Bootleg (8 page)

  I
grew up
poor.
We were so poor we couldn’t afford the other 0-R. We were just PO. Sometimes we didn’t eat because there was no food in the house. We’d ask, “Hey, Mom, what’s for dinner?”

My mother would look at us and say, “Look, babies, there ain’t no food in the house. We’re having sleep for dinner. Now brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Keenen, you make sure everyone gets a little extra toothpaste tonight.”

1 felt sorry for my father ‘cause he’d have to watch all ten of his children walk by him with that look that said, “Mr. Provider! Couldn’t bring home the bacon. Couldn’t even bring home a damn can of Spam. Thank God for water … You did pay that bill, I hope?”

I remember once I stole fifteen cents from my father and he missed it. You know you’re poor when your father starts trippin’ over change. He’d be stalking around the house, all upset: “All right, this ain’t funny. Now, someone in this house took my fifteen cents! How am I supposed to pay the rent now? I want my money back. Otherwise, I’m gonna strip search every one of y’all, starting with your momma. One of the nickels was a buffalo head and that’s worth at least six cents on the market. Come on now!”

  I
was born with a clubfoot. I had to wear an orthopedic shoe with a heel about four inches thick, and it had a brace that went up around my knee, just like Forrest Gump, which caused me to limp when I walked. Thank God I lived in the ghetto because the people that didn’t know me thought I was cool. They would say, “Hey, man, check out that brother’s walk. He must be in a gang or something.”

I used to get into a lot of fights, too, because kids used to tease me about my shoes. And I didn’t like to fight. Actually, I couldn’t fight, not even with girls. I had a fight with this girl in the sixth grade. I went through my preparations like Keenen taught me. I was doing my little boxing stances, motivating myself with things like, “Yeah, come on. This little bitch wanna fight me? Bring it on. Yeah, come on—bring it on!” When Elaine heard me call her a bitch, she went into this windmill stance and threw a barrage of punches at me—I’ve never been hit so hard, so fast, so many times. She had me running like a little bitch.

I guess you’re not going to find too many handicapped bullies out there. You never hear a handicapped person say, “Give me your lunch money! Well, you better have it tomorrow, otherwise I’m gonna kick your ass.”

And it’s hard to imagine people being scared of a handicapped gang, running away, screaming, “Oh
shit, run! Here come the Crips!” Then the leader rolls up in a low rider wheelchair saying, “Hey, punk, you got a problem with me? All right, then, don’t make me get up.”

Most of my fights were because of my mouth. We use to play this game called The Dozens. I was real good at this game because I was so insecure. Kids didn’t want to play with me because they knew they couldn’t talk about my shoe. If they did, then it’d turn ugly and the game was over. The game would usually go something like this.

Kid
: Damon, yo mother is so fat she has to take her pants off just to get into her pockets.

Me
: Yeah, well, your mother’s so fat that when she gets on the scale it says, “To Be Continued.”

Seymour
: Yeah, well, your mother’s so poor she can’t even pay attention.

Me
: Oh yeah, well, your sister is so ugly, they have to tie a pork chop around her neck so that the dog will play with her.

Seymour
: Yeah, well, your mother is so black every time she goes to night school the teachers mark her absent.

Me
: Hey, man, let’s not talk about mothers, man. Let’s just get off mothers, ‘cause I just got off of yours.

Then, all the other kids would be laughing and trying to instigate a fight. This would usually provoke the kid to attack my disability.

Seymour
: Yeah, so, so, so, what about the crippled people’s shoes you be wearing? What about those, huh, huh?

That’s when I would lose it. Something in my head would just snap and I’d go nonstop full-on frontal attack.

Me
: Oh, you want to get real now, huh, Seymour? How about when your father ran out on your mother and left her with six kids, that’s why two of your sisters have illegitimate kids, ‘cause there’s no one there to guide them. That’s why one of your brothers is a junkie and the other one is a homosexual and that’s why your mother’s a prostitute, ‘cause she can’t afford to feed y’all. That’s why when welfare comes over y’all gotta hide over my house ‘cause you’re trying to get two welfare checks and you’re only supposed to get one. That’s why you can stay outside so late ‘cause nobody loves you at home. You ain’t been hugged since you was a baby. And you’re gonna grow up to be just like your father who you hate ‘cause he’s a loser. Okay … your turn.

POW!
The game would usually end with a punch in my mouth.

  O
ut of all of my brothers, I’d say Marlon has got the biggest mouth. And that’s saying a lot, believe me. I remember once when Marlon was younger, he got into an argument with some kid. Marlon was all up in the boy’s face telling him that he was going to kick his ass. Then, all of a sudden, the little kid spit right in Marlon’s mouth and ran away. It all happened so fast. Marlon couldn’t even chase after him. First, he had to get over the initial shock of what happened. Then he had to try and get the boy’s spit out of his mouth.

