THE PARENT-TEACHER CONFERENCE RANT

Well, another parent-teacher conference night/afternoon has come and gone and once again it was a complete, utter, and total colossal waste of time and energy. I’ve been doing these gigs for over a quarter century now and not once in all that time has even one of them come close to what might be termed productive, useful, or in any manner, shape, or form remotely meaningful. There is no longer even any Public Relations value that used to attach to them many years ago because virtually none of the parents of our students actually give a rat’s ass about the educational attainments of their little darlings. Let’s see, we do one of these per term for a total of two annually. Between the evening and afternoon sessions we rack up five hours a term and ten for the year. That comes to approximately 15,000 minutes, 250 hours, and roughly 10.5 days that could have been most definitely far better and more fruitfully spent. We’ve all, of course, wasted time in our lives but in my case I have far more years behind me than I do ahead of me and as we get older time becomes more and more precious. To completely waste it has become odious in the extreme!

I suppose on an elementary school level these exercises in futility may yet claim some validity but I teach in a large urban ghetto high school. Most of my “students” range in age anywhere from seventeen to twenty and twenty-one years old and many of the males sport full beards while far too many of the females are already parents themselves. Our student population has dwindled dramatically in recent years and this term my entire register consists of a mere sixty pupils. I saw only three parents in the evening and absolutely none the next day. This is true building as well as city- wide. Years ago when this place had a total enrollment of five thousand and my own register numbered about one hundred and sixty, the results were also less than stellar. Back then I might get somewhere around fifteen or possibly twenty parents who bothered to take the time and interest to even inquire as to the educational achievements or lack thereof concerning their offspring’s academic career. I cannot, of course, speak to conditions existing in suburban or rural school districts but I’m more than just a little familiar with what’s occurring educationally in our nation’s cities. Conditions are pretty much the same nationally and it has become quite obvious that at some point in the not too distant past a disconnect developed regarding the relationship between schools and the family.

For most of our history school systems and families partnered in the education of the nation’s young and it was accepted as a joint venture with each party having roles and responsibilities that complimented one another. That is now gone and in America’s urban centers it is gone for good. In the overwhelming majority of cases the parent – for there are rarely two – has become divorced from the education of the child. That has become solely the venue of the schools while Mom – and only rarely Dad – provides as best she can the more material needs. This attitude has become so ingrained in New York City, for example, that it has virtually no chance of being reversed. The afore referred to partnership has been disbanded, destroyed, and decimated and is beyond redemption and this does not at all bode well for our nation’s future. Throughout the millennia it has been first and foremost the family that has prepared the younger generations to assume their role as productive adults when it came their time to assume that mantel. Certainly, many thousands of years ago the educational system was far simpler but no less crucial for survival. A young man must be taught such skills as hunting, tracking, killing, and skinning game if the family and tribe were to survive. Similarly, the young ladies must learn the arts of cooking, making clothing, child rearing, and virtually anything else that went on in the home. As time passed, of course, educational requirements became far more sophisticated and complicated but nonetheless the family remained the pivotal and crucial element in educating the young.

As schools and school systems became increasingly formalized and professional, the nature of education changed but certainly not its primary function of preparing the younger generations to take their role as society’s leaders and contribute to the advancement and prosperity of community and country. The family remained the crucial element regarding that task and the educational system and the family unit remained bonded, vibrant, and strong – until very recently that is.

The family structure in our country has virtually ceased to exist in any meaningful form. It is not merely dysfunctional but rather has been destroyed (for further discussion of this crucial topic refer to previous screeds). Once the family no longer fulfills its essential role of preparing the young to be responsible, functioning, and productive adults the nation’s school systems – along with all other major societal institutions – by definition will implode and self-destruct. This is a given and there can be no other outcome or result. This can only mean one thing: the death of this nation! We live in a time when children are birthing children and there is virtually no mature adult in the home that has achieved success in academia. The vast majority of our young mothers are high school drop-outs and can probably read on nothing more than a sixth grade level. For generations education has been on the back burner but today it has fallen completely off the freakin’ stove!

