Willie Mack, most of us called him Mack fo short (God rest his soul), used ta get drunk off of moonshine and Sprite and tell the same joke:

“What’s da meanest thang you can say to a White Person?”

We’d all respond, “what?” although we had heard the joke 1,200 times (‘cause that’s what polite folks do).

Mack would slowly look around at whoever was dere (fo’ comedic effect I’s guessin), put down his drink jar on one of the card tables, grab his knees, laugh at his own joke befo he finished it and loudly whisper (you know the way Black folks do when they talk about White folks—like we expect one of them to overhear us; even when we’s in our own homes and dere ain’t a White person around), “no!”.

“Worsen thang you can tell a White person is ‘No!’” and then he’d crack himself up again, take gulps of his drank in between wiping laugh-tears with the back of his hand.

And although we had heard the joke 1,200 times, we’d crack up right along with him. Firstly because Mack’s had dat type of laugh that spread like fire in a match factory; and secondly, it was funny in da way an inside joke is (makes you laugh harder cause it’s as true as it is funny).  

I know some folks will think the joke and my laughin’ at it is wrong — but I’m too damn old ta care!  Folks should know I’s gonna call it likes I see it; and when it comes to da truth I sees good. I ain’t saying White folks is bad.  Every race got good folks and some not so good folks; but White folks done had it easier than Black folks so dey spoilt like milk at a summer BBQ.  Even da po ones is used ta bein able to go where dey want to go, gettin away wit thangs we can’t, and bein’ rewarded for thangs dey ain’t do.  

White folks tell dey kids what dey can do and all dey can be; we folks tell our kids what dey can’t do.  Boy, you know you can’t be talkin back to folks like dat.  Boy, don’t be goin to dat side of town.  Gal, you can’t wear yo hair like that and get no good job.  Don’t be actin up in dis sto. Don’t be thinkin’ you can do what yo lil’ White friends be doin.  I still tell my grandchirren, “Ya’ll will be goin to jail, yo lil White friends will jus go to rehab and therapy. Don’t be out here thankin you do what they can.”  I told my kids “no” so much when they were babies that my knee-baby’s first word was “no.”

We Black folks expect “no” so much that we is especially surprised when we gets a “yes”.  White folks is da opposite.  Dey so used to hearing “yes” dat dey act a plum fool when dey hear “no.”  Look at deez lockdown protesters.  God Bless dey poor, foolish lost souls.  Dey don’t even know whys they out dere waving flags, honking horns, carrying signs and rolling around in deez Rona-streets.  Each one gots a different reason when the news-folks interview dem: I need to get my hair done. I gotta go to work. I want to go to prom. The rona ain’t real. The government is just trying to control us. Trump said so. Only thang that unites them is dey mad as hell cause somebody told dem “no.” Funny thang is – dey was told “no” fo the exact same reason most of us tell our loved ones “no”: tryin to keep dey asses alive.  But, look, I says if dey wanna march, let dem march.  What White folks do ain’t never been my concern; no mo den I been dere’s. 

Times like dis, you really can’t be concerned wit no mo than what chu must. Da load is too heavy to be adding unnecessries. I’s just tryin to keep the lil piece of sanity I gots left. Only White man I’s worried about is Fauci. Lawd, dat lil’ man be speakin too much truth. Anybody done seent him lately. Ain’t nothin’ worse fo dis Trump administration den somebody wit a brain (to think) and some balls.

Whooo Chile, I be drankin too much of my peach-wine when I talk to ya’ll. My lips is loser than a stripper’s hips on pay day. Let me hush up. Ya’ll stay sweet now. And be safe. You know Aunt Randi loves you.