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Anthony J. Brown

Professor Molko

ENC 1101

28 September 17

Im a Thug

A life without literacy is that to macaroni without cheese; it does not mix. It juss dont

add up. Nevuh had, nevuh will. The priceless impact that ideas and communicative symbols have

played upon my life is remarkable. Aint no denyin it. Beautiful and upsetting forms of this

knowledge have shaped my thoughts and I would not be in such a positive and explorative space

if literacy was absent. Real spill. The ability to be proficient in the literal sense is irreplaceable

and merely being grateful for its significance is a true understatement. It has never let me down,

and I will forever owe it. My inner thug and genuineness serves as the basis that has allowed me

to progress in this world of literacy. You gon see wat Im talkin bout.

Miami, Floridas very own Trick Daddy said it best: I dont know what this worlds

gonna bring, but I know one thing; that this is the life for me, baby, cause Im a thug! After

reading this, one might be trying to piece together what a thug is exactly. Per Urban

Dictionary, and not to be confused with gangster or gangsta, a thug is defined as someone

that continues to stay true to their course amidst any and every strife that they have encountered

during their lifetime. This often stereotyped being yearns for better and never derails from their

own track to do so (thug). This idea was heavily exposed to me while growing up in crime,

drug, and poverty ridden Liberty City, Florida; ultimately defining my double-conscious-like

character. Being that the media and news only account for what they can exploit from the

outside, there rarely has been anyone to speak and elaborate on the better half of what positive
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influences there are while growing up in my hometown. Da news really dont show erthang. Dey

wanna expose us. Yeah, we as a group feed to da stereotypes; but all da time? Dat aint true.

Erbody aint no criminal or hitta. Iss ups an downs; not juss downs. We a big fam.

In fact, I agree with Deborah Brandt in Sponsors of Literacy. Whether it be through

music, sports, attending school, or simply being out in the hood, my experiences in this city and

its teachings have sponsored my literacy for English and life in ways that I have never realized

until after maturing (Brandt 68-69). Reflecting upon those times allow me to appreciate the

progression of my often-challenged personality. The major episodes through literacy in my life

are single lightbulbs that evolve into chandeliers and keep my path well-lit. This effort hints that

remaining a thug has been and always is the best possible choice for my literate well-being.

Living under the influence of negative sponsors such as troublesome family members,

violence, and suspicion did not affect my life in a negative way. They were push factors. I was

not attracted to the consequences of any wrong doing and that disgust truly changed my

viewpoint regarding literacy and the changes it can bring into life. As a jitt, I was always

considered smart or gifted, and sure, the title was fie, but I had not grasped the concept of

being advanced and how that could benefit my knowledge in the long-run. This added perception

of my intelligence painted a target on my back; expectations. I accepted that test like the

University of Miami football players accepted money and gifts from Nevin Shapiro; willingly!

Rightfully so, I pushed myself much more during my experience. I was not only attending school

to learn, but to learn and prove that I was more than worthy of the reputation I was handed. That

mentality would remain a cornerstone of my character.

To start, Olinda Elementary is where I attended all six primary grades; kindergarten

served as the start of my literate marathon. The memories are vivid. Circa 2003, ma ole boy took
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me ta school erday down two-two ave in his gold 93 Acura Legend coupe. Juss like ma thoghts,

tha car was precious; I couldnt even slam tha doe! My father is articulate and that was evident

his music choice. Hed play artists such as Luther Vandross, Kanye West, Usher, Erykah Badu,

and Kenneth Babyface Edmonds just to name a few. Although their compositions have had an

impact on my growth, Alicia Keys provided the most power. Almost, if not every morning, my

dad would play her song titled Diary, and til this day, chills travel down my spine when I

listen to it. Yall juss dont kno wat dat song mean ta me. This passionate music being

continuously pumped into my innocent and welcoming ears introduced me to thinking in a

deeper way, even though I still could not piece it together at such a young age. I absorbed the

positivity and genuineness of the songs like a sponge and did my absolute best to relay those

traits into the classroom. With that positive mindset, kindergarten was not a challenge and I

jogged right past it. I had achieved excellent grades and was above the reading and science level

of everyone in my class. The sponsoring of my dad led me to believe that I had no choice but to

excel, and in turn, I did.

However, this situation occurred from within. Those on the outside looking into the city

limits did not expect such a difference from us. Dey expeck us to be sum dummies and nevuh

amount to nothin. To elaborate, while in kindergarten that year, I had become acquainted with a

kid whom Ill call Rod, a six-year old repeating kindergarten. It was very unfortunate that he

could not advance, but I was never able to realize why. The next year, first grade was my

challenge while Rod was in kindergarten for a third year. The disposition and situations of his

life were not known to me, but academically, I used his setbacks as motivation. I understood that

I must have been doing something right while he had not. The young kids in the same

environment today shall also seek out the positivity in their situations. The chain reaction must
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be broken. No one wants to be looked down upon or less successful than their peers are. I got

family membuhs das not developed. Jitts wit no father figure, or no guidance an iss sad. Dey see

da same thang erday and got nothin else as a example to follow. I did not want to fall behind,

especially when I was already ahead. At that very point, my thirst for knowledge and truth began

to grow, so, I drank every water bottle put before me.

