I Ain't Scared of You (2 page)

My brother would be lookin' at mine, and then he'd start complaining to my grandfather—which was the
wrong
thing to do.

“Granddaddy, he got mo' than me!”

My granddaddy'd tell him: “Ain't nobody got mo'! Ain't nobody got mo'!”

“Yes, he do! Everybody got mo!”

Then my granddaddy would just get mad at all of us. He couldn't just get mad at one of us. He had to get us all.

“Ain't nobody got—You know what? Go to bed! All y ‘all, go to bed!”

It'd be two o'clock in the afternoon. “Go to bed!”

We all laying up in the bed, the lights out. We just layin' there, eyes wide open, mad. That was motherfuckin' torture. We all in the bed, can't go to sleep. My granddaddy would peek in the room and be like, “Close ya eyes! Close ya eyes!”

Two o'clock in the goddamned afternoon! You hear all the other kids playing outside and shit: “One potato, two potato, three potato, fo' . . .” We can't even look out the window. We just laying in the bed, 'cause my brother done said I had more ice cream. Ain't that some shit?

I used to go to all kinds of lengths to get some snacks. I'll never forget the time my grandmother took me and my sister with her to the market. We walkin' around, and I saw this bag of marshmal-lows I wanted. And I kept asking her to get us some marshmallows or something. She kept telling me no. So I thought,
Fuck it. I'll get some for my damn self.

Soon as she walked out of the aisle, I broke open a pack of marshmallows and started diggin' one of them sum'bitches out with my fingers. Man, it was good.

So I'm tryin' to eat that muh'fucka fast—before my grandmother came back and caught me.

Too late.

She came walking 'round that corner, man, I got scared as hell. I started tryin' to chew all fast. Big Mama saw me and was like, “Boy, what you eatin'?”

I was like
“mmnumphin'.”
I'm trying to lie, but my black ass got white powder all around my lips.

She walked up on me and was like, “So what's that in yo' mouth?”

I couldn't just start chewing in front of her, so I just started to suck on that motherfuckin' marshmallow, tryin' to get that bitch to dissolve. My cheeks all sunk in and shit. I'm thinkin' if I suck it down, she won't get me.

But you wasn't just puttin' anything over on my grandmother. She was gon' catch my ass. “Spit it out!” she said. I'm still bullshit-tin' like I don't have anything. Sucking, sucking.

Man, don't you know she just started diggin' in my mouth? Right there in the aisle. Pieces of marshmallow all on her fingers and shit. “Gimme that! Give it here, got-dammit!” I'm busted like a muh'fucka.

Boy, she tore my ass up when we got home.

I remember one time, I stole a candy bar. I had wanted me some sweets, so I took it. I had really went in there to steal this rubber ball. Me and my friends had knocked our ball on the roof, so I went in to Stanle's Store to get another one.

By me not knowing how to steal, I told on my damn self. I'm walking all around the store. First of all, I looked like I ain't have no money. Second of all, I ain't have no note. You know, back then, a lil' muh'fucka wanted somethin' from the store, he had to have a note from his mama.

So I'm walkin' around. I see the ball. I put that ball in my draws and tried to leave.

Now, the man who owns the store sees me, right? And he know ain't
no
eight-year-old with a dick like
that.
So either I was stealin' or I had the blue balls.

Anyway, I made it to the door. The man was gon' let me leave with the ball, too. Now, I done made it to the door—but I wanted some sweets. So I turned my black ass aroun' and gon' steal me a Baby Ruth!

I put the Baby Ruth in my shirt, started walking toward the door. So now, it looked like I had titties—huge, deformed cancer breasts
—and
a big-ass dick.

That old man caught me at the door. He said, “What you got?” I said, “I ain't got nothin'.” He knew me, so at first he threatened to call my mama. But then he said, “Tell you what. I'm gon' let you have the candy and the ball. But first, you gotta take that ball out of your pants and the candy out your shirt and walk out of here with it in your hand.”

