I miss Smokey. The all black cat we had growing up.
the other Smokey that replaced him.
Soul Train Saturdays.
the morning cartoons before.
the six finger late night Chiller ad for horror movies.
Drive In theater with Kung fu flicks.
I miss my Uncle Mickey, and watching him dance on Soul Train.
Grandad, “Tinker” who could whip yo ass on his pool table over beers.
my grandma who could didn’t care what I did for a living.
Big Nanny, who smoked, drank beer, and played Parcheesi until she died.
when people had a conversation.
when you could be wrong.
when competition wasn’t everything.
when people said thank you and pardon me.
when you had a moment to yourself.
when people didn’t stress it.
when you fought one on one.
I miss playing Skellies.
Handball.
Chinese handball.
Horse.
Stickball.
Red light green light.
I miss REAL chopped chee sandwiches from REAL bodegas.
I miss REAL dollar slices with REAL cheese.
I miss “My word is bond”, followed by, “and bond is life.”
moms “piscetti” with meatballs.
moms collards with smoked turkey instead of pork.
I miss real HipHop.
real HipHop.
REAL HipHop.
passing the mic.
my college Student Union.
the Bridge.
wearing overlaps.
British Walkers.
Playboys.
denim Lee suits.
sharkskin ANYTHING.
I miss bushwhacking upstate.
archery.
rifles.
a sense of discipline, respect, and guidance.
that bugle in the morning.
talks with Father D.
cadence.
I miss winning that year.
I miss the Forty Doo Wop.
throwing stars.
the first fail with nunchucks.
the second fail with nunchucks.
block parties.
WHOLE family BBQs.
natural beauty.
quality.
keeping it real.
that “what’s up” nod.
that genuine smile of peace.
that fist bump.
that respect for your own and others.
when the word “brotha” and “sista”was better than “nigga” and “bitch”.
I miss that love.
I miss culture.