I went on one of my daily walks a week ago. For background, I’ve been consistently walking in my neighborhood either in the morning or afternoon every day I can since December of freshman year (rain or shine). While walking my usual route, I noticed a new Jeep parked outside one house (I think a girl I go to school with lives there). I could tell it was new because it still had the paper temp license that they give new cars. Not only was this Jeep new, but it also had all its doors removed. Now this wasn’t some new sight to see, since I do live in a little white suburb where this is typical for most Jeep owners. However, this experience really made me question: where do Jeep owners put their doors during the warmer months? Until this moment, I never really thought about it, and how do the doors just magically appear all nice and new in the winter? Do they have, like, a Jeep fairy that delivers and takes their doors periodically throughout the year? I’ve also questioned why Jeep owners put those stupid ass ducks in the windshields, but that’s a question for another time. As an African American who has been subjected to white suburban culture his entire life, I’ve been left with no real outlet to answer these questions.
Once I entered high school, I started to notice that more of my “friends”—or at least people I’d known since middle school – began to pick up golf. Is playing golf a rite of passage for the average white suburban teen? Is dusting off the ol’ clubs and headin’ to the local country club to play a few rounds with Daddy-o the Christian equivalent of a Jewish bar mitzvah? This doesn’t mean to say that I despise golf. I love Happy Gilmore and the good era of Tiger Woods. It's just that my name isn’t Lion Trees and my family happens to lack a country club membership and a set of clubs. At the end of the day, maybe I’m just jealous that no one ever asked my black ass to head out there and play a few holes.
One time while I was on one of my previously mentioned daily walks like a year ago, I was profiled by some white lady who claimed to live in my neighborhood. I was on the home stretch of my route when I encountered her and her two giant pitbulls restrained by chain leashes. As I approached her on the only sidewalk on that road, I had on my now-defunct AirPods (they’ve since gone quiet). As I was about to pass her, she stopped me and asked me my name and if I lived in the neighborhood. The music bumpin’ in my ears prevented me from hearing her the first time, but once she repeated her question, I told her my name and that I did, in fact, live in the neighborhood (probably longer than her dumbass). She then proceeded to look me up and down, probably astonished to see a fully fledged “nigger” in the flesh. Her mind was probably wrapped around the idea that some black folks could cultivate some merit and a nice middle-class life in her suburban utopia. She then began to claim that she’d “never seen me before”. I don’t remember what happened after that, though. We probably just said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. In the moment, I don’t think I thought much of it, and it goes to show my complacency in the environment in which I was brought up.
During the fairer months of the year, the white chillun’ at the bottom of the street tend to come outside and play. Coming outside in white suburbia is pretty much against the law for some reason. I know I spend a lot of time indoors, but you could go your whole life without knowing some kid lives right next door to you. Maybe they haven’t learned that Diddy and R. Kelly were locked up yet. Anyway, sometimes the kids drive around on those miniature cars they make for kids. Though I’m too old now, I've always been secretly jealous since my parents refused to buy me one when I was that age. Whenever I tend to stroll by on my walks and intrude on their fun, I never get a hi or anything. Instead, I get stares and cheek turns. Maybe that’s just the life we live. Hopefully, it’s not just the life I live (which it probably is cause my personality).
The necessity of private vehicular transportation is most present in white suburbia too. You practically need a car to go anywhere. Walking isn’t impossible, but it’s pretty much obsolete if you want to get anywhere in less than an hour. In defiance of this car dependency and lack of public transportation, I used to walk home on occasion and to friends' houses. I guess people get a kick out of asking the less fortunate black teen if they want a ride home, because it happened a lot. Fortunately, I know better than to hop in a random person's car; that’s why I’m still on this earth writing this at my desk. When living in white suburbia, it’s not crazy to see more fortunate people driving around in their little golf carts (on the same road as cars btw). I don’t know anyone personally with one (it tends to be the people that live on or nearer to the lake), but I think these people own these golf carts as a sole alternative to actually driving their other cars. It’s insane. These same people allow their kids, UNDER the age of sixteen, to drive THEIR golf carts on the road to and fro. It’s bloody mad.
Maybe one day I'll figure out where Jeep owners keep their doors. Maybe someone will finally explain the ducks. Maybe somebody will even invite me to play a round of golf. Maybe I’ll even get my own golf cart someday. Until then, I guess white suburbia will keep feeling like a place I know by heart but never quite belong to.
Please take this as some satirical commentary and not some hateful blasphemy. Disregard the grammatical errors here and there.
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