I walked out, and at first, didn't understand the message. But when I got older, I understood: He had given me a break, but he didn't want me hiding the truth. Own up to what you do. We all will get breaks, but take advantage of the second chance. That's what I learned—and I never stole again.

Well, not from him anyway.

Yeah, snacks, man. I wanted 'em, but couldn't get 'em. Even when we would go out, we weren't going out for good snacks. Like fast food? We never had no McDonald's. We had White Castle. Two hamburgers and three fries apiece, and two drinks to split between me and my brothers and sisters. You'd take a sip. He'd take a sip. You'd take a sip. He'd take a sip. And we used to fight about who was going to have the last sip. We'd all be looking, watching—making sure nobody else got that last sip.

Then after we did all that fighting, it would always be my grandfather who'd take the last sip. He'd just grab the cup, swirl the ice around in it and say, “Aw, we ain't even gon' worry 'bout it—
Slllllrrrrrrrrppppp
—Ain't no sense in arguin' over it.
Buurrrpp.”

We'd just be sitting there, looking at him like, “This nigga is
cheap!”

That's why I used to say that when I got grown, we were gon' have snacks and food at our house. 'Cause we ain't never have no snacks. No good food.

Just beans.

Northern beans. Red beans. Lima beans. Pinto beans. That's all we ate. Chicken and noodles. Chicken and fries. On Friday, we'd have fish and spaghetti. Saturday we ate in church, 'cause they sold dinners. Sunday, my mama made a big dinner. Roast. Mashed potatoes. Hot butter rolls. She made a cake. I couldn't wait for Sunday to come. Every Sunday, we had a good dinner.

Monday? Beans and rice.

That's why with me, it ain't about money. I'm doing great. I was doing great when I was poor. You couldn't tell me I was poor. I didn't know what poor was. We ate oatmeal and oatmeal alone. We'd eat cereal, and my grandmother would pour milk into my bowl, but you couldn't slurp that muthafucka. When you got through eating your cereal, you had to pour your milk in the next bowl for my brother n'em. And when he got through, he'd pour it in the next bowl. I ain't lying. We ain't think nothing was wrong with that.

We ate party meat—everyday. Party meat. I ate the shit out of party meat. Party meat, vegetables, alphabet soup. That was our lunch. Shit, I used to write sentences in the soup: “Help! Please, help!”

I ain't lying. I was trying to send a message, man.

When you opened our refrigerator, all you saw was light. Lightbulb and butter, that's all you saw. But we was happy as hell because I never had a sense of doubt as a little boy, I never had a sense of worry. I guess that's why right now, I'm not a materialist cat because I never had those things around me. Suits? Cars?
Shit, I didn't have a key to the
house
until I was a senior in high school.

We used to have this station wagon when I was a kid. And when we'd go somewhere, we'd all pop in the station wagon. That was when people could still sit on your lap. Now, you can't sit on no laps—but back then, there'd be eleven of us kids in one goddamn seat. And the windows didn't let down in that muh'-fucka, either. We'd look like the Beverly Hillbillies, everybody's face all smashed up against a window, complaining to my grand-daddy.

“Grandddaddy, his knee in my side!”

“Move ya gotdamn knee! Move ya knee. Move ya knee. Move ya knee. Move ya knee!”

That was the thing about my granddaddy: Whenever he warned ya, he would always tell ya things four, five times.

“I ain't gon' tell ya no more. I ain't gon' tell ya no more. I ain't gon' tell ya no more. I ain't gon' tell ya no more. Let me have to tell ya again.”

He ain't
never
say nothing once.

“You kids, don't let me come up there! Let me come up there. Let me come on up there. You want me to come up there? I'll come up there. But you don't believe it, though. You don't believe it. You just don't believe it. Don't believe it. Hmmph, he don't believe it.”