Given this sorry state of affairs it is not the least bit surprising that our school systems in the inner cities have been virtually abandoned by those they were created to serve. Our schools cannot possibly function effectively nor can they successfully fulfill their primary task of getting today’s youngsters ready for tomorrow’s world. Without that traditional partnership between family and education all that awaits is disaster! Even when the school in which I work was full to overflowing the entire PTA could comfortably fit into the principal’s office. The staff here is encouraged by the administration to contact the homes of students in jeopardy of failing no matter what the cause. Phone calls and letters home are deemed crucial links in nurturing the relationship between family and school. I suppose it looks good from both a PR and CYA perspective, but it is meaningless pap and hooey for both forms of communication are almost 100% ignored by the recipient. In the rare cases of actual acknowledgement the parent claims she can no longer control her offspring or as one young mother asked her son’s teacher, “What the fuck you want me to do about it? Don’t never bother me again with this shit!” Yup, communication – it’s a wonderful fucking thing!

A few of us, thoroughly bored, at the last Parent-Teacher Conference Night spent much of the evening discussing the points made above and my colleagues somehow managed to deduce that I had become disgusted beyond measure by what has occurred in our schools and suggested that perhaps an attitude adjustment was called for here. Let me tell you, intuitive doesn’t even come close to describing these jackasses. I guess nothing gets by them! One helpful fellow agreed that the overall experience had become indeed negative but thought that if I focused on a few positives insofar as this wasted evening and afternoon were concerned that it might go a long way toward ameliorating my ever deepening dark funk. Man, is this guy in the wrong field for he’s obviously destined for a career in psychology! Such brilliance is hard to find. I asked this fairly young teacher if he could suggest a practical course of action for me in pursuit of an attempt to find some light at the end of the tunnel that would not turn out to be a speeding freight train barreling down the tracks headed straight for my sorry old ass! His answer smacked of utter genius. He smiled almost condescendingly and uttered but one word: Google.

Having pretty much nothing to do for the rest of the evening and the following afternoon, I decided what could it hurt? After all, it might do something to relieve this terminal boredom I was suffering through. I typed in parent-teacher conference, hit search, and was amazed by the vast quantity, the prolific proliferation of pure bullshit I think I’ve ever seen on one topic! The authors had to be steeped in Edu-Speak, thoroughly trained in Liberal Ideology, and were strong proponents of a concept we have come to call The Edu-Scam. Cindy Bond writing for something called Family Education (www.familyeducation.com), authored a piece entitled, “The Parent-Teacher Conference: Five Must Ask Questions.” Hmmmm, well there’s a novel approach – parents asking teachers questions about their children’s progress. The only problem here is that her basic premise is flawed, the templates don’t fit, and that damned dog just don’t hunt!

This all assumes that more than merely a few of the “parents” will bother to take the time or effort to write down and bring said questions to the conference. On the high school level at least this just ain’t happening nor will it ever happen again. Ms. Bond feels parents should focus on such issues as, “What skills and knowledge will my child be expected to master this year?,” or “How will my child be evaluated?” Both questions are, of course, relevant and germane and any interested parent would ask them. The key word here, obviously, is interested. Other parental-oriented questions posed by the author include: “What can I do to stay more involved in my child’s academic progress?”; How do you accommodate differences in learning”?; and finally, “How are older students prepared for further learning after high school?”

Yes indeed, good questions to be sure. They just do not apply to public inner-city ghetto high schools on any level. The parents of the vast majority of my students simply do not understand the language contained in these questions. They are largely uneducated and for the most part are themselves high school drop outs and we keep wondering why so many of our current crop of “students” don’t make it out of here with a diploma. This has actually become a generational phenomenon in which grandma, children, and grandchildren have failed to do what is necessary to be successful. Sometimes I wonder if it’s actually genetic and speculate as to whether scientists might one day discover a high school drop out gene. A few years ago, a student of mine actually brought his father in to talk with me. This oh so rare of occurrences literally stunned me: a real live honest to God bona fide FATHER! Oh be still my beating heart!!

After introductions, I informed Dad that Junior had already been absent from class thirty-five times and that his son qualified as a serial “cutter.” Pop’s reaction surprised me but it really shouldn’t have. He looked at his kid and said, “You’re a cutter too? So was I in high school!” The old boy had a huge grin plastered across his face and sonny was also beaming. They regaled one another with their experiences as high school cutters and Dad was pleased to find out that the pizza joint he and his buddies used to escape to is now the hang out for his son and fellow truants. They exchanged tales of running from school guards and the evasive tactics they employed. They also compared the number of times they had each been handcuffed by the truancy cops. Ah, bonding between father and son – it’s a beautiful fucking thing! They left and walked down the hall with arms intertwined around shoulders.

