“Mom, dude.., it’s me! You sound like dad, always worried about my opponent as if he even has a chance,” Geno Jr pauses for a brief chuckle before returning to the video chat with his mother. “Besides, this dude is blind! It’s bad enough that they set me up against a 4,319 time champion and I make him look stupid, but can you imagine what I’ll do to a guy who can’t even see me”.
His mother glares back at him through his computer screen in annoyance. Running a hand through her deep red mane she rears her head back and sighs grievously.
“There is no way.., no possible way that a rampaging ego maniac like you could have possibly sprang from my loins”, Morrigan growls through gritted teeth with her pronounced Irish accent. “Hard as a rock, thick like a brick, I swear you can’t be told anything! The first thing I’m going to do when you get back home is pop your father in the mouth! I’m asking you to please be careful and you’re behaving as if you’re about to get your face on the one dollar bill. These people will try to hurt you if you’re not careful and blind or not, Damian Cruise is a professional for a reason! You need to get your head out of your ass and treat this seriously”.
“Ok.., ok, fine,” Gene says rolling his eyes. “I’ll try to level the playing field and get him a seeing-eye dog or something”.
“Damn you, you empty headed buffoon! Now listen to me and listen good young man..,”
As his mother launches into one of her infamous tirades Gene, as he has become accustomed to doing during moments like this allows his mind to wander. He has lived with this woman his entire life and has learned her ways quite well, and although she remains the epitome of the term ‘fiery redhead’ she only does what she believes to be in his best interests, despite what her actions may sometimes suggest.
Being from the old country, born in a grey, glum village near the square of the town of Kildare, Ireland his mother was given a traditional upbringing, a far cry from today’s methods. By the age of ten she had already begun to work and helped her mother on the weekends in addition to her schoolwork. Her family had no television or radio and often found themselves without electricity which left her with plenty of time for chores and other related activities. Being the eldest of four children she often took responsibility for doting on her brother and two sisters while her parents were away which meant she also accepted the responsibility for their transgressions. Rest assured that the term of ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’ did not originate in Ireland. Morrigan’s parents were far from lenient and demanded strict discipline in their children. No matter the task at hand they were expected to perform to the best of their abilities and excuses were not tolerated. Being raised in this environment coupled with accepting the responsibility of caring for her younger siblings it came as no surprise that she had the same sense of discipline instilled in her, a sense of discipline she practiced routinely while raising her own children.
Gene’s mind wanders further down memory lane as his mother’s voice slowly degenerates into a monosyllabic tone. Strict isn’t the word he muses to himself. This woman would make a tremendous drill sergeant for the military.
It was 14 years ago; Gene and his sister Cassie were five years old and just beginning school and like any other five year olds they had a penchant for fighting and playing pranks on each other. This particular day proved to be no different. Upon arriving home they jettisoned their books and bounded upstairs into their respective rooms ostensibly to do their homework but in reality to watch TV and play video games until called down for dinner. After dinner they would get cleaned up and ready to go to bed. At least.., that was the plan.
The elongated dining table was large enough to seat up to a dozen people but this evening it only seated four. Morrigan sat at one end of the table while Gene Banton Sr. sat at the other end with Cassie and Gene Jr. sitting on either side in the middle. The meal consisted of classic American fare; oven roasted turkey, string beans, mashed potatoes and corn which were followed by a gelatin dessert. Gene Senior had quickly devoured his plate and turned his attention to a stack of wrestling contracts while Morrigan indulged in the latest edition of the Weekly World News. The children had long ago finished eating what they wanted to eat, but not wanting to go to bed they tried to extend the time by playing with their food trying to appear interested in it. Their mother however was onto their ploy.
“Alright,” she announces while peeking at the over the half folded magazine. “You’ve played around long enough. I want you both to get up from the table, go upstairs, take a shower and get into bed. Please,” she adds. “Remember to use soap this time. It is not going to hurt you”.
