Who's to blame when murders committed by black youth have soared by as much as 34 percent since the millennium?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
That staggering statistic comes courtesy of a Northeastern University report released today and reported on widely. Unfortunately, most folks that this report concerns the most were probably pre-occupied with the absurd insult of that "Barack the Magic Negro" blip that Chip Saltsman released earlier this year, to the delight of our President-elect's detractors.
Note to the RNC's Mr. Ken Blackwell: Quit clownin'! You too, Larry Elder; if your words held any weight you would't have to bug your eyes, wave your arms and squawk.
Forget that distraction. What matters is that 1,142 black boys aged 14 to 17 committed murder last year. I'm no math whiz, but doesn't that equate to more than 200 kids killing kids (in most cases) per state in 2007?
Who's going to step up and help stop this madness?
One expert, conservative Carnegie Mellon criminologist Dr. Alfred Blumstein, told the times that the breakdown of the black family is chiefly to blame.
"In the inner city, you have large numbers of kids with no future, hanging out together with a great emphasis on their street credibility."
As gun laws loosen, the economy falters, peer pressures tighten and households dissolve, what hope is there in beating back that phantom "Mr. Big" who keeps crime scenes appearing?
Monday, December 29, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Obama: 'Say My Name!'
The winds of change don't smell so great these days.
Thank goodness for another whiff of President-Elect Barack Hussein Obama's spunk in today's headlines.
Obama spoke plainly to a reporter, saying that, of course, his middle name would be stated out loud when he takes the Oath of Office. He's joked before about the middle name's baggage, but how better to show the world the weight of his authentic convictions?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
(FUNNY!!! AS I'M WRITING THIS WOLFE BLITZER POINTS OUT THAT THE MIDDLE NAME OF OBAMA'S CHIEF OF STAFF IS....GET THIS...ISRAEL.)
Anyway...whether the given names we bear are honored or not, notorious or not, changed or not, mispronounced or not, embraced personally or not, they're OUR NAMES!
The point of this existence is to make them mean something. Not, selfishly for you. Dummy. For those who will or won't claim being named after you based on how well you held it in the road and cleared a wider, clearer path for them.
Right?
Thank goodness for another whiff of President-Elect Barack Hussein Obama's spunk in today's headlines.
Obama spoke plainly to a reporter, saying that, of course, his middle name would be stated out loud when he takes the Oath of Office. He's joked before about the middle name's baggage, but how better to show the world the weight of his authentic convictions?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
(FUNNY!!! AS I'M WRITING THIS WOLFE BLITZER POINTS OUT THAT THE MIDDLE NAME OF OBAMA'S CHIEF OF STAFF IS....GET THIS...ISRAEL.)
Anyway...whether the given names we bear are honored or not, notorious or not, changed or not, mispronounced or not, embraced personally or not, they're OUR NAMES!
The point of this existence is to make them mean something. Not, selfishly for you. Dummy. For those who will or won't claim being named after you based on how well you held it in the road and cleared a wider, clearer path for them.
Right?
Monday, December 1, 2008
Hail To The Grief (And Obama's Rhythm)
They're saying today that President-Elect Barack Obama has just assembled the greatest national security team in modern history.
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE)
Better still, he locked down the greatest domestic security leader possible in his wife, Michelle Obama, years ago.
He's going to need her.
The challenges he's facing are no joke. Obama's in a position untold millions of American males stare down daily with doubt: stuck between jobs; ready and willing to lead, and wondering who'll truly follow.
In times like these, a fella needs a pillar of a woman at his side.
Looks like he's got one.
Moreover, he's got the daughters _ Sasha (7) and Malia (10) _ to think of. That makes three females he's got to try and keep happy while he endeavors to "salvage America's reputation around the world". Tough sledding.
And I wonder how much tough it might be if there was a First Son going to the White House. Would Obama have to posture more stridently if there were more Y chromosomes floating around the residence?
It's refreshing to read the recent Associated Press report detailing how the Obamas have already agreed that puppy poop-scooping and bed-making will be among their daughters' chores during their tenure.
Some boundaries and duties should never be compromised.
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE)
Better still, he locked down the greatest domestic security leader possible in his wife, Michelle Obama, years ago.
He's going to need her.
The challenges he's facing are no joke. Obama's in a position untold millions of American males stare down daily with doubt: stuck between jobs; ready and willing to lead, and wondering who'll truly follow.
In times like these, a fella needs a pillar of a woman at his side.
Looks like he's got one.
Moreover, he's got the daughters _ Sasha (7) and Malia (10) _ to think of. That makes three females he's got to try and keep happy while he endeavors to "salvage America's reputation around the world". Tough sledding.
And I wonder how much tough it might be if there was a First Son going to the White House. Would Obama have to posture more stridently if there were more Y chromosomes floating around the residence?
It's refreshing to read the recent Associated Press report detailing how the Obamas have already agreed that puppy poop-scooping and bed-making will be among their daughters' chores during their tenure.
Some boundaries and duties should never be compromised.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Barack or Plaxico: Pick Your Role Model
Man, the pickin's sure seem thin out there in the dialogue-o-sphere lately.
I've plumbed theroot.com, afronerd.com, essence.com, blackpressusa.com and way too many others seeking inspiration. (Watching the soaps and "Big Brother..." on The Africa Channel hasn't helped one bit. Grimmacing at snippets of The Bravo Channel's "Real Housewives of the ATL" only numbed the senses. Sadly, C-SPAN's coverage of shabbily-staged summit on older black activists' and officials' reviews of the election lulled me to sleep. Here's the best I could come up with....
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE)
NO! Not the scary prospect of Junior emulating Yo Gabba Gabba's DJ Lance (above). I mean this piece of work in nymag.com's Nov. 9 Intelligencer..."Revenge of the Black Nerd".
It says nothing never uttered before really, except to the reactive reference to Obama's recent election.
Still, it got me thinking slightly. It helped in that constant assessment of priorities. I'd entered the Thanksgiving Weekend (rather, five days away from Pre-K) with a faint sense of dread. How would I keep Junior occupied that long? How would I nurture his inner nerd (so the charter school takes him next year) as well as his inner jock (the great inducer of naps)?
Turns out we did a lot of counting: of Hot Wheeels cars, checkers pieces won (because I let him), basketball jerseys (7), times Ping clubs were spotted as I thumbed (on demand) through golf magazines while he pooped.
I totally lost count of how many times we viewed a DVD compilation of "Little Rascals" episodes that I borrowed, on a whim, from the local library. And I know not a waking hour passed all weekend when I didn't fret over Junior's "skills evaluation" tomorrow night for the Y's 4-to-5 year old basketball league.
How much does it really matter how the volunteer coaches rate him at Target Passing, Ten Meter Drilling and Spot Shooting at his age? In an age when Super Bowl stars like Plaxico Burress are shooting themselves in the proverbial foot, and NBA stars like Stephon Marbury are portrayed as dodging the competition they're paid insanely to engage in; the doping, the baby mama drama, the DUIs, etc.
At least we spent as much time gorging on the Noggin and Sprout channels as we did ballon-sword fighting and tossing the Nerf (rainy weekends suck). But if I'd had my priorities in order, I'd have carved out some serious reading time with him as well.
I've plumbed theroot.com, afronerd.com, essence.com, blackpressusa.com and way too many others seeking inspiration. (Watching the soaps and "Big Brother..." on The Africa Channel hasn't helped one bit. Grimmacing at snippets of The Bravo Channel's "Real Housewives of the ATL" only numbed the senses. Sadly, C-SPAN's coverage of shabbily-staged summit on older black activists' and officials' reviews of the election lulled me to sleep. Here's the best I could come up with....
