Weight: 190 lbs
Height: 6′ 3″
Ethnicity: Piscataway-Conoy/African American
Marital Status: Single
Sexual Orientation: Straight
Occupation: Software Developer/Entrepreneur/Dancer
Education: B.S. Computer Science
Hometown: Washington D.C.
Zodiac Sign: Cancer/Leo cusp
Political Views: Social Democrat, Fiscal Republican, Tortured Soul
Celebrity Lookalikes: Will Smith, Craig David. Fuck.
I was born in Sibley Memorial Hospital in Washington D.C. – a neighborhood that would clash starkly with the one I actually grew up in (two people were stabbed in my driveway before my tenth birthday). I spent the next 18 years living in southeast D.C., coming of age under the emotionally…confusing…tutelage of my parents and older brother.
When I was eight years old, my father wanted to see how I’d respond to finding a gun – a common occurrence where I grew up. He proceeded to hide a small pistol under a shammy when I was fooling around in the garage, and he hid it in a place where he knew I’d look. I inevitably found the gun, turned to see my father hiding behind the door with a shit-eating grin on his face, and have been pretty much terrified of him ever since.
In 1993, my parents bankrupted themselves and said ‘fuck off’ to all their personal aspirations to send me to a private school in Virginia. It was at this school that I learned:
* How to write
* How to get along with white people
* Life isn’t fair
In 7th grade, the school sponsored a highly-controversial ‘Discrimination Day’, which I assume was designed to somehow teach rich white kids what it was like to be black during Jim Crow. Every day they’d randomly select a group of students to wear purple ‘outcast sashes’, which indicated that they should be treated poorly throughout the day. Teachers wouldn’t call on them or would punish them at random, and non-outcasts were encouraged to treat them like shit. Imagine the look on my face when, on the day I received the outcast sash, I found that the only other two students in the class wearing them were also black.
One of my uncles died many years ago and left us his house near the beach in Northern Neck Virginia. I was about 12 or so and running around in the woods there when I came upon a real estate agent with two people who were interested in purchasing the lot the forest was on and surveying the land. One of the men saw me, and asked “is this your property?”, to which I responded “no.” He then told me, in as many words, “then get your little ass the hell outta here!” I scuttled off and sat in my dad’s truck. The guy who yelled at me then comes out of the woods, and proceeds to angrily lecture me about respecting other people’s property (ironically, this asshole a.) was trespassing to lecture me and b.) had trespassed to enter the woods at the trailhead, which is on my family’s land.
I was at the beach house one day when my father called me from outside. I exited the house to find him holding a poisonous snake at bay…with a pump-action shotgun. He then proceeded to blow the snake’s head completely off. He said it would make me stronger.
As far as I’m concerned, these are the only parts of my life story that really matter. I pretty much stopped learning anything after I turned 13. I also really wanna make pancakes, so fuck this article.
Figure 1: What I look like when I don’t get my damn pancakes.