And Then He Tapped the Window
I should call this episode
The Miseducation of Walter Trill... Right off the bat college made me hate lightskinned nikkas for the first time in my life. Well, maybe the second time... Al B. Sure! kind of had me feeling funkdafied about being a lightskinned nikka way back in my youth. Watching the Nite & Day video back in the day had me feeling the way cool ass white people must feel watching CACs celebrate zimmerman's acquittal. Like, come on b, you makin' all of us look bad here.
But it wasn't until college that I started wanting to suntan for 3 months in the hottest African country known to man just to separate myself completely from any conceivable lightskinned association. Back home the lightskinned shyt was worth an occasional joke, but it really, truly wasn't much of a big deal. New York City had so many different kinds of blacks and hispanics living on top of each other, it wasn't really special to be a different shade. No broads were tossing me free p*ssy for being light. The lightskinned nikkas around my way hooped, hustled, looked dirty, kept their hair short. I kind of think the existence of Puerto Ricans changed the dynamic, because the nikkas who were fukked up from eurocentric notions of beauty weren't into lightskinned broads or white broads - they wanted a Rican chick with curly hair. At least that's how it was when I was coming up.
Down South though...
shiiiiiiiiit... lightskinned nikkas were a different breed. The south is a different animal with skin color in general. This isn't me trying to impose my own biases or condescension on southern culture, or resorting to crude stereotype. The south is just different about color, for historical and cultural reasons that are simple in some cases, incredibly complex in others - a lot of the people I met down there used to call it being "colorstruck."
My first year down there had me thinking I was in the Twilight Zone. bytches used to stop their cars and throw them in reverse to get at me. No joke at all. This happened to me at least 4 times. I never, ever got that kind of response from chicks in New York City. These were always darker chicks, of course. shyt, I had never heard so many people talk about "good hair" in my life until going down there. I had countless chicks tell me they'd love to have a baby with me because the baby would be pretty and have good hair. It makes me cringe even now to remember that shyt. You couldn't believe some of the ugly ass nikkas who used to bag attractive darkskinned chicks because they were mixed or light or had some greasy looking curls or swagless, thinning straight hair. shyt was such a low, depressing form of self-loathing. For some people down there, anyone who was light was automatically attractive.
Which - not to get too far off course - reminds me of the time I signed autographs for about 50 middle school kids who saw me walking out the dining hall and thought I was this lightskinned nikka who was a star on the basketball team and ended up in the league. We looked absolutely
nothing alike. But since I was tall and lightskinned and rocking a jersey and shorts at the time (was about to go hoop), they started running toward me and screaming this other nikka's name. I was standing there taking pictures, giving out dap, autographing his name on papers, shirts, basketballs... my nikka Rome was there with me snapping photos and shyt, laughing his ass off.
Lightskinned nikkas was some hugging ass motherfukkers down there. Battin' they eyes at bytches, flashing the gay ass slow smiles, like "heyyyyyyyy girl" and then giving out long hugs. Like, my nikka, why are you always hugging these broads? Give them some space to breathe, my dude. Throw a head nod at the bird and keep it movin', or just say "what up, shorty" and stride like a motherfukkin' man. These nikkas were Tresvantin' like a motherfukker with them hugs.
My views have evolved significantly since then, but back then I'm not sure there was a group of people I'd ever felt more
about than the Kappas. Between Al. B. Sure! and them... fukk. Lightskinned nikkas were dead to me. Them nikkas stayed rockin' the tan satchels draped over their shoulders to match their khakis. Throwing up the a-ok/playboy sign to each other, dancing toward each other in public, twirling candy canes and shyt... it was like the Bloods had somehow developed a gay ass set that had watched too many Kid & Play videos. To this day I'm not sure I've been around anything cornier in my life.
At this point in life, I understand that there were plenty of cool cats who pledged frat for a variety of reasons: cultural, familial, etc. I understand that just because my personality type doesn't jibe with frat culture doesn't mean that someone who fukks with that scene is automatically a cornball. But back then all I could hear in my head was Lord Jamar's line from "To The Right:"
Not down with a frat, no I ain't no Greek/a message from a black man is what you seek.
Another part of what made me disgusted with the Kappas was that I'd met one of the former presidents of the frat the summer before I got to school while I was doing a volunteer program to help underprivileged kids. Dude took a liking to me and offered to recommend me to his brothers once I got to campus. Fam, when I got to campus and actually met those nikkas, I was wild offended! Like, damn, this is the impression you had of me? That I would crew up with
these nikkas? fukk outta here.
As far as the frats went, they each had distinctly different personalities on this campus at that time. I've heard (and seen) that they vary from campus to campus. When I was there, Sigmas were by far the chillest cats, though they were generally looked down on. They were generally darker than the Kappas and Alphas, while not being "cool dark" like the Qs. The Alphas were the bougiest most uppity nikkas I have been around. The Qs... Jesus. Let me sum up the Qs for you real quick. For those who are unfamiliar with frat culture, a dude who is trying to join a frat is called a pledge; the other pledges unite like a lame ass voltron to form what is called a line; when they complete the process of reciting historical facts about the frat that no one gives a fukk about, running demeaning errands for the older frat members, and learning a bunch of sassy ass dance moves, they have a public ceremony to officially mark their acceptance into the frat, which is called crossing.
Crossing is a cute little process for everyone. A bunch of people show up to watch nikkas get their little frat shirts with their names on 'em, recite some quasi-homosexual poems and shyt where they dis other frats and prop up their own, and do some weird hybrid of the macarena and the electric slide. Frat nikkas,
? I'm just having fun with y'all.
Anyway, I remember seeing the Qs cross because they did that shyt in the courtyard of my dorm. Them nikkas ain't have no dance moves, fam. They had 3 dudes on their line, and they proceeded to beat their asses in front of everyone. Hard ass punches to the chest and shyt. Then in the middle of the "ceremony" they stuffed all 3 of the nikkas in the trunk of a car and drove off. I am not making this shyt up, man. The crowd was just standing there awkwardly, murmuring and shifting around nervously. About 15 minutes later the car drove back, they let the nikkas out the trunk, and beat them some more. Once they'd eaten enough punches, they officially crossed. No dancing, no shirts, just 3 nikkas catching a live action Mike Tyson's Punch Out beating in public. fukking Qs, fam.
' my dude would be like 
"boosters" The amount of fukkery between the puss and the money..
, you mean tell me the only identifiable and relevant figure is him. As a outsider from NJ, I was never indoctrinated with the man, myth, and legend of Joe Pa until I got to Penn State and I understood the impact he had on Penn State as a whole and on college football. But, I felt that he should've bowed out gracefully at some point and allowed somebody else to reinvigorate the program to new heights. Sorry the ramble, very insightful and thought provoking piece Walt 
