by: The Ignant Intellectual
I didn't have an actual bedroom set until I was a senior in college and moved into my very first apartment. My mama bought it. I remember being around 10 years old and we went to the furniture store. I picked out a bedroom set. Light wood. Had some carved designs on it. Swirls and such. It never arrived. I never asked why. My mama never mentioned it. I already knew why. I slept on the same twin size daybed from the time I was out of the crib until Katrina when I was 27. It had a twin size trundle underneath for when a friend spent the night. Even during home visits from college, I slept on that bed. my mama never got rid of it. I think it was her way of telling me that any time anything went wrong, I could always come home. I don't remember ever having a friend spend the night. Just my little cousin, Necie, on occasion. I spent the night at her house way more often. I was embarrassed to have anyone at mine. It was raggedy, yet clean. The roof leaked. the front gate was loud as fuck. it leaned on one side until my mom literally got it lifted professionally by a company that leveled homes. Wait. I lied. I had a slumber party once. And in college, two friends came home with me during a break. My anxiety was through the roof both times. What if it started raining and the roof went to leaking. What if the toilet backed up. What if the tub wouldn’t drain quickly. What if my uncle came home drunk. What if he and my grandmother started arguing next door and we could hear it through thin ass walls. God forbid, what if a cockroach made an appearance! What if someone saw something and they clowned me. What if they said nothing but went back home and said everything. I would have people drop me off at another house that wasn't mine. A house that was much nicer. it was leveled. It had an automatic storm light that would come on when you approached and a side door & a little nook I could disappear into so people really thought I had gone inside safely and would drive off. I would wait till they pulled off and walk to my real house a block away. How I found that house and started pulling that stunt is beyond me. As a kid, I had a host of things in my mind that made me think a family was rich.
The other furniture pieces in my childhood bedroom were usually makeshift (read: repurposed) from something not at all designed to be a chest of drawers or a chifferobe or a shoe rack. Thrift stores were my best friend. Pants were repurposed as shorts. Long sleeve shirts were repurposed as short sleeved ones. T-shirts that I liked but were too long were repurposed as crop tops. During that time there was also the occasional sleeping with my mom or grandmother. My mother worked nights my whole life and I used to stay next door at my grandmother's house while she worked. After complaining enough about my grandmother's snoring, my mama got a cot that folded in half. My grandmother's living room was repurposed nightly as my bedroom. I'd sleep there, in my grandmother's living room, between the big oak table and a huge out-of-tune piano. not a soul in my house played the piano. I vividly remember my repurposed alarm clock. It was the sound of the Times Picayune newspaper hitting the front porch after being tossed by the paper boy. 5:45am. Like clockwork. I know because my minnie mouse watch underneath my pillow told me so. When I was in 11th grade or so, my grandmother told me that I was too old to be sleeping on that cot. So, she let me sleep on my side of the house in my own bed while my mom worked night shift. We would communicate via knocks on the wall. That's how she would wake me up in the morning. I would knock back on the wall to let her know I was awake and getting dressed for school. It was our secret. To this day, I don't think my mom knows. To this day, I repurpose poverty. Even though, financially, I don't usually have to. It is a matter of habit at this point. I firmly believe that growing up poor, births creativity. It's likely that I'll never purchase a matching bedroom or living room set ever again. They're too matchy matchy. I seldom wear full suits. they're too matchy matchy. I love thrift stores and consignment stores for that reason. They let my creative juices run wild. A couch here. A chair there. A blazer here. Trousers there. I will forever repurpose poverty. I will never let a matchy-matchy world tell me that my thrift store expertise isn't valuable. I've never shopped off mannequins and I never will. Although kids who did were on my list of things that made me think someone was rich back when i was a kid. When I lived in Queens NYC, I decorated my bedroom FRFR. The first time as an adult I really got into it. I exhumed my 16 year old self and allowed their vision of creating something amazing out of limited resources run wild! It was too cute! I have a queen sized bed now and have had a king in the past. Howzeneva...I'd give so much to sleep in that twin daybed (or that cot) just one more night. One night in New Orleans. One more night with my grandma. She would have turned 104 this past April. I wonder what she’d think of 2024. I will forever repurpose poverty. ----------------------------------------- Author (Zerandrian Morris) is: Capital 'B' Black. Big Dream Dreamer. Patricia's Only Child. Thought Leader. Lover. Social & Cultural Critic. Published Writer. Speaker. Social Justice Trainer & Facilitator. Spelman Dude. New Orleanian. Non-Conformist. The Bridge Between The Hood & The Ivory Tower. The Ignant Intellectual. Kind, Not Nice. Master-Procrastinator-In-Recovery. Not The Only Zerandrian. Analog Kid Trapped In A Digital Adulthood. Affectionate Asshole. Hood Historian. Nostalgia Nomad. Random Minor Note You Hear In Major Songs.
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Zerandrian S. MorrisI am a social and cultural critic. Archives
January 2025
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