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE)
NO! Not the scary prospect of Junior emulating Yo Gabba Gabba's DJ Lance (above). I mean this piece of work in nymag.com's Nov. 9 Intelligencer..."Revenge of the Black Nerd".
It says nothing never uttered before really, except to the reactive reference to Obama's recent election.
Still, it got me thinking slightly. It helped in that constant assessment of priorities. I'd entered the Thanksgiving Weekend (rather, five days away from Pre-K) with a faint sense of dread. How would I keep Junior occupied that long? How would I nurture his inner nerd (so the charter school takes him next year) as well as his inner jock (the great inducer of naps)?
Turns out we did a lot of counting: of Hot Wheeels cars, checkers pieces won (because I let him), basketball jerseys (7), times Ping clubs were spotted as I thumbed (on demand) through golf magazines while he pooped.
I totally lost count of how many times we viewed a DVD compilation of "Little Rascals" episodes that I borrowed, on a whim, from the local library. And I know not a waking hour passed all weekend when I didn't fret over Junior's "skills evaluation" tomorrow night for the Y's 4-to-5 year old basketball league.
How much does it really matter how the volunteer coaches rate him at Target Passing, Ten Meter Drilling and Spot Shooting at his age? In an age when Super Bowl stars like Plaxico Burress are shooting themselves in the proverbial foot, and NBA stars like Stephon Marbury are portrayed as dodging the competition they're paid insanely to engage in; the doping, the baby mama drama, the DUIs, etc.
At least we spent as much time gorging on the Noggin and Sprout channels as we did ballon-sword fighting and tossing the Nerf (rainy weekends suck). But if I'd had my priorities in order, I'd have carved out some serious reading time with him as well.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Can We Trust BET Founder/Obama-Hater?
According to a report on the Maynard Institute's "Journal-Isms" blog, penned by Richard Prince, BET's billionaire founder Bob Johnson _ a fervent Clinton supporter during the Presidential primaries _ wants back into the cable television game.
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE)
Reportedly, Johnson _ whose groundbreaking Black Entertainment Television network was chiefly responsible for propagating the imagery of pimps, hos, husters, dope dealers and menaces to society onto the mass market, according to some critics _ has applied for a license from the Federal Communications Commission to launch a new "urban" station under the auspices of Ion Media Networks, Inc. Ion's parent company, according to report, is best known for re-running such high quality programming as "Mama's Family" and "Baywatch".
What's Johnson's motivation? To undo the "set the race back a generation" hot mess that BET turned into? To ride the colorific coattails of Obama's ascent, even though Johnson backed the President-elect's main rival.
I love how Aaron McGruder parodied what Johnson and BET wrought so ruefully on his "Boondocks" series (click above). Do we want that man at the helm of another network? Will any programs that Johnson runs be any good for our kids?
Correct me if I'm wrong in thinking, "Not".
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE)
Reportedly, Johnson _ whose groundbreaking Black Entertainment Television network was chiefly responsible for propagating the imagery of pimps, hos, husters, dope dealers and menaces to society onto the mass market, according to some critics _ has applied for a license from the Federal Communications Commission to launch a new "urban" station under the auspices of Ion Media Networks, Inc. Ion's parent company, according to report, is best known for re-running such high quality programming as "Mama's Family" and "Baywatch".
What's Johnson's motivation? To undo the "set the race back a generation" hot mess that BET turned into? To ride the colorific coattails of Obama's ascent, even though Johnson backed the President-elect's main rival.
I love how Aaron McGruder parodied what Johnson and BET wrought so ruefully on his "Boondocks" series (click above). Do we want that man at the helm of another network? Will any programs that Johnson runs be any good for our kids?
Correct me if I'm wrong in thinking, "Not".
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Obama: It takes "A Milli" to hold us back
"It might feel good
It might sound a lil somethin
But the fuck the game if it ain’t saying nothin' "
Public Enemy, "He Got Game" (VIDEO: YOUTUBE; LYRICS: craveonline.com)
"Is it just me, or does it seem like every hip-hop awards show staged in Atlanta winds up in some insane drama that effectively "brings down" the whole race? *
The "race" in question, it goes without saying, is the black one. The same one that's waiting so breathlessly to get on the guest list for President-elect Barack Obama's inauguration.
(I pity the fools who live anywhere near D.C. and answer the phone when virtual strangers call between now and Jan. 20...)
The same one that tracks "The Real Housewives of the ATL" more intently than the cabinet appointments now that Obama's been elected.
Back to the point: the rap genre has much potential to undermine the Obama Presidency as any scheme devised by Rove and his cohorts in the foreseeable future.
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE *WARNING-EXPLICIT IMAGES AND LYRICS*)
They'll try to trip him up so that it's a one-term administration. His public perception, unfortunately, could be tied to the pop-culture icons whose words and deeds rub off on us all.
In this house, rap's a guilty pleasure. On the way to pre-K the other day, the II and I exchanged a gleeful glance as we soaked in Outkast's "So Fresh, So Clean" on the Steve Harvey Show without Mommy there to rinse our minds out with Borax.
Beyond that, though, hip-hop and too much of what it alludes to isn't fit to young ears. And the genre clouds what the mainstream thinks of Obama's most fervent constituents.
I can imagine camping out on a lawn somewhere near one of the Jumbotrons that will broadcast Obama's inaugural speech live to the masses on January 20th, and conceive of how bouncing around to someone's beatbox serenade might help keep me warm that night. But other voters for change might easily find those intonations appalling. Shouldn't we?
A valued viewer of the askyourdaddy blog asked whether Seal's version of "A Change Is Gonna Come" resonated with me. Certainly it did. But not as much as the Sam Cooke version, obviously.
The question, music lovers, is: Will it?
*(Kudos to Sandra Rose for intrepidly following the ongoing downfall.)
It might sound a lil somethin
But the fuck the game if it ain’t saying nothin' "
Public Enemy, "He Got Game" (VIDEO: YOUTUBE; LYRICS: craveonline.com)
"Is it just me, or does it seem like every hip-hop awards show staged in Atlanta winds up in some insane drama that effectively "brings down" the whole race? *
The "race" in question, it goes without saying, is the black one. The same one that's waiting so breathlessly to get on the guest list for President-elect Barack Obama's inauguration.
(I pity the fools who live anywhere near D.C. and answer the phone when virtual strangers call between now and Jan. 20...)
The same one that tracks "The Real Housewives of the ATL" more intently than the cabinet appointments now that Obama's been elected.
Back to the point: the rap genre has much potential to undermine the Obama Presidency as any scheme devised by Rove and his cohorts in the foreseeable future.
(VIDEO: YOUTUBE *WARNING-EXPLICIT IMAGES AND LYRICS*)
They'll try to trip him up so that it's a one-term administration. His public perception, unfortunately, could be tied to the pop-culture icons whose words and deeds rub off on us all.
In this house, rap's a guilty pleasure. On the way to pre-K the other day, the II and I exchanged a gleeful glance as we soaked in Outkast's "So Fresh, So Clean" on the Steve Harvey Show without Mommy there to rinse our minds out with Borax.
Beyond that, though, hip-hop and too much of what it alludes to isn't fit to young ears. And the genre clouds what the mainstream thinks of Obama's most fervent constituents.
I can imagine camping out on a lawn somewhere near one of the Jumbotrons that will broadcast Obama's inaugural speech live to the masses on January 20th, and conceive of how bouncing around to someone's beatbox serenade might help keep me warm that night. But other voters for change might easily find those intonations appalling. Shouldn't we?
