History Of My Homes

Growing up I moved a lot. I have always wanted to have pictures of every house I grew up in or at least what my room looked like. While I do not have the latter, I do have Google and with it I can look at images of my old houses. Above is my Grandmama's house. I had to put that because from birth to 9 years old I spent my morning till afternoons there. I've found each of the seven houses I lived in with my family before escaping to West Hollywood and will write about the good and the bad about each. Also how long we lived there as far as I can recall.

89th St. (11 years)

This is the first house I grew up in and when I think of my childhood sticks out the most. I loved this house so much. I was here from birth until 11 and it sucked to leave it. Out of all the houses on the street this one, meaning my old one, looks different. Every other house looks exactly the same.

Good: Huge backyard. Like...really huge. My cousin lived next door and that was fun. Lots of kids on the street. Thrifty's ice cream that became the Western Swap Meet later. Mr. Bros. shaved ice shop/arcade that was owned by my next door neighbor. Singer Karen White lived right across the street. “I'm not your Superwoman...” Nice fireplace. Big front porch.

Oops Upside The Head!

When I was little I hit another kid in the head with a brick. Hmm. Maybe I should offer an explanation to this. That was a really bad way to start a story. Ahem! So one day I was hanging out at my Grandma’s house sitting outside pissed off because it was my brother’s graduation but my mother wouldn’t let me go. So off we went to 47th and Central to play in the dirt until they returned.

I should point out the difference between Grandma and Grandmama. Grandma was a sweet old lady that never yelled, got angry, or hit any of us no matter what we did (and we did a lot!). Grandmama wouldn’t waste a second laying hands on you and saying things like “Boy, you as slow as molasses!” I loved them both but one would lay the smack down and one wouldn’t. the one that didn’t, Grandma, probably should’ve though. Especially with sociopaths like me with access to bricks.

Rosscast Episode 188: "You Think You Know Me"

In this Adam Corolla inspired episode I talk about my childhood and the lack of encouragement and love involved in it by my parents, a list of the top qualities it takes to be a parent, something called “helicopter parenting” and how it affects kids, and I debut a new segment where I discuss my past jobs. Click here to download this and past episodes. Enjoy!

Picture Day!!!

Ah, we all remember picture day at school. The biggest memories I have of it was trying to stay clean so I wouldn’t end up with a dirty ass picture later on. On the picture above I remember how awesome I thought I looked. I had my cool vest (which my sister who sent me the picture says makes me look like Carlton) and my crisp collar. I was pimpin‘, pimpin’!

So I get to school and all day I’m like “Don’t touch me!” It seemed like every dirty kid in the school wanted to touch me that day. But I stayed clean and got in line to have my photo taken. But before the photo was taken the lady got a brush out and touched my hair. You don’t touch a Black man’s hair! And while she was messing with my hair, why didn’t she fix my damned collar?! Look at that thing! It looks like I got into a tussle. And my lips. My poor, poor lips. They look the ashy.

I am glad this picture wasn’t lost amongst the hundreds that my family has let slip away. Look at how smooth my skin was. And I still have those damned arched eyebrows. And my eyes look so bright and full of hope. My biggest concerns then were making it home in time to watch cartoons.

Rockets.

Honey Rings (Not A Sex Toy)

So earlier this week I went to the 99 Cent store with my sister Cam. While we were there I saw some cereal called Honey Rings. They look like Cheerios’s but shiny and huge. I told her “I hope these taste like Honey Bunches of O’s!” If you have never had that cereal you have no idea what you’re missing.

I pour the Honey Rings into the bowl and am shocked by how skinny and small they are. They look nothing like on the box. Either way I doubt they will taste horrible like Grape Nuts (which contain neither grapes nor nuts). Here goes nothing.

I sat for a moment and looked at these things wondering why they were shiny. Like, did little elves polish these things? I see they were made by a company called “Pampas” and wondered what that means. Apparently its some place in Argentina or something. So far to go just to end up costing less than a buck.

I taste this and my mind gets blown. I start having flashbacks and cant figure out why yet. “This doesn’t look like it should taste like this” I thought to myself.

