As many people across the country, and likely the world have already heard, my beloved hometown of Omaha, Neb., has been in the news quite a bit lately. The most notorious is the video of the filthy-mouthed toddler (with parents from Hell) spewing everything from, well no, I'm not doing that here. If you haven't heard about it, please feel free to use your preferred Internet search provider. Then, about a week ago I read this eyebrow-raising headline, "Omaha, Nebraska: The Most Dangerous Place in America to be Black." Really? Many thoughts ran through my head like, they have the wrong city, there are plenty of places in this country where some would say it's dangerous to be black, why does my hometown get the top honor? Then I thought about how shocked I was a couple of years ago when I heard there were about six shootings in one weekend in Omaha. No matter how much it pains me and my fellow Omahans to admit it and to see our city in this disturbing and glaring light, we can certainly admit that this one statistic alone is alarming for a small area (North Omaha) in a small city where the black population hovers around a demure 13.7 percent.

Unfortunately gangs and their little gang seeds and their little gang siblings and their little gang cousins infiltrated our humble abode around the late 1980s and never left. That's when the murder rate in Omaha started its gradual climb to where it is now, an embarrassing breaking news status casting our much-loved city into a limelight we'd rather not be in.

These stories make me sick through every inch of my small and large intestines. The toddler story made me want to curl up in a little ball with my security blanket like Linus from Charlie Brown. I was eating when I saw this story on CNN, and I stopped eating, probably even stopped breathing for a few seconds, and sat there like I'd just been punked. I didn't recognize these people in the video, and I wondered what they were doing in my hometown. Who let them in while I've been gone? Who forgot to man the circumference of our city? The images paralyzed me for what felt like hours. And then it happened. I could move again, and for a split second, I wanted to abuse the toddler. I was in shock and went insane for a moment. Then I quickly realized that running over the "parents" with my Xterra would be more appropriate. I wanted to physically abuse the sperm donors in exchange for their severe, blatant, mental abuse of this child.

I pray that those who don't know much about Omaha don't use these unfortunate headlines to give them an idea of what it's like. It really is a nice small city (but bigger than most people think with a population of approximately 422,000) with some touristy staples that are impressive to many, including Henry Doorly Zoo (http://www.omahazoo.com/), plenty of golf courses, museums, the Old Market (http://www.oldmarket.com/), etc.

Although I've always proudly said I was from Omaha, I haven't always spoken so highly of it, especially once I left my small roots behind and came to Chicago with its endless possibilities for entertainment and education. My complaint was mostly that there was nothing to do in Omaha. That's still true when you compare it to Chicago, but it's not a fair comparison. Truthfully, I realize now that there are more options than I previously thought, especially if you are more open to expanding your interests.

The place where I grew up was so innocent for the most part and a decent place to raise children. I have so many wonderful childhood memories of playing hopscotch and hide and seek with cousins, staying outside until the streetlights came on, riding my bike with my cousins and friends, going to the penny candy store. Then in my teenage years, hanging out at Signal's, Godfather's Pizza, house parties. We didn't worry about violence in those days. That's not to say that there wasn't any, but it wasn't common. A potential stray bullet while we were outside or inside of our homes eating breakfast was never a concern. I pray for our future children to have the kind of peaceful upbringing many people my age had while growing up in Omaha.

Hearing about my hometown in the news in this way made me want to share some of my experiences growing up in the "Little O." I come across a lot of people who have no idea about Nebraska in general and are perplexed that someone with my beautiful brown skin is from there. In fact, after all of these years people still say to me, "They have black people in Omaha?" I know that these people aren't really that ignorant and are just trying their hand at being funny, but now I'm not so sure. I used to laugh this tiring line off, but now it grinds on my nerves. And of course it's only black people who say it. So, as a defense mechanism, I've gotten accustomed to educating some blacks who don't know that one of the most important figures in our history is from Omaha. His name is Malcolm X. I've gotten so consistent with this smartypants comeback line that I have a girlfriend who now takes over this educational tidbit for me. It's actually quite funny. Chicagoans do not like to be checked about their black history, especially from an Omaha girl.

As far as my personal memories about home, I summed up many of them in a poem I wrote a little over a year ago (see below). No matter where I end up in this world, Omaha will always be home, and I'll continue to correct people when they say things like, "Oh, you've been in Chicago this long then you're from Chicago!" No sir, I am not. In fact, wherever I am and someone asks me where I'm from, my response is generally something like, "I'm from Omaha, but I live in Chicago." It bothers me that some people who have left Omaha many years ago don't acknowledge it as their home base. Some of them never come back. I don't know, maybe they don't have relatives there anymore. I doubt it though. The seeds run deep. Personally, I've been home at least once per year since I left over twenty years ago. Would I still come back if my mother and father weren't there? Absolutely. I still have other relatives and friends back home. Plus, Time Out Chicken (http://www.timeoutfoods.com/) needs me. And I need them.

Home is where your resting place will be. For me, that's Omaha.

Little O, this is for you...

Cobblestones

by Lynette A. Griffin

Eating lemon cake with a lemon glaze at the

apartment on 16thStreet, Mama Rose's house,

Texas Hash with a homemade dinner roll,

enchiladas with extra black olives from OJs, French fries

and strawberry pop from Time Out Chicken, cheeseburgers

from Broncos, carp fish, jacket fries and pickles from Joe Tess,

the houses on 35th St. and Miami St. along

with the apartments on 103rd St. and Maple St.,

Santa's half-eaten cookie, the Barbie dolls,

the penny candy store after playing jacks

with cousins, Now & Later, Kits, SweetTarts,

Chick-O-Sticks, Pop Rocks, and Bubble-Yum,

four walls completely covered with Michael Jackson

Posters, an overwhelming, debilitating shyness, Mrs.

Utecht's typing class, the skinniness, the big glasses,

the transformation, the fashion magazines,

John Casablancas modeling school and confidence,

the beautiful cobblestone streets of the

Old Market, Tornado warnings and a knock on my

bedroom door from Mom saying to head to the basement

for cover, the crushes, the car wash, the Eagles, the Courtyard,

Signals, Cleopatras, the Warehouse, the house parties

the first kiss on the side of Steve's house,

partying with the mayor's sons at their mansion,

a college prep high school formerly known

as the State Capitol building downtown,

Satin Dolls, homeroom and Rudy's wicked humor,

the 1980 Black Plymouth Horizon surprise gift,

Rapper's Delight, the Message, Fly Girl,

Purple Rain, and Superstar on replay many nights,

Mom's records, concerts at the Civic, Prince

humping on a bed, The Michael Jackson concert

in Kansas City, roller skating every Sunday night,

Valentinos Pizza over Godfathers Pizza, the football

player boyfriend and first love, Sean, the second

love and National football champions-

The Nebraska Cornhuskers: 1994, 1995, and 1997.

#home #omaha #nebraska #love #oldmarket #violence #poem