by Mikel Kwaku Osei Holt
I’m starting my lobbying early. To everyone who’ll listen, and coordinators of the North/Lincoln 35th Annual Alumni Basketball game in particular, my message is simple: Let’s do it one mo’ time.
Obviously, with 3,000 people attending the game, there is still strong interest among alumni and community members for the event. And despite the rumors that half of the players had to be iced down during half time (there was indeed the strong smell of Ben Gay in the North Division high school gym drowning out the aroma of hot dogs and popcorn), I believe there’s enough life left in those old legs for "one mo’ go around."
Equally important, no one left the event without a smile on their face, having had the opportunity to renew friendships, reminiscence about the "good old days," and to bring old friends up to date about their lives.
Last week’s alumni game was a homecoming, family reunion and be-bop party all rolled into one. I haven’t hugged as many people as I did last Saturday since the Million Man March.
Though most of the attendees were a tad bit older than myself, I recognized most, since it wasn’t hard to realize their youthful faces beneath the winkles and graying hair.
Some of them were retired, a few announced second careers, 30-year marriages and bragged about children completing graduate school, or working at Fortune 500 companies.
There was a spirit of community and brotherhood at North that I hadn’t experienced in years. The attendees represented an era when we had a true Black community, when we took pride in our Blackness and subscribed to a cultural paradigm that defined our nation within a nation.
And that’s why I’m lobbying to "do it again." With one caveat: next year attendees would be required to bring an at-risk child. Whether a neighborhood child, a teenager selected by the public school system or social service agency, or someone you found hanging on the corner rolling a blunt, bring a young impressionable child and expose them to people who can talk about values, mores and the communal spirit that once were the hallmarks of our community.
Some may say I live in the past, but I counter that by saying we were--despite the system of apartheid we lived under--much better off as a people 35 years ago. Certainly, this was a stronger community.
The myriad of social ills that define Milwaukee today were pretty much non-existent when North and Lincoln high schools dominated the city and state basketball world.
Back then we had to worry about overcoming racism, versus being robbed by our own. Most of us thought about prayer, instead of being preyed upon. The epidemic of teen pregnancy, the nation leading high school drop out and incarceration rates were not a part of our culture. Most of us were poor, we were segregated and we were discriminated against. But we didn’t turn on each other.
We didn’t have to look both ways before we loaded our tank at the gas station. Teachers didn’t have to worry about being jacked by students. Drug dealers and other terrorists didn’t control entire neighborhoods.
We were second-generation migrants from the south. Our parents prodded us to get a good education. They took us to church; we ate dinner together and went on family vacations. Our parents fought to bring down the walls of apartheid.
Who could have guessed that another wall of cultural disfunctionality would be erected to take its place?
Thirty-five years ago, we not only knew our neighbors, but we engaged them as family. We didn’t have to form a block club, because we were in fact members of a fraternity, we were friends. Sure, there was an occasional spat; there might even have been a fight now and again. But they were generally resolved when someone threw a barbecue or card game.
Back in the day we helped each with yard work, tune up a car, or even asked the next-door neighbor if they needed anything when we were going to the grocery store. I even remember going next door and entering the house without knocking, because the door was left open. Like an African village, we shared, and cared and worked for a common cause, community upliftment.
Thirty-five years ago, it wasn’t uncommon to see a neighbor chastising a child for misconduct, or for a teacher to be sitting at the dining room table when I got home, because she not only felt comfortable, but was a welcomed guest.
Back in the day we referred to seniors as "Mr. or Mrs.," and accorded them the respect worthy of their status as community elders. We also didn’t walk past a senior carrying a bag without offering to assist. We also offered to cut their grass, or to shovel their snow, because that was the right thing to do. If they gave you a quarter, so much the better. But you didn’t ask.
Thirty-five years ago there seemed to be a man in every household, and he wasn’t there for a booty call. He was the head of the household, the father of the children and the husband of the lady of the house.
