There was a certain group of people you didn’t mess with when I was a kid.

They seemed to congregate together in every city they inhabited, and their ways seemed strange to the straightlaced people. They outwardly appeared more than a little dangerous, and had a reputation for an outsize appetite for criminality. You’d never see them portrayed in a movie, unless they were doughty workers, or were carrying a knife.

People admired them for their athletic ability, as they seemed preternaturally gifted in the physical arts. Almost all of the greatest boxers of a certain period were from this group, and they inspired a sort of fear tied up with confusion; are they supermen, or does their seeming imperviousness to the normal physical recoiling from pain signal a kind of brutishness? You’d never dare ask a question like that, though, they seemed too fierce. They were kinda scary.

Man, could those people dance and sing. They always had the girls atwitter at any function, because they had none of the staid ballroom etiquette or outright distaste for movement of the Ward and June Cleaver set. They sang and danced and carried on. The girls danced with them, but thought twice about bringing them home to their parents.

They were prone to flashy clothes too. Chrome suits. Stylish, yes; but something of the peacock, too. Unafraid to call attention to themselves. Proud, down to the most mundane detail.

I was born into that group…

WHAT? WHAT”S WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? I WAS TALKING ABOUT ITALIAN-AMERICANS. WHO DID YOU THINK I WAS TALKING ABOUT? YOU PEOPLE ARE STRANGE. FAHGEDABOUTIT.

Anyway, we watched Soul Train, just like everybody else.

Is that the Isley Brothers playing? Funky.