A valued viewer of the askyourdaddy blog asked whether Seal's version of "A Change Is Gonna Come" resonated with me. Certainly it did. But not as much as the Sam Cooke version, obviously.
The question, music lovers, is: Will it?
*(Kudos to Sandra Rose for intrepidly following the ongoing downfall.)
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Cedric The Entertainer / Thespian (?)
Sadly, it took a deep dig through this Sunday's New York Times to find something that felt relevant and fun to comment on.
If it ain't about Obama, or some dark tale of deprivation, this audience has to look long and hard for news that's fit to print.
Thank goodness, the adage "seek and ye shall find" still applies.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE/picturediscvinyl
There, tucked away in the Arts & Leisure section, was a rather gripping article on that Kings of Comedy stalwart, Cedric the Entertainer.
Bro' wants to be taken seriously as a Broadway actor, apparently. And with good reason.
He may best warrant this age's mantle left empty by Richard Pryor. He may need a theatrical venue to prove it since the Times gave his troupe's new rendition of David Mamet's "American Buffalo" a scathingly bad review.
No matter. Mamet and the Great White Way's powers that be are at least trying to include more actors of color in their productions; and Ced's helping to break new ground. Sharply or not.
In trying times like these, shouldn't we all stretch?
Mamet might say it in a few hundred words more, but "ain't nothing wrong with healthy conversation", as Ced's "Barbershop" character put it. Right?
If it ain't about Obama, or some dark tale of deprivation, this audience has to look long and hard for news that's fit to print.
Thank goodness, the adage "seek and ye shall find" still applies.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE/picturediscvinyl
There, tucked away in the Arts & Leisure section, was a rather gripping article on that Kings of Comedy stalwart, Cedric the Entertainer.
Bro' wants to be taken seriously as a Broadway actor, apparently. And with good reason.
He may best warrant this age's mantle left empty by Richard Pryor. He may need a theatrical venue to prove it since the Times gave his troupe's new rendition of David Mamet's "American Buffalo" a scathingly bad review.
No matter. Mamet and the Great White Way's powers that be are at least trying to include more actors of color in their productions; and Ced's helping to break new ground. Sharply or not.
In trying times like these, shouldn't we all stretch?
Mamet might say it in a few hundred words more, but "ain't nothing wrong with healthy conversation", as Ced's "Barbershop" character put it. Right?
Friday, November 21, 2008
While Obama assembles his Dream Team...
Let's look on the bright side.
Give this President-elect time to work things out.
It looks like his master plan is in full effect as far as cabinet placements go.
In the meantime, let's wake up every morning from until after Tax Day or Barack's first 100 Days (whichever comes first) realizing that things actually could be worse.
Here's this household's new theme song to help soothe the cold, early a.m. aches and pangs.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
If nothing else, current conditions teach us that it truly is, as the Soul Stirrers sang, "A Mean Ol' World". This "Ray Sings / Basie Swings" (Concorde Music) CD I just bought on a whim hits back with a certain, determined meanness that showed "the Genius" up against a full big band at his prime and fuels me. Not that I'm endorsing it or anything...
Back to the main point: Rise up singin' people! Show your kids by example that you've got the gumption to persevere. Fight back, at all costs, the shadows of doubt that might cloud their eyes.
Like that Big Buford burger I wolfed down after a volunteer stint at that germy pre-school this afternoon, this too shall pass.
Give this President-elect time to work things out.
It looks like his master plan is in full effect as far as cabinet placements go.
In the meantime, let's wake up every morning from until after Tax Day or Barack's first 100 Days (whichever comes first) realizing that things actually could be worse.
Here's this household's new theme song to help soothe the cold, early a.m. aches and pangs.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
If nothing else, current conditions teach us that it truly is, as the Soul Stirrers sang, "A Mean Ol' World". This "Ray Sings / Basie Swings" (Concorde Music) CD I just bought on a whim hits back with a certain, determined meanness that showed "the Genius" up against a full big band at his prime and fuels me. Not that I'm endorsing it or anything...
Back to the main point: Rise up singin' people! Show your kids by example that you've got the gumption to persevere. Fight back, at all costs, the shadows of doubt that might cloud their eyes.
Like that Big Buford burger I wolfed down after a volunteer stint at that germy pre-school this afternoon, this too shall pass.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
When Michael Vick gets out of prison...
It's lighten up the mood time here at askyoudaddy...
You have to click on this hilarious Zippy Video link to get where I'm coming from on this one.
FROM MURK-WARS: ON YOUTUBE
Since no one wants to delve into the heavier topics that this blog was meant to address (namely, sharing advice on how to raise a generation of little Obamas), I'm digging into the goodie bag and just proposing jokes to invoke laughs and dialogue.
There aren't many mentions in the news lately about disgraced QB Michael Vick; and that's probably a good thing. I hope bro's in there at Leavenworth getting his mind and body right in hopes of returning, somehow, to the NFL.
*Note: askyourdaddy in no way condones dogfighting. askyourdaddy just enjoyed watching Vick play football. We're not saying what the Dolphins' Joey Porter was saying...namely, "all it was was dogs".
Since Vick's name doesn't come up much in the news, I don't have to lamely explain why he's in jail to my (almost) 5-year-old son as often as I once had to.
For the next seven months until MV7 is released, I can bide time; and find humor in the tragedy we can all somehow learn from and teach our kids to avoid.
Any thoughts?
You have to click on this hilarious Zippy Video link to get where I'm coming from on this one.
FROM MURK-WARS: ON YOUTUBE
Since no one wants to delve into the heavier topics that this blog was meant to address (namely, sharing advice on how to raise a generation of little Obamas), I'm digging into the goodie bag and just proposing jokes to invoke laughs and dialogue.
There aren't many mentions in the news lately about disgraced QB Michael Vick; and that's probably a good thing. I hope bro's in there at Leavenworth getting his mind and body right in hopes of returning, somehow, to the NFL.
*Note: askyourdaddy in no way condones dogfighting. askyourdaddy just enjoyed watching Vick play football. We're not saying what the Dolphins' Joey Porter was saying...namely, "all it was was dogs".
Since Vick's name doesn't come up much in the news, I don't have to lamely explain why he's in jail to my (almost) 5-year-old son as often as I once had to.
For the next seven months until MV7 is released, I can bide time; and find humor in the tragedy we can all somehow learn from and teach our kids to avoid.
Any thoughts?
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Got yer 'house negro' right here, Hadji
I can't recall the first time I was ever called the "N" word; nor the last.
If you're any kind of evolved black man, you learn to get past B.S. like that. Put it behind you.
That's what I'll teach my son. (Since we live in Georgia, the slur's bound to be hurled his way sooner or later.)
And I'll remind him to pause and reflect on how President-elect Barack Obama reacted when the word got out that Osama bin Laden's No. 2 man, Whackadoo al-Zawahri, took Malcolm X's name in vain while referring to Obama as a "house Negro".
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Of course, the mainstream ate the clandestine message from some Afghan cave right up and spread it like Kingsford lighter fuel in the hands of a drunk uncle at a barbecue. Obama's reaction was classic: he didn't react at all.
That any Muslim leader would besmirch a man of color in that way is beyond comprehension. And it defies sanity, given the racial indignities and innuendos Obama endured during the Presidential campaign.
But such is the fate if you're born black and stand proud. Someone _ some impotent skalawag _ is going to stoop to the basest level in a desperate attempt to bring you down.