Back in the day marriage was the natural end result of a relationship. It wasn’t unusual to marry a virgin (that’s a female who hasn’t had sex, for the uninformed), and it was rare, if you can believe it, to have a child out of wedlock. And those who did get "in that way," "disappeared down south," returning with a niece, or a little sister that her grandmother cared for. The young "mother" was put back on track and graduated with her class.
I don’t know whether we had more pride in ourselves, actually followed the Bible or subscribed to a culture that was more conducive to community growth and Christian values. But I do remember finding it hard to find a girl who "did it" back in the day because they had more self-esteem, thought premarital sex was immoral (and surely having a baby was taboo), or had career goals that were paramount.
We were taught that there were two types of girls back in the day, the good ones and the loose ones. Girls were taught not to associate with the boys who didn’t treat them like a lady, with respect. They were instructed to stay away from the "slingers," and the popcorn pimps, because they were up to no good. Even a teenager without a job was not dateable material. And, by the way, "who’s his parents, and what church does he go to?" was a common question girls got from their parents.
Boys back in the day grew up just as fast as they do today, but we were geared to the Boys Club (girls weren’t allowed back then), to the "Y," church, scouts or a dozen other activities.
I frequently found myself accompanying my father or uncles to a neighborhood bar, where I would sit on the stool as the men talked about manhood, hard work, survival skills, and how they weren’t going to let the "White" man hold them down.
You might think that environment wasn’t conducive to a proper upbringing, but listening to the adult men lying about their sexual prowess during a game of pool, or talking politics, sports or current events was an educational experience that has stayed with me over the years. It was a rite of passage through which you learned the parameters of manhood.
They were often loud, boisterous and full of themselves. But they were good, proud Black men, much, I assume, like my African ancestors whose responsibility it was to take my distant cousins through their rites.
Obviously, the difference today and back in the day was that we were part of a community where real men influenced our development. Back in the day, 80% of all Black families were two parents. Today, less than 35% are. Back then, the Black nuclear family was the rule, not the exception.
Trace most of our social ills today and you’ll discover that most of the criminals, high school drop outs, drug dealers and gangsta’ wanna be’s come from single parent households.
Black people--including our leaders--don’t want to dialogue about the link between out-of-wedlock birth and the societal crisis we find ourselves in today. If you read the series in the "Journal Sentinel" that started this past weekend about the gang of thugs who have robbed, raped and murdered, there is a common thread: all of them are from single parents households and didn’t have a male influence in their lives. That’s startling! But it’s a reality that is slowly overtaking our community.
Thirty-five years ago our community stressed the importance of education. Our grandparents moved "up north" for jobs and educational opportunities for their children. Many in my generation were the first to attend college. We were raised to value education. It was our springboard to success, and would ensure that we did not have to go through the tribulations that my parents did.
Today, we are looking at a 50% Black drop out rate, 60% for Black males. Children are ridiculed for carrying books home. Their illiterate parents fight with teachers. Many not only don’t value education, but also spurn it.
God help us.
Thirty-five years ago we maintained our lawns, stopped people from littering our neighborhoods, and actually communicated with police who walked a beat. We knew him by name, and even if he was a racist, or at least prejudiced, we could still call on him to intercede in a neighborhood or family problem.
Back in the day, our community revolved around spirituality, unity and a pride in being Black. We identified with the Motherland, and declared for the world to hear that "we are Black and proud."
The community I grew up in 35 years ago was definitely not a utopia, but in comparison to today, it was pretty close.
That’s why I’m proposing another alumni game. This time let’s give them something to go along with the entertainment, let’s provide them with an education and tell them the story of a galaxy far, far away, where Black people loved and helped each other, where we had safer streets, Black nuclear families and cultural pride. Who knows, we may be able to convince a few to recreate that community, so they can look back in 35 years and talk of the good old days. And mean it.
Hotep
