When I was young, I was a severe asthmatic.  My family didn't have a car, so getting to the hospital was difficult.  We lived in an apartment project on 38th & Cottage Grove in Chicago.  It was a dangerous area!  So dangerous, in fact, that taxi cabs and ambulances wouldn't pick up residents in area.  When I had an asthma attack, my mom and I had to walk out of the projects, and meet the cab on an outside street.  Having an asthma attack makes it hard enough to breathe, but even more so when you have to walk down flights of stairs, and then hike to a meeting spot with the cab.  Not to mention, many times my attacks happened after dark.  We had to pass drunks and gangbangers getting out of our building; then had to worry about stray bullets once we'd made it outside!  Every night after dark there was shooting in the projects!
 
I had a serious asthma attack when I was five, and my mother and I went through the trials and tribulations of getting to help.  Call the cab, wait a bit -- while I'm gasping for air -- for the cab to arrive, after the estimated time we threw on our coats, rushed down the flights of stairs, and made it through the obstacle course of death to reach our ride.  It was not fun -- especially while fighting for oxygen!  We got to the cab and my mom took me to Michael Reese Hospital in Chicago.
 
After the doctors did what they needed to do, they decided that I needed to be admitted.  I hated staying in the hospital!  I admit to being a momma's boy at the time, and I hated being away from her!  She did the best she could.  To make me feel comfortable, many times, my mother would stay overnight with me; sleeping in uncomfortable let-out chairs.  She still had to go to work, so I just had to get used to being without her.   After a day or two, the nurses told me that there was a play area on my floor.  Toys!!!  Something to help me keep my mind off of missing mom!   As soon as I was able, it was off to the play area!
 
On my first morning of play I met a friend.  His name was David, and he was a year older than me.  We hit it off immediately!  We played and played, only taking breaks for medicines and tests.  My cousin Gia, who was also five years-old, happened to be on the same floor.  I did take a couple of breaks to visit her.  Sometimes David's mom would sit in the playroom with us, while he and I played out our adventures.  It was a fun time, even with being sick and in a hospital.
 
A day came that seemed like any other.  Medicines, tests, and play!  David and I were playing with toys, while his mom sat watching us.  Just then, my mother showed up.  I jumped up and ran into her arms!  My mother introduced herself to David's mother, and that was that...or so I thought.  I went to go visit with my mom.  When I came back to the play area I saw David in his room.  It looked like he was getting a lecture from his mom, and he wasn't happy about it!  I could see him talking back and crying!  I didn't see him for the rest of that day.
 
The next day I woke up and headed for the playroom, as usual.  I didn't see David, but I figured that he'd be along shortly.  I was playing with a toy when he walked up.  He had a mean scowl on his face for some reason.  I said "hi," and he replied with "Why didn't you tell me that your mom was Black?" I was stunned!  I didn't know that it made a difference. "My mom says I can't play with you anymore," he added, then stormed off.  I was shocked!  I guess I should mention that David and his mom were White.
 
I didn't understand much about race at five, except that the concept was confusing to me.  Mostly everyone in my family is dark, and my hue is light bright.  My mother is Black with a tiny touch of Creek Indian, while my father was Cuban and French.  He's who I got the light skin from.  I never met my father, and at five I knew nothing about him.  I just knew that my family was Black, and they told me that I was Black too; even though I didn't understand why I looked different than other "Black" people.  I didn't understand what race meant, and wouldn't for years to come.  But, what the incident with David did teach me was that people might treat you differently because of being "Black."  You could lose friends over it!  People would stop liking you because of it! That was my early lesson in race.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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