Don't take the bait. Obama's re-taught us that.
If you're any kind of evolved black man, you learn to get past B.S. like that. Put it behind you.
That's what I'll teach my son. (Since we live in Georgia, the slur's bound to be hurled his way sooner or later.)
And I'll remind him to pause and reflect on how President-elect Barack Obama reacted when the word got out that Osama bin Laden's No. 2 man, Whackadoo al-Zawahri, took Malcolm X's name in vain while referring to Obama as a "house Negro".
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Of course, the mainstream ate the clandestine message from some Afghan cave right up and spread it like Kingsford lighter fuel in the hands of a drunk uncle at a barbecue. Obama's reaction was classic: he didn't react at all.
That any Muslim leader would besmirch a man of color in that way is beyond comprehension. And it defies sanity, given the racial indignities and innuendos Obama endured during the Presidential campaign.
But such is the fate if you're born black and stand proud. Someone _ some impotent skalawag _ is going to stoop to the basest level in a desperate attempt to bring you down.
Don't take the bait. Obama's re-taught us that.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
What if he asks what 'gay' means?
It's bound to happen sooner or later.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
We might be raking leaves, or poking around the hardware store, or driving to school.
Sooner or later, I'm guessing, the 5-year-old genius is going to pose the question the way an attorney would: "What does gay mean?". He'll have an answer in mind before even asking. And I'll be on the figurative witness stand, sworn to be honest and forthcoming.
But how?
Granted...
The Young'un has known and accepted for a year or two that the little neighbor girl with the chubby cheeks "has two mommies". His only barber (besides Mommy) is a gritty gal who has no qualms about flexing her masculine side. And, without doubt, at good few of his intown pre-school teachers lead me to believe that they lead "alternative" lifestyles.
So be it. He's progressing briliantly. So don't ask, don't tell. Right?
But now we have Wanda Sykes (who I always thought was fine) coming out as a proud lesbian. And untold thousands are protesting across the U.S. because California voted down gay marriages. The controversy's not going away. So there's bound to be spill-over he picks up on.
Back to the question of what to say. (Since I met Wanda up close and personal once and found her lovely skin and chiseled features and white-hot wit really attractive, I consider myself an oblivious moron on these matters.)
The g-word passed my lips inadvertently in front of the Young'un on Sunday when his godfather and I were watching an NFL game andit occurred to me how one player didn't strike me as playing manly enough. I regret the comment for countless reasons.
Chief among them: the Young'un might have asked what I meant. And rightfully so.
Coming soon...DO THE CUB SCOUTS STILL EXIST?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
We might be raking leaves, or poking around the hardware store, or driving to school.
Sooner or later, I'm guessing, the 5-year-old genius is going to pose the question the way an attorney would: "What does gay mean?". He'll have an answer in mind before even asking. And I'll be on the figurative witness stand, sworn to be honest and forthcoming.
But how?
Granted...
The Young'un has known and accepted for a year or two that the little neighbor girl with the chubby cheeks "has two mommies". His only barber (besides Mommy) is a gritty gal who has no qualms about flexing her masculine side. And, without doubt, at good few of his intown pre-school teachers lead me to believe that they lead "alternative" lifestyles.
So be it. He's progressing briliantly. So don't ask, don't tell. Right?
But now we have Wanda Sykes (who I always thought was fine) coming out as a proud lesbian. And untold thousands are protesting across the U.S. because California voted down gay marriages. The controversy's not going away. So there's bound to be spill-over he picks up on.
Back to the question of what to say. (Since I met Wanda up close and personal once and found her lovely skin and chiseled features and white-hot wit really attractive, I consider myself an oblivious moron on these matters.)
The g-word passed my lips inadvertently in front of the Young'un on Sunday when his godfather and I were watching an NFL game andit occurred to me how one player didn't strike me as playing manly enough. I regret the comment for countless reasons.
Chief among them: the Young'un might have asked what I meant. And rightfully so.
Coming soon...DO THE CUB SCOUTS STILL EXIST?
Sunday, November 16, 2008
School Daze: Public or Private for Obamas?
Here's yet another reason why I connect with our President-Elect.
I'm in the same jam as far as picking the next school route for my child.
Or, more accurately, weighing in on the decision my wife will ultimately make.
Decisions like this can cost you sleep.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
The choice between public or private schooling causes intown Atlanta parents agony to no end. We all wish the unspeakable for ourselves: enough wealth to swap the question aside entirely and just navigate the political landmines en route to enrollment in one of the private academies. There are several within the city limits. And their fees for kindergarten students now rival what it cost me for my freshman year at Vanderbilt 25 years ago.
As of now, that rules this household out. But stay tuned ladies and germs: Poppa's got a maniacal scholarship plan in the works.
But back to "the conundrum". I've enjoyed reading the admittedly late take on the issue posted on theroot.com. And I commend the way the Obama's adressed the matter yet again on "60 Minutes".
Do "we" who have overcome the failings of the urban public school systems somehow owe them for what they got right? Do we have to give back by sacrificing our kids' future? Are we absolutely obligated to roll up our sleeves and delve into educational systems that by all indications seem like lost causes?
If black middle class parents abandon the public schools now, will any generation ever benefit from them again?
I'm just asking...
I'm in the same jam as far as picking the next school route for my child.
Or, more accurately, weighing in on the decision my wife will ultimately make.
Decisions like this can cost you sleep.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
The choice between public or private schooling causes intown Atlanta parents agony to no end. We all wish the unspeakable for ourselves: enough wealth to swap the question aside entirely and just navigate the political landmines en route to enrollment in one of the private academies. There are several within the city limits. And their fees for kindergarten students now rival what it cost me for my freshman year at Vanderbilt 25 years ago.
As of now, that rules this household out. But stay tuned ladies and germs: Poppa's got a maniacal scholarship plan in the works.
But back to "the conundrum". I've enjoyed reading the admittedly late take on the issue posted on theroot.com. And I commend the way the Obama's adressed the matter yet again on "60 Minutes".
Do "we" who have overcome the failings of the urban public school systems somehow owe them for what they got right? Do we have to give back by sacrificing our kids' future? Are we absolutely obligated to roll up our sleeves and delve into educational systems that by all indications seem like lost causes?
If black middle class parents abandon the public schools now, will any generation ever benefit from them again?
I'm just asking...
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Does Barack Obama play golf?
I'm frankly still feeling too wiped out from all the election hysteria that culminated two nights ago to go through Google to find out what else the President-elect and I might have in common; hobby-wise.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
But I will; and if the golf industry sees any chance to make his connection to the game a win-win in terms of publicity, it'll soon be known anyway.
For some reason, I keep envisioning Barack and Tiger Woods in a dream pairing; playing privately at Woods' Isleworth compound. Imagine the conversation, the laughs, the bets, the precious pauses.
To lighten things up on this blog, for a change, let's focus on golf. Black men who play golf. How black men play golf differently, if at all. What draws more and more black men to the fairways?
More importantly: what's the best way to get more of our black children into the game? My son is 5, so I can't get him into the First Tee program for another two years. I've tried, without pushing, to get him used to swinging clubs. But it's hard to hold his attention for more than 20 minutes.
Any suggestions?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
But I will; and if the golf industry sees any chance to make his connection to the game a win-win in terms of publicity, it'll soon be known anyway.
For some reason, I keep envisioning Barack and Tiger Woods in a dream pairing; playing privately at Woods' Isleworth compound. Imagine the conversation, the laughs, the bets, the precious pauses.