Gene and his sister rose grudgingly from the table as instructed and began to plod their way towards the banister leading to the second floor before being stopped by their father. He took them both into arms for a hug and then kissed them on the cheek wishing them a good night, along with a subtle warning..,”
“Please..,” he said. “Do as your mother tells you this time..?”
Both of them offer the man a pat on the head before excusing themselves to go upstairs. As their footsteps faded the sound was replaced by a series of muffled thumps which followed them all of the way upstairs, accompanied by an occasional outburst.
“Get your hands off me you dweeb!”
“Make me, mutant!”
“I’ll kick your ass!”
“I’ll kick yours first”.
Setting her magazine down on the table Morrigan rolled her green eyes towards the back of her head while listening to the thumping and bumping going on upstairs.
“Alright you two,” she announced sternly. “I know you don’t want me to go up there, and I had better hear some water running”.
She tried to return to her magazine but the ruckus only intensified; each thump seeming louder and more determined than the previous one. Morrigan did her best to ignore the noise and rose from her chair to pour a fresh cup of coffee and flipping on the television stationed at the corner of the breakfast bar. Her gaze tried in vain to settle on the evening newscast and a story about an apartment fire with the newscasters seeming to be more concerned over the 1.2 million dollars in damage rather than the 37 lives lost.
Thump
Thump
Thumpity
Thump
Thump
CRASH!
Jerking her head upwards she angrily yelled out towards the ceiling as she reclaimed her seat,
“Both of you get your asses in the shower right now!” she shouted. “This is your last warning”.
Thump
Thump
THUmp
THUMp
THUMP
Suddenly Junior came charging down the stairs wearing his pajamas which were stuck to his body because he forgot to dry himself before donning them. His face was red and bore scratch marks, undoubtedly courtesy of his sister who followed him down as he went to speak with their mother.
“Mom! I’m trying to take a shower but Cassie keeps barging in on me and I keep telling her than I’m too manly for her dumb mutant ass to look at that way”.
“Hey, fuck you dweeb!”
“Watch your god damned language you little shits!” Morrigan warns.
“Mom, he’s hogging the bathroom, it’ll be midnight before I get to take a shower!” Cassie whined in protest.
“Because I’m washing my man thing,” Junior countered. The remark drew a chortle from his father who quickly buried his head back into his paperwork. “I can’t let her see that”.
“There’s nothing to see..,”
Cassie was suddenly cut off by a punch to the side of her head. Rolling with it she retaliated in kind with a kick to the stomach. The boy shook off the kick and dove into his sister and the two fell to the floor where they began to wrestle while throwing the occasional punch, kick or bite to their sibling.
With a groan of malicious intent Morrigan stood up once more and reached behind the breakfast bar, her hand emerging with a yardstick which she then took into both hands and wielded like a samurai warrior.
“The games will now begin!” She roared.
The two misbegotten brats immediately ceased with their fighting and stared with a wide-eyed disbelief at their mother as she took a determined step towards them. They scattered, with Cassie running in one direction and Junior in the other. Cassie is caught by her mother and rewarded with a loud thwack by the stick on her backside. Junior attempted to make his way to the stairs only to be intercepted by his father who had gotten up to fulfill his duties as the goalie for his wife whenever the children required discipline. Tucking the struggling boy under his arm he returned and dropped him back into play where his mother nailed him across the behind with the stick. For several moments she took turns administering the yardstick to each of them until grabbing them both by the arms and forcibly marching them back upstairs and into their bedrooms.
She made her way back down leaving a trail of muffled sobbing in her wake and, approaching the dining room table she tossed the broken yardstick down and gruffly returned to her seat talking angrily to herself,
“Don’t tell me that you’re not going to do something.., I mean you move your little ass when I say move! If you think that I carried your dumbasses in my body for nine months so you could roll your eyes at me.., I’ll roll that little head of yours down along the floor! You don’t know who you’re messing with; I’ll whip you until you can’t grow any more”.
