29. Feedback & Backlash

You can please some of the people all of the time. You can please all of the people some of the time. But you can't please all of the people all of the time.

"P" wrote:

Your writing skills are amazing. I am looking forward to more installments of your blog.

"J" wrote:

Wow! Powerful stuff! Sad...tragic...but well-written and very powerful! I hope it helps you to heal.

"C" wrote:

We are reading - rest assured of that! I have to say that this is a great story man - keep them coming.

And then there's "K":

HEY CHICO,

IF YOU DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY POSITIVE THAN SAY NOTHING AT ALL..... WE ARE NOT YOUR PUNCHING BAGS, FOR YOU TO INSULT, AND THIS HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH FRIENDSHIP OR SADNESS. YOU JUST CAN'T SAY WHAT YOU LIKE AND GET AWAY WITH IT. THIS IS NOT FUNNY, AND I FIND NO HUMOR IN WHAT YOU HAVE WRITTEN. SO PLEASE TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST OF PEOPLE THAT YOU DAILY INSULT.....!!!!!

Let me crack my knuckles before I begin. There. Here we go.

As long as I don't yell "FIRE" in a crowded theater, as long as I do not slander or falsely defame anyone, the United States Constitution guarantees me the right of FREE SPEECH, which means I CAN say what I like and get away with it. This is not North Korea. No storm troopers will pay a midnight visit to my home to spirit me away, never to be seen again. This modern-day censorship is a load of BULLSHIT! We never would have had comic philosophical geniuses and songwriters like George Carlin, Richard Pryor, and Bob Marley if "K's" attitude had been allowed to prevail.

Secondly, I challenge anyone to find these "daily insults" of which "K" speaks. Read the blog. Read the posts. What the FUCK are you talking about, K? Was it the Tramp Stamp comment? If you have one, K, I bet it looks sexy. I have the right to dislike them and say so. I think women need to get of the hypocrite high horse and face facts. You can't sex it up and not expect some guys to be crass and lecherous; if you do, you are deluded. I'm not saying women need to wear bhurkas. But if a woman displays herself like a piece of meat, she should not be upset when someone tries to take a bite. :-p YOU CAN'T ENCOURAGE ME TO WRITE WHAT I FEEL, THEN TRY TO CENSOR ME!

And, in the words of Tonto: What do you mean "WE", white man? K is the only person who gives me negative shit about what I write. Why? I still ain't ready to shit flowers and fart lollipops babe! Just read the fucking blog AND GET OFF MY CASE! I HAVE ENOUGH PEOPLE SHITTING ON ME IN MY LIFE, AND I DON'T NEED THIS FROM SOMEONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY FRIEND! Are you the kind of person who would sit through a movie and walk out in the middle because ONE SCENE offended her?

I was born and raised in an Italian neighborhood. There were no black people here as I was growing up. I was the darkest kid in my entire school. For every one time I was called "Spic", I was called "NIGGER" ten times. I'll bet I was called NIGGER in anger more times than ANY of the African Americans who read this. I was beaten up almost every day, sometimes thrice a day; going to school, at lunch, and coming home. Those fucking WOPS would even beat me up on my way to church on Sundays! I had even been shot at with BB pistols and pellet guns. And what would they yell when the whole gang of them came after me? Not "Get the Spic!" They'd yell "GET THE NIGGER!" I hate that fucking word, and until people of slave descendancy stop calling each other by that name, I will use it to!

I heard all the nigger jokes:

"Hey, Norberto, what did God say when he made you? OOOPS! Burned another one!"

"Hey, Norberto, why do all niggers call each other brother? Because they all have the same father!"

"Hey, Norberto! At least I have a father, not five suspects!"

I remember when "West Side Story" came on TV for the first time. I was in the 3rd grade. My parents watched the movie while I played with my Hot Wheels cars. The next morning, I was walking to St. Anthony's School when about nine guineas walked up to me, snapping their fingers:

Snap, snap, snap, snap!

What's going on?

You didn't shee da moobie lasht night? (Guinea-speak)

No, I was playing with my Hot Wheels like a normal 3rd-grader!

Well, get dish: WEEEEE are da Jets! And YOOOOO are da Shark!

The Jets were the Italian gang, and the Sharks were the Puerto Rican gang. Since I was the only dark-skinned spic who displayed ANY type of racial pride in the neighborhood, they proceeded to beat the shit out of me, and these daily fights continued until I went to high school.

So please, K, lighten up! Read Down These Mean Streets by Piri Thomas. Things could be worse. YOU COULD BE ME! A miserable wretch of a human being who has not recovered from a terrible tragedy. I know, but maybe you are stronger than me, maybe you are a better man than I am.

For the rest of you who LIKE what I write, more posts to come!