To lighten things up on this blog, for a change, let's focus on golf. Black men who play golf. How black men play golf differently, if at all. What draws more and more black men to the fairways?
More importantly: what's the best way to get more of our black children into the game? My son is 5, so I can't get him into the First Tee program for another two years. I've tried, without pushing, to get him used to swinging clubs. But it's hard to hold his attention for more than 20 minutes.
Any suggestions?
Monday, November 3, 2008
OBAMA'S GRANDMOTHER DIES: 'Tomorrow' ain't promised
No matter what, Wednesday will be "a great wakin' up morning in America".
We may have Barack Obama as our next President. Or we may not.
That all depends on how the actual voter turn-out turns out.
Whatever the final count(s) reached in this election, if you can say you voted you can claim credit for real change.
If the numbers of "change" advocates at the polls is anywhere close to what's expected, this nation will forever be transformed.
And we'll have Mrs. Dunham to thank for raising a grandson with the spine of steel needed to help change the course of history.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
He's the dearly departed's precious gift to all of us whoever felt powerless to make a difference.
How do we repay pillars like her, who thought they'd go to their glory convinced that no black man would ever rise high enough to come close to becoming Commander in Chief. Much less winning.
If you can't carry someone sick or shut-in to the vote, at least reach out and keep them posted about the turnout and returns. Take pictures to show them later on.
But not much later. Share this lasting moment with them while you still can.
We may have Barack Obama as our next President. Or we may not.
That all depends on how the actual voter turn-out turns out.
Whatever the final count(s) reached in this election, if you can say you voted you can claim credit for real change.
If the numbers of "change" advocates at the polls is anywhere close to what's expected, this nation will forever be transformed.
And we'll have Mrs. Dunham to thank for raising a grandson with the spine of steel needed to help change the course of history.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
He's the dearly departed's precious gift to all of us whoever felt powerless to make a difference.
How do we repay pillars like her, who thought they'd go to their glory convinced that no black man would ever rise high enough to come close to becoming Commander in Chief. Much less winning.
If you can't carry someone sick or shut-in to the vote, at least reach out and keep them posted about the turnout and returns. Take pictures to show them later on.
But not much later. Share this lasting moment with them while you still can.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
We Wear the Mask: Ode to Dunbar
The most fervent Barack Obama supporter I know literally shoved a rubber mask of the Senator from Illinois into my arms yesterday at our kids' playground.
His rationale for bestowing it upon me: it felt rather 'suffocating'.
Given this cat's fanaticism for the front-running Presidential candidate, I'd have expected him to at least hold onto the novelty item for posterity's sake. And since I've slacked on the donation tip to the campaign, the urge to return it to him tugs at me.
But first I'll wear it and try not to hyper-ventilate for a few obligatory snapshots during the apres trick-or-treat shin dig we're hosting for close friends and their chittlins.
I suspect I won't be the only one who wraps the Obama mask on and mugs for the camera. Our anticipation's running high, after all. And we're mixing Bloody Marys in equal proportion to the Gel-O worm cups for dessert.
Except for that one guy who flaunts his Obama-mania on his "statement" shirt sleeves, this will be a gathering of folks who keep their true election night longings to themselves.
For better or worse, for the most part, we're not the types that will make wig-pullin' cameos on Action News the morning after. In professional settings, we'll contain our glee if he wins. At home with our kids, we'll fake brave faces if he loses.
Which brings me back to words written a century ago by Paul Laurence Dunbar; the son of an escaped slave who changed a chunk of his world's mindset from his home base in the 'swing state' of Ohio.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
With all credit due (Citadel Press, 1993), Dunbar wrote:
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, _
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
(Go buy your own copy for the stirring, still-relevant remarks between THAT and this...)
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Thanks, eternally PLB.
This won't be the last Halloween I think of you.
For additional perspectives, view this post I found on theroot.com...
http://www.theroot.com/id/48627
His rationale for bestowing it upon me: it felt rather 'suffocating'.
Given this cat's fanaticism for the front-running Presidential candidate, I'd have expected him to at least hold onto the novelty item for posterity's sake. And since I've slacked on the donation tip to the campaign, the urge to return it to him tugs at me.
But first I'll wear it and try not to hyper-ventilate for a few obligatory snapshots during the apres trick-or-treat shin dig we're hosting for close friends and their chittlins.
I suspect I won't be the only one who wraps the Obama mask on and mugs for the camera. Our anticipation's running high, after all. And we're mixing Bloody Marys in equal proportion to the Gel-O worm cups for dessert.
Except for that one guy who flaunts his Obama-mania on his "statement" shirt sleeves, this will be a gathering of folks who keep their true election night longings to themselves.
For better or worse, for the most part, we're not the types that will make wig-pullin' cameos on Action News the morning after. In professional settings, we'll contain our glee if he wins. At home with our kids, we'll fake brave faces if he loses.
Which brings me back to words written a century ago by Paul Laurence Dunbar; the son of an escaped slave who changed a chunk of his world's mindset from his home base in the 'swing state' of Ohio.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
With all credit due (Citadel Press, 1993), Dunbar wrote:
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes, _
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
(Go buy your own copy for the stirring, still-relevant remarks between THAT and this...)
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Thanks, eternally PLB.
This won't be the last Halloween I think of you.
For additional perspectives, view this post I found on theroot.com...
http://www.theroot.com/id/48627
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Shame on us, Tysheema
Stevie Wonder ought to write a song or, better yet, a symphony about this Brown woman from the northeast suburbs of Atlanta who, reportedly, tried to abandon her son at a Nevada hospital, and wash her hands of him.
How sad a state have we reached when a 12-year-old black boy's mother claims she has no other choice but to drive him 1,000 miles away, and then burn rubber, for his own good? Doesn't this dilemma speak volumes about how detached we've become from the touchstones of "village" existence when any male child can be cast off so early in life?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Other than being the son of an unwed mother amid conditions that contribute in precious few ways to his potential success as a productive member of society, what could a boy like that have done so wrong (or been incapable of stopping himself from doing)?
This isn't to cast total blame here on any mother who falls so harshly on the fringe of frustration. Nor can we deny how hip-hop media has coaxed our youth down a path of abject poverty of the spirit and disconnect from right vs. wrong principles.
But if an incident like this doesn't prompt more concerned black men to actively attempt to teach by example, the future may as well be marked "delete".
How sad a state have we reached when a 12-year-old black boy's mother claims she has no other choice but to drive him 1,000 miles away, and then burn rubber, for his own good? Doesn't this dilemma speak volumes about how detached we've become from the touchstones of "village" existence when any male child can be cast off so early in life?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Other than being the son of an unwed mother amid conditions that contribute in precious few ways to his potential success as a productive member of society, what could a boy like that have done so wrong (or been incapable of stopping himself from doing)?
This isn't to cast total blame here on any mother who falls so harshly on the fringe of frustration. Nor can we deny how hip-hop media has coaxed our youth down a path of abject poverty of the spirit and disconnect from right vs. wrong principles.
But if an incident like this doesn't prompt more concerned black men to actively attempt to teach by example, the future may as well be marked "delete".
Friday, September 5, 2008
'cuda_don't_preach
I have no interest in seeing any more high-priced pictures of the knocked-up daughter of the Repblicans' VP nominee.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Until last week, I had never heard of the Republicans' VP nominee.
Her household's a virtual breeding ground, from what I've gleened. And yet she favors abstinence lessons in public schools.
Hello? Public school monitors? Has that abstinence thing ever worked?
Me and Barracuda are about the same age. Too young, to me, to contemplate or activate grandma/pa mode.
