At the American Cancer Society, he wants to be an "ambassador of love," he said, breaking into the chorus of one of his biggest hits: "Where Is the Love? Last year, as a fundraiser for the Cancer Society, he recorded a song called "The Fight. And now I'm going to use this gift of life to give people hope and to say, Look, I went down that path too, I was there lying on that bed, you're not alone. I am one of you and you are one of me.
Let's get charged up for life. TheJakartaPost Please Update your browser Your browser is out of date, and may not be compatible with our website. LOG IN. Forgot Password? Or continue login with Google Facebook Linkedin. Register here Want to register your company or campus? Register here. From Black Eyed Peas star to cancer survivor: Taboo tells all. Share this article. These black-sprayed letters stood taller than me, and this one phrase became the adopted name for the housing project.
Until one day, my curiosity got the better of me as I walked back from preschool, called Head-Start, with Mom. She stopped and made me take a good, hard look at a group of young men hanging in the parking lot. Their car engines were idling with sunroofs open and music blaring; the distant sound of the Miracles, Smokey Robinson, and the Originals. These dudes leaned against the rear bumpers or sat on the hoods, smoking. They wore plain tees or wife-beaters with perfectly creased pants, and some wore bandanas wrapped around their mouths like surgical masks.
But if one thing stood out, it was their bald heads with necks covered in tattoos that also covered their backs and arms. Like a crying clown.
Never be in that area. That was my introduction to the cholos — Mexican gangsters — and the street gang culture of L. Each morning, I was confronted with this street-gang reminder when I came out the front door, walked down the center steps between units and stepped into the courtyard. Street legend says this gang name came into play in the s, so called because of an old dog pound in nearby Ann Street. But this also led to family pets being kidnapped for the bounty money, and these kids earned notoriety as local hoodlums.
In response, they set up the Dog Town gang. But, in the background, something sinister and dark was always going down. Gang life was in the DNA of the community, and Mom feared those outside influences. Mom never let me forget what the life of a cholo represented. Her constant warnings must have seeped in on some level because I grew wary of these people hanging around on the streets.
Too much heroin, I was told. One murder and one drug overdose, minus the gory detail, is the sum total of my knowledge about the horrors that no one really spoke about. Then there was my Aunt China. My impression is that Dad thought he was tougher than he was: there was the image he had of himself, and there was the sad truth exposed when he was drinking. As a result, I grew up regarding him as a bit of a joke, to be honest.
The one hundred twenty—strong Dog Town gang was one of its affiliated subgroups, just two out of around seven hundred twenty gangs and a total of 39, members spread throughout the whole city, according to estimated figures issued by the LAPD in Street gangs in the 70s were not as organized as they are today. Back then, there were a lot of turf battles, gang fights and rumbles between members armed with knives, chains and bats, and only the odd handgun.
Today, the profits and weapons have escalated into some serious shit, where the gangsters on the streets are equipped with semi-automatic weapons and their bosses — the Mexican Mafia — are running empires from inside prison. These days, L. Dog Town was covered by one of these injunctions in as part of a campaign to clean up the northeast of L. But back in the day, gangs pretty much had the run of the streets with their own form of martial law.
It was the law of the neighborhood that came first, and federal laws came second. It was lawless in many ways, even if the cops would disagree. Kids grew up learning to be streetwise from an early age. The first lessons in life were pretty simple: never rat anyone out, never snitch, and never backstab your neighbor. Hold your head high, stare everyone down, stand your ground. Understand that, and the neighborhood will have your back.
Everyone looked after everyone in a tribal sense, and I think Mom felt both comfortable and uncomfortable within this environment. I often went to sleep hearing bedlam in the parking lot, and the sound of sirens wailing.
And there was always one ever-present but weird smell that hung in the air. This scent of childhood was everywhere — morning, noon and night — and I now know that it was the constant clouds of smoked weed, wafting out of homes.
That same heavy scent that wafts around music festivals or backstage at concert venues. I never was enticed by it. Mom did everything in her power and limited income to keep our heads above water. For these lunches, each unit received a weekly book of tickets. Each stub was good for one brown paper bag that contained a sandwich, one carton of milk, a bag of potato chips, and an apple.
