I remember waking up my first day of summer vacation. I just finished the fourth grade, my old man shook me awake and told me to get my clothes on. I remember my father being a real rough guy. There was no crying allowed and if you did, he would make you run around the block for hours. On this day of summer he took me down to the gym around the corner from my father's corner store. The entire ride over there was silent as if talking would ruin the moment like air does to fine wine. We got to the gym and my father turned off the engine to the car and sat there for a little. He pulled a smoke out of his jacket pocket and smoked slowly and calmly. He reached over my legs and opened a large brown bag on his lap.
"Get outta the car son."
I followed and stood on the side walk in front of the gym. A few teenaged boys were watching me closely in between moments of laughing and smoking.
"Ignore them son, I need you to listen to me closely. Can you do that?"
I nodded my head and look my father in the eyes. My father smiled and placed the cigarette in between his lips and set the brown bag on the top of the car.
"In this bag son is the only thing that ties the men in our family together. My father, your grandfather, gave this to me the first day of summer. Now I am passing it onto you."
I looked eagerly at my father and waited with my hands in my pocket. My father laughed and playfully punched me in my chest. He opened the brown bag and pulled out a pair of red gloves. They were old and dirty, where the once bright red the gloves once wore, instead, flaunted a faded and rustic look the way an old car would have.
"This is how you gain respect son."
I looked at my father who's eyes held some hurt.
"When you hear that bell, get your hands up. Take your time, bob and weave just like daddy is doing now. Wait for a shot and once that little white boy gets comfortable and puts his hands down. WHAM! Hit him with that left hook I taught you. Just knock him like you are hitting a home run for your mother. Just remember, never let any white boy ever call you a nigger."
"Get outta the car son."
I followed and stood on the side walk in front of the gym. A few teenaged boys were watching me closely in between moments of laughing and smoking.
"Ignore them son, I need you to listen to me closely. Can you do that?"
I nodded my head and look my father in the eyes. My father smiled and placed the cigarette in between his lips and set the brown bag on the top of the car.
"In this bag son is the only thing that ties the men in our family together. My father, your grandfather, gave this to me the first day of summer. Now I am passing it onto you."
I looked eagerly at my father and waited with my hands in my pocket. My father laughed and playfully punched me in my chest. He opened the brown bag and pulled out a pair of red gloves. They were old and dirty, where the once bright red the gloves once wore, instead, flaunted a faded and rustic look the way an old car would have.
"This is how you gain respect son."
I looked at my father who's eyes held some hurt.
"When you hear that bell, get your hands up. Take your time, bob and weave just like daddy is doing now. Wait for a shot and once that little white boy gets comfortable and puts his hands down. WHAM! Hit him with that left hook I taught you. Just knock him like you are hitting a home run for your mother. Just remember, never let any white boy ever call you a nigger."