“And furthermore,” his mother continues. “Just because you’ve had some early success in this business does not mean that you are the best there ever was. Your father has forgotten more about this business than you’ll probably ever know, and if he thinks you should take Damian Cruise seriously then you had better damned well listen or come Sunday that blind man is liable to beat your brains out..,”
…beat your brains out..,
…beat your brains out..,
…beat your brains out..,
He was eleven years old and returning home from school following a stop at the barber shop for a new haircut and another stop made in preparation for the whipping he was sure to receive over his choice of hairstyle. Having forgotten his key he was forced to ring the doorbell and wait helplessly while hoping it would not be his mother to answer. For once Lady Luck smiled upon him as his sister Cassie answered.
“Hey, where did you go..,” she cut herself off while looking at her brother as a broad grin threatened to crack the confines of her face. “Holy shit”, she exclaimed.
Reaching out to run her hand along the top of her brother’s bright green Mohawk she suddenly stopped, her nose wrinkling at an unexpected emanation.
“Eww, what’s that smell?” she asked, plugging her nose.
“I’m ready for her this time,” Junior said. “When mom goes to smack me upside the head for this bitchin’ new haircut I’ve got a surprise for her”.
“What kind of surprise?” Cassie asked softly.
“I stopped by that slaughterhouse on the way home and got some animal brains,” he said reaching into his pocket to pull out a Ziploc bag containing the grey matter. “When she does I’m gonna throw these on the floor. She’ll think she knocked my brains out and will be beside herself with grief”, he chuckled. “She’ll never spank us again”.
“Oh this I gotta see..,”
“Mom..,” he announced while stepping from the foyer and into the living room. He took a deep breath in anticipation of her wrath and continued, “I’m finally home from school, boy what a good movie that was”. He ad-libbed the line about the movie in hopes of agitating her into action. “Man, I’m tired, too much pizza and Coke. I don’t think I want to do any homework today so instead I’m going up to my filthy room and sit in it in the name of God!”
“Like hell you are mister,” his plan worked as his mother blurted out her initial reaction to his surprising announcement. “When I get a hold of you you’re going to praying to God for the rest of the night!”
Growing louder with each step taken her footsteps alert Junior and his snickering sister to Morrigan’s pending arrival. Gene prepared himself by unlocking the bag and sifting the grey matter into his right hand which he clutched to his side, just out of view.
“Ooh I hope you know what you’re doing”, Cassie whispered.
“It’ll work,” Gene replied. “Trust me”.
Finally rounding the corner of the hall leading from the kitchen and to the living room Morrigan suddenly stopped in her tracks glaring incredulously at her green haired son. She approached slowly towards him, her eyes squinting into venomous green slits, her face now flushed red.
“Jesus Christ what in the cold, blue hell did you do to yourself?” she demanded taking another step closer. “I give you money for a haircut and this is what you come home with? You skip class, go to see a movie, eat pizza before dinner and come home looking like a punk rocker? How could you do this to yourself, have you no pride..?”
“I don’t..,”
“Shut up!” she snapped. “Jesus Christ, when I ask you a question I want you to keep your mouth shut!” She then turned to Cassie, “and damn it, stop giggling or you’re next!”
“I don’t believe it,” she sighed grievously while running her fingers through her flaming coif. “I work my fingers to the bone, day and night; night and day and for what, so you can wear green hair, looking like you just came out of a sewer? What’s next, a tattoo of Kermit the frog? I try so hard to give you a proper upbringing and this is how you reward my efforts..,? Answer me!”
“But I..,”
“Jesus Christ shut your mouth or I’m going to imprint it onto the back of my hand”.
