Pride is a dangerous thing.
In a way, pride is just the ultimate setup for disappointment.
That’s the way it goes in life and that’s the way it’s going in the ‘hood.
Why? You ask?
Walking from the bus stop on Sunday night, I saw two things---one a more common place occurrence and the other is something I’ve never seen in Woodlawn: A young white woman walking a
Cavalier King Charles.
That's a breed of dog you don't see too much around these parts.
As more people discover our gem in the rough known as Woodlawn, white neighbors are not that rare of an occurrence anymore.
A Cavalier King Charles on the other hand, is a reason to celebrate.
You see my friends, when you live in an emerging neighborhood; it’s the little things that make a difference.
I hate to say it, but image is everything.
Whether its
shoes on a wire, the
Jenkins Boys on the corner, trash on the parkway or a woman (regardless of race) walking her Cavalier King Charles.
In the dead of night, might I add.
These are the non-verbal clues that help people shape their perceptions of your neighborhood.
And for some people, perception is reality.
So there I was feeling the upward trajectory of the ‘hood when I got a text Monday night.
“I just heard about the
muggings at your Metra Station on WGN. Please be careful.”
Apparently King Charles Cavilers don’t mean shit to a
knife wielding lunatic.
Naturally, this was the talk of the train stop on Tuesday morning.
All of the ladies were putting together the bits and pieces of what we heard vs. fact vs. what was on the
news.
More importantly, we all talked about how to stay safe.
I recounted the story of my aunt who lived in (and still lives in ) Gary, Indiana in the 1970’s.
As a nurse, she would have a rotating shift that sometimes put her waiting on public transportation after dark.
She had already anticipated that some jagoff was going to screw with her so she took my grandfather’s .38 along as a traveling companion.
Imagine that the nurse who’s caring for you during your convalesce is packing heat in her locker at the hospital.
Hot.
One night while waiting for her bus, someone tried to mug her.
She shot him---lit him up like a Christmas tree.
Then on another night in a separate incident, another idiot tried to mug her.
She shot him too.
After that, she didn’t have any more problems.
To this day, we don’t just pop over to her house. We phone first. We always let her know that we’re coming.
Knocking on her door or entering her house unannounced is not a wise thing.
But this little story serves as a good lesson.
I have a saying, “The sharks go where the fish are.”
Apparently the fish have moved to Woodlawn.
That station is
super creepy and is the perfect place to snatch up a sister if you have sinister intentions.
You see my friends; this dumbass just hasn’t met the right woman yet.
Trust me, I’m not her.
I’m not walking around with my chest poked out with an “S” on my sweater.
But you all must understand that sisters are doin’ it for themselves.
You can’t wait on the police to come and rescue you; especially when some bumblefuck decides that because he’s a little short on cash that any random woman walking down the street is going to be his personal ATM.
Because when he runs into the woman who doesn’t give a fig about the illegality of handguns in the City of Chicago and he makes his play, let’s suffice it to say that he’ll see the lightning flashing.
And I, for one, will cheer.