For all the Ms. Bonds out there please be informed that your world really doesn’t exist for those of us who teach in large urban centers. We’re literally coming from two different planets or perhaps parallel universes. An outfit called Teacher Vision (www.teachervision.fen.com) also ran a piece about parent teacher conferences but this time they were teacher instead of parent centered. The article, “Parent Teacher Conference,” which was excerpted from a publication entitled, “Classroom Teacher’s Survival Guide” explains that, “professionally conducted parent-teacher conferences can prove a most valuable strategy for improving student classroom behavior as well as enhancing learning.” I’m guessing that this may be true depending on where the school is situated and the make up of the student body. I can tell you with absolute certainty that these aforementioned lofty goals are unattainable in schools like the one in which I spend my days.

The article offers helpful hints as to how best relate to the parent sitting at your desk. It states that the teacher should never be negative but always focus on the positive and warns that presenting Mom with “a laundry list of complaints” will simply create animosity. So I guess I’ll tell Ms. Jones that her teenage juvenile delinquent is a snappy dresser and handled his latest arrest in a dignified manner! I should probably mention that he looked quite fetching in those stylish silver bracelets on both wrists. The piece also offers up additional pithy tidbits including not assuming that the parent’s “surname will be the same as the student’s,” and that one should not “make a big point of it in front of the parent.” Not bad advice really for anyone who actually gives a damn. I’ve had students who have three siblings and none of their last names were the same. That in itself is a clear, no make that shrill, warning of where this nation is headed. The article further recommends that the teacher mention any particular “special talents, interests, or accomplishments displayed by the students.”

Hey, good idea – we should at least leave them smiling. I guess I’ll point out to Ms. Jimenez that Hector is possessed of superior stomping and mugging skills and Esperanza’s brand new tattoo is a gorgeous example of the latest trend in body art while her six face rings really add a touch of character! And no, as the cliché goes you simply can’t make this shit up. We should also, the author admonished, “end the conference in a hopeful tone. Hope, of course, is a good thing. Let’s see, “You know, Mrs. Edwards I sure hope Jonathan doesn’t do too much hard time but if he does tell him I sure hope he manages to avoid Bubba.” How’s that for hope and optimism? Lest you get the impression that I’m simply a jaded and cynical old bastard, let me assure you that an amazing number of my charges have already been through the system from crimes ranging from simple turn-style jumping to rape and murder. Yeah, I’m quite sure that seeing Mom on conference night will certainly turn them around!

Yet another of the web pieces accessed through Google comes from an outfit called Reading Rockets. In an article entitled, “Successful Parent-Teacher Conferences With Bilingual Families,” (www.readingrockets.org) it explains in some detail how to find and use an interpreter. Yup, you read that correctly: bring an interpreter to a conference in an American high school, in an American city, in an American state, in the United States of America! No way in Fucking Hell! Uh-uh, ain’t happening, not havin’ it!! I know, I know. We’re all supposed to be ever so politically correct and play to the multi-cultural morons who are seriously attempting to destroy this country. We’re supposed to be so very, very, tolerant and understanding as we attempt to boost egos and foster positive self-esteem. Well, Bullshit! If these folks from all those wonderful third world shit holes from whence they came haven’t bothered to learn the language of their adopted nation then I have no need or desire to see them at a conference or any other damned place for that matter. I’ll be damned if I’ll be part of our current day Mollification Movement composed of true believers, blame America firsters, and our Liberal Fucking Elite! You don’t know my language – I don’t want you in my classroom! Which part of that last sentence did you not understand?

The article suggests that the classroom teacher should, “arrange for an interpreter,” and must, “enlist help to find an interpreter if necessary.” When an interpreter has been located, we must also make sure that, “this does not violate privacy policies,” in the school district. More useful tips include: training parents to become interpreters; reviewing educational terms and vocabulary with the interpreter; and, of course, we must “be aware of cultural differences.” You’ve got to be fucking kidding, right?!? Whoever wrote or concurs with this bullshit is no more than a saboteur Hell bent on destroying our school system not to mention the entire country. They no longer want America to be America but rather wish to transform it into nothing less than a third world toilet in which progress and advancement cease, poverty reigns supreme, and factional conflict and violence become the norm! The national interest is of no importance to these scum dogs, they lack any shred or iota of love for this country’s traditions, and yet when their patriotism is questioned they instantly begin hooting, hollering, and engaging in vicious verbal assaults!!

