As we sat on the couch and watched Pharrell give advice to one of the singers on “The Voice,” Grandma expressed her lack of faith in the singing coaches,
“Dese peoples don’ know what dey talkin’ about.”
“Are you kidding me?” I was in shock and annoyed, because like most 16 year old girls, I was madly in love with all four coaches; Adam Levine, Pharrell Williams, Christina Aguilera, and Blake Shelton. “Grandma these coaches are amazing. The best in the business! See the black guy? That guy is incredibly smart, he has degrees in music, and makes songs for the biggest names in the industry. He’s actually a very educated, professional, classy man.”
“Oh really?” She looked at me surprised, as if black guys in the music industry aren’t usually classy. Then she nodded in acceptance, “In New York city I meet de black man’s like dat. Very dressed up, very handsome, very gentleman guy. He was de best doctor for de eyes in New York city.”
“Oh wow, I didn’t know you had eye problems when you were younger.” I said.
“Well, das de prollem. Listen to me.” She readjusted and prepared to tell me a story.
“When I was in Queens, I have de doctor, de Jewish guy. And one day he tell me I need de glasses. I say to him, ‘why? I can see okay. I never de have prollem with my eyes.’ Then de doctor tell me dat I need de surgery, and de glasses, and dis and dat, blah blah blahh.” She waved her hands all over the place, strongly emphasizing what a quack this doctor was. “I no listen to him, so my friend tell me dat she has de another doctor. She waved her slowly hand from left to right and squinted her face for emphasis, “she say he de best ones. Then she tell me dat he is de black doctor in Harlem.” She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, as if it was the worst news she ever heard. Three seconds later she livened up and shrugged in disbelief, “I no believe he de best ones. I never see de black doctor. I dunno where he get de education, or how he pay for de college.” She shrugged again, “I dunno dat.”
“So what did you do?” I asked.
“So I go to Harlem, and the street to get to de building is ehsgusting.” She made a face to emphasize her disgust with Harlem. “De Harlem guys is all outside, make de drugs, make de prostitutions, and dis and dat.” Her eyes got big, “I afraid! So I go inside, and I walk in de office with de doctor. Everything is eh beautiful, Donny, you don’t believe. Lookeh just like my doctor office here in San Diego. Then I meet de doctor.” She put her hand on my arm and closed her eyes, “Ohhhhh my Gah Don, you don’t believe. De BEAUTIFUL man’s. Bery dressed up, lookeh perfect. De suit was de best ones, he have de handsome face, lookeh like de model, or de movie man. I never see de black man’s like dis, you understand?” I nodded, acknowledging that I understood this beautiful black doctor was an anomaly. She kept shaking her head as she fantasied about him.
“Okay, so then what?” I asked.
“OH!” She remembered that there was a point to the story. “So de doctor look at my eyes, make de tests, make me read de words and de numbers from far away, and dis and dat. Den he sit back in his chair like dis,” she did an impression of the way the doctor sat, which was; hands folded in her lap, sitting up straight, but leaning back into the chair, with an annoyed look on her face. “Den he say to me ‘who told you you need de glasses?’
I say de name of de first doctor, I ask to him, ‘why you ask me dat?’
He say “Because he is de IDIONS! He don’ know what he talkin’ about. You don’ need de glasses. Your eyes is PERFECT! Dis doctor is de quack, make up de bullshit to take de money’s from you’.”
She dropped out of her black doctor character and became herself again.
“Don you don’ believe, I feel so relax. So happy. I want to give him a kiss on de face. I give him de hug, kiss de hand. I try to stay longer, ask to clean eh something for him. I so happy! He was de best man’s, like your daddy.” She laughed at herself for a minute, then concluded “Before, I don’ believe de black peoples’ can make like dat. You know, de doctors, de professional peoples, pero after dat man’s, I know.” She pointed to her head, emphasizing the change that occurred in her brain. She sat up and looked arrogant for a second, as if she was proud of her progressive views on minorities.
I looked at her like a proud father, then we continued watching “The Voice” like two sixteen year old girls.