When I was a young boy growing up on Newcomb Street in SE, Washington, DC, I was blessed to be part of a community with some of Washington’s greatest families…not great because of property or money, but great because of their unity and friendship in a hood of lawlessness. They were the buds of the 4th generation.   In my community the 4th generation got hit with the lightning bolt of freedom, bell bottoms and afros. I am the dirt diver. The one that stayed outside with the snotty nose, covered in dirt, day in and day out. I watched these families fight together and move about Washington with little resistance. They were the best of comrades. To them I give thanks as I observed good behavior with honor and bad behavior with viciousness.

This I remember as a true lesson. One day I was standing outside when shots starting ringing out across the street. Two families were having a Dirty Dozen type shootout. It was exciting and scary. I remember my aunt grabbing me and taking me inside. Once inside, I was still able to get to a window and I watched the shootout, like it was a good cowboy flick. I watched it until the authorities came and placed the white sheets on the victims. I always wondered, “was this just a part of life, and a perspective to process and move on?” Some would say, “get over it…its normal.” I come to think of it now as raw aggression, but not normal. Throughout my teens and early adult years the scene was the same.

Growing up in my community was still awesome with all the adversities because my family made it so. One branch of my family was from Washington’s Foggy Bottom neighborhood and the other branch from Baltimore, across the track from Pimlico. The Foggy Bottom side had twelve children and the Baltimore side had nine. 21 children from the second generation, if I add the first generation, we are talking about a whole country. With this many family members, all of us didn’t land in the hood. At family events, you could tell the difference. It was as though we spoke different languages and in two or more generations we would be a different race of people. But the greatest joy for me was my elders, their strength and their stories.

This blog will give you, the reader, an inside track to many things concerning my family, my life, and about me growing up as the dirt diver and becoming a man in North America. I call this the “Come Up”, but for now, its about the FALLOUT.

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One dreary day, my mother came thought the door, with her head down. I saw it in her eyes; she had to tell me something but didn’t want to reveal her news. She looked disoriented and scared. I’ve never seen my mother look like that before, it was different and unusual.

“What’s wrong,” I asked.

“I saw blood and I have to take more tests,” my mother answered.

When the last test came back it was positive for cancer.   CANCER. It was a massive blow. The blow was so hard I couldn’t hear people talking, I didn’t obey street signals, and all I could think to ask myself was “why…why?”

But my mother took it all in stride.

“I believe in God and I am okay with it,” she said.

I wasn’t okay with it. My reality was altered. I grew up in a generation that was raised and dominated by mothers. She was my everything…the reason I ate and witnessed the sun on a gloomy morning. With that said, I knew my father. But my mother was the soft pillow while the world offered a cold hard ground. It has been said, that she, “did not get a spanking.” Through members of our family and friends I was told she was, “the good one.”

There were many conversations with her doctors as I tried to get understanding concerning the fight. Two to three times a week we went to doctors and then surgery and then chemo. I held her hand from street to street and building to building. I wasn’t okay with it. But in my mother’s presence and as the oldest son, I maintained my strength while with her.

I watched as they hooked the chemo to her chest port. The smells were different and took some time to get used to. My reality was altered as I watched her vomit, over and over again. I watched her hair fallout. Yet, she would say, “If it’s God’s will.”

The journey ahead was one I couldn’t imagine…it was the beginning of the FALLOUT!