I’ve gotta stop using the N-word

Everyone has a vice. Some people smoke cigarettes, while others drink until they get pissy drunk. Me, I cuss. I’ve been doing it since the sixth grade. It’s not like I have a limited vocabulary; it’s just that, in certain situations, the F-word and the S-word seem like more appropriate word choices to express exactly how I feel. I’ve made several attempts to stop cussing, all to no avail. If I were to stop cussing today, I’d probably be 90 percent sin-free.
Of all the derogatory terms in my lexicon, the one I am most shameful of is the N-word, better known as “nigga.” Hang with me on any given day and you’ll hear a “nigga” roll off of my tongue at least five times. When I get around my partners, the conversation is like a “nigga fest.” We say “nigga” so much we don’t even hear it, much less think about how we sound saying it. We’re desensitized to it.
I made a New Year’s resolution one year to eliminate the “nigga” from my vocab. I did good for about four months, but a verbal altercation I had with a dude trying to show off in front of his girlfriend brought the “nigga” out of me.
I was working at a fitness club and the guy, along with his girlfriend, tried to get in for free. When I wouldn’t let them in, this guy said I was “a slave watching out for the master’s plantation.”
“Nigga what the (f-word) did you just say?!” I shouted as we squared off with one another.
“You heard me,” he responded. By this time, a crowd of onlookers, including my manager, the receptionist and several white club members had gathered around to watch the spectacle. They were smiling and laughing while the guy and I were beefing with each other.
“Nigga, you need to stop stuntin’ in front yo’ (b-word) before both of y’all get dealt wit’ up in here,” I fired back, muscles tensing and nostrils flaring with each word. Not to brag, but it was clear that I outsized this twirp by several pounds. It was also clear by the expression on his face that he realized this and didn’t really want to fight. He knew he was no match.
“Come on baby, let’s go,” said his girlfriend trying to diffuse the situation. I think she realized he was no match as well.
“Yeah nigga, you and that broad can kick rocks,” I said as they walked through the crowd of smirking white faces out of the club. For the next few moments, I stood there feeling victorious, not yet realizing how much I had just set the race back.
Months later, I thought about the incident. I didn’t feel so good about the way I acted. I definitely hated the way I repeatedly said “nigga” in front of white people. I did have a right to be angry with the dude; he disrespected me when I was just trying to do my job. I didn’t have to reciprocate that disrespect by using my size and the word “nigga” to make the guy feel inferior. I remembered a similar situation that happened to me where someone else was the tough guy and I was the twirp being called nigg-er, not nigg-a(as if there’s really a difference).
It was the fourth of July, and me and six of my partners headed across the border to Tijuana to hit the clubs. There is a stretch of road there called Revolution Street where the brothers aren’t very welcome. But that’s where the hottest clubs were, so we ventured into one to check it out.
Inside, there were guys who walked around with bottles of liquor in hand and whistles in their mouths. They would walk up to unsuspecting revelers, pull their heads back and pour the liquor in their mouths while tooting the whistle. Anyone who really knows me knows that I don’t drink. Never have, never will. One of the guys grabbed my head and tried to dump liquor in my mouth. I jerked away from him and tensed up like I was about to hit him.
Just then, one of the bouncers-huge guy-who was standing nearby with a very large, very heavy looking, club in his hand also tensed up like he was about to hit me. At that same moment, about fifty Mexican guys (believe me, this is no exaggeration) surrounded us, as if on cue. The guy who had tried to pour the drink down my throat walked up to my face and said, “F-k you nigger.” The bouncer and the other Mexican guys stood by waiting for my response. Clearly, they wanted the situation to escalate. The guy with the drink bottle got in my face again, close enough for me to smell his (s-word) breath, and said loudly, “F-k you nigger.” This guy knew I wasn’t going to try and fight him. That would’ve been suicide. I just had to stand there and be disrespected in front of everybody, my partners included. I felt helpless and emasculated. That’s exactly how the word “nigger” was created to make black people feel. It’s an ugly, venomous, insulting word that should have no place in our conversation.
Think about that next time you use it. Better yet, don’t use it. That goes double for me.