#i feel like Dave in her adulthood probably gets really into fashion since it’s not really smth she was allowed to be into as a kid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

laidbackmarco · 6 years

Text

Trinkets of a Different Time

As a kid I remember rifling through my dad’s nightstand to find small pocket knives, trinkets, and various other personal articles. As a romantic and philosopher I believe the inanimate objects we interact with everyday tell us a lot about ourselves, and have deep vast stories hidden with them. One could argue that they are as much a part of this living breathing universe as we are. The imagination of a child allowed me to daydream of a life lived before I came into the world.

How much do I know of being a minority in the 60s, 70s, 80s? What Tacoma was like, the stories of Kansas and Virginia which always seem to not be long enough for me to know anything. Or on my mom’s end how could I know what it was like to lose my father at an early age. To grow up in a third world country miles away over the pacific ocean. I hear short snippets of each of their lives through oral stories passed down from one generation to the next. But it’s often strange to think about how little we know about the people who raised us, and often weirder thinking that they have as little of an idea of what they are doing as you do.

Strangers With The Same DNA

My mom being a party animal, my dad being some sort of geek. . . If I met them on the street would I recognize them? What I would give to be Marty McFly and meet and observe my parents in their youth. My knowledge is so limited I have troubling remember what happens in a day if I don’t journal. The images I have of my parents are constructs in my mind that change and shift with every passing moment. Remember the image you held of your dad when you were five, its probably the way my elementary school students think of me now as a 23 year old adult. Up till seven I thought my dad was some sort of flawless super hero. Of course that image has since changed, but as I grow into adulthood and discover how hard it really is, I can once again say that I am amazed by the things my dad has accomplished on his time on this earth. The flaws my dad has only make him more relatable, and overcoming some of them is a testament to how much he cares.

Parents lie to their kids all the time, I think my parents lied about their past as much as they tell the truth. Of course they could be lying on accident due to the lackluster perception of self present all humans. (including me the author)

Most of my parents lives I was not a part of . . .the time I spent with them is less than half of their lives. I know mostly nothing about the people that live under my roof with me and have guided me through the world that they too had to figure out and find meaning in.

The Same Name

Maurice Vincent Harris

My dad and I share practically the same name, but I have never once called him Marc or Maurice, to do so would just feel wrong. Even calling him dad for the sake of my “audience”(thanks for reading really. . .and most of you are English speakers I’m assuming?) feels so unsettling. Because to me he has always been Tatay. Hearing that word in my head makes years of memories fly through my mind. Recently he’s picked up the name Beefo, a name my little sister has knighted him with. During my time in high school my friends had come up with a name for my Tatay that is the most fon for me to use Black Mario.

Black Mario felt just as right as Tatay and is less intimate so for the sake of this chapter let’s call him Black Mario.

Things Only I Know

What can I tell you about my dad that no one else knows? He’s afraid of dying just like everyone else, he hates his job although he appreciates all that it’s provided for us, his favorite cigarettes are menthol lights, he worries all the time about all his kids. Karina, Cristina, me. . . But he worries about Karina the most. . . Because they are scarily alike. He is very old fashion and rarely cooks, cleans, or does the laundry, but he does like to do yardwork and keep all the vehicles in working order. Some of his bad habits are gambling, smoking, and road rage. It’s hard to sleep around him because he snores very loudly, and once he’s out it’s hard to get him back up(yay for sneaking in xbox time). He’s not afraid to express what he feels at restaurants, but for some reason can’t get in touch with his sensitive side. He misses the days when I was little. His mind is always on the future, but is sometimes impulsive. He doesn’t sleep much, but he can sleep for a while when he finally retires to the bed. He’s not as fast up and down the stairs as he used to be even just ten years ago when the regular pace of the slight jog going up the stairs has turned into a labored and offset slower paced climb up them. He expresses his emotions in weird ways like some sort of anime tsundere.

That’s my image of him now, but I know with all things this wasn’t how he always was.

I remember growing up I used to tell people I was black and they wouldn’t believe me until they saw my father. Trying to describe my father to someone who had never seen him went as follows. Well he’s a tall black guy with a mustache, who always wears a hat, and blue Boeing coveralls. He is a plumber/maintenance worker. A description closely matched by one of the world’s most famous Italian plumbers in the world. Mario. . .

Slice of Life

Although Black Mario is my father, the knowledge I have on this specimen is, only a slice of his life. Most of his existence remains shrouded in mystery.(If I ever have kids they can literally search through my teens and twenties, and even further back if I get around to scanning and uploading our photo collection) They need to hurry up with that assassins creed machine Animus please. I know his birthdate by heart thanks to all those damn how old are you things on the internet for mature games not porn I swear. I always put in my dad’s date of birth for some reason so my Xbox live account says I’m in my sixties. I always think about Alan Watt’s description about how we describe a beginning, did my father’s life start when he was born, when he was conceived, or when he was an evil gleam in his father’s eyes?