I have, however, a suggestion that would certainly liven up these morbidly dull and useless events we dub parent-teacher conferences. According to the literature, the parent is encouraged to come to the meeting with questions for the pedagogue. Below please find some particularly relevant questions that teachers in schools like mine may want to ask the parents. Ready, here we go.


· Why is your fifteen to seventeen year-old running the streets until 2AM on a school night?

· Why is your teenage son or daughter running the streets until 2AM on the weekends?

· Why has your fifteen to nineteen year-old already been arrested half a dozen times?

· Why is your seventeen year-old daughter only weeks away from birthing her second welfare bastard?

· Why was your son/daughter caught bringing weapons into the school?

· Why was he/she caught smoking marijuana in the stairwell?

· Why does your son buckle his pants around his ass?

· Why is the father(s) of your child (children) not living at home with him/her(them)?

· Can you explain the fact that you’ve never married even one of your children’s fathers?

· Why has your son/daughter been absent all but four days thus far in the term?

· Would you like to set up a teleconference call with your children’s father(fathers) from his(their) cell on Riker’s Island?

· How come I never see your daughter in class even after she takes her child to the school’s day care center?

· Why was your son/daughter “perp walked” out of here in hand- cuffs a few days ago?

· How many generations of welfare has your family experienced?

· When was the last time any of your children saw you reading a book?



These questions while certainly not your normal fare are in fact relevant, germane, and pertinent regarding schools like the one in which I work. To misunderstand that is to completely disregard the reality of what is occurring concerning education in urban America. It’s over and it’s not coming back. Once we have a system in which only the very few are well educated while the vast majority remain virtually illiterate, then the nation too is over and America as we have known it for over 230 years will have all but disappeared.

The next time a parent wishes to see me he or she will have to phone for an appointment. If Mom or Dad can answer two simple questions to my satisfaction I will grant them an audience: When was the last parent-teacher conference you attended?; and When was the last PTA meeting at which you made an appearance? If both questions are answered in a manner that shows me they have evinced an interest in their children’s education perhaps we’ll have something to talk about.


Much Luv Y’all and Have a Great Day
The Fifth Horseman!

THE GHETTO RULES TO LIVE BY RANT

Perhaps you’ve heard the expression, “it’s all good in the hood.” The fabled “Hood”, of course, refers to the ghetto, the projects, the tenements. No matter what terms are used to describe it, they all have the same theme and it’s identical in every slum in any city in the country: life is all too often nasty, brutish, and very, very short. The school in which I have been teaching for damn near a quarter century is situated in possibly one of the worst areas of New York City and virtually all of the students commute back and forth every day from areas that are extremely dangerous, crime ridden, and deadly. They view this joint as some kind of safe haven, their port in the storm. These folks are accustomed to violence, death, and general all around mayhem as the norm and far too many of these young people never expect to become old people.

As with any milieu, even the ghetto has certain rules, customs, and traditions that can literally be termed survival skills. Those who don’t learn them at a very young age can expect a significantly lower life span in an environment where it is already far too short. A few days before our Thanksgiving break, I issued the usual vacation admonitions to my charges. At the time, an empty suit from the Board of Education was observing classroom procedure and wound up in mine. I cautioned the kids to stay low and watch out for stray bullets and ricochets. I suggested that when home at night with the lights on be sure to keep the shades and curtains drawn so as not to make a clear target from the street. They understood that the warnings were issued only partly in jest.

The suit didn’t get it and instantly became angry, outraged, and even acrimonious. He reared up to his full height and, with reddened face, lambasted me. How, he wondered, could I dare speak to these fine young people so negatively and callously? How could I be so insensitive and cruel? He indignantly demanded to know exactly what the Hell was wrong with me! At this point, Shatiya quietly asked, “Hey Mista, how ‘bout you come and stay at my crib for the holiday?” She continued, “I live in Bushwick.” The suit promptly stormed off.

