17th
Once a Main Source of Conflict
Being the only native in a household full of immigrants, you fight your share of culture wars. And the surest way to inflame tensions when I was a kid was to tell my parents I was just hangin out. I dunno if they couldn’t grasp the concept or simply didn’t want to; all I know is the most tone-deaf was Moms. When you said “hang out,” she heard “party.” (Hang out? Party! Hang out? Party?) She assumed the guests would number a hundred or more, the contraband would be conspicuous and the women would be licentious. In the end, I’d just wind up disappointing her. “I’m not that cool,” I used to say.
In reality, there probably wasn’t more than 10 of us, the contraband was watered-down and the women, if there were any, were all unavailable. But best believe we had us a good time. Because then as now, it was Friday night, the weather was cooperating, the rooftop was open and Large Professor was raining fire on the track.
No doubt she hears me now. She’ll probably call me later today and inquire into my evening plans. And faster than I can turn down this joint to answer her—“I know,” she’ll blurt out all proud-like. “Just hangin out!”
Long live the peace.
~ Filibuster Rhymes
