The Front Row

• My older uncle, Sheik Ali Mohammed Hakeem Akbar Khalid Shabazz el Hajj, is kneeling in front of his daughter with his arm around his mother wearing a sweater vest - a frickin' sweater vest. I guess that's terrorist chic. It was his camera on a timer that took this picture. Remember, it was 1980. Betamaxes were still being made. He’s the best story teller I’ve ever been around. I wonder what kind of writer he would be. Although he would have to sit still to do it, which is probably why he never did. He’s like a cross between Garrison Keillor and Ted Nugent. He fed me venison that he shot and butchered or dressed or whatever hunters call it. He took me to some weird party/barbecue where I had goat, and he let me drink all the Dr. Pepper I wanted. I was like Forrest Gump.

• My grandmother is to my uncle’s right. She was also an orphan that made good. Of all of my family she might have been the most stereotypically Black. She was like Aunt Esther from Sanford and Son if Sanford and Son had been written by David Simon. She wasn’t ignorant or uneducated. She just spoke her mind. She was also very well adjusted for having grown up a Black/Indian orphan in the 20’s and 30’s. She was always my sweet little old grandmother, minus the sweet part. I remember both my younger uncle and me, on separate occasions, mumbling that she made us sick. Her response was die and prove it. Her story really needs to be written and I need help with it.

• My mom is holding my sister. She’s the smartest person I know. She’s a walking encyclopedia and figures new stuff out very quickly. She’s also an amazing writer. She worked for way too long and needs to learn to ask for help. She’s the stereotypical oldest child who feels it’s her responsibility to fix everything. This whole thing, the chronicling of our family, was her idea years ago. She’s retired now, and these posts are my no so subtle pressure for her to get started.

• My sister was six months old in this picture. I thought she was superfluous, redundant, an extravagance. We had a cat at the time who felt the same way I did, and expressed her feelings by peeing in some flower pots. My parents started talking about getting rid of the cat, and I remember trying to sell them on the idea that it would be better to get rid of the baby. I can’t imagine that my sister remembers anything about Rockville. We moved down here when she was about seventeen months old. She’s the first real Floridian, while being the last family member not born here.

• Pimpin’s in da club. Check out my green corduroy Levi’s. Guess who gets his own post tomorrow.