These folks are so used to the sounds of gunshots and sirens that they feel somewhat puzzled/perplexed if a night passes quietly. It’s somewhat akin to dealing with the concept of fresh air after a trip upstate. They don’t quite know how to react to it. These kids are not like most of us who by a mere accident of birth were born into middle class homes and raised by middle class families with middle class values. My students, through no fault of their own, were not so lucky. Most of us, for example, expected to see the ripe old age of twenty-five and most of us for most of our lives have attended the funerals of those who were far older than us when they died. Most of us do not expect to have family, friends, and associates who have been the victims of purposefully brutal acts of violence. My students live existences that most of us, thank God, simply cannot fathom or comprehend. They don’t come from the same planet we do and view us, for the most part, as alien beings from a distant world in some other galaxy.

Well, okay you say. What’s that got to do with those of us who domicile in the “burbs” where life is idyllic, peaceful, and prosperous compared to those ghetto creatures? They’ll stay where they belong as will we, and never the twain shall meet. If you really believe that, Numb Nuts, then get your head out of your ass so that you can at least walk a straight line! New York City, for example, is really very little more than utterly respectable to exclusively wealthy neighborhoods surrounded by shit, crime, violence, and poverty. Its surrounding suburbs, regardless of direction, are either becoming or have become exactly the same. The suburbs now boast their own ghettoes with their own minority populations that do not have anything close to middle class values. If you are at all familiar with the concept of “gated communities,” you know exactly what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter what urban center you choose, their suburbs are becoming “ghettoized” and their values will at the very least clash with yours. Maybe you can take the boy out of the ghetto but you can never take the ghetto out of that boy! Can we all say in unison, “Defining Deviancy Down?!?”

What other ghetto survival skills have my students been taught since they’ve been old enough to walk? Let’s see. When rounding a corner in a hallway or on the street, always make very wide turns so as not to get blind-sided by some cretinous pustule waiting for his next victim. Similarly, when the elevator doors open do not immediately enter, but stand back a few feet and survey the scene to ascertain the threat level before boarding. It’s little tips like these that just might help avoid serious injury or worse. At all times be observant and vigilant and know what’s behind you and who is on your flank. Try not to travel alone but always in groups and by any and all means never fall asleep on the subway! Additionally, when indoors at functions or gatherings, try to keep your back against a wall so you’ll have a clear view of what might be coming at you. We’ll have no Aces and Eights Syndrome here! How many of us ever have to give issues like these even a passing thought as we go about our daily routines in our own neighborhoods? My students don’t really have to think too much either for these behavioral patterns have become so ingrained that I believe they are virtually instinctual.

What else should be included in our Better Guide to Ghetto Living? Let’s see – of course! Never sit in a parked, unmoving car – you’re simply too tempting a target. Additionally, try to avoid anything remotely resembling a block party! Two students of mine recently attended just such an event in their Ghetto Garden Spot. Only one of them made it out alive. The survivor explained to me that he was in school merely to say goodbye. He and his buddy were standing on a sidewalk doing nothing to nobody when a car came screaming around a corner at high speed. Multiple shots were fired and one of them took a bullet in the head. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The other kid got so scared that he literally “soiled” himself. He was standing only inches from where the slug hit his friend. He said, still quite shaken, “Yo, Mista, two more fuckin’ inches and it woulda’ been me.” He called an uncle who lives in a small town somewhere around Atlanta, Georgia, and was taking a bus in two days to live there permanently. On the bright side, at least he made it out. Additionally, never wear gang colors or flash gang hand signs unless you are a bona fide, initiated member of one of these “social clubs”. The three main color schemes around here are: yellow and black for the Latin Kings; blue for the Crips; and red for the Bloods. These gangs take themselves ever so seriously and it’s an excellent decision health-wise not to overly annoy the lads for they are ever so sensitive and extremely identity protective.

As a ghetto dweller and possible gang-banger, you’ll be taught from early on some essential lessons and among the most important is to at all times mind your own business! Furthermore, keep your mouth shut and never, ever do names because that could easily get you really dead really fast. Omerta is key. You will also have learned by the time you’ve spent your first dozen years on the planet never to admit to anything at any time for any reason. Adopt the following mantra: “I didn’t do nothin’; I didn’t see nothin’; I didn’t hear nothin’; and I don’t know nothin’!” You may have just witnessed the modern day equivalent of the Valentine’s Day Massacre at twelve noon in full daylight. You don’t know shit!! If ever apprehended with something illegal on your person – oh, say an ounce of coke, a gun, or perhaps a knife – never admit that it’s yours. Your answer should always be something like, “Hey man, this ain’t even my fuckin’ jacket. Some Nigga left it at my crib!” Remember, admit to nothing!!