That’s not right. You won’t ever see Mike Tyson spitting in your mouth, unless he’s trying to bite your tongue.

  T
he worst day of my life was the day I watched my big brother Keenen get beat up by a white boy. Hell, he didn’t just get beat up, he got beat down.

Keenen was into karate or “The Arts” as he called it, when we were young. And this white boy was talking shit about my brother’s Chinese slippers that he used to wear, even in the snow. So, I went and told Keenen that he had to defend his karate shoes. I figured it was a win-win situation, and I’d enjoy seeing Keenen beat on the white boy.

Everybody in the neighborhood gathered in the building to see this fight. Bets were placed. Keenen was favored to win with a flying sidekick to this guy’s nuts. But there’s this thing in the ghetto where black guys feel they have to take off clothing before they can fight. It’s supposed to show that they’re mad. So, if a brother is ever standing in front of you butt naked, ready to fight, you’d better run.

Anyway, Keenen was in the middle of taking off his shirt when this white boy just hauled off and started whoopin’ his ass. It looked like one of those hockey fights. Keenen couldn’t even get one punch off ‘cause his arms were stuck in his shirt. I wanted
to help out, but I was in such shock because it all happened so fast. Before I knew it Keenen was lying on the ground in a bloody pulp with his shirt still pulled over his head crying.

I was yelling, “Get up, Keen! Use your nunchaku! Don’t let him get away! Taste your blood like Bruce Lee did in
Enter the Dragon!
It will make you mad! Here, suck on your eye, it should make you furious! Get up, Keen, fight him! I know you can do it.”

But Keenen just laid there, wounded and crying, telling me to shut up before he kicked my ass. I don’t have heroes anymore. Everybody’s an ass-kicking away from being humbled.

  M
others have the power to rescue their child in a time of need. Not just physically, but emotionally. I remember when I was in the seventh grade, I got caught making out with a girl in the assistant principal’s office.

Okay, she wasn’t just a girl, she was the town whore. Every school has one. You know, the girl who’s overdeveloped and has no father at home. The only attention she gets is the boys in school that feel her up, even the handicapped ones. Well, this girl named Sharon had the biggest breasts I’ve ever seen, and the first ones I had ever touched. I’ll never forget how warm they were. Felt like fresh-baked muffins. Anyway, she was one of these girls that pretended that she didn’t like it. She would say, “No, no, no,” while putting your hand down her pants. I got caught. The principal suspended me, and I had to bring my mother to school in order to get back in.

I was too embarrassed to tell my mother what had happened. So, I just said, “The teacher wants to see you.” So, there I am, sitting in the principal’s office with my mother seated next to me, and the guy is going on and on about me being a pervert. He was
making me out to be the next Jeffrey Dahmer. I could feel my mother looking at me, even though I had my head down. I was so ashamed. And she felt that.

So, right in the middle of the principal’s speech, my mother cut him off and said, “Look, don’t waste my time with this bullshit. I can’t help it if my son is a lover.”

Right then and there, I fell in love with my mother. I looked over at her and she smiled at me. I thought to myself, “Yeah, I’m a lover.” I felt good about myself. I actually told the principal, “Yeah, don’t be wasting our time. I’m a lover, and I got some more lovin’ to do. What’s your wife doing later?”

My mother grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the office before I was a dead lover. When we got outside, she slapped the shit out of me, and told me if I ever did that again, she’d beat my Billy Dee ass with a billy club. I’ll always love my mama.

  M
others also keep things real. When you do business with your family, things can get out of control sometimes. My sister submitted ten scripts for a show I was producing called
413 Hope Street.
I rejected them because they were … well, okay, they sucked. When something like this happens in the Wayans family, you can bet you’re gonna receive a call from Mama Wayans.

Mom
: Now, Damon, you mean to tell me that out often scripts that your sister sent you, you couldn’t push through one of them?

Me
: Mom, I have to put my name on this work. I can’t just send out anything.

Mom
: Well, you sent out
Blankman.
That was some bullshit if I ever saw some. Your name was on that, wasn’t it?

Thanks, Mom.

  M
y mom and dad did have their hands full with the ten kids, especially when we were dating. My sister used to go out with this dude named Antoine. He used to speedball, where you mix heroine with cocaine and shoot it into your veins. Once he came by my house to meet my parents right after speedballing. He knocked on the door like he would never stop:
knock,knock,knock,knock,knock,knock,knock,knock,knock,knock,knockknock…

When my father answered the door, Antoine was nodding out, digging in his butt.

“Aw, hey, hey, hey—what’s happening, daddy-O?” Antoine said. “Oh, you gonna pass on the handshake? Oh, I’ll just finish doing what I was doing then, I got a wedgie. Look, I’m here to pick your daughter up. I’m gonna take her to the movies. We gonna go see
Caligula.
Say, this is a nice place you got here, Mr. Wayans. This is all right for the projects. I especially like this color TV you got here. That’s one of them Sony Trinatrons. What’s that—a nineteen-inch? Let me ask you something, Mr. Wayans, about how much do that weigh?”

