TL DR warning
My uncle has been calling me nearly every other day recently, mainly for computer questions but also just to talk/shoot the breeze. Him and his wife are kinda going through some shit so it makes sense, and I can tell he enjoys being able to talk to someone; I've had to give him specific times and days since he'll often forget and call me when I'm at work. His conversations have pretty much been the same since I was a kid: rants on Roman history, biblical discussion/theories, James Bond, and conspiracy theories. There's literally nothing you can talk to him about that doesn't go back to one of those topics
But anyway I got super depressed tonight though because he reminded me of something that happened that I had completely forgotten about. Back when I was a kid, I don't remember exactly how old I was (probably 10-12), we spent the Fourth of July at my grandparents house in Detroit. My uncle had bought a bunch of fire crackers and showed us how to use them in the side drive. As my brothers and I were doing it, a bunch of kids started slowly moving closer and closer to play with us and use the fire crackers too; these were kids I would basically see around every time I came to my grandparents house.
My brothers and I were talking to each other, to the kids, to my uncle, etc. I remember the kids listening to us talk and literally being in awe of how we talked, the lack of any "ghetto" accent or whatever, and asking us where we were from. Growing up, I remember many kids accusing me of acting and talking white, but this particular group of kids didn't say anything like that; come to think of it, I wouldn't be surprised if they had never really talked to a white person. At the time the experience didn't really have an impact on me - I was a kid, there were fireworks, and the kids' reactions to me didn't really dwell on my mind.
I haven't thought about that particular moment until today, when my uncle mentioned it. He then told me how nearly every kid that I had played with when I'd visit my grandparents was either dead, locked up, or had multiple kids/strung out today. I didn't know the kids well, hell I don't even remember us exchanging names or anything - we'd just see each other and the "hey you, let's play" switch in our kid brains would turn on, and we'd just have fun. Detroit has so many beautiful places, like all cities...but there are parts that are literal war zones. I couldn't help but feel depressed that there are so many good kids who almost have no shot at a decent life because of where they're born, who their parents are (or aren't), what school they go to, etc. I'm not saying this is something I just realized today, just that I hadn't really thought about it in awhile.
