. I either got a Baby Ruth or a Butter Finger. This was one of the few times I got to go downstairs off the gallery.
My grandparents actually had a garden out front of the building but as they aged the track from the 12th floor to the ground floor began to be too much for them. That was too bad though because it gave the concrete jungle some beauty and softened the atmosphere. Such a harsh place full of gangs and crime.
My grandma was from a farm in Arkansas and had the best green thumb in the hood.
Papa was the best fisherman and fish butcher in the world as far as I was concerned. I and papa had had a great bond. The birthdays we're even 3 days apart. I wasn't the only one George Lee had an Impact on. My mother's little brother.
My uncle Curtis shadowed George Lee and papa taught him the in's and outs of butchering fish and to this very day my uncle is still a fish butcher at age 61 but soon to retire.
Today is George Lee's Funeral so I'm getting dressed and my mom is waiting for me downstairs. I've never been to a funeral before so I'm too young to know how I should feel. As a kid with so much life ahead of me death was so new.
"Nugget" come on! I'm coming mom!
Georgie dies in January 1979 of cirrhosis of the liver.
YOU ARE READING
Hood Roots
Non-FictionThis is a story about a kid that grows up in the hood and overcomes many hurdles to grow up and live a less than hood life. This story starts off in Chicago in the '70s. Don't forget to vote for my book.