The topic of being caught with illegal substances seg-ways very nicely into one of the most important relationships you will ever have as a true “ghettoite”: your relationship with the PO-lice! All residents of all ghetto neighborhoods anywhere in the country will have an ongoing and permanent association with the Boys in Blue. Some will have merely passing ties with “The Man”, while others will have, shall we say, a much more intimate acquaintance. Whether the relationship is casual or close, cops are always to be viewed as the enemy and are never to be trusted be they white, black, Hispanic, or Asian. This is just a given in the ghetto and the slogan To Protect and Serve should be viewed as nothing less than false advertising. Even the most law abiding ghetto denizens – and that, of course, includes the great majority – have learned to be at the very least suspicious and somewhat fearful of the cops. Those criminal slum dwellers, however, view them at best as competition and at worst mortal foes!

If you fall into the latter category, certain behavioral standards are expected by your peers so be sure not to disappoint. For example, after jumping the turnstile to board the subway always give the local neighborhood undercover cop a cheery, “Good morning officer!”, and wish him a nice day. This lets him know that you know and sends a warning out to those who don’t know. You’re really providing a form of public service – how very civic minded! It’s also very important to begin your criminal career as soon as possible because we all know how important and useful those “street creds” can be. You’ll probably start with the small things like turnstile jumping as alluded to above. By the age of thirteen or fourteen, activities like shoplifting, purse snatching, and drug use should be considered additional staples to your budding criminal repertoire. As you get older, the more violent crimes should have kicked in and will range anywhere from simple muggings and stompings to robbery, rape, and murder. Illegal gun ownership is, of course, a must for the well rounded criminal ghettomeister.

A current student of mine recently asked if I happened to remember his cousins whose presence had graced my classroom some fifteen years earlier. One tends to remember the best and the worst whereas the average types become something of a blur. As it happened, I did remember those brothers because they were two of the most horrific I’ve ever had: complete fucking horror shows; train wrecks just waiting to happen! I dutifully queried as to how they had fared since last we met and was not at all surprised by the answer. One is doing a double life sentence at, I believe, Sing Sing while the other is serving his dual life term at Danamora. My student informed me that they are eligible for parole no earlier than 2110 – a mere 102 years from now! Apparently, they brutally butchered an entire family somewhere in up state New York. It’s always so heart warming to learn about the progress of my former scholars. While most of the ghetto scum do not receive sentences as terminal as this, the vast majority will do at least some time. It’s really considered a right of passage without which one is never fully embraced by one’s fellow predators. Once released and back in the hood, you have beyond any question established your bone-fides and your street credibility is considered utterly impeccable. You have, as the saying goes, arrived.

There are, of course, any number of ghetto traits still to be examined. We might begin with the whole motherhood-fatherhood thing. The concept of the American family has been completely ravaged, ransacked, and utterly ruined and this spells the absolute end of this nation within just a handful of generations. When the family fails, so too the country. In inner-city neighborhoods the out of wedlock teenage pregnancy stands at about 75% and, I believe, is rising. Fathers are virtually nonexistent and mom and the kiddy-poohs will just have to cope as best they can. Welfare is not merely an option but rather an absolute certainty. The young “dads” rack up as many different children with as many different “moms” as they can and brag about the number of offspring they have to one another. The young moms, of course, know for sure that father will disappear in the blink of an eye but they keep spreading their legs anyway. Apparently, if a young lady hasn’t birthed at least one bastard by the time she hits the ripe old age of fifteen she is mocked and ridiculed by her peers. She is asked, “What’s wrong with you, Bitch, can’t you find no man?” Birth control? Get the fuck outa’ here!!

As bad as it is in the ghetto, the out of wedlock birthrate nationwide is over thirty-three percent and rising. I’ve seen figures that put it at over forty percent. This spells disaster for America. Two parent households are becoming a thing of the past and single parenthood is rapidly becoming the standard. I had one young lady ask me very seriously not to let her classmates know that she resided at home with BOTH her biological parents. If that got out she would be scorned, tormented, and ostracized: viewed as some kind of freakish aberration. I overheard one fine young ghetto specimen ask a friend, “What the fuck would I do with a father?!?” If you for one moment think this attitude and phenomenon aren’t spreading nationwide you are fucking self-delusional! Can we all say lowest common denominator?

