What a life

Today I turn 22. Dos dos. Twenty plus to. Thirty subtract eight. What the hell does it mean. Does this make me more of a man? Am I closer to anything? Death maybe? It doesn't really carry a lot of meaning, it's just like... Damn, that's another notch on my life.

I teach 6th grade in the South Bronx and I was telling my students about myself and I said something along the lines of, "Me being a ... You know a ... a person." it was hard and it's still hard for me to call myself a man. I don't know why. I always thought that the reason I never considered myself a man was because I was supported by my parents and it would be ridiculous to call myself a man while still sucking from the nipple of my parents' bank account. But now I live with my girlfriend and my son, I support them both, I own a car, I am a teacher, I have a moving business on the side, and I go to Grad school. Why the hell don't I consider myself a man?

I'm not sure but maybe it has something to do with this tattoo I want to get. I want to get this tattoo that is a Ghanian symbol for a warrior who has retired. It is two big, samurai-looking swords crossed. I want to get a big one on my back, a blade on each shoulder blade. But I think I can only get it, I will only be deserving of it when I achieve great things. When I go to battle. I believe in some sense of equality and I believe that we, as conscientious people, must battle with all forms of injustice that afflict ourselves and others. So I feel as though until I fight battles such as Martin Luther King, Malcom X, Mahatma Ghandi, Paul Robeson, and numerous others, I can't get my tattoo. I think my tattoo may be my manhood.

I hope to God that I want be writing this same pathetic, pitiful email when I'm 30, or 40, or 50. Geezus. "Thirty, three zero, forty subtract ten..." I may have to slit my wrists with my Ghanian swords.