I grew up raised by my mother in a single family household. I was also brought up around two older sisters. I felt as if my masculine identity was missing so I indulged in various outlets in search of what a truly meant to be a man.
I started to listen to rap music in conjunction with my peers. I found their confidence and machimso to be the quintessential elements of a true man.
Before listening to this music, I would paint my sisters’ nails and watch sailor moon with them.
This verison of me rang particularly true one day after school. I was riding my bike and spotted some nice honeys. I am talking about dimes: 10/10.
I used to have the pegs on my bike that allowed me to hold an extra passenger.
I listened to 50 cent – Get In My Car that morning before school.
“I got no pickup lines, I stay on the grind, I tell the hoes all the time, bitch, get in my car.” That line was reverberating in my head during recess.
My ego was plumped by Mr. 50 Cents words. I approached them and asked them how their day was. I was quite the charmer for my age.
“My bike has an extra spot if any of you want a ride home.”
“It’s okay, we live down the block.”
I rode my bike back home with tears running down my face. I recounted the story to my sisters. They comfort me with sailor moon and ice cream. All was good.