It was a catch 22; his mother would tell him to shut up during a rant and would almost always insert a question or two. Did she truly expect him to answer or not? Although he could rarely tell he would invariably roll the dice only to see them turn up craps. His mother’s anger had always had a pattern to it, Gene noted. When she was in a highly agitated state she had a tendency to over use the terms ‘Jesus Christ’ and ‘Damn it’. Throughout their childhood and to this very day she used the terms to express her outrage at him and his sister. From the age of five until a scant few years ago Junior had honestly thought his name was ‘Jesus Christ’ while Cassie thought her name was ‘Damn it’.
Expecting the impending onslaught of hurricane Morrigan, Cassie shifted from her seat, lifting herself off of the couch and taking station behind it, hoping it would provide sufficient barrier between she and her mother. Junior however stood his ground, daring to look his seething mother in her flickering emerald orbs and not flinch. While she wanted to see the outcome of this confrontation Cassie had no desire to become a part of it, unlike her brother who gently cradled the animal brains just behind his leg while bearing the brunt of the tongue lashing. Not that mommy dearest would give her much choice in the matter,
“Jesus Christ,” she yelled at Cassie. “Get your butt up to your room and do your homework”, and then quickly turned back to Gene. “And damn you, if you don’t wipe that smirk off of your face I’m going to knock it off. I mean now, damn it!”
“But Mom, I’m Jesus Christ!” Junior said with a guffaw.
Without warning and with the speed of a lightning bolt Morrigan’s hand rose up and struck her son across the side of the head and he reacted as planned, by keeling over and feigning injury while dropping the animal brains onto the floor. Cassie stopped in her tracks and gawked silently at the gooey mess on the carpet as her brother cradled the side of his head in his arms in mock pain. Their mother though was unimpressed..,
“Put your brains back in your head mister!” she announced sternly. “Don’t you let your brains fall out of your head; have you lost your mind?”
“Sometimes I could swear that you’ve lost your mind. But suppose, for the sake of argument, that Damian Cruise is not truly blind?” his mother asks. “What then?”
“Mom, relax,” Gene says coolly. “After all, it’s me and I’ve got a handle on everything. Cruise is gonna think he was run over by a freight train of swag”.
“I hate it when you use that word,” she sighs. “It’s bad enough that you speak of it the way a Jedi does of the Force, but every time you say swag I get this image of you bumbling around like a drunk wearing his pants down around his ankles”.
The fashion of wearing sagging pants is believed to have originated in prison as belts were not allowed and poorly fitted pants would tend to sag. Eventually this evolved within the prison community as a sign for an inmate in search of a butch. This look was noticed and soon adopted by the hip hop culture where it came to be regarded as cool. The look then spread to other parts of the world and was referred to as low-riding and remains popular to this day.
By the age of 14 and in high school Junior had finally begun to come into his own, making his own choices about the friends he kept, about the girls he pursued and about the kind of clothes he wore. Hip Hop was the music of choice and the preferred fashions most often were derived from that same culture; hoodies, $300 sneakers, obnoxiously bright and more often than not fake gold jewelry, gang signs and of course, the infamous sag look. Gene proved to be no different from other children of that age and also followed the trends deemed by their rap star idols to be cool.
He arrived home late from school, following a lengthy football practice and subsequent chewing out by the head coach. He had showered, dressed and walked home. Only this time he forgot to adjust his clothes to the style not so subtly suggested by his mother and instead wore them as he preferred; with a pair of bright blue boxer shorts bearing the odd image of jumping ponies with a thick, elastic band pulled up firmly around his stomach just below the naval. His pants were a pair of Levis shifted down to mid-hip with the belt line folded down which would otherwise expose the crack of his behind with a pair of untied Air Jordans high top sneakers and a tee shirt carried in his hand along with a book bag.
He walked through the foyer and into the living room where his sister Cassie busied herself with a Biology report, while his mother perused the latest edition of Weekly World News and his father watched Sports Center. He trod lazily past them towards the stairs leading up to his room without saying a word. In fact the only noise in the house was that of the television which played the feed of the previous days football games.
