You've probably figured out already I can't tell a story succinctly and also tend to ramble. So, I'll start you out with just the first five so we're not up all night. How many of these did you already know?
1. Between 4th and 8th grades, I participated in Math League. When I tell people I was a big dork when I was a kid, this is just one example. If I remember the details, here's how it worked: Schools sent teams of five to complete against other schools in the area. Questions were passed out one by one on small slips of paper. We were allotted a certain amount of time to answer each one before passing the slips forward. Scores were tracked on the blackboard.
In 8th grade, I tied for first place individually in the state of Delaware. (Yes, it's a small state, but still!) The kid with whom I tied ended up at the same high school as me. He graduated as the class valedictorian and eventually went to Harvard, followed by medical school. I believe he's now a doctor in Manhattan. To say our paths diverged after 8th grade Math League is an understatement.
Besides Math League, I took part in calculator competitions. I'm sure they had an official name, but I have no clue what it was. I think this was a bigger deal than Math League because on at least one occasion, we (my parents, me, and I think my great-grandmother) went down to Delaware State in Dover on a Saturday morning for the event. The calculators were those fancy ones that performed computations using fractions (even answering in fractions!). I must have done well, evinced by the trophy I received toward the end of the school year.
Also in 8th grade, I was in Fast Math. I took Algebra II classes once a week at a local high school. Four or five of us kids would carpool, each one's mother taking a turn to drive. During the regular school day's math period, a classmate and I would sit in what was little more than a closet off of the main classroom. That was fun, being able to goof off while all of the other kids were in Algebra. Then again, they weren't spending three hours every Wednesday night at Dickinson High School.
(See, not succinct! But the memories are flooding back...)
2. Effeminate black men love me. No joke. I learned this during my freshman year at Georgia Tech. I worked part time at Cub Foods, a grocery store, in Buckhead. One of my first days there, Shokoni made his move. He was only the first, but the most memorable. I was sitting outside during my break when he joined me at the picnic table. He flat out asked me if I was gay (so rude). I lied and said no. (Quick aside: I'm not one to lie about my sexuality, but I had no choice with this piece of work. Anyway...)
He was quite a persistent fellow. He told me he wanted to have me over to his house. He would cook steaks for dinner. I politely declined. Then he said, "What if while we were sitting on my bed, I put my hand on your leg and made you hard?" Holy shit, dude. Thankfully, a co-worker joined us at the table, derailing his line of questioning. I forget who it was, but Shokoni told them, "I just offered to cook Brian a steak dinner and he turned me down." I was already in shock from his last comment; I certainly had no rebuttal. My suburban upbringing hadn't adequately prepared me for a situation like this. But I knew I wanted nothing to do with his "steak dinner."
Shokoni quit Cub Foods a few months later. The last time I saw him, he was standing up at the customer service counter wearing a canary yellow sweat suit. He gave me a dirty look when I said hello.
Besides Shokoni, there were others, just not as bold. This one guy asked one of the cashiers about me. He wanted to spend the day with me at Piedmont Park. And then there was the guy from the candy store at the mall who happened to show up on campus one day. Kind of freaky.
When I was in New Orleans last April, a fellow volunteer, a black woman from Long Island I had befriended, told me I was "crossover material." I had no idea what she was talking about, so she explained: She usually dated only black men, but she would have "crossed over" for me. Damn.
I have no idea why black men were so enthralled by me. It's not like the white boys were falling over themselves in Atlanta to get with me. Then again, I'm so oblivious when it comes to romantic overtures that I only recognize them when they're overt and borderline predatory. (Actually, in hindsight, I had my chances. I was such a clueless kid.) Sadly, since leaving Atlanta, the places I've called home have been short of black folks. I wonder if I still have that certain je ne sais quoi...
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Okay, how about I just stop at two for now? More to come...
1 comment:
I told you about Math League? Hmmm... I'll try to stump you with my next couple of stories. Hopefully, I won't have to dig into anything really embarrassing. Those stay in the vault for now.
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