stupidity has no color

New York subway, n. 1 train, Brooklyn-bound, rush hour.
In one of the priority seats a young black woman plays with her kid, eight maybe nine years old. He has the energy of a newborn, all flip-flops and somersaults, hands and feet on seats, doors and poles, the car is his gymnasium. He sees us without looking, he KNOWS he's performing for an audience and we are nodding, some even cheering. It's July the 3rd, we are looking ahead and seeing the replica of a Sunday, more hours to spend with lovers, music and our own thoughts. We fickle crowd are for once in a good mood and willing to graciously smile at this kid's olympics, train games. We don't even realize how condescending we must look from the outisde.

The duo laughs a lot: son looks happy, mother looks loving and lively; though her missing teeth and the torn denim of her jeans tell a tale of struggle, I feel this kid is in a safe place. "You're a bad, bad boy" she's jokin "and i don't want you with me no mo'". "You don't want me no mo?" he laughs, "they gonna take me if you won't". "Ah yeah?" asks mother, cracking up, "they gonna take you? I'm not sure". "One of them will take me" repeats kiddo, gesturing in our direction.

"Would you take him?" asks mother and Jesus her eyeballs are looking into mine. I hesitate ever so slightly, too concious of the second pair of eyes fixed in mine, his; conscious indeed I am that this is a joke to her, but not to him. Then I roll my eyes in a parody of surrender and go: "all right all right I'll take you". More nodding and smile from the audience - how can they not realize how FUCKING condescending they look?

At this moment, young boy starts enjoying our attention a little too much, drags himself on the floor, does a dying soldier scene, the white of his eyes has a glaze of neon light. Mother starts pulling him up by his elbows, shaking him, "stop it, listen to me! You're making a scene, look at them pants I just got you, so dirty on their knees already. You want me to kick your lil butt? Wait when we get home to your dad...". He ignores her, he's on his knees, elbows in her hands, head thrown back as if faint or dead. More yelling from her, "Jimmy Louie Marshall, I said get UP!".

And then, "You heard me
nigga?"

Oh, the shift in room temperature, did anyone open the window? It feels it most def feels like thick drafts under our collars. And a whole lot of effort to avoid each other's eyes. Kid and mama laugh and seem to be oblivious to the obvious. We the people disapprove. Not of the word per se, no, rather of the kid's reaction: matter of fact, it is a matteroffact reaction, he barely has any reaction at all - just like someone who hears it every day, spoken by the same person. His mama.
As I shake my head in disbelief I see my neighbours do the same and then wonder: how many of you? How many of you have spoken it before and only now realize how bad it sounds?

Will that kid realize that it doesn't sound any better if it's spoken in the voice who gave him birth? Will he realize that stupidity knows no color, no DNA and no love?

Will those of us who tsch tsch and yet spoke it before realize that they ARE stupid?