In the “Hood” tattoos, of course, are absolutely mandatory and the more the better. Females are required to have very large tattoos right in the middle of the small of the back and the male of the ghetto species must have multiple “tats” on the neck and face. It’s all the rage, don’t you know? Some of the so-called skin artistry is symbolic as in gang signs while some are really very touching and emotional as in “RIP POPS” which a young fellow had inked onto his left pectoral to honor his dad who was blown away while attempting to rob a jewelry store. The kid took his shirt off to show his fellow troglodytes and they were, of course, suitably impressed. One scumster – I, uh, mean youngster – had “Brooklyn” displayed on his right forearm and I asked what would happen if he moved to Queens or perhaps New Jersey? He looked at me and said, “never fuckin’ happen.” Talk about territorial!

Additionally, the more body piercing one has the more, it seems, one is respected. Multiple ear rings for men and women are virtually passé and not even worthy of comment. The ladies, of course, must have the ever so trendy belly button adornment and both ghetto genders need those ever so tasteful “tongue rings” (that’s gotta fuckin’ hurt)! Multiple eyebrow adornments are becoming increasingly popular as are multiple nose and lip rings. One young “lady” went to the trouble of having her eyebrows completely and permanently removed to be replaced with tattooed facsimiles of same. Sadly, the trend seems not to have caught on. One female gang bangerette was having an especially difficult time making it through the school’s metal detector. Eventually, the security guards had her remove every single piece of metal in her face, mouth, and belly button. Still no joy. The damned alarm kept sounding which gave the female SSO an idea. She instructed the Bemetalled Bitch to follow her to the ladies room where she discovered yet additional body art adorning her – her, well, you know, her whatsis. You figure it out. I find the entire concept of self-mutilation completely and horribly disgusting, vile, and perverted but what the fuck do I know? I’m just an old white fart from the hinterland.

The last Ghetto Rule to Live By, although there are certainly many others, to be discussed in this screed would be the admonition to thoroughly despise “Whitey” and to avoid at all costs adopting, emulating, or admiring any attributes that in any manner, shape, or form might be construed as even remotely “white.” Caucasians are the enemy and it is these evil “Ice People” that are the cause of the failure, oppression, and hopelessness of those trapped in the ghetto. For example, a student from the slums who attends school regularly, reads and writes on grade level, and studies for and passes exams will invariably be accused of “acting white.” The individual guilty of such behavior will be scorned, ridiculed, and cast out by the brothers. The white man must be blamed for all of life’s personal failures and disappointments. Didn’t get accepted to that college or university of your choice? White Racism. Got accepted but never graduated? White Racism. Didn’t get that job or promotion? You got it, White Racism. Been in and out of jail for most of your life? Whitey’s Fault.

Never, ever look in the mirror and admit that you are the cause of your own failures and disappointments – you and you alone! “Scape-Goating” is far easier and much less damaging to the ego. Wallowing in self pity and anger allows one to continue ignoring reality, avoids the painful prospect of fessing up to one’s own mistakes, and therefore implementing corrective measures. Hatred is the easy way out and it conveniently lets you off the hook. This kind of attitude not only works well on the individual level, but also on the collective plane. If your group is not competing well with others in society, if they are moving up the ladder of success more rapidly and are achieving the American Dream at a far faster and more consistent level just blame the evil White Man and Racist America! Talk about convenient, self-defeating bull shit – well I guess!!

If these kinds of attitudes or “ghettitudes” catalogued here were relegated to a few isolated instances or areas it would not be that big a deal and could be managed. As alluded to earlier, the phenomenon is oozing irreversibly into fabled “Whitelandia” and is actually being adopted by the native population. You’ll notice Lily White Suburban Teenagers emulating, imitating, and admiring some of the biggest, toughest pieces of criminal shit still stalking the right side of the grass. These “Paddy” boys and girls adopt the hip hop dress of the baggy pants buckled around their asses so as to show off the latest boxer fashions. They wear massive amounts of expensive, gaudy, and ostentatious jewelry to further accentuate their status as ghetto wanna-be’s. In their case, however, instead of robbing and stealing the “bling” as would any self-respecting ghetto gang-banger, mommy and daddy provided the funds so their spoiled little fucking darlings could go to the mall and purchase the shiny shit. Talk about the absolute height of hypocrisy! They memorize word for word and beat for beat the heart warming melodies of the Hip Hop Rapsters and feel that themes which include killing your mother, fucking your sister, blowing up your school, and “offing” cops are somehow instructive and worthy of study!