Ultimately, the next five years in Tha City was live and provided examples of paths I

could travel over, making it my job to decipher and make the correct decisions. Did I want to

settle and feed the system like my relatives and countless others? Or did I want to go against the

grain and rise like dough? I heard da cussing and hittin tween baby mamas and baby daddies,

became accustomed to po-po sirens an gunshots, seen chain snatchins, gas station fights, an

even a dead body in da street all befoe da age of ten. On the contrary, I had also been part of

positive energies such as summer programs, playing throwback (football) and video games with

my brother and his cousins, attending the Joseph Caleb Centers library, African Heritage

Cultural Arts Center, and becoming acclimated with the helpful citizens of my community who

were not gangsters or drug-dealers. I encountered the ideas that Vershawn Ashanti Young

mentioned in Nah, We Straight: An Argument Against Code Switching. Lacking emotion, not

knowing when to differentiate between slang and English, and perceiving sports as the greatest

invention did greatly affect me, yet, I still managed to make a thug-ish declaration (Young

152-153). I did not fade and fall into the perceived inevitable black-hole. Schooling and

education was the right choice. I embedded those city experiences into my still developing

character and used them to progress through the development of my literacy in middle and high

school.
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However, Doctors Charter School was an entire different ball game. No, it was not

designed to prepare you for a medical major in college, but it was a rather small institution

located in Miami Shores, Florida. Grades six through 12 totaled 600 students and my graduating

senior class was made up of only 64 students. I high-key wanted ta leave aftuh like 3 months of

skool. Played in da band an dat thang was foo! Playin in middle skool band was way bettuh! Da

lunch was extra foo! No lockuh rooms. Middle-schoolas runnin round on a 24/7 sugah rush; dey

was really wildin! Everyone literally knew one another and I had to adapt after transitioning

from a middle school with over 1,500 students. I was quiet an observin, juss scopin da place out.

Using my acquired skills from past situations, I quickly became accustomed to the family-like

nature and made a name for myself by being part of the schools basketball and track team.

Ninth grade was the typical easy does it year, tenth grade was the bad apple of the

bunch, but by 11th grade, I had developed a reputation for being one of the smartest kids in our

grade and that is exactly what I wanted. I took pride in my work; fitting in or being a cool kid

was not my goal. I was striving for the best and was surprisingly ridiculed for it. My junior year

of high school was a breeze. I had achieved As and Bs along with multiple honor roll

designations and was not expected to achieve anything less. However, during the first half of the

year, Poetry 1 served as a pit-stop along my journey. Poetry is a passion of mine that formulated

over time with my appreciation, and I was looking forward to what the course had to offer, but,

the first day arrived and I noticed that the room was filled with class-clowns. Understandably,

they did not take anything seriously and one troublemaker in particular would always position

his chair to face the direction of my girlfriend and I so that he could low-key stare at her in effort

to nag my brain. That simple action along with other incidents did tick me off a bit, but I

perceived it as oxygen fueling my already burning fire to prove my dominance through words.
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G-code dat kinda stuff got me 38 hot, but I aint say nun of course cuz I wasnt tryna start no

drama, but like, where dey do dat at? I kept my eye on dat but kep it movin at da same time.

Being that I am a black male, society does not expect me to express my feelings, but,

thugs do not blindly accept false dispositions. I was always tot ta keep it a hunnid no mattuh wat;

ta be a shepherd, not a sheep. Intuitively, I released my emotions and was readily attacked

because of it. Being black and emotionally conscious was unheard of, but remained persistent.

Water, life, and mental vortexes are topics I expanded on most frequently. I simply followed my

heart and spilled my emotions into the assignments. Being literate was me. Every day in the class

was a new opportunity to gain street cred. I was growing as a person and student but the constant

feeling of loneliness rang through me; validation was a necessity.

One day, the teacher decided to play the film Dead Poets Society for the class. When the

film began, I had no expectations. I just saw it as another movie about kids reciting poetry and

one would somehow make it big. As the film continued, it became more intriguing. I began to

realize what theme Robin Williams and his counterparts were depicting. The amount of

immediate amazement and relief that tingled down my spine was unmatched. Even though it was

merely a movie, the young school boys made me realize that I was not alone. It was in fact

completely normal to possess a passion and follow it. My poetic bird no longer had to be caged.