Baby Boomer

Black Mario is a baby boomer born on December 31st 1954, being part of a military family he was born on the other side of the country in Virginia. Dave and Patricia Harris. Like many, my grandfather had served in Second World War another young man thrown into a battle that shed much blood, but also brought the world together. When the war was over he was in his late teens and met a young girl from the Philippines who returned with him to the states. In the Philippines due to the lack of documentation it was possible for my grandma, who was actually 14, to lie about her age. Perhaps America was the land of opportunity and a chance for her to seek adventure out of her small province. Due to the different cultural values of both the time and the region, it wasn’t strange for people to be settling down and having families at a young age. I mean the concept of “adulthood” is a construct created by culture. Using an arbitrary number such as one’s age to determine responsibility is pretentious, preposterous, and absurd. There was a time when people settled down much younger in life due to the short life expectancy. In other cultures the marriage ages vary to some degree as well, and for all you Christians out there, Mary was like fourteen so . . . Yeah.

Two teenagers went about raising a family . . What could possibly go wrong?

My Grandpa was a short tempered, sharp tonged, sometimes violent man. . . God. . . He’s starting to sound like the stereo typical African American T.V. Dad. Although I imagine being in the military during war time will change you, being African American his role was limited to a cook. He was damn good at his job too often getting requests from generals and officers to have him be the one to prepare their meals. I can’t really speak much about Grandpa Dave as I know almost nothing about him.

Mark In The Middle

My dad is a younger middle child of a large family. . . 12 kids I believe, Lola tells stories of never ending cooking, cleaning, and laundry. . . My worst nightmare. . . Laundry. The values at the time consisted of a breadwinner and the stay at home mom. With limited education and the high cost of daycare what choice was there for Lola. Did she have any bigger dreams than that? For someone like me with delusions of grandeur I often forget that some people’s dreams is to provide and care for a family.

My dad’s journey began in Virginia, where there are a lot of other Harris family groups, but I have never been to the big Harris Family reunion so they might as well be aliens with similar D.N.A. My dad himself doesn’t seem to remember much about Virginia as the earliest stories he had was the drive to Kansas itself. With no freeways, it must have been a traumatizingly long journey for a kid to remember it. When I was a kid when I thought of Kansas I thought of the Wizard of Oz and little house on the Prairie. But included in my dad’s memories are a packed station wagon full of stuff and kids. The American Road trip has some what of romanticized image. With no smartphones the entertainment you had was the people with you and watching the world fly by you.

Kids tend to complain when enduring such things as their perspective on time is much different from a fully grown adult, since time is a relative function 1 year to a five year old is 8 times longer than it is for a forty year old. They would have complained but I imagine grandpa would probably say this when he was at the end of his nerves. “Stop complaining before I give you something to complain about”

The thought of a Parent striking a child is something that I’ve been protected and shielded from for the most part. Sometimes black Mario would spank us or give us a light tap on the head. . . But never beat or strike us with full force. . . Apparently his dad would “beat the shit of of him” and his siblings sometimes. . .I don’t know if this extended to my grandma as well. The terrifying thought and reality of a child being abused in any way isn’t something we like to keep in our minds, but it happens I can only wonder what kind of feelings Black Mario must be harboring about that, he never talks about anything, so that’s not how he expressed it. Perhaps in some journals in the garage somewhere I can find an answer. (Although I’m one of the people that thinks kids are too soft now a days, I mean I got spanked and I turned out somewhat fine. . . Right?)

I doubt that Black Mario has many memories before he was ten, because I’m a third of his age and I have barely anything up there, but from what I can gather about Kansas is that its flat, cold in the winter, hot in the summer, and there are tornadoes. Being stuck in the basement of a house sounds like as much fun as a being millennial in a power outage without cell service.

The Place Where I’m From

When Black Mario was in the third or fourth grade he moved to the City at the Center of my heart. The 253, T-Town, the city with the famous aroma. . . The city of Tacoma. And his family lived in the one place they could afford a home, Hilltop. Which if you’re not a local has a bad rep with being a not so good area to be in, Tacompton. Although neighborhoods were not segregated by color in essence with the way housing prices were in certain areas they might as well have been. Speaking of Black Mario experiencing racism in his youth. It’s not a matter if he did, the question is how much and when he met these challenges and from whom. Being a mixed raced Filipino sometimes it’s hard to fit in with either group and you end up in this limbo between races. Thankfully being in the pacific northwest the harsh treatment was padded to a certain extent, but not eliminated.

