In The Ghetto ...

I thought the ghetto was the worst that could happen to me
I'm glad I listened when my father was rapping to me …
Eric B. & Rakim-In the Ghetto


As a kid my Dad was like a super hero to me. In each story he was the underdog in the fight of his life against the world and the hand life dealt him. As I got older he appeared worn from the battles and bent low by the immovable force of my mother’s remarks. “When are you going to stop this foolishness, Toney? The Lord has been calling but you continually choose to stay in the shadows. Only sneaky people stay in the shadows, Tony and I know you think you’re hiding but whatever is done in darkness will come to light. I’ve been in my prayer closet, the Lord has showed me things and all will be revealed.”

He was never holy enough for my Mother, he sought too many carnal passions and she never had time for that type of foolishness. Away from her, on his beloved long trips with Miles, Coltrane and Nat King Cole in the deck he was a different man. “Your Grandma Ruby was a domestic. She cleaned houses for white people downtown. It was good work for women back then, back breaking but steady work. She was able to bring us good food too. She’d wake us up, feed us lima beans and sausage or sometimes beans and rice. But she had to take the A train, you know the 8th Avenue line by herself all those years. I’d stay awake by the window every night until she got home. My Dad was a Pullman porter for the Pennsylvania railroad, so he was gone a lot my Mom said he spent most of his time and money in the parlor car. He was a frustrated man, you know angry a lot. I couldn’t understand it then. I just thought he didn’t like me. He was hard on me, yelled and hit me a lot. I tried to stay away when he was home, but the place was but so big. Being a Porter was hard but prestigious work for a man in our neighborhood to have. Everyone knew my Dad went a lot of places but he didn’t bring much back except funny stories and cool nicknames that made me want to be like the guys he worked with. He mostly came back with complaints about the white people he served. The shoes shined, beds made, pants pressed, toilets cleaned, and every time he had to say, ‘Thank ya kindly, Sir’. My father hated white people and that made him a bitter man to be around except for when he was drunk. When my father was drunk, he was the nicest guy in the room. He died when I was ten and I got locked up for the first time when I was thirteen. It’s funny how quickly life can switch up on you”


*Editor’s note: There isn’t a full version video of the “In the Ghetto” available so I had to chose another classic.