My dad was stunned speechless. Then my sister walked into the room.

“Oh, hey, what’s happening, Diedre? Come here, give me a kiss. No, give me some tongue. I don’t care if
your daddy’s watchin”. What you had for dinner? Chicken? I can taste that. Look, I was just talking to your pops. He has some sorta attitude problem. Oh, he’s a preacher? Oh shit. Let me go talk to him. Excuse me, Mr. Wayans. … Look, I know you’re concerned about your daughter. I understand the father-daughter relationship. I got five kids of my own. But I want you to know that I love your daughter. This is some good pussy right here. See, I’ve been through a lot of hoes in my day, and your daughter stacks up number one. I mean if your wife is half as good as Diedre in the bed, then I see why you got all these kids running around here. Give me five. Oh, you gonna leave me hanging…. Damn.”

My mother came into the room to see what was going on. Antoine went right up to her.

“Oh wow, this must be your moms, Dee. The Queen Bee is in the house. How you doing, Mrs. Wayans?”

He tongue-kissed my mama’s hand, and she pulled it back right away.

“My name is Antoine. I’m French, as you can see. Now, I see where Diedre gets her big ass from. That’s your genes, huh? Yo, Dee, what’s wrong with your mama? What do you mean, I offended her? All right, look. I’m gonna apologize and get out of here. Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Sensitive. Diedre told me I offended y’all poor niggers. You must forgive me. I’m a little nice, is all. I just shot up before I came. Anybody got some matches? I wanna light up this joint. Maybe it will take some of this tension out the room.”

  I
got a little nephew in New York who I got out of the projects. Damien is a sweet eleven-year-old, but he’s real tough and he acts like he’s in his twenties. You bump into him and he may take your life. I have to hide my wallet from him when I know he’s coming over, so I put it under the couch.

“Yo, what up, Uncle Damon?” he said when he came over last week. “How you livin’? You living large or what? Shit is lookin’ lovely ‘round here. Your shit is looking mighty fine.”

I can’t do the same cute kid stuff that I do with my son with him. For example, I wanted to take him to Disneyland. My nephew looked at me like I was crazy.

“What I want to see some swollen rat for? You want to do something with me? Take me to see
Pulp Fiction.
Yo, I love the way they be talking about them bitches. That shit is true. That shit is true.”

I was going to buy him a video game ‘cause my sons love ‘em. Again, my nephew was offended.

“Yo, don’t play me like a Spice Girl. You want to do something for me? You trying to show me some love and affection? You wanna say, ‘Hey, I love you’?
This is what you can do for me. I saw this five-finger gold ring. I saw this seven-inch gold chain. I saw me a BMW 318i. You want to do something for me?
Do dat shit for me!
That’s the way to my heart.”

“You know I don’t have no money like that, Damien,” I said.

“Oh, you ain’t got no money? You ain’t got money like that? Uncle Damon, helloooo. I be seeing you on TV. I know you getting paid out the gluteus maximums. Okay, okay. All I find I keep.”

“What?”

“You heard me. All I find I keep! ‘Cause I know where your wallet is. Your wallet is right under the couch.”

Like I said—he’s a sweet kid. He just needs a little guidance. He got suspended from school for telling the teacher her breath stank. My sister got all bent out of shape. I told her not to spank him. He’s just expressing himself. You can’t beat him for that. I wish I could tell somebody that their breath stinks.

Have you ever talked to someone and their breath is just kicking? Just burning the hair out of your nostrils? But we are taught to be nice and to just stand there and take it. You try and be polite and offer them gum. And they say, “No, thank you, I don’t chew gum.”

And you’re thinking, “That’s why your breath smells like shit! Maybe you should try sucking on a piece.”

We’ve all had a bad breath teacher. I had one named Miss Anonoff. Her breath smelled like hot
garbage. She was my math teacher. It’s always the teachers that have to talk the most that have the worst breath. She used to smoke cigarettes, drink coffee, and on her desk she had this block of cheese she would dip into. I guess the cheese was to seal the nasty smell in.

This lady would be all up in my face, trying to help me, her hot steamy breath stinking up my clothes, “Nooo, honey. That’s wwwrong. What you want to dooo is carry the fffiive over the ttthree. Then multiply it by twooo.”

“Look, just fail me,” I said. “Give me an
F
and get the hell out of my face.”

“Hhey, don’t talk to me like that, young mmman,” she said, bristling. “I’ll call your mmmother.”

That actually seemed like a good idea to me. “Yeah, just talk to her. She’ll understand. Matter of fact, just write her a note and lick the envelope. She’ll get it.”