The Problem with being Bengal

The trouble with being me is that I've always been super idealistic and hyper-imaginative. I was born with a sense of what is right and what is wrong, and it has landed me in some very confusing moments in my life. Having an imagination from hell didn't help matters either.

Being a kid with a stubborn attitude about what's good and what's bad got me bullied a lot, and I do mean A LOT. As a kid, I always thought being good and doing the right thing was "cool" and "hip". To me, being kind and helpful made a human being awesome. It sucks that it took me about four decades to find out that I was right the whole time! Ain't that a bitch???

You see, I was raised on TV shows like Superfriends and Spider-Man back in the late 70's/early 80's. Doing bad things was wrong and a wrong-doer will eventually be punished for his or her behavior. Inherently,-

I ALREADY KNEW THAT!

That's the reason why I loved those shows so much. Yet, there was a toy that my parents bought me because I BEGGED them to when I first saw it in the Kmart on South Post Oak and South Main. It was He-Man. The box he was in said MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE at the very top, and right below that was his name and who he was as a character. It read-

HE-MAN The Most Powerful Man in the Universe

I looked at the back of the box he was in and saw that there were other characters. They were even separated into two categories: Heroic Warriors and Evil Warriors. That satisfied my personal idealism a hundred times over! This was the answer to my question at the time: Am I wrong?

Am I wrong for thinking the way I do? For believing the way I do? Are all the morals that I hold dear not cool in the grand scheme of things?

I was so confused.

There was a time when Ridgemont, the subdivision I lived in, was perfectly mixed. A third White, a third Mexican, and a third Black. Now that I think about it, I suppose the Whites didn't like to be even with the rest of us... Or maybe they just saw the "ghettoness" rising in our beloved neighborhood. Regardless, they were smart to get the hell out.

Speaking of when Whites lived in Ridgemont, I remember having a crush on a beautiful, golden-tanned, blue-eyed blonde that worked as a lifeguard at the P.U.D. pool. I forget her name, but when I was eleven, I pretended I was drowning so that she would come into the pool and so-call save me.

She didn't.

She waited for me to stop pretending, for me to look up at her afterward, and then from the comfort of her lifeguard chair, she asked "Are you looking for attention?"

I was so embarrassed. All I could hear at the time was the laughter from the other kids in the pool, especially the teens. I also heard her little boom box playing the finishing tunes of California Girls by the Beach Boys.

But as I was slowly climbing out of the pool, I heard another song start to play. Then I heard the lyrics "Watching every motion in my foolish lover's game..." It was Take My Breath Away by Berlin, a song that I had already associated with that lifeguard. I kinda wanna call her Miranda. Don't ask me why. It just feels right.

So I faked a slip and let myself drop into the pool, but not without my body slamming onto the floor and bouncing into the water. That part was accidental. That part hurt like hell.

Yet, I got what I wanted. That beautifully crafted bombshell of a woman came in after me. She wrapped her arm around my torso and pressed my body onto hers. It was the most magical affection I had ever felt. I have never gotten that feeling back in real life. Only in dreams.

If I do recall correctly, I do believe that was my first woody. My legs were wrapped around her hips and my arm around her shoulders. I think all of that gave her the hint that I was okay.

"Bengal, right?" she asked as she carried me across the five feet depth area of the pool.

"You know my name!" I hollered in glee as she continued to walk me across the three feet area and sit me down on the steps.

"Now, you sit here until the pain goes away..." she said and paused. "...and your little thingy goes away." She walked out of the pool and sat back on her little tower.

At the time, my best friend's name was Mark Perez. He had two older brothers by the names of Manuel and Nick Perez. They were all in the pool, too. They were there with the Melgoza, and all of them witnessed the whole thing. That really sucked.

It really sucked because Javier Melgoza was an asshole. He was arrogant and liked making fun of little dudes like me. He had a younger brother named Ricky, but he was completely the opposite. He was cool as hell, really nice to little dudes like me.

