JOURNAL ENTRY:

REMINDERS

by Lucille Hunt @ 1984

December 17, 1982 1:43 p.m.

I hate days like today! They pop up right in the middle of a stretch of good days; a full week of no arguments with Alma (my lover), no landlady calling about rent, no major mishaps with Alexa (our child), bills all paid with money left over, no friends lost, and then-- BOOM!--a day like today. Reminder Days is what I call them. Reminder Days remind me that no matter how good I feel about myself, there's a million folks out there who'd take delight great to convince me that I'm shit. Reminder Days remind me never to stop fighting. Never. Except maybe at home.

Alexa and I left the house this morning at 8 So we wouldn't miss our AFDC appointment (to see that they don't find Despite reason to deny us benefits). the morning's excursion, we were both pretty cheerful seeing how it was the first sunny day San Francisco's seen in three weeks. So we boarded the 49 Van Ness and plopped down in a seat in front of a and womon--both white, early 30's. He had a gray 3-piece suit and briefcase; she had a tan skirt, matching blazer and unserious necktie (obviously, runners-up in a Barbie-and-Ken-go-to-the office-look-alike-contest). With my back turned, they were out of sight, out of mind.

man

On 16th and Mission Streets, a busy stop at anytime of day, a young Black womon around 19 tried to get her two year old son to stand up while she searched for her bus pass. The boy started fussing, and without hesitation or warning (for us spectators), she hauled off and slapped him hard on his head. The bus driver

All you

"Oh, my

happened to step on the gas right then, and the boy went flying down the aisle crashing into legs and shoes. could hear, besides crying, was: God!" "Did you see that?" "¡Cuidado!" "Catch him, ¡Ayudenlo!" Several arms reached out to slow down his momentum, and eventually his mom scooped him up and sat somewhere behind the rear door.

quick!"

Things got quiet again back to the normal bus-ride chatter, and while I was thinking what I would've done differently if Alexa ever put up a fight while boarding a bus, I heard from behind: "You know, Gary, I think some people shouldn't be allowed to raise children. Did you see how hard she hit that cute little boy?"

I'm assuming From Gary's "uh-huh" that he didn't really care how Black people treated each other just as long as they didn't delay his business meetings.

'Barbie' continued: "The proper authorities should develop an application to weed out women who wouldn't qualify as good mothers even before they consider getting pregnant.

They Gary asked: fathers?"

"and the potential "Oh most definitely, "Most definitely!"

'Barbie' confirmed.

The awesome. orange Social Services buildilng was in sight, and all I could do was feel angry. I wasn't even sure why I was angry, so I didn't say anything to the couple as I got off the bus (But you know what? I felt this same way on another Reminder Day when my dredlocks were long. There were two men standing in line at Safeway. understood no German insult me. Shaking frowning, they said: the strangest things to their hair!")

were

printed

They assumed I and proceeded to their heads and "Those people do

I walked into the waiting room with all its orange and yellow plastic chairs welded together and all the dark-headed womyn and men and congested children--all worn from having their morning routines interrupted by a ridiculous and It became clear humiliating interview. to me that these people were the ones 'Barbie' would eliminate from parenthood. For one thing, half of them need not apply unless the application in Spanish, Tagalog, Mandarin, Vietnamese, Laotian, Cantonese, Cambodian, Arabic, French and Sanscrit. The rest of us, literate in English, would fail after page 1, for lack of "source(s) of income" and "net income." And if my mom had filled out a parenthood application, I know I wouldn't be here writing this stuff; and if I had completed an application, Alexa wouldn't be making me laugh with her mimicking; and if every eligible Black person filled out an application today, we'd be an endangered species in less than a decade! December 17, 1982 4:30 p.m.

Alexa's napping now. It's been a couple hours since we got home, and I haven't done anything significant except cry. I know I'll get over this day, but until then, HOW it just hurts. dare they advocate this genocide disguised as concern for our children! How dare they!

(For some reason, this reminds me of a time when I was a seventh grader and the P.E. teacher assumed that because my friend and I were Black, we must've been rowdy and disruptive. So he didn't allow us to be in his beginning swimming class. "Sorry," he said, "we're too full. Take track or basketball." Twelve students in his class, none of them Black.)

Sometimes, I wish I were as oblivious to my status in this country as that bus driver was to that little kid.

(Continued on p. 6)