Friends: A Love Story by Angela Bassett Read Free Book Online Page B

time to get up in the morning, Cecilie would say, “I ain’t getting up, Court. You get them.” And I would.
    Although Cecilie could keep up with my father in debating, she and my mother were close, as well. They talked about everything. However, once Cec became a teenager they became like oil and vinegar. They would often bump heads, but always came back together.
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    We were your typical lower-middle-class, black-American, slightly dysfunctional family. Our parents believed in kids having chores. On Saturdays, Cec and I cleaned the house. I would take the upstairs, she would take the downstairs and we would do the basement together. I might rake the leaves, mow the grass or help shovel a neighbor’s sidewalk for allowance money. Our parents also believed in discipline. We grew up with spankings and punishments. We didn’t think of raising our voices. Sucking your teeth or rolling your eyes were grounds for Lava soap on the tongue, which has to be one of the worst punishments ever devised by parents! After a while, Cecilie and I were self-checking—our parents only had to look at us and we would fall in line.
    After our chores were done, my parents always had ways of keeping us busy. I would go to the boys’ club and play bumper pool or basketball or peewee football, and they would take us to museums and the theater and other safe environments where we could dream and learn. Sometimes we would go ice-skating at the Jack Adams Memorial Arena near our house. On Sundays we went to church, although when I was twelve we just stopped going. I never knew why, yet I missed it. We didn’t go on family vacations, probably because my dad worked all the time. Plus, traveling was expensive. But when I was a teenager, Pappy came and got us and took us out to Boston. There I met my extended family. We talked to my maternal grandparents on the phone three times a week and definitely on Sundays. I grew up in a family where my grandparents had the longest long-distance relationship I’ll ever know in my life. That’s what we knew—really keeping in touch. We were on the phone all the time.
    On the downside, my parents argued about money. Theyhad this thing about “this is your money, this is my money.” As best I can tell, they never worked that out. Mom just chose to let Dad manage the family finances. And my dad always seemed to have a lot of secrets. He closed himself up in his office a lot. My mom would retreat upstairs.
    Other than that, we were a tight little unit—our family did everything together. Mom and Dad protected us and kept us close. They instilled in us the spirit that we could do what we wanted to do and be what we wanted to be. If we could think and dream it, we could do it. But that was tempered with a you’ve-gotta-work-it ethic. “Things are not going to come easy, but you can work for them.” They couldn’t protect me from the harsh realities of being a black boy, but my parents knew that if they armed me with education, knowing right from wrong and the knowledge that I was loved, I would do all right.
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    Over that first year or so that we lived on Appoline Street the climate began to change. The peer pressure shifted from being about school, good grades and running fast, to what you were wearing and how well you could fight. You had to fight to defend yourself and your reputation. Now, it wasn’t like today, where if someone is bullied, they might turn around and say, “I’m gonna kill you,” and mean it. It was more like, “I’m gonna get my cousin and he’ll beat you up,” or “I’m gonna get you after school,” and the whole school knew, gathered around and almost forced you to fight.
    When we played, we played hard! Pom-pom one-hand touch gave way to pom-pom two-hand touch and finally to pom-pom tackle. In pom-pom two-hand touch you had to touch the person solidly with both hands at the same