Radiation and Pink Eye

RADIATION AND PINK EYE:
ONE MAN’S FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH ROCKING A CROWD

How do I begin? Well, I guess I should start by telling you about my childhood…
For all intents and purposes, I was a very sickly kid. I mean, I always “had” something. The flu, pink eye, ringworm, strep throat- you name it, I had it. It got to a point where my mother would write an absence note for school, and just keep Xeroxing it to save energy. Anyway, my sickly-ness caused me to be very shy. At school, I was quiet- and extremely obedient (I was the kid who the teacher put in charge of the class when she went to take a piss or smoke a cigarette). At home, I was just that- at home- ALL THE TIME! I played with my G.I. Joes and my Electric Football set so much that my mother would beg me to go outside. I had two imaginary friends (“Cornbread and Cadia”). I still remember how they look. My mother told me that having imaginary friends meant that I would be a deep thinker when grew up.
Well, needless to say all these things added up to make me a weird child. When you consider the fact that I was always at least 25 pounds underweight, I was a borderline freak of nature.
In third grade, I had to do a report on radiation. My science partners- Bobby Glenn and Martay Wright were short of ideas for the project. So I suggested that we make a rap. A rap song about radiation? We didn’t know shit about radiation, and we damn sure didn’t know shit about rap. I knew two rap songs by heart- “Top Billin” by Audio Two, and “My Philosophy” by KRS One. Bobby Glenn said that he could recite a rap, but he just didn’t know how to write one. (What?) Martay didn’t even listen to rap music. We decided that I would write the rap, Bobby would spit it on the day of the presentation, and Martay would do all the necessary research.
Now, I don’t remember the exact rhyme- but I do know that that bitch was raw! I was so proud of myself. I sat in my room for like an hour and repeated the rap to my stuffed “My Pet Monster”. I sounded good. Damn good. But I wouldn’t dream of letting anybody hear me. As a matter of fact, I hid the paper I wrote it on under my mattress- and only practiced when my older brother was gone.
The day came. We had to finally present our radiation rap. Martay made the poster, I had the rap in my pocket, and Bobby had… Wait! Where the hell was Bobby?
“Ms. Mitchell, Ms. Mitchell- where is Bobby Glenn?” I asked, a bit anxiously.
“He’s absent,” she replied. “He has pink eye”.
Those words hit me with a force that I had never before felt. This of course, meant that I would have to spit the “radiation rap” in front of the class.
“Damnit! I’m not ready for this,” I thought. My only hope was that my group would not be first, so that I’d have time to fake a seizure or stroke, or polio or something.
“We’ll go in alphabetical order,” Ms. Mitchell announced.
“Great,” my hopes were coming true, after all my partner’s first name began with “M”. Her last name began with “W”. My first name begins with “J”. The only way we would go first is if, by chance she calls us according to my last name.
“First up, ANDERSON,” Ms. Mitchell announced. It seemed like she was mocking me.
“Don’t screw up, sick boy!” Martay demanded.
I was nervous as hell. But I readied myself. I pulled the rap out of the back pocket of my Wrangler corduroys. I started reading the contents of the page. No emotion. No rhythm. I was just reading it. I wanted to get it over with.
People started laughing. I started stuttering. Ms. Mitchell stopped me after like two bars, and ordered the class to be respectful (to this day, I swear she was giggling a little herself). She asked me to start over again. The nervousness was apparent on my face.
In an unexpected turn of events, a classmate of mine by the name of Willie Muse stood up and said: “Let me help you out”.
SIDENOTE: Willie Muse was the coolest kid in my class. All the girls loved him, because his hair was curly. He got straight A’s. And he was a beast on the basketball court.. So for him to even acknowledge my presence was an oddity- let alone risk his personal popularity to help ME..
Willie started tapping on his desk with his pencil, and banging with his fist. It sounded hot! It was the beat to “The Bridge is Over”. I felt a new energy. I took a deep breath, and started my rap again. This time, I was bobbing my head, emphasizing words- and doing some hand motions that I had seen LL Cool J doing on a video. My class was feeling it. I heard “OOOOOH’s” as I finished off the lines. People chuckled when I rhymed “radiation” with “aviation”. Even Ms. Mitchell’s old white ass was rocking with me! Afterward, I crossed my arms- in typical B-Boy fashion, and received a standing ovation!
In hindsight, I realize that if it weren’t for pink eye, I might not be a rapper today. I also realize that if it weren’t for one person- taking a huge risk, putting his own popularity on the line- I may have never known what it’s like to move a crowd.
MORAL: Instead of watching a nigga fail, and waiting to laugh at him- help him out. You never know!
LYRICISM LIVES