Fox's

...continues from.

I knew it was all the wrong things that were feeling right, and I had no control over it. I was just a boy... and only God can judge me. A sixteen year old's conscious is just that -- sixteen years old. So, we made our way to the local hot spot, "Fox's" and set up shop for the night. There were kids hustling pool, some shooting craps in the corner when the owner wasn't around, and of course the sale of illicits which were as numerous as the delinquents that inhabited this place.

Anyway, I better enjoy myself tonight because it's work or journalism every night the rest of this week. That's the problem with a headstrong teenager, their priorities are all f*cked up. I should have embraced my positive outlet in journalism and been more proud of my legitimate income but, damn I loved the attention we get when we're in the streets. People respected our neighborhood back then, kids stuck together whether black, white, brown, or any combination thereof, skin color didn't count, it was about where you were from.

If you could catch the parties in our neighborhood in a single snapshot or short reel it would read like a ghetto Benetton ad, "The United Colors of the South Side." One constant in my heart from late adolescence forward was the strong sense of pride I drew from growing up in a true "melting pot community" like South Omaha, Nebraska. My family tree represents the color wheel and if you don't understand why I'm proud of that you are most likely not my type of people.

To be continued...