Where in the hell did I taste this before?! This is the same feeling I had when I sniffed my glasses case in junior high. It drove me crazy until I figured out that it smelled like my old ass Mr. Potato Head toy. This tastes like something I had years ago and if I don’t figure out what that was I will surely snap. Not screaming crazy nuts but walking down Sunset Blvd. in my draws nuts.

I’ve got it! It tastes like fucking Swedish Chef cereal! Why in the fuck does this taste like Swedish Chef cereal? That cereal didn’t last all that long but tasted awesome. I stand triumphant knowing that I have averted my eventual insanity for another day. Take that, God!

Now I’m confused. Yeah, it tastes good but the fact that it tastes like something that I haven’t had in 21 years disturbs me. Was the formula just sitting around somewhere? Is Swedish Chef cereal still being made in South America? How about Krispy Kritters, Mr. T Cereal, or Rice Krispies with marshmellows?

Either way, if you happen upon this stuff buy it. If you want a flashback and great taste get your mitts on this stuff. It’ll make you feel good. And it wont make you rush to the bathroom Raison Bran. I swear I thought there were two A’s in raison…

Rockets.

Stupid Brave

There were a few guys I knew growing up who were for lack of a better or more inappropriate term bullies. Now, bullies would tend to focus towards me for random reasons. Either because I was small, tiny, or nerdy. Take your pick. They aimed their punk ass sights on me and made their move.

The first one was this guy that lived down the street from my Grandmama. His name was Kerry. He should’ve been mad getting a chick name like that. Whenever we would go past his house he would chase me, my brother, or my cousins or any random kid that walked by. He was one of those kids that were big for his age. Not fat wise, but just tall. One day when we got to school he was just waiting for us. For some reason that day I was in a mood. It could’ve been anything. I could have had wrinkled pants on, the cereal was gone, or I got called a ugly motherfucker one too many times by my mother. Either way, I wasn’t having his shit this day. He started messing with my cousin first and then went to me. He started pushing my shoulder and trash talking until WHAM! I clocked him on the cheek and took off running. Yes, I ran. I wasn’t stupid. Dude would’ve beat my ass if he caught me. I ran to a teacher and turned on the waterworks. Man, I used to be good at forcing myself to cry. He got suspended and never bothered me again.

The next was this boy named Sherman Boyd. I hated this kid. He was this big boned fool that didn’t live in the area like most of us that went to the school. He would pick on me, Damien, and Tony. One day I was tired of him. I loved going to school but I hated dealing with this nonsense every single day. I was never one of those kids that would get older brothers or cousins to go after people for me. I could have though. One day I told Damien to go mess with him and have him chase him around the building. This part of the school was always quiet after the morning when the tiny kids were in class. So Damien’s crazy ass shoved him in the back and as he ran around the corner I shoved Boyd (yes, like a TV bully he went by his last name) and he went flying sideways to the ground. Me and Tony jumped on him and started wailing. He never said anything to us again let alone bugged us.

Bullies are pussies. They either get their asses kicked at home and take it out on you or they are just mean. Yeah, some people are just mean for the sake of it. I never had a tolerance for them and I still don’t. When I see someone pushing someone around all I can think is “Push back!” Sure, you might get your ass kicked but at least you did something about it. You might surprise yourself and beat their ass. It felt good to finally fight back and I always encourage others to do the same. Never let someone push you around just because they are bigger, faster, richer , or better looking. None of that matters. That’s one piece of advice my father gave me (pretty much the only advice).

One day while watching boxing he said that this one dude would lose. I thought he was crazy. This guy was buff as hell and looked like he wasn’t afraid to go back to prison. My father said, “It don’t matter how big somebody is. Anyone can be knocked out. Plus, being that big is gonna make him slow.” Sure enough this dude got knocked out in the 2nd round by a perfect body shot. A body shot to a stomach covered in abs. We are all tougher than we give ourselves credit for and its about time we all realized it.

Rockets.

From This To...This?

I was talking to a friend yesterday about how I have been socially and around women. This is someone that knew of me when I was little and through junior high. We didn’t hang out. She was a part of the popular group but she didn’t see it that way. I was a part of the nerdy group running around wrestling each other, drawing, and arguing over who would win in a fight between Batman and Wolverine. Chick magnet, I was not.