We'd be like,
Why does he always have to say the same shit four, five times?

Like if I was messin' up in school, he'd tell me, “The teacher wants me to come up to your school. If I got to come up to school, I'm gonna bust your ass wide open. Wide open.
W-i-i-i-ide
open. You gon' be wide
open.
Everybody gon' be able to see inside you.”

And he'd slap you in a minute, slap the shit outta ya. He just liked hurtin' you.

POW!

Bernie Mac, age five, with cousins Corky and Pat.

“Now, didn't I tell you something? Didn't I tell you? Didn't I tell you? I told you. You heard me tell him?”

Then my grandmother would say to him, “Don't say it again. Don't say it again. Please don't say it again.”

“Naw, I ain't gon' say nothing. I ain't gon' say nothing. I ain't gon' say
nothin'.
I ain't saying nothing. Hmmph, see if I say something.”

My grandfather used to give us baths. That whole scene was crazy. First, he'd spend 'bout 15 minutes trying to get the hot water to work 'cause our pipes would be frozen.

You'd hear him bangin' on the pipes for a long time. Every now and then, he'd stop to yell to us.

Tink, Tink, Tink.

“Is it on yet?”

“Naw, grandaddy, it's still cold.”

Tink, Tink, Tink.

“What about now?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, let me try this back end.”

Tink, Tink, Tink.

“Yeah, grandaddy, it's getting warm now . . . Yeah, now it's boiling hot.”

He'd get that muh'fucka to where it'd be like the damn swamp, steam just coming up off the water.

Then he'd just throw yo' ass in there.

You like,
“Aaagggghhh!”
Skin comin' off yo' ass from the heat and shit, and my granddaddy talkin' 'bout, “Hurry up and get you ass in there before it get cold.”

Then he'd wash us. Man, he would scrub us until we niggas was
raw.
You'd be bleedin'. I used to have scabs from where that muh'-fucka used to be scrubbin' on my black ass.

And then, after you took your bath, you didn't just let the water drain. Hell naw, not with all them kids. You got out, and somebody else got they ass in.

You'd be cryin', talkin' 'bout, “The water dirty!”

My grandfather'd be like, “Aw, shut up, boy. A lil' dirt ain't never hurt nobody. Ain't hurt
no
body. Ain't nobody ever got hurt from a lil' dirt.”

Man, my grandfather came to school with me one time. I was so embarrassed I didn't know what to do.

And you know kids. They parents come to school lookin' all fucked up, people are like, “Who mama is that? Who daddy is that?”
And you could always tell whose mama it was because whoever her child was, he'd be the only muh'fucka in the class lookin' at his paper and writing, tryin' to pretend like he was doing some work.

So my grandfather comes up to the school to talk to my teacher. “Uh, I'm Mr. Mac. I'm here for Bernard Mac.”

Then he'd try to use big words while he was talking to the teacher. “So, uh, what seems to be the
calculation?”

Everybody was looking around like,
What?
Then the teacher told him, “Well, Bernard's being a disruption in class. He laughs a lot.”

“He laughs a lot? I done told him about laughing. Didn't I tell you about laughing? Didn't I tell you about laughing? I done told you about laughing. Keep on laughing. Laugh one mo' time.”

Kids all teasing me and everything. I'm just sitting there all humiliated, like, “This
ign'ant
sum'bitch!”

And it wasn't just in my school when he did that. My grandfather always tried to use big words, and was always fuckin' 'em up: “See, boy, you know, when you get the job and it's
inferential,
what happen is, it
rederdefried
itself.”

What?

When I got older, I'd challenge him. He'd get tight with me—get really mad—when I asked him about a word. He'd be offended that I questioned him.

“See,” he'd say, “first of all, you gotta
abstract
yourself from all the
inferentials.”

So I'd ask, “What you say?”

He'd get tight. “Don't play with me, boy.”

“What you gettin' tight for? I don't know what you talking about.”