I find it extremely odd that events I’ve read about in history books like the moon landing, JFK, Nixon, and all the fantastic things that were happening with the red scare and the cold war were experienced by the teenage version of Back Mario. I ought to pester him and ask him about that one day over a beer. . . Or a joint I mean I’m in Washington let me pick my poison XD. I get these stories but, there are certain things that don’t come to the surface when hearing these stories. It’s so hard to interpret another’s worldview and the personal experiences they have that shape the way they see things. What kind of ten year old was he? A shy quiet one, or the ever rambunctious loud type. Being the younger of the boys of his family, I can speculate that he was given a lot of hand me downs, having the nickname buck(for bucktoothed) probably means he was the one getting teased by his older siblings. Being that my dad is like me and has trouble communicating and keeping friends he and my uncle Cisco or Coach were probably really close.

One thing I know about my dad from his stories is that he is a hustla. He used to shine shoes or sell things to the businessmen of Tacoma downtown, he had a paper route, and he worked in the school cafeteria. Which has a number of benefits, extra food, free lunch, and cash. But it was probably hard for him to make friends if he was working while most kids bond over things like meals. He went to Jason Lee middle school where he played in the drum line and was a bench warmer in sports. To be honest being a black kid in America you’re expected to come out of the womb dribbling a basketball, but luckily for black Mario he enjoyed basketball, but where he actually played the sport I have no Idea.

East Side

Sometime during the teenage years the family moved from hilltop to the East side of Tacoma. The house they lived in was very small for the amount of people that were housed there, but you have to make do with what you have.

This house is very close to the original home in east Tacoma, shown here is my uncles place

When Black Mario hit high school age he went to Stadium High school where he once again played the drums and remained on that shiny bench keeping them nice and warm for the starters. Black Mario didn’t actually graduate from stadium, although he did get his GED. During this time I have stories of him getting caught underage drinking with his stadium friends in northeast Tacoma, when apprehended by the police, he was met with the terrible consequence of pouring the beer out “I had to pour out a whole 30 rack once it was the saddest thing as the cop made us pour them out one at a time”.

When he joined the Military in 1972 as a young Kid. Often hearing his disdain of the government it’s really surprising that he would ever join the military, but I guess you can’t argue with a job with decent wages that provides meals and housing for its soldiers. Not to mention that being in the military teaches values such as work ethic, the importance of time, and some other valuable skills. Other than the whole training you to kill other human beings thing, it’s a pretty good deal. With the military he was able to go to Germany and Korea. Those memories unforgettable as he still talks about the days abroad.

My favorite story is after a night of drinking his best friend Rodney began to put his uniform on.

Black Mario: Nigga why you putting your uniform on Rodney: They serve midnight chow and you gotta be in this here uniform to get some chow. Black Mario: Hey wait for me I’ll put my uniform on too.

While he was in the military Black Mario did some real evaluating and thinking. He calculated the amount of money he got paid per hour to be a solider and compared it to what they were making at Boeing. In 1977 he was honorably discharged from the military achieving the rank of Sergeant. His stint with the military gave him priority for getting a job at Boeing. The company he’s still working for into his sixties. Unfortunately his first relationship didn’t last as long as his job, and neither did his second, but he did have kids and I got extended family members out of the relationship.(well more like they got me because I was to come later) What is a mystery to me is what he was like through the 70s and 80s.

The Big Mystery is What was he like?

His vocabulary and humor makes me feel like he experimented with drugs, I mean that 70s show and Cheech and Chong are funny for most people, but the green guys n gals find it more funny. He and his friend Bobby used to Deejay, but what kind of records did he spin house, hip hop, disco, techno? We get snippets of the music he liked, Funk, Disco, Old school Rap, disco. Did he like dancing and stuff going to the discos?

Having owned a Harley, a Firebird, and some other cars like an RX7, he must have enjoyed motorsports as much as I did.

I think he was a geek, because I remember he had a NES, a Nintendo entertainment system, and so many nerdy toys from the late 80s that he has to be a nerd. Not to mention he beat the Mario Arcade Game, he knew the Pacman Pattern at one point, and he is insanely good at Bullet Hell games. I felt like he went to the bar and played the arcade games and pool, more than socializing or drinking. His memorabilia includes Transformers, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, so like me he was a grown man who watched cartoons did he read comic books as well?

Family Guy

My dad has fond memories involving my three cousins Ja’nielle, Jarod, and Jon Jon, where he was that cool, weird uncle who lived next door. There was probably a part of him that longed for that family life after his relationships didn’t work out as he had hoped.

Life changed for Black Mario when he went to either a party or a bar one night, he would encounter the most dangerous thing known to man. . . A pretty Woman.

If anyone wants to learn about where I come from this is an article that's about a millenial kid thinking about his boomer dad #babyboomer #millenial #family #kids #dad #father #black #mario #autobiography #tacoma Trinkets of a Different Time As a kid I remember rifling through my dad's nightstand to find small pocket knives, trinkets, and various other personal articles.

2 notes · View notes