We got on the topic of me not chasing after girls. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I just was very good at talking myself out of pursuing folks. I would see a girl and know what kinds of dudes they were into and tell myself, “The guys she likes are tall, athletic, and have actually touched a boob and made out. I have not. And moving on…” She says that I wasn’t that bad looking in school but that I lacked confidence. I don’t see it that way. What I did was take a look into the future and saved myself a bit of rejection.

At various points I was really short, really short and fat, or really short, fat, and strange to everyone. I lost weight but then just looked hungry. After school I filled out (a bit too much) but I was in a relationship at the time. Even when I was single I wouldn’t run around chasing chicks. I’ve never been that guy. Even when I was horny as hell I couldn’t make myself just hook up with someone and mess around. I have been accused of thinking like a girl in that regard.

My height was a funny thing growing up. I remember my brother saying, “You’re gonna be short, fat, with bad teeth.” And I believed him. There wasn’t any evidence that pointed to me turning out otherwise. My family is short, had dental work done, and high blood pressure from being overweight. I was kinda like, “Fuck it.” I was funny to most people and could talk shit with the best of them. If someone made fun of me I could sit there and bring them close to tears. This was done without even cursing which most people will resort to when insulting folks. I was clever and knew it. That was my best weapon. My mouth and my mind.

Eventually I got taller, my teeth are perfect, and while my face doesn’t stop traffic its okay looking. The friend I talked to said that if I lived in L.A (South Central) that I would have been a different person. Like, if I had stayed I would’ve had more sexual partners or something. I doubt it. As soon as I open my mouth people realize that I’m not thug. I don’t use the N-word. Yeah, I curse (more than I should but less than I use to) but at least I’m creative with it. I’ll call someone a son of a ass or asshat faster than anything else.

When I hear kids complain about being made fun of in school and stuff I just wanna tell them that it gets worse when you grow up. It doesn’t get easier but you just have to learn to handle that shit and use it for fuel. The guys that made fun of me when I was young are either dead, in jail, or look like shit. I think I turned out alright.

Rockets.

Baby Me...

There is so much I’d like to know about myself when I was a baby. I have heard bits and pieces but for some reason bad memories seem to run in my family. Me and my Grandmama have the best memories but I wish the people I grew up in the house with did.

My mother said I was boring. That I didn’t cry or anything. I just sat there looking at people. My pa said that he liked me and held me all the time. Since there are only three baby pictures of me in existence I’ll have to take his word for it. Oh, and I call him “pa” because when I was little me and my brother called him by his first name. Then one day he told us to call him “daddy.” Once I got a bit older, like 10, I just never referred to him as anything. Its weird but to this day I will call him “pa” or nothing. On a birthday card years ago it said “From Ma & Pa!” and from the living room I shouted “Pa!” and he was like, “Aw, damn it…” He now had a name. Pa.

As I was saying, no one ever describes me as hyper, bad, or whiny. Its funny but my mothers description is pretty much how I would behave at parties as an adult. I’ll find a nice spot and just watch people like some sort of National Geographic where the animals can talk. I have a few memories from being an infant. Yes, I know how crazy that sounds. I remember being in a playpen and licking it to see the bubbles pop against the screen. I remember my mother taking me into the shower before I was 1 and freaking out at the water beating my ass. I remember my stroller and loving the ugly orange, brown, and red thing. I remember crying when my brother took it apart to use the wheels for a doomed go-cart.

That picture of me up there is one of three that exist. The other two were found looking for pictures of my late brother for his funeral. They were taken on the same day and I was standing and smiling. Like I am in this picture. That’s my Grandpapa in the back sitting on the bed. I had this picture for years until I noticed him back there. I look at baby me and wonder if I knew how my life would’ve turned out if I would have acted differently. Would I have given up or grown up tougher? Ah, who knows? But I like looking into my past face and seeing that even as a baby I could sit there with perfect eyebrows and laughing at something.

Rockets.

My Childhood's Better Than Yours!

