Most of my childhood was spent on the east side of Detroit—Mack and Van Dyke specifically. It wasn’t a safe area by any means but typically people looked out for one another.

Typically.

The day I was mugged wasn’t typical.

My mother sent me to Mr. Clark’s party store to buy a gallon milk. We didn’t have a lot of money, so I needed to take two large bags of recyclables to help pay for it. Michigan offered 10 cents for each aluminum can. In the hood, those two plastic bags were good money. I’m not making excuses for my attacker, just adding context. He was an adult, and I was in elementary school. Pretty sure he could’ve just taken the bags without holding a knife to my face. But then again, if he were clear-headed, he wouldn’t be mugging a little boy to begin with.

When he went for the money in my pocket, I bit his hand as hard as I could. He punched me in the chest, and I immediately crumbled to the ground. I thought I was going to die. I yelled for help but no one came. Afterwards, I ran home crying and my mother complained about not having milk to make cornbread for the collard greens. My stepfather told me to walk a different way to the store next time.

When I told my father, Elzie, what happened, he didn’t say anything at first. He just stood up from the kitchen table, walked to his bedroom and came out with a pocketknife with instructions: “Use it.”

“Son, no matter which way you walk, you have to be ready to protect yourself.”

And then he went back to watching the game.

Typical Gen X shit.  

Anyway, at the time, I thought my father was only talking about Detroit.

And me.

As I grew older,  I realized he was pretty much talking about everyone, everywhere. 

No matter where you walk in life, be ready to defend yourself. That includes understanding who you are and who you are not. Not all thieves carry knives.

Sometimes they want money.

Sometimes, they want the best of you.   

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