“Ohhh no, not in my house!” The voice was that of his mother, having casually peeked over the top of her magazine and noticing her son’s ensemble. “You will pull your damned pants up and wear them properly right now!” she demanded.
“No can do mom,” Junior replied shaking his head. “I got too much swag now, so you’re gonna have to just live with it”.
“How about you live wearing your balls as earrings?” she challenged, getting up from her seat and making a bee line towards him.
Stomping towards the youngster she gripped him tightly by a handful of curly blond hair and backed him against the wall, her hand poised and ready to strike when she felt a beefy paw clamp down on her shoulder. Turning around she saw the face of her husband, Gene Banton Senior looking at her with a twinkle in his eye.
“I know that you normally handle the discipline around here,” he said softly to his wife, “but maybe just this once you could allow me?” He added a wink of his left eye which silently informed her of a less than lenient action. The elder Gene made his living as a professional wrestler, and in a business known to be hard and brutal while featuring some of the most awesome physical specimens in the world he was widely regarded as among the most powerful. He certainly looked the part with his XL tee shirt seemingly two or three sizes too small, and stretching widely to contain his overwhelming physique.
“Sure,” Morrigan replied flashing a brief smile of her own. “Be my guest”.
He took his wife’s place in cornering their son and rested his hand against the wall above the boy’s head and leaned down to whisper to him,
“Women just don’t get it, do they?” he asked.
“No pops,” Junior answered, relaxing his guard in confidence of his father’s understanding. “They don’t have a clue”.
“They can’t just roll in here and fuck up a dude’s swag, that’s just wrong”.
“See, that’s what I’m saying pops, if I let her screw up my swag I’m liable to grow up and be nobody and I ain’t with that. This is what the chicks want and there’s nothin’ that she can do about it, right?” he said.
“I hear you son,” Gene Senior said, leaning in closer. “But I gotta tell you, your mother hates that look”. Suddenly he reached down with both bulging arms, grabbing his son’s pants by the belt loops and forcibly pulling them up to where the waistband was now wrapped around his chest and hoisting Junior several inches off of the ground in the process. The chiseled pro wrestler then clasped his squealing son’s jaw firmly into his hand and growled, “and so do I!” he said. “Now I want you to wear your pants like this for the rest of the day, and so help me, if they drop so much as an inch I’m gonna pull them up around your neck, you got that?”
As a whimpering Junior gingerly began his arduous journey to the stairs, his legs moving stiffly and slowly courtesy of a crotch which now sat so high as to hinder free movement, Gene Senior turned to his cackling wife with a grin,
“How’s that”? He asked as he approached her.
“Not bad,” she beamed with delight. “…for a beginner”.
“Mom, I’m not a rookie, alright? This guy Cruise has got nothing for me so you’re getting all excited over nothing”.
“I have news for you young man; you are still in your first year of the sport which means that you damn well are a rookie. Furthermore, how do you know he doesn’t have anything in store for you if you haven’t seen any film on him?”
“Because it’s a waste of time for me,” he says. “There are too many babes running around here for me to worry about Stevie Wonder and Helen Keller’s love child. To watch film on Damian Cruise would be like a deaf man going to a silent movie”.
“Ugh!” His mother groans while pulling at her hair in exasperation. “That’s enough! Put your father on, right now!”
“Yo pops,” Junior says with a shrug while getting up from the computer monitor. “Mom wants to talk to you”.
Gene senior emerges from the bathroom of the hotel and approaches the desk, taking a seat in front of the brightly light screen bearing his wife’s scowling face.
“Hey hun,” he says with a smile. “How ya doin?”
“When you get home..,” she rumbles. “We are going to have a long talk about your son and the effect your blood is having on my poor family’s gene pool”.
The screen suddenly goes dark as the connection is terminated from her end leaving a bewildered Gene Senior scratching his head.
“What the hell was that about?” he mutters bemusedly.
“She’s a Damian Cruise fan pops,” Junior offers. “She’s worried about how bad I’m gonna embarrass him”.