It was our government-issued gourmet meal, as far as I was concerned. Mom worked her ass off as a student and at the toy store, putting in as many hours as possible to provide for us and afford the best toys — at discount — for Christmas.
She always wanted to better our lives, she said. Discounted toys were a perk of her job, and she got me some incredible stuff. You name it, she got it. I saw how hard she worked and how I was the center of her world. It is because of her selfsacrifices back then that I love her to death today.
These toys kept me entertained a lot of the time. In fact, I only really had one playmate, and that was a sweet girl called Penny, the daughter of my babysitter Lola who lived in the unit opposite. Whenever Mom studied or worked, Lola took me under her wing. She stuck to me like glue.
Without Penny — and my soft toy dog Cleto — it would have been a pretty lonely childhood. He was this big, heavy-set black man, a rare sight in our Mexican community, and he was the kindest, gentlest soul. He hoarded baskets full of candy. Apparently, he bought candy in bulk, then sold it off to parents and us kids for ten cents a bag, much cheaper than the stores. It was like having Willy Wonka on our doorstep.
You name it, he had it. I was too young to comprehend matters of race at the time, but it somehow registered with me that he was different-looking. But he was like the friendliest of uncles, all smiles, warm and embracing. At some level, that imprinted me with the message that all black people were cool like Roadie.
I looked forward to these breakfasts because it was the one time in the day that I got to sit down with Mom and have her undivided attention.
The start of a day and the end of a day were my happiest times, and there was nothing more comforting than feeling the bed dip when she climbed into bed. I was too young to figure that Mom maybe needed attention and love from a source other than me, so I never saw this thunderbolt coming.
I suspect she felt guilty, too, because when Julio Arevalo walked through the door, she played down his importance by always using the el amigo reference — nothing more than a friend. He just walked into our life and was invited to stay, and I was left to figure out the rest. It was all very black and white to me: I wanted to be with Mom but this strange man, who seemed a bit weird and false around me, had stolen time and attention that was mine.
I imagined having magic powers that would zap him away, and return things to how they used to be. Julio worked in the airplane manufacturing industry. He was your average-looking dude: slim, with big black hair and matching moustache. I can see him now, slouched in that armchair, cracking open a beer. I was resistant for a long time. I just looked at him and thought: Who is this guy?
Nanny started arriving in the late afternoon to be babysitter for the evening. Then the announcement was made that we were moving in with Nanny, and that is when we left Dog Town. We left behind the projects and moved the few miles to South Central L. I said good-bye to Penny and Roadie, and was transplanted to what felt like a whole new world. At first, I thought it was meant to be a temporary stay, but as things turned out, South Central became my home from the ages of five to seven.
I was vaguely aware of this difference from visiting Nanny, but it was only through living there that I fully appreciated what that meant. One very good thing was that it was in South Central L. And it seemed ideal that I was now living with my two favorite ladies.
That meant fewer shared breakfasts and fewer bedtime stories. Then she left for Mexico on a vacation. When she left, the wrench hit me as an ache. Nanny tried to reassure me. Each hour she was gone felt like a day, and each day felt like a week. By the end of week one, I was crying myself to sleep. But this wrench was understandable: she had never before traveled outside the United States and we had never before been separated.
With Mom gone from my side, it honestly felt like the end of the world, especially because I felt that this new man in her life was supplanting me. We just had to go with it. For the next twelve weeks, Taboo underwent chemotherapy five days a week. When asked about the hardest challenge he faced during his cancer experience, Taboo says it was the chemotherapy. It left him in excruciating pain and unable to sleep. But what hurt even more than the pain was not being able to be with his kids like he wanted to.
I love to be with my kids. Coping: Has your outlook on life changed since your cancer diagnosis? Taboo: I was never as conscientious about putting my health before my career. I was gung-ho career driven.
Coping: What advice would you give our readers who are facing cancer? A lot of times I felt alone during chemotherapy, even if there was someone in the room. But it is a community of people that go through it. Taboo, who has three sons Joshua, Jimmy, and Journey , was also told he may not be able to father another child after chemotherapy.
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