Not long ago, I was enjoying an early morning week end breakfast at a diner in a middle class town on the beautiful and scenic Island of Long. About halfway through my repast, four of the most disgusting, foul, loud mouthed, vulgar pure white bread gangsta wanna-be’s sat down in the booth directly behind me. These Long Island, lily white spoiled rotten excuses for humanity were dressed to the nines in their finest ghetto regalia and they commenced, as they say, “talkin’ shit.” I might have found it somewhat amusing save for the fact that five days a week, day in and day out, I have to contend with the real deal and I was damned if I would tolerate it on my own time! I kept glaring in their direction hoping they’d take the hint. I even turned around and looked very obviously right at them. Nothing. Other diners appeared extremely uncomfortable and even nervous as these pathetic clowns became increasingly loud, obnoxious, and vile.

One of them, decked out in what appeared to be about three pounds of gold including a set for the teeth, began talking about how he was “gonna fuck dat Nigga up” and take his “tooly and cap his motha’ fuckin’ sorry ass!” This cretinous booby had, of course, all manner of “tats” and body piercing to make him look authentic. That’s it: enough; basta; finished; through; finito. I left my booth, took two steps, and planted myself directly in front of them and became extremely confrontational. Where I work, it’s called “getting all up in one’s face.” I said absolutely nothing but kept glaring at the group and then locked eyes with each one individually. They couldn’t hold the stare and averted their eyes.

I kept my voice very low and told them to shut the fuck up and pay very careful attention to the offer I was about to make. Not a peep out of any of them. I explained to them that I would speak to the principal of their high school so that they could be excused for a day. On that day, we’d all meet at the same diner where I’d buy them breakfast. We’d then proceed to my particular institution of lower education. I’d make sure they got through the metal detectors and security guards and then set them loose. I guaranteed that they would last, at the very outside, fifteen to twenty minutes before they became nothing more than prey for some truly vicious and authentic ghetto beasts. These sorry-ass, lame, Honkie assholes in hip hop drag glanced at one another, distinctly nervous. I continued, that if they’d prefer I could simply leave them on the street in, oh-let’s say East New York, Bushwick, or by the infamous “Pink Houses”. I explained that there was an excellent chance that they’d literally never be seen again and suggested that they definitely bid farewell to family and friends.

Their eyes got very wide and a couple of them actually gulped. I told them that putting the four of them in the aforementioned environment would be analogous to placing Fluffy the Cuddly Kitten in a room with four huge attack Rottweilers trained to guard drug dealers and their product. They started to stand and I blocked their way – I refused to move. One kid muttered a muted, “Excuse me Sir,” and the four of them quietly filed past me looking like scared pups with tails tucked firmly between their legs. I’m sure they went home to white mommy and daddy in their totally white neighborhoods and their completely white split level homes complete with two car garage and whined and cried to the folks about the mean old bastard in the diner who destroyed their fragile self image and crushed their freaking miniscule sense of self esteem! Give me a fucking break! The owner of the establishment thanked me and asked me if I hadn’t been just a tad afraid. The thought made me smile slightly. Had I pulled a bone-headed move like that anywhere in the vicinity of my school, I would have lasted perhaps thirty seconds. A very lengthy hospital stay would have been the least of my worries. I would have been stabbed, slashed, stomped, and perhaps shot. Even looking at someone the wrong way in those neighborhoods can and has summoned the meat wagon! Afraid of these four wanna-be’s? Please!

The point here folks is that when kids like these seriously emulate and make heroes out of pure ghetto filth, scum, and drek it’s a sign that it’s over and that the nation is spinning out of control and slipping away. Perhaps I extrapolate just a tad too much here or maybe my paranoia is merely kicking in again. I have a sinking feeling, however, that in the not too distant future, I’ll be sporting a huge shit-eating I told you so grin!


Much Luv Y’all and Have a Great Day!

The Fifth Horseman