But Javier wasn't my first bully. A tall and lanky Black kid was. His name was James. He was cool with a Black kid named Andre, who was also a bully, but Andre wouldn't be a bully to me for long...

Before all of that went down, though, I was molested by my own friend David when I was six. He was just a poor, Black kid, though, about six as well. I don't think he meant to take advantage of my naivete. I believe he learned the doggy style from being around older kids and watching dogs have sex. In turn, he just wanted to show me how "dogs do it". He had me get on my hands and knees in my front yard and commenced dry-humping me from behind. My dad pulled up in his car and caught us. He pulled David from his arm and launched him about ten feet to the side. I quickly saw the surprised look on David's face, as if he didn't know he had done something wrong. As my dad quickly carried me into the house, he yelled at David to "Go home and never come back!"

Seeing that my dad was a mean-faced muscular man, David got right up off the street and took off running. A few days later, he came and knocked on the door. I opened it and he asked if I could come outside and play. I told him that I couldn't play with him anymore, and so he left. He was all alone. I was the only other kid his age at the time. I felt bad for him, and I hope that he learned from being thrown several feet away from me, that what we were doing was not for kids to be doing. Even though my dad sat me down right after and told me it was wrong, I had already felt it was wrong.

A year after, I was molested by a kid named Chaka. He wasn't so innocent, though. We were both about seven and he had a trampoline in his backyard. I wanted to jump on that trampoline, and since I wasn't a shy kid, I just straight up asked him if I could. So he opened the gate to his backyard and then I saw him do the strangest thing. He started looking to see if anyone was around. He closed the gate door behind us and then said "Wait a minute."

Confused, I stood in place as he walked to the back to see if his parents were in the backyard, but they weren't. He came back to where I was and then he said "Wait a minute" one more time as he put his hands on my hips and started dry-humping me from the front.

Stupidly, I asked him "What are you doing?"

"Hold on," he replied, having his way with me.

"I gotta go home. My mom's calling me," I told him.

"No, she ain't, nigga. Just wait a minute!" he said forcefully.

"I gotta go!" I told him, and I quickly walked out of that gate and straight to my house which was right across the street. It felt like that time with David, but worse. Chaka knew what he was doing, unlike David. He even looked to see if anyone was around that could catch us in the act. Nasty little fucker.

What I didn't understand at the time is why would two Black boys target another boy. I didn't see that happening within my Hispanic peers. Even though I was a little kid, I still understood boys liking girls and girls liking boys. I never saw or thought of boys liking boys until that shit with Chaka.

Luckily for me, I threw those thoughts about race and homosexuality to the side and just charged it to them just being curious and dumb little kids. Somehow, at such a young age, I knew that not all Black boys are like that. As I grew older, I saw that there were homosexuals and bisexuals in every ethnicity. I was proud of my eight-year-old self for not allowing myself to be racist, for not allowing myself to be a product of my environment.

But I did discover the grey area of life. Even though I stuck to what I believed in for a few more years, I also made sacrifices. I hated that part...sacrificing what and who I was. With my molesters, even though I didn't let those experiences harden me or make me a bigot, I still sacrificed my innocence.

Sacrificing my innocence led me to decide that since it was already gone, I should just go ahead and see what other adult things I should discover to help me grow up faster. I didn't want to be sheltered anymore. I didn't want to be ignorant of the things that could harm me, or the things that could help me survive socially.

These were my thoughts at such a young age. No kid should have those thoughts. No kid should want to be an adult. A kid should be care-free and have the most wonderful and wondrous time of their lives. Their imaginations should run wild at all times, but because I was taken advantage of and because I was bullied, I could no longer afford to remain a child. I had to learn hard and ugly truths of this world, and I had to make decisions that would help me get through certain situations, but most of the decisions I made were wrong and stupid.

I am Bengal Chyron, and I have lots to tell you...