When I Was a Shortie

What up, homies? Check this: Peeps always be aksin’ the M-Dawg to tell his stories ‘bout when he was a shortie, and to ‘splain what made him so hard. So I’s gonna lay it all out there and give it to ya straight up, G’s, and write what them cracker book peeps be callin’ a “memoir,” if you can believe that wack shit.

First, you gots to recognize where the M-Dawg came from; what his environment and shit was like. I was born in Albany, New York and growed up on the Hill, yo. Okay, so it weren’t the muthafuckin’ Arbor Hill ‘hood, it was Pine Hills, but y’all better recognize that me and my Pine Hills homies had it just as hard as them Arbor Hill bruthas. We ain’t had no gun violence and crack epidemic and shit like they had, but the livin’ was still hard. Pine Hills peeps be havin’ to buy they pools above-ground, ‘til they could save enough dead presidents for them in-ground jammies. And me and my homies didn’t get no learnin’ from public school and at our cribs from them fancy Mac and IBM compatibulz that’s all the rage now; us and the school system, we only had enough benjamins to buy them T-Machines: Texas Instruments and Tandys, sayin’? Times was tough. My homie Gary’s first car was a hand-me-down muthafuckin’ Pinto, yo. And I didn’t has no car at all, ‘cuz the M-Dawg didn’t even respect hisself enough to get his learnin’ permit. That’s some sad shit, but that’s the truth ‘bout how I felt ‘bout myself then, G’s. The M-Dawg had to lower hisself and aks his homies for a ride every place he went, or else ride the wack muthafuckin’ CDTA with them welfare fools.

Hard as it was on Pine Hills peeps back in the day, my moms and us had it harder than most. We was the poorest muthafuckin’ family in the ‘hood, no lie. But we wasn’t on the welfare and getting’ the gubment cheese, yo, we paid for our own Laughing Cow and Velveeta and shit. That’s the first lesson for y’all: don’t be freeloadin’ off the muthafuckin’ gubment; you gots to respect youself and work hard to buy your own shit. That’s what my moms taught me. She be havin’ two divorces and five shorties to raise all by herself, but she was always workin’ hard to buy the food and pay the mortgage and shit. Moms had to “cut corners to make ends meet,” sayin’? I didn’t taste no Pepsi ‘til I was out on my own; moms always bought 12-cent packets of Kool-Aid to save the scrilla. And we didn’t has no rich people Oreos and Hydrox; we had to eat them shitty supermarket brand cookies, which is probably what made the M-Dawg the hard man he is today. There also be a department store in Albany back in the day called King’s, and even muthafuckin’ K-Mart didn’t has such cheap ass shit as King’s, yo. Moms be buying our socks and underoos there, and the cheapest fuckin’ canvas kicks she could find. I didn’t has no fly leather kicks until I could buys them myself, sayin’? And it was moms who done bought me them wack corduroy Toughskins from Sears & Roebuck you see in the picture, yo. Check it: I had two pair of them mo-fo's, and I wore the same ones for a week before wearing the other pair, no lie. I also had them wack plastic-frame glasses until I was a junior at the High, which is why no bitches would get freaky with me until I was almost twenty-five-years-old, not even them skanky ho’s in the Drama Club, for real. I ain’t dissin’ my moms for buyin’ me that wack-ass shit; M-Dawg gives her straight-up mad props ‘cuz she always do what she gotta do wit’ what little she got. Any suckas po’mouth my moms and mess wit’ her flow and the M-Dawg will go all O.J. Simpson on they sorry ass, ‘cuz that shit ain’t right. Woman was workin’ hard at two jobs so’s her shorties could be livin’ large on they dope fish sticks and Ellio’s frozen pizza, yo. But this be still another lesson for ya, G’s: soon as you can, y’all gots to get youself a J.O.B. and starts payin’ your own way. Don’t be relyin’ on the gubment or your moms to pay for your shit. Soon as the M-Dawg be realizin’ how wack he look in that cheap ass shit his moms be buyin’ him and he start respectin’ hisself, he runs out wit’ a quickness and earns some dead presidents of his own. I mowed the lawns of other Pine Hills peeps and gots myself a muthafuckin’ paper route so I could buy my own kicks, jeans, and fly school clothes, like that shirt I be wearin’ in the picture, yo. I bought that blue t-shirt at the outlet store and aksed them to put “I’m a Yankee Fan” on that jammie, so’s I could be the stone col' dopest Mack Daddy at the William S. Hackett Middle School, sayin’?

Word, I was in eighth grade in that picture, yo. Back then, the M-Dawg didn’t even care ‘bout getting his freak on with the fine ho’s all around him at school, if you can believe that, G’s. Straight up, alls the M-Dawg cared ‘bout was “Star Wars” and the muthafuckin’ Yankees. (But the M-Dawg learnt wit’ a quickness that Dungeons & Dragons was the shiznit, too!) Growing up in the 12208, all us peeps be rootin’ for the New York Yankees, the baddest muthafuckin’ biz-ase-biz-all playas in the league. Peeps be thinkin’ to this day that the M-Dawg’s favorite playa be Reggie Jackson, ‘cuz the M-Dawg’s got the hard attitude and the street words down, but they be forgettin’ where the M-Dawg comes from. I mostly be rootin’ for Graig Nettles, ‘cuz he be divin’ and catchin’ the ground balls at third biz-ase and don’t be carin’ if his uniform get dirty. Them Yankees was the bomb in the late 1970s, winnin’ two World Series in a row and shit, but then they be suckin’ in the early 80s, when I be wearin' that shirt. But check this, yo: You still gots to represent your boys, in bad times and good. Some suckas be frontin' like they was always rootin' for the winnin' team, thinkin’ they all that, when they really just be always changin' they favorite team to the boys what just won the World Series and shit. That’s bullshit, bruthas, and that’s the last free lesson the M-Dawg’s gonna give y’all: you pick your homies and stick wit' 'em, sayin'? And don’t be frontin’ like your homies ain’t your homies when they in the gutter; you gots to have they back 24-7-365, even when times is tight. That’s why I be wearin’ that Yankees jammie in 1982, yo. You gots to represent, no matter what.

M-Dawg, out.


[Note: This piece was intentionally written in Ebonics and "Gangsta" slang for comic effect.]