Notorious Thugz

Time passes. People pass. But memories don’t. Like November 22 in politics or April 4 in civil rights, March 9 and September 13 are two dates which will forever live in infamy. It never fails to cause that same sense of pride and sadness each year. If you’re still living under a rock, March 9, 2010, marks the 13th anniversary since the murder of Christopher Wallace, better known as The Notorious B.I.G. Depending who you ask, the name Biggie Smalls evokes acronyms of “G.O.A.T.” or “K.O.N.Y.” Regardless, “icon” is pretty much the settled upon title.

But with the pride and joy that comes with listening to his music, comes the depression of still unanswered questions. I was 10 when ‘Pac died and 11 with Biggie. I still remember hiding my cassette tapes of Ready To Die and Me Against The World under my bed from my mother. I knew the music was great, but it was only over time I’d understand the significance of their murders. I’ve got books on the subject, as well as DVD’s. In a sense, both Pac and Biggie’s death were horrible realizations of some of their lyrics. Like my big homie Gotty said, Pac seemed to embrace death while B.I.G. seemed to enjoy the finer things in life (even though he knew an early death was a very possible reality).

My grandmother always tells me how she wishes she could really find out what happened to JFK, Martin Luther King and Malcolm X. Not comparing the two groups for their service to American culture, but my generation feels the same way with our two slain rappers. For as long as I live and as long as music remains a fabric of my being, I’ll always wonder. I’ll always wonder if the persons who actually pulled the triggers are still alive. And if they are, do they honestly understand the impact of their actions? We, as a culture, had apart of our innocence taken away. And, truthfully, we’ve never really gotten it back.

As with anyone  lost in a violent manner, questions always loom because death isn’t always logical. Maybe in some weird, higher power calling, these two men were supposed to taken away early. Their names are still regular mentions in the rhymes of the game’s biggest stars. We still miss them I guess is what I’m trying to say. The whole “martyr” belief is great and valiant to an extent, but then I realize it’s children who lost fathers and mothers who lost sons. Big’s daughter won’t have her dad to give her away at her wedding while his son has to teach himself how to be a man. And Pac never had the opportunity speak to his “first-born.” Sometimes we’re trained to forget behind the music are real life consequences.

To this day, murder investigations are still “ongoing.” That’s fancy talk for “we don’t give a f*ck.” Well, I, and millions of others, do. I just pray that someday we’ll all know what actually happened in Vegas on the night of September 13, 1996, and Los Angeles on March 9, 1997. Until then, we’ll never have closure and wounds that will remain unhealed.

It’s unbelievable.