Strangely, I envy the predicament. Yes, the whole world knows your child defied you in the most blatant way. Still, you'll have the energy and the assets to indulge that new little baby like there's no tomorrow.
As disconnected as most families are these days, the VP's lot is unfortunately common.
Let's just not allow the situation we're all tuned-in to, without really wanting to, to foster the notion among our young girls and boys that if it's OK in THAT family, it's OK in ours too.
Right?
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Until last week, I had never heard of the Republicans' VP nominee.
Her household's a virtual breeding ground, from what I've gleened. And yet she favors abstinence lessons in public schools.
Hello? Public school monitors? Has that abstinence thing ever worked?
Me and Barracuda are about the same age. Too young, to me, to contemplate or activate grandma/pa mode.
Strangely, I envy the predicament. Yes, the whole world knows your child defied you in the most blatant way. Still, you'll have the energy and the assets to indulge that new little baby like there's no tomorrow.
As disconnected as most families are these days, the VP's lot is unfortunately common.
Let's just not allow the situation we're all tuned-in to, without really wanting to, to foster the notion among our young girls and boys that if it's OK in THAT family, it's OK in ours too.
Right?
Monday, September 1, 2008
Sarah_Palin:_Grandma Moses?
Fate didn't conspire to make me a white woman born of relative privilege in Alaska 44 years ago. So I can't imagine, really, what it's like to walk in the Republicans' Vice Presidential nominee's snowshoes right now, in the late hours after it's been revealed that her abstinence preachings weren't enough to keep her teenage daughter from getting knocked up.
But I did grow up in what's considered the Great White north _ where the snow fell heavy for months at a time and Journey's "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' " fueled many teenage urges.
I get where Palin's coming from when she tries to pass her daughter's pre-marital pregnancy off as something that happens to even the best of families. She may miraculously succeed in parting the water's that conservative blowhards flood the airwaves with. The sea of unwanted pregenancies in America isn't just a muddy one.
I'd no doubt be devastated if a teenage son of mine came home with the news that he'd irresponsibly helped conceive a child out of wedlock. The fault for adding to any other family's burden in this heavyweight fight called life would fall, somewhat, on me. Any son of mine should know better.
Palin and I are just about the same age; yet she falls far closer to the grandbaby's daddy drama than I ever expect to see. Some of us benefit from holding off on marriage and having kids. No matter how wisely we manage the early and middle stages of our careers, we're not all fully prepared to even approach the challenges of parenthood until we're nearly 40.
There's a delicate balance between talking about our kids, talking to them, talking for them and talking passed them.
I'm no more qualified to be Vice President of the United States than candidate Palin is, but I'm sure going to take note of her missteps.
But I did grow up in what's considered the Great White north _ where the snow fell heavy for months at a time and Journey's "Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin' " fueled many teenage urges.
I get where Palin's coming from when she tries to pass her daughter's pre-marital pregnancy off as something that happens to even the best of families. She may miraculously succeed in parting the water's that conservative blowhards flood the airwaves with. The sea of unwanted pregenancies in America isn't just a muddy one.
I'd no doubt be devastated if a teenage son of mine came home with the news that he'd irresponsibly helped conceive a child out of wedlock. The fault for adding to any other family's burden in this heavyweight fight called life would fall, somewhat, on me. Any son of mine should know better.
Palin and I are just about the same age; yet she falls far closer to the grandbaby's daddy drama than I ever expect to see. Some of us benefit from holding off on marriage and having kids. No matter how wisely we manage the early and middle stages of our careers, we're not all fully prepared to even approach the challenges of parenthood until we're nearly 40.
There's a delicate balance between talking about our kids, talking to them, talking for them and talking passed them.
I'm no more qualified to be Vice President of the United States than candidate Palin is, but I'm sure going to take note of her missteps.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
About the deaths of Isaac Hayes and Bernie Mac...
I just pray there's some bright and blessed bastard out there who had the good sense to sit Black Moses down and record, extensively, his words on what it took for a country boy to compose a symphony for a film about a heroic black ganster; and win Oscar gold in the process.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
We've heard (prefab) rags-to-riches stories like Bernie Mac's before. But wouldn't it be a shame if no one's captured and prepared to disseminate the Mac Man's parting thoughts on how, if nothing else, there's no greater fortune than one's health.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
My mother off-handedly reminded me on the phone tonight that my pop turns 63 in the morning. He'll treat it, when I call, like it's JUST ANOTHER DAY.
But it ain't. The cool, old school dudes are dropping like flies. So I'm going to insist that pop sits down tomorrow and records at least an hour on the cassette player I sent him last Christmas.
Let's not let the men we admire take their greatest stories never told with them to the grave.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
We've heard (prefab) rags-to-riches stories like Bernie Mac's before. But wouldn't it be a shame if no one's captured and prepared to disseminate the Mac Man's parting thoughts on how, if nothing else, there's no greater fortune than one's health.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
My mother off-handedly reminded me on the phone tonight that my pop turns 63 in the morning. He'll treat it, when I call, like it's JUST ANOTHER DAY.
But it ain't. The cool, old school dudes are dropping like flies. So I'm going to insist that pop sits down tomorrow and records at least an hour on the cassette player I sent him last Christmas.
Let's not let the men we admire take their greatest stories never told with them to the grave.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
What's it all about, Luda?
First of all "Ludacris" and "Obama" don't even belong in the same sentence.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
So how is it that I wake up today to the radio blare of a rapper posting a song on Youtube that could sabotage the chances of the Dems' nominee for President?
Chris Bridges (a.k.a. Ludracris) is one of the more soft-spoken, polite and deliberate celebrities you'll ever meet in person. Or, at least, he was on the one occasion I dined over several courses of steak and wine with him a few years back at a restaurant opening.
My mixed feelings about rap and its messages aside, Luda's got skills I find extraordinary. This new tune about Obama? Garbage, unless weak lyrics and tired beats suit your taste.
I'm no music critic. I'm just sayin'...
This new stunt single he's released is nothing but a pathetic lurch for attention and dollars. Ludracris has the right to grab the mic and insult George W., McCain and Hillary 'til the cows come home. But why do it in Obama's name?
If you can't say something nice (or in the least bit edifying for your audience) why say it at all? And if you have to say something stoopid, why not keep the responsibility for those "statements" to yourself?
http://askyourdaddy.blogspot.com/
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
So how is it that I wake up today to the radio blare of a rapper posting a song on Youtube that could sabotage the chances of the Dems' nominee for President?
Chris Bridges (a.k.a. Ludracris) is one of the more soft-spoken, polite and deliberate celebrities you'll ever meet in person. Or, at least, he was on the one occasion I dined over several courses of steak and wine with him a few years back at a restaurant opening.
My mixed feelings about rap and its messages aside, Luda's got skills I find extraordinary. This new tune about Obama? Garbage, unless weak lyrics and tired beats suit your taste.
I'm no music critic. I'm just sayin'...
This new stunt single he's released is nothing but a pathetic lurch for attention and dollars. Ludracris has the right to grab the mic and insult George W., McCain and Hillary 'til the cows come home. But why do it in Obama's name?
If you can't say something nice (or in the least bit edifying for your audience) why say it at all? And if you have to say something stoopid, why not keep the responsibility for those "statements" to yourself?
http://askyourdaddy.blogspot.com/
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Apology for slavery accepted?
Apology for slavery accepted?
I think ... not.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Unless there was a full roll call taken of evey congressional representative, cabinet member and President SOON to record a vote that determines how sincerely America feels sorry for the way it exploited slaves, how legitimate would that expression of regret be?
