....OF WEED, REGGAE, UNCOMPLETED BUILDINGS

Saturday

July 7

15:58

I heard the song as I made my way toward the rail line. It must have travelled a good 300 meters on the cool afternoon breeze to get to where I was. The instant my ears filtered the music from the wind, a strong wave of nostalgia washed over me, a reminiscence so strong, It flung me back to the mid 80s and some of the mistaken beliefs I had as a lil’ nigga. As I drew closer to the rail track and source of the music, the song became clearer and I began to sing along. I couldn’t help but smile at the things my mind was recollecting, in my mind eye, I saw my little ass kickin’ it wit my boys at Pius Record Stores on some no-care Tuesday night, listenin’ to music of all kinds. Simple days, those days were. We were lil small town punk asses wit lil worries.

Just before I crossed the rail line, my breath suddenly ceased in my lungs, it was automatic, the moment the strong familiar smell hit my nostrils, my breath was caught in my throat! Nope, the smell wasn’t from the Mary Jane them boys hangin’ around rail track were puffin’ on, the smell was much stronger than that. It was strong and fetid; it was the unmistakable smell of urine!

Can I confess somethin’ to y’all? If a forensic examination of the area were to be carried out, you can be sure my DNA would be found in those patches of uric acid spread around the area.

I was a few steps from completin’ the less than thirty seconds trip across the rail track to the bar where young men were shootin’ pool and swiggin’ on westernized local brew (native brew packed in tetra pak kinda pack), I saw a guy pulled out a dick to let loose a fresh spray of uric acid. I spat and quickened my steps away from the “grime scene” before I choked to death holdin’ on my breath. For a sec I had a flash forward, I saw the next day’s headline “Man Killed By Urine Smell.”

As I walked past the bar, the source of my nostalgia got to the chorus

Mmm rock me gently

Rock me slowly

Take it easy don’t you know

That I’ve never been rocked like this before

Anybody remember what song that is? That was a 1981 reggae classic tune by Eric Donaldson! Yeah, I told y’all my musical taste were wide and generous, didn’t I?

“Rock Me Gently” brought two words to mind. The first one is misconception and the other I can’t quite get hold of right now. *wracks brain*

Misconception

A view or opinion that is incorrect because it’s based on flawed thinking or understanding.

Misconceptions, I know we all have ‘em, right? I had a few growin’ up. But wait, misconception won’t really break down what I want to…I got it, the word I’ve been searchin’ for is STEREOTYPE!

Stereotypes

A widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or things

Are assumptions we make about an entire group based on observation of some members

Stereotype number one: reggae music, weed, uncompleted buildings and bushes.

Growin’ up, weed smokers were perceived, not seen! You never actually see anybody blazin’ that fuckin’ stuff but you hear stories that so and so smokes.

Back then, weed smokin’ was usually done in uncompleted buildings or in the bushes. It was like some kinda unwritten rule.

All the weed smokers I knew as a little boy listened to Bob Marley and the wailers, Peter Tosh and ‘em. I automatically concluded that folks that loved reggae music smoked ganja. I wonder what I woulda thought of my mum if she was into reggae. Right now, all I can do is shake my head at the lil me.

Stereotype number two: sex and the night

When I was 7 or 8 (my memory’s a lil foggy), an older female gave me the special privilege of lettin’ me “finger” her pussy! Nah, she didn’t give me the whole sugar, she jus let me stroke the cat. Up until that time, I used to think that people only got some action in the night. In my lil mind, you could only fuck in the night!

Stereotype number three: girls and jeans

The general belief back then was that, if a girl does not want to give a boy some pussy when she goes to see him, she should go wearin’ a jean!

Outro

As I grew, those stereotypes shattered one by one, mattered of fact, the first pussy I banged came to the crib in a blue Levi Strauss. Huh, y’all wanna know what age I had my first “pussification”? Hmmm, am not tellin’!