Kids are lame. Too soft. I see commercials and ask myself, “So this is where the future is headed?” I look at the soft playgrounds and sigh. I check out their cartoons and shake my head in disgust. Kids have no idea on how much they are missing out on.

Let’s start with the fact that kids don’t go outside anymore. When I was younger you’d have to fight to keep me indoors. Outside was where the dirt was. Where my friends were. Where the action was! So why is it nowadays there are actual commercials that tell kids to go outside? The flipside of that is that its so damned dangerous outdoors. When I was a kid you had to worry about being abducted. Now kids get stolen by people that are related to them. I played inside but it was usually a video game, but even that made me wanna play outside!

Kids are so baby soft. Hmm. That didn’t sound right. What I mean is that their playgrounds are made so that they never get hurt. Getting hurt and dealing with pain is a part of childhood. Do you want your first bloody knee to happen when you’re in high school? Get all that shit out of the way now! Our playgrounds were steel and splintered wood. None of this plastic coated, foam rubber floored bullshit you see today. When we fell we got hurt, cleaned ourselves off, and continued. Now if a kid gets hurt someone has to sue and someone has to get fired. Take your lumps and be a real kid.

Bullying is even softer. Remember when you got picked on in person? Now they have this Cyber Bullying nonsense. When I was a kid if a bully fucked with you there were only three things to do.

1. Fight back and make sure you hit them hard enough to where they would never try that shit again.

2. Just let yourself get picked on and grow up with all kinds of anger issues because you were a pussy and couldn’t stand up for yourself.

3. Get someone bigger than the bully to fuck them up good.

Now you can send them a text back or better yet, tell a parent. We are watching the most passive aggressive generation grow up right before our eyes. You have to treat them with kid gloves because you don’t wanna hurt their feelings. Knuckle up, bitch!

Their cartoons and shows make me wanna stick my dick in my eye. When I was little I could wake up on a Saturday morning and watch cartoons from 5am till 2pm. Now, there are barely any to watch and the ones that are available are so horrible more than a minute of viewing knocks your IQ down by about forty points. What happened to classics like Transformers, COPS, Thundercats, Jem, and Centurians, or shows like Pee Wee’s Playhouse? It got replaced with cartoons about having your pets beat the shit out of each other and Hannah Montana. Oh, the sadness! I would hate to be a parent now and have to see the shit that your kids have to watch. High School Musical. Need I say more?

Rockets.

The Parent Trap

I always say how I never say I am sorry about things. I just try not to do anything to fuck folks over and hope they return the favor. People say sorry to me and I don’t know how to take it. I mean, I’m not gonna forget what they said or did. So I don’t accept the apologies. Damn it. What is a man to do?

Whenever I think about my childhood I have some fun ass memories. I remember jumping from roof tops, riding in shopping carts, wrestling with my brothers and cousins, riding my bike in the backyard for hours until I remembered that I had to eat. But then I recall all the bad shit. The alcoholism from my dad. Being beaten. Having my own mother call me an asshole like it was my actual name. Parents of the Year candidates, they were not.

I know the thing that bugs me most is that they haven’t apologized. Yeah, it makes no sense. I don’t accept them and I figure its because people say them and all’s I can think is “Why the fuck don’t my parents apologize for how they treated me?” The things is they don’t remember. They legit never even acknowledge it. My mother has the memory of a goldfish and my father was drunk during most of my childhood. How can I expect someone to apologize for something they don’t remember? Oh, now you see the dichotomy I have set myself (or was born) into?

I used to wish that my parents would divorce. They split for a few weeks and it sucked so much dick and ruled so much ass at the same time. Like, on the weekends we stayed with my father and it was awesome. We went to church and I got to see my family that my mother let us see. We would rent movies (one of them being “American Tail” which I cant watch to this day because it made me cry like a bitch). And my fish tank was there. Then it would end and we’d have to go back to my mother and live in Sucksville, CA. Oh, and during this time I got hit by a car. Good times.

I know that one day I will have to forgive them. I know this. But damn it, it seems like I’m gonna fight it until the end. Maybe one day I will have an epiphany and all will be forgiven. Who knows? Stranger things have happened. Until that day I will keep seeing them once a year, not calling often, and keeping my life private from them. Rockets.