For as long as I live, I'm going to have to try and be there for my young son and struggle to answer how slavery and racism and intolerance came to be and still plague him. His Pre-K intellect _ astounding as it is _ won't fully grasp some proclamation voted on anonymously by a bunch of politicians who can't explain away the horrific past, much less chart us a comfortable future.
By some strange coincidence, my last name's the same as one of the original (slave-owning) signers of the United States Constitution. There are sub-divisions, parkways and schools named after him all over these parts.
Every day I park in a lot at the intersection of a street named after him.
None of US Jeffersons or Washingtons or Franklins or Adamses who probably descend from some of the "founding fathers" benefit at all from the birthrights. We can't claim the bloodlines, nor deny them.
So why, really, rehash that phase of our collective past now? To stir up a futile call for reparations?
Put this distraction to rest already.
What's done is done.
I think ... not.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
Unless there was a full roll call taken of evey congressional representative, cabinet member and President SOON to record a vote that determines how sincerely America feels sorry for the way it exploited slaves, how legitimate would that expression of regret be?
For as long as I live, I'm going to have to try and be there for my young son and struggle to answer how slavery and racism and intolerance came to be and still plague him. His Pre-K intellect _ astounding as it is _ won't fully grasp some proclamation voted on anonymously by a bunch of politicians who can't explain away the horrific past, much less chart us a comfortable future.
By some strange coincidence, my last name's the same as one of the original (slave-owning) signers of the United States Constitution. There are sub-divisions, parkways and schools named after him all over these parts.
Every day I park in a lot at the intersection of a street named after him.
None of US Jeffersons or Washingtons or Franklins or Adamses who probably descend from some of the "founding fathers" benefit at all from the birthrights. We can't claim the bloodlines, nor deny them.
So why, really, rehash that phase of our collective past now? To stir up a futile call for reparations?
Put this distraction to rest already.
What's done is done.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
The sins of the father...
Ebony magazine raises an intriguing question about parent-to-child disclosure in its latest issue...you know, the one with a bootylicious shot of Serena Williams on the cover.
In essence, the article debates whether your kids need to know all about the offenses you (allegedly) committed in your past; and if they might benefit from rehashing your mistakes.
There's not a "yes" or "no" answer to this one.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
I'm comfortable with openness where that sort of thing's concerned. But the outcome of telling (almost) all could be "iffy", at best.
To me, a son should by all means be told about what went right and wrong with his dad's signigicant relationships with women. And he might as well be clued in as well about what casual flings can lead or succomb to as well.
Of course, the timing of such frank discussions is crucial. But they have to take place.
Nature hates a vacuum. Boys can't help seeking clues for conduct.
Surely, if f I'd been forewarned about the pitfalls of wantonly making whoopee, not to speak of the perils of office politics, I'd be regret-free (not that I have may, far from it) today.
As I'm reminded every time I listen to Sam Cook and the Soul Stirrers: "This is a Mean Old World."
So why shouldn't a father divulge to his son everything he's learned from avoiding the land mines?
In essence, the article debates whether your kids need to know all about the offenses you (allegedly) committed in your past; and if they might benefit from rehashing your mistakes.
There's not a "yes" or "no" answer to this one.
VIDEO: YOUTUBE
I'm comfortable with openness where that sort of thing's concerned. But the outcome of telling (almost) all could be "iffy", at best.
To me, a son should by all means be told about what went right and wrong with his dad's signigicant relationships with women. And he might as well be clued in as well about what casual flings can lead or succomb to as well.
Of course, the timing of such frank discussions is crucial. But they have to take place.
Nature hates a vacuum. Boys can't help seeking clues for conduct.
Surely, if f I'd been forewarned about the pitfalls of wantonly making whoopee, not to speak of the perils of office politics, I'd be regret-free (not that I have may, far from it) today.
As I'm reminded every time I listen to Sam Cook and the Soul Stirrers: "This is a Mean Old World."
So why shouldn't a father divulge to his son everything he's learned from avoiding the land mines?
Monday, June 30, 2008
If I could turn back time...
Supposedly, Spike Lee's got some new project up his 40 Acres and a Mule sleeve.
It's being reported that Lee _ who more readily specializes in revisionist history _ will take on a sci-fi film inspired by Robert Mallett's ground-breaking pursuit of a theory to explain a way to reverse time. Mallet reportedly was just 10 when he lost his father. The ensuing longing, and scientific study, led to a memoir, "Time Travel: A Scientist's Mission to Make Time Travel a Reality," which Spike will develop for screen.
Variety quoted Lee saying: "Time Traveler is a fantastic story on may levels (and) also a father and son saga of love and loss."
Enough said.
We all know by now how harshly the lack of Black fathers in homes across the U.S. is felt. Kudos to Spike for sensing the need for a story that acknowledges it, and could potentially spur a remedy.
As for me, thank goodness a time machine like Mallett envisioned would be of little use. (Or, I admit I'd likely use it for no good.)
Going back 10, 20, even 30 years wouldn't change much about my ties to my dad; even though my parents split up, gradually, between my elementary and middle school years. He never talked much, but he always meant what he said.
He didn't live with us during my potentially disastrous teenage years; but he never lived more than a determined 10-speed bike ride away.
His efforts at parenting might not have consisted as much at times than picking up for breakfast at the downtown greasy spoon where cops ate for next to nothing; but he set an example for me to be patient and 'yes, ma'am' a lot.
He was a lousy husband. But he taught me people skills.
Since, I've set seemingly unattainable standards for myself, no awards for "Greatest Dad Ever" appear on the horizon. But I do try to instill lessons that the II will benefit from 10 years hence; whether I'm around (physically) or not.
Be nice to girls. Get a job. Take care of Mommy. Practice your left hand. Save money.
That sort of thing.
Whatever it is you believe, make sure to say it. There's no time like the present.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Nas is whipped!
I can see it now: Obama's standing stiffly at a podium in some cross-over state, trying to look all commander-in-chiefly to sway skeptical voters, when all of a sudden some hack of a reporter rises to ask his impressions of the latest Nas CD cover.
Insert: Pregnant, awkward pause.
For more than a year, the gifted rapper Nas has threatened to use the N-word as the title of his highly-anticipated, and often delayed follow-up to his 2007 anti-prophecy, "Hip Hop is Dead".
The backlash to the very notion of using THAT for a title is well-documented. So, instead, Nas revealed in a recent New York Magazine profile that he's going more stoic with the next CD's packaging. It'll just depict him with his name slashed across his back in the form of whip marks.
Now THAT'S keeping it real. A young and famous black millionaire can think of no better way to portray himself and his talent than referring to a slave-era atrocity that the poseurs he calls his contemporaries could hardly endure.
In the same article, by the way, Nas showed himself to be so careless and ill as to roll and smoke a blunt in the presence of a reporter wondering what's taking so long for his next "joint" to be released. He was also written up to be clueless as to who he'd be sharing the CD's production credits with.
Nas's next release may turn out to be an aural masterpiece. But it's marketing will prove to be another setback for father's trying to shield their sons from imagery that sends such an irresponsible and confusing message.
So pardon Obama, you hack reporter you, when you ask him to comment on Nas' CD cover and he goes into, 'Let me clear my throat' mode.
Insert: Pregnant, awkward pause.
For more than a year, the gifted rapper Nas has threatened to use the N-word as the title of his highly-anticipated, and often delayed follow-up to his 2007 anti-prophecy, "Hip Hop is Dead".