It was ready to fly. The comradery and yearn that was built through poetry and literacy truly

inspired me. That event solidified my relationship with writing as its value rose and I became

more appreciative of its power. Understanding that a Hollywood director cared for literacy as a

whole amazed me. One had to travel through similar incidents in life in order to bring such a

truth into production. All the hours put in to close the mouths of those clowns did serve a

purpose. I was wordy, worthy, an accepter, and a believer. I be lookin back like, sheesh! I flipped
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a bad ta a good. Jitt turned out ta be ma motivashun an bought me closuh ta ma literate self. In

so doing, I became a fiend for water by the gallon and the next checkpoint along the road was not

far away.

Finally, my primary literal trek was almost over. Class of 2017, yes, we the best! is

what all 64 students would say during our senior year. Scholastic opportunities were taken

advantage of and we ensured that our last year of being labeled children would be the best.

English 4 Honors was the course I was enrolled in, and I was ready for the last stretch of the

race. Our instructor was Ms. Carmona; a spunky a fierce little woman. She was the teacher who

knew nothing about trends, but did her best to learn about every single student. We loved her for

that. It was times when she was corny as heck and Im juss in the cornuh like, wat dis lady

doin? On da real tho, I got nothin but respeck fa ha. Her unbounded love for literacy and

passion while teaching had rubbed off on me within 3 weeks; a job well done. Participating in

that class was a vital portion of senior year going great, but, all good times come to an end.

Unfortunately, down the road during the year and amidst a fun-filled stretch, various

events occurred; essentially sucking the very soul from my broken body. A friend of mine had

passed away, relationship problems were constant, AP Calkalus was givin me a run for my

money, and basketball activities left me heavily sleep deprived. I was borderline depressed. I was

in a space dark as midnight and those around me noticed with ease. I wanted ta go missin, quit

da team, leave ma girl, an drop out AP Calkalus, but, I had ta be G.U.M.P (Great Under Major

Pressure). Folding under difficulty was the easiest way out, but the finish line was just over the

hill. I needed an escape; a bat to hit the major-league curveballs being thrown at me. I began to

revert back to my old city ways. Music and writing became my best friends. I had begun

listening to music now more than ever, deciphering it messages and roots along with composing
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poetry routinely. Messages that were first introduced to me as a five-year old were finally

resonating due to my evolution. I had become closer to the little child whom everyone called Ant,

Nuk, and Blue. I started back talkin like I unplugged the systematic extenshun cord an I aint

care wat nobody had ta say. I needed to heal myself in the only way I knew how. I broke away

from the institutional chains and figuratively traveled back to Tha City (Young 152-153). I

followed my fathers meaningful musical footsteps. Mick Jenkins lyrical genius and Deniece

Williams sweet, emerging, and joyous voice aided me in sparring through every battle. Deep

thinking was now standard and my thought processes began to transform with my vocabulary

like no other. Composing essays in English became second-nature and Ms. Carmona applauded

me for it. There was no day during this period that I did not write, listen to music, or even think

about the two. I fell in love with literacy and those closest to me could perceive the aurora it

provided. The mental high that was experienced is simply unexplainable. It was evident that I

was still a thug. No negative mindset nor giving up. I did what was necessary to climb out of

lifes hole and kept it moving. Consequently, if literacy was powerful enough to help me cross

the border of depression, it cannot merely be a checkbox in ones life. Honestly, it should be

seen as a phenomenon capable of wonders beyond thought. Just like the ole saying goes; not

all superheroes wear capes.

In all, when these three literal experiences are reflected upon, I can arrive at the verdict of

elation and satisfaction. It is easy to see that every checkpoint essentially provided fuel for the

next run. Without participating in this marathon, my stamina would have suffered. I surely was

not aware of what the world would bring onto my plate, but, no muzzle was needed. I ate. I am a

thug and I will not change for the world. I still had my baggy jeans and gold teeth; literacy

and schooling. Both still defined me in the long run. I had all da resources ta play ma cards
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right an Im beyon grateful. From Tha City an back, dese thug ways always gon shine thru.

Literally. Wat else ya expect? My Nana kno how ta cook macaroni and cheese!
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Works Cited

Brandt, Deborah. Sponsors of Literacy. College Composition and Communication, vol. 49, no.

2, May 1998, pp. 165-85. Rpt. in Wardle, Elizabeth and Doug Downs, editors. Writing

about Writing: A College Reader, Bedford/St. Martins, 2014, pp. 68-99.

Trick Daddy. Im a Thug. Thugs Are Us. Atlantic Records, 2001.

Urban Dictionary. Urban Dictionary, 2006, www.urbandictionary.com.

Young, Ashanti. Nah, We Straight: An Argument Against Code Switching. JAC Online

Journal Volume 29 No. (2009). Rpt. in Wardle, Elizabeth and Doug Downs, editors.

Writing about Writing: A College Reader, Bedford/St. Martins, 2014, pp. 148-170.