After school I would go home and change into my play clothes, then I would head down the street where the guys hung out. I did this on weekends too. I had my school clothes and my play clothes. My, I wanted my school clothes to last until I out grew them. Mom only went shopping for my school clothes once a year.
My Dad came home from work at 5:00 P.M. Monday through Friday. He would always drive by where he knew I was hanging out. I would begin to dread for I knew I would have to go home soon. He did not like me hanging out too late and dinner would be ready served soon anyway so I did not have much to complain about. It was just the fact that he would embarrass me in front of my friends. Well, actually from a distance. Sure enough after 5 or 10 minutes after he arrived he arrived home and he would go out to the front porch and whistle for me to come home! I'd just stand there. My friends knew what was going on or would smile. If they began to pick on me, before they could say anything, when they opened their mouths I would give them a stern look as if they did I would kick their asses. They would close their mouths without saying anything.
Back-in-the-day we kids would fight a lot but no one really got hurt. I fractured my thumb a couple of time on my buddies jaw. He would cry and I'd show up the next day with a splint. He and his brother grew up to be gangsters but would always stop by my Dads Photography Studio and ask about me. We were best of friends. I heard they died. That is one reason I left LA to pursue a career in Computer Programming, my best friends were dying all around me. After a while we would start playing again. We were neighborhood pal's, brothers.
After a while when my Dad drove by I would wait a few moments and go home trying to be cool. I had learned that if I waited too long he would whistle again adding insult to injury, and I did not want to give reason to my friends to laugh. I was stuck in the middle. Those times my friends warned me that I better go home. I would heed their advice. They knew, the neighborhood knew that if my Dad got angry I would get a whooping I would not soon forget. We did not think of asking for help, where would we go that would be better than the Haunt we lived in? The neighbors would not help us. Everyone would hear me scream and holler and cry. The kids felt sorry for me. Some of my friends did not have fathers. I don't recall any of the other fathers disciplining their kids that way. Many of their sons were spoiled by money instead.
My best friends father had died, I think he was a Marine, but he had a strong mother and older brothers who would stay on his case. He got mad at me because I would tell on him. We are still best friends since we were four years old he says two years old. We argue a lot. I'm 55 years old now and so is he. I'll be 56 in May he turned 55 in April. We always call each other on our birthday, except for a time when I did not know his number while in a transitional home. A good friend in a wheel chair found his number for me on the Internet. We are back in the saddle again. Now he and I are both Preachers, but that is another story except to say that he tells on me about how I told on him to the kids.
Anyhow, after being programmed by my Dad I wold periodically go home and check on my sisters or just be there. It seems like after a certain time, when hanging out with friends, I feel the need to go home usually before dark. I found that some of my friends would be up to mischief after hanging together too long. My Dad knew what he was doing for me. To this day I don't hang out with friends too long. And I get a real joy when I sneak out or go out when it is dark. I'll just hop on a bus or Bart and see where I end up do something and come home, real cheap. Well, cheap is another story as well. My mother would not even give me a dime for a water gun. She apologized later after I got married and moved out at nineteen. She said she had more money now. MOM! I thought carefully, and gave her my safety look. She smiled.
For some reason I like to hang out in my Studio apartment playing with my computers like I used to like to hang out in my Dad's Photography Studio. I like to write, play with pictures, videos, and music. I remember loving my Dad's rag-tag Condo he lived in after the divorce. My four sisters hated it! They did not like the roaches in the refrigerator freezer he blamed on the Mexicans down stairs. I always thought his cooking was great. I never could spend much time with him sept the last 5 years. I was the only one in the family that understood everything he said. My uncle Winston said we had a rapport.
Before he passed my Dad said he raised me that way because he wanted me to be strong. He was a Staff Sargent Buffalo Soldier WWII, Trooper Oliver H. Muldrew Jr. I don't know why the site does not mention rank, oh well. I joined as a family member a few years back but have not heard from them. There is a great website about them at http://www.buffalola.com and a video hosted by David Hartman. I ended up becoming a Chaplain and I did not even know what that was. Well, I did like the Chaplain on Mash. I also like Charlie Chaplain. And Also Chaplain Dr. Reverend Steve Shannon who's C.P.E. Class and internship I participated in for about 4 years. I don't know who else to identify with. However I did find out at the website that there were a lot of Buffalo Soldier Chaplains. I wonder if they ever got together often in one place. And I'm multicultural!