Village People

One of my childhood friends posted on FB lamenting the loss of "The Village." Y'all know, "THE VILLAGE"? That place where old gra'mamas and gran'daddies were quick to cut a switch to chastise an unruly child? The neighborhood where any and ev'ry person older than you had a right to put you in your place and even spank your tail if need be (follow along, folks--there's gonna be a lot of colloquial language in this post). The place where all adults were addressed as Mrs., Mr. or Ms. So and So? Or if your family was close to them, they were called Auntie, Uncle or Cousin Such and Such? Everyone in The Village knew you and all of your bizness (if you were old enough to have any). The place where street gangs had standards and even operated like mini-Pac Tacs keeping the outside riff raff from harming the local folks (crazy, but true)?

I remember The Village: they were the folks who instilled the fear of God (pronounced GA-UHD--in my southern Baptist Preacher voice) in children and who made us stand up a little straighter and talk a little lower when they were within earshot or eye sight. The Villagers didn't, as James Brown said, "Take no mess" and thank goodness we didn't try them too often. Remember when we were growing up (anyone before 1980) and we had to sneak and do stuff? I remember knowing if anyone in my neighborhood saw me doing anything unbecoming, my @ss was grass and any one of them would be the lawnmower? (Insert trembling child here). Shute!! I was scared of these folks, not because they were mean (although some of them were); I was scared of these folks because I knew that their hopes and dreams were poured into me and their children and grandchildren and they were willing to do whatever to make sure that we didn't mess up. What.ever. (Who callin' CPS? You better toe the line!!)

Listen, I was raised by my grandmother, who hailed from the South. We grew up under "heavy manners" (as my Trini friend would say). The Village was watching: we polished our shoes on Sunday and washed any laces for sneakers; we wore foundation garments and slips under our dresses. The young men wore belts and hard bottomed shoes to church on Sunday. We brushed our hair and teeth with equal enthusiasm. We had to look sharp because The Villagers didn't play. Cleanliness was next to Godliness indeed!! We had Chores (*gasps*). Yup, actual chores that we did on Saturday mornings while listening to old school R and B on the local radio station. And we didn't complain (at least not loud enough to be heard--who had a death wish?). We hopped our dusty butts out the bed and got our buckets of pinesol, bleach, and furniture polish and went to work. The Villagers demanded a clean space as well as a clean body.

But the Village wasn't all pressed shirts and Saturday chores. The Village was kickball games, block parties, corner stores, juleps (whatchall know about a julep stand?), etc. It was a place where children could be children because the adults had their roles covered. We could stay out until the street lights came on and then we scattered (like roaches, I guess) and got home "just in time." Y'all remember kickball, dodge ball, shoot 'em bust 'em up (not as violent as it sounds), basketball at the local court or rec center? Do y'all remember penny candy that actually costed (yeah, I wrote costed) a penny? Do y'all remember peppermints in your pickles? Man, I'm getting nostalgic writing this...(I'm about to go buy some Boston Baked Beans and then blow in the empty carton to make a whistle sound *sigh*).

I'm telling you, these kids today don't know nothing about The Village. They don't have the benefit of true neighborhoods where all the kids played together no matter how much money they had or who lived in the home. It was truly "all for one and one for all." Y'all need some food? Food cupboard, nothing. The neighbors went to their own meager cupboards and somehow made meals and brought food to whosoever needed it. Need some money? Man, the local numbers runner also doubled as a credit union and you could just pay him back a little at a time so long as you sent him a fresh pie and a plate of colla'd greens on Sunday. Man, The Village was all right. We took care of our own. What you know about 9-1-1? Somebody broke into your house? Any of the local thugs would be puttin' his ear to the street to find out who got'cho stuff. And when he brought it back to you and told you "don't ask any questions, ma'am", you chastised him for beatin' somebody up? #Thevillagedon'tdiscriminate.

Listen, the Village had some problems (this post ain't about that), but I am tellin' you (in my Dreamgirls voice) that the Village boosted up a lot more than it broke. That it shaped a lot more than it shortchanged. I am a walking testament that living under the watchful eye of the Villagers made me the woman I am today: a God fearing, peppermint in pickle eatin', Saturday chore doin', old school R and B list'nin, foundation garment wearin', shoe polishin', colla'd green making RESPECTFUL jr. Villager. I am a proud product of the Village and I stand on the shoulders of the Villagers who helped shaped me. Thank you Grandma, Grandaddy Frank, Ms. Myrtle, Ms. Henrietta, Ms. Delores, Ms. Tee, So Sporty, Grandaddy Sam, Shake and Bake, Mr. Vaughn, Mr. Willie Dennis, and many more...Thank you for looking over me and watching out for me and being an unconventional family...

"Every Ghetto, Every City" by Lauryn Hill