The backlash to the very notion of using THAT for a title is well-documented. So, instead, Nas revealed in a recent New York Magazine profile that he's going more stoic with the next CD's packaging. It'll just depict him with his name slashed across his back in the form of whip marks.
Now THAT'S keeping it real. A young and famous black millionaire can think of no better way to portray himself and his talent than referring to a slave-era atrocity that the poseurs he calls his contemporaries could hardly endure.
In the same article, by the way, Nas showed himself to be so careless and ill as to roll and smoke a blunt in the presence of a reporter wondering what's taking so long for his next "joint" to be released. He was also written up to be clueless as to who he'd be sharing the CD's production credits with.
Nas's next release may turn out to be an aural masterpiece. But it's marketing will prove to be another setback for father's trying to shield their sons from imagery that sends such an irresponsible and confusing message.
So pardon Obama, you hack reporter you, when you ask him to comment on Nas' CD cover and he goes into, 'Let me clear my throat' mode.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
The BET AWARDS' soul redemption: Quincey Jones
The 2008 BET Awards counldn't have been further off our household's radar last night.
Mommy had to clock in with three or four girlfriends before she went back to work to sort out some files and then come back to make dinner.
Me and the II had to go and keep honing his basketball skills; at the playground two blocks away, the one mommy deplores due to how ghetto the action is. We got in a good 15 minutes of practice (impressive, I must add) before the hood rats to run full-court on the beat down indoor court we'd sought haven fromthe heat in.
Pause: Nelly and Jermaine Dupree. Grown men showing their underwear unnecessarily onstage.
Q _ as in quality _ has left the building.
NOBODY HAS TO STARVE WHILE I EAT QUINCEY QUOTING PUSHKIN
WHEN IT RAINS GET WET. LIVE YOUR LIFE AND LIVE IT WELL.
YOUCAN'T GET AN A IF YOU'RE TRYING TO GET AN F.
Mommy had to clock in with three or four girlfriends before she went back to work to sort out some files and then come back to make dinner.
Me and the II had to go and keep honing his basketball skills; at the playground two blocks away, the one mommy deplores due to how ghetto the action is. We got in a good 15 minutes of practice (impressive, I must add) before the hood rats to run full-court on the beat down indoor court we'd sought haven fromthe heat in.
Pause: Nelly and Jermaine Dupree. Grown men showing their underwear unnecessarily onstage.
Q _ as in quality _ has left the building.
NOBODY HAS TO STARVE WHILE I EAT QUINCEY QUOTING PUSHKIN
WHEN IT RAINS GET WET. LIVE YOUR LIFE AND LIVE IT WELL.
YOUCAN'T GET AN A IF YOU'RE TRYING TO GET AN F.
Monday, June 23, 2008
BET: Black Enanbler Television?
It's probably too late to apologize.
There's this special BET's airing this week that essentially pulls a scab off a wound the network itself played a large part in causing.
"Where did the love go?", indeed.
Let's just take a guess and say that the unstoppable slide of black men and women's levels of disrespect, scorn and manipulation of each other started some time around the time of Ja' Rules short-lived days of heavy rotation (give or take a few years). Suffice it to say the damage started long before anyone considered that a festering sore was born.
Thank goodness no one in our house grows weary of watching "The Wiz" on DVD and soaking in Quincey Jones' orchestrations and the phenomenal cinematography and mind-blowing costumes.
Funny, how a fantasy film can ground you, whether you're 4 or 44, in realistic principals far better than the rhythmic tales from the 'hood that the entertainment channel supposedly by and for us ever could.
But enough of my preaching. Time to TiVo "The Jeffersons", let the rest of Hugh Masekela's "Time" download, and think of other creative things to do with my wife and child while the question of how love got "lost" gets skewered as a lead-up to an awards show celebrating music that caused its disappearance.
There's this special BET's airing this week that essentially pulls a scab off a wound the network itself played a large part in causing.
"Where did the love go?", indeed.
Let's just take a guess and say that the unstoppable slide of black men and women's levels of disrespect, scorn and manipulation of each other started some time around the time of Ja' Rules short-lived days of heavy rotation (give or take a few years). Suffice it to say the damage started long before anyone considered that a festering sore was born.
Thank goodness no one in our house grows weary of watching "The Wiz" on DVD and soaking in Quincey Jones' orchestrations and the phenomenal cinematography and mind-blowing costumes.
Funny, how a fantasy film can ground you, whether you're 4 or 44, in realistic principals far better than the rhythmic tales from the 'hood that the entertainment channel supposedly by and for us ever could.
But enough of my preaching. Time to TiVo "The Jeffersons", let the rest of Hugh Masekela's "Time" download, and think of other creative things to do with my wife and child while the question of how love got "lost" gets skewered as a lead-up to an awards show celebrating music that caused its disappearance.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Spare the rod?
The ribbons of irony that come with playing daddy to the tilt twist with irony.
I walk into work this morning with a younger brother who's around my age, but just seriously dating a woman with a grade-school-age daughter. He chides me about my only child winding up spoiled, because there will be no siblings. I pass him _ who has no clue _ off with platitudes dealing with college financing and age and energy and extra-curricular obligations.
I don't think he heard me.
Later, I meld with Dan-O accidently on a trudge down the Fairlie alley to the Korean store that sells good sunflower seeds in salted shells. On the way back, I related how the II had earned a few firm love taps on the bottom the previous night for acting out egregiously at a fairly nice restaurant.
We were there with the parents of his main pre-K squeeze and the two of them had shown out all through dinner, dessert and the long-ass good-byes outside. Mommy made me out to be the villain for swatting him in public. (Public being a make-believe "green" community of overpriced custom dwellings with chi-chi services and eateries sprinkled among them.)
Anyway: I read today that the Indiana State Supreme court ruled today that "corporate punishment" was not punishable by law. The ruling came down after a woman petititoned for the right to beat her son with belts and extension cords to punish him for stealing her clothes.
I risked getting whupped while growing up in the Hoosier state for infractions no worse than setting foot in my mama's pristine living room. I endured "corporal punishment" from the toddler stage through 12th grade, in many and bizarre shapes and forms. I got caught and suffered the consequences. In the long run, all those paddlings and spankings, I think, helped more than hindered my upbringing.
I wish all those I grew up with who wound up in jail or leading shiftless lives had been touched as many times by the cruel hand of love as I was.
It's almost comical to me that the sole dissenting voice in the 4-1 vote to allow whuppings in the Indy judiciary hails from my hometown, which has grown exponentially more violent since I left right after high school. In his opinion, an allowance for parents to whup their kids' asses undermines efforts to spot and prevent abuse.
There may be grains of truth in that argument.
But I remain convinced that a boy's better off learning that a S.W.A.T. operation could confront him at any given time.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Going with the flow
I'm no Earl Woods.
If I were of his caliber that I think I wish I was, the II would have gone to bed tonight with a Medicus gripped in his tiny, tired hands.
He'd be dreaming under a scaled-down painting of the 18th hole at Augusta; with the lights of his Titlelist Pro-V1 chandelier dimmed to a faint shine.
Instead, he's upstairs with an ice-pack on his head and a sweet vanilla soy milk pouch planted in his mouth because rolled off of the Lightning McQueen duvet on his new "big boy" bed. I suspect, that he might have been attempting an ankle-coiling cross-over dribble in his sleep, and took a highlight reel tumble off the side.
I've got the putting green in the back yard. He's got a near-complete set of Tiger's overpriced Nike sticks for kids; plus an off-brand junior set and plenