Saturday, September 24th, 2011

“Toby’s dad is ‘it’,” called one of the neighborhood boys at the park.

Anton was enjoying his weekly Saturday game of tag with Toby and the neighborhood kids at the local park. The park’s large, grassy area was rarely mowed and riddled with weeds. Random garbage and the occasional pile of dog feces dotted the landscape. In the center of the park was a circular area of old, red mulch with a rust, brown jungle gym in its center. On the side adjacent from each other were two equally deteriorated, brown swing sets. The children used one of the swing sets, while the other set only had one swing left. That individual swing was used by the local drug dealer as a one stop shop for a variety of illegal drugs. He monopolized that spot for a majority of each day.

The Saturday ritual began two months prior when Anton had taken Toby there for the first time. The two started out on the swings, but Anton didn’t trust the dealer or his clientele. Even still, Anton was not about to let this low-life, punk thug dictate his time with his son. To Anton, it wasn’t just a day at the park with Toby. It was another nod to his biological father and the memories he went out of his way to create with Anton.

The two migrated over to the jungle gym, where Anton surprised Toby with a “Tag! You’re it” and ran up the silver slide. Toby immediately took chase but got stuck half-way up the slide. Anton ran down the metal platforms of the jungle gym to the monkey bars causing Toby to jump off the slide into the mulch.

Some of the other boys from the neighborhood took notice of Anton swinging across the monkey bars just out of Toby’s reach. They couldn’t help but to hear Toby’s laughter as he slid down the taller, plastic slide. Eventually, a couple of these kids crept over to the park to investigate. Seeing how much fun the two were having, they asked if they could join.

The following week yielded the same results. Anton and Toby would play tag, a couple of kids would ask to join and it was a blast. However, this time it didn’t take very long before a more kids trickled into the game. A little while later, a few more showed up…and then a few more…until there were almost twenty kids running, playing, chasing and using the park for what it was intended for…childhood fun. Eventually, some of the other parents got curious and started showing up to see what was going on. Why the sudden interest in the park?

This particular warm, summer afternoon, just as they game was really getting going, the drug dealer had enough. This white boy and all these damn kids were scaring away his customers and he was losing business fast. It was time to put an end to it once and for all.

“Ay! Whi boy!” shouted the dealer angrily at the top of his lungs. All of the children’s shouts of joy and playful banter came to a screeching halt. Anton, who was lying on the ground from a diving attempt to tag one of the boys, stood up. Although he saw it coming, Anton was hoping this wouldn’t happen. The guy was twice Anton’s size, but he couldn’t back down. These kids seemed to be having so much fun. Anton had felt as if his biological father was there, playing with them.

“Who? Me?” he responded somewhat hesitantly.

“Yeah, you. I ain’ talkin to yo son! Yo game is ova! You cossin’ me my bidness!” the drug dealer’s arrogance prevalent in his posture.

“Your customers will survive, I’m sure,” Anton protested. “Puttin the crack pipe down for a day might actually do them some good.”

“I ain’ axin’! I’m tellin! Get to steppin!” the dealer threatened as he leaned forward on the swing, readying himself to stand up and teach this white boy a lesson in whose hood this was.

“No, we kinda like it here. We’d actually prefer if you left,” Anton persisted defiantly.

“Motha fucka, you know who you talkin to?” the dealer was getting more visibly upset.

“I don’t really fuckin care who I’m talkin to,” Anton challenged the dealer. “It’s only one hour out of one day every week that these kids want to use the park that was built for them. I’m not about to let you take that away from them.”

Anton began to mentally prep himself for what was sure to be one of the toughest fights of his life. He thought about all the time he had missed out on his son’s life because of his ex’s childish games. He remembered the time she answered his phone call while she was cheating on him. Every ounce of anger boiled over causing his fists to clench while the adrenaline began pulsing through his veins giving him a strength he would be unable to stop once he unleashed it upon whomever stood in his way.

“Cracka, I’m finna..” barked the dealer.

“You ain’t doing shit. I’m not letting you steal the children’s joy any longer,” Anton growled through clenched teeth and a crooked grin that made the dealer think real hard about his next move.

The dealer stood up, shifted his weight, then casually lifted the hem of his over-sized white tee just enough to reveal the waistband of his sagging jeans. Nestled there was a Ruger P-Series, big and bulky, built to intimidate and unapologetically ugly. The stainless steel slide caught the afternoon light, scratched and dull from years of use; the thick black polymer grip jutted out at an angle, worn smooth where fingers had curled around it too many times. It wasn’t there to impress; it was there to send a message. No chrome, no custom grips, just a heavy slab of steel and plastic that said: “don’t push me”.

Anton mentally froze for a brief moment, but he couldn’t show fear; not with all these kids and Toby watching.

“Neither am I,” came another man’s voice from behind Anton.

“I’m finna fuck you two up!” promised the dealer.

“No tha fuck you isn’t,” said a third man’s voice.

While Anton was arguing with the dealer, the neighborhood parents heard the commotion. Once they realized what was going on, they decided to stand up to the dealer once and for all.

“I think it’s time you left, asshole,” said the voice of an elderly woman. “I oughta tell your mother.”

“Leslie!” shouted another elderly woman’s voice. “What are you doing at a park with a gun?!”

The drug dealer’s face got pale as he quickly covered his gun with his shirt again and spun around to look at the woman. He began shuffling away while looking down; obviously embarrassed.

“Sorry, mama,” he mumbled quietly. “Wait til you father gets home…” the woman kept badgering him as they walked away, their speech quickly becoming inaudible.

“Yeah, Leslie,” Anton poked fun. “Go home.”

Toby didn’t seem to be paying attention to what his father said. He was looking off into the distance. He seemed to be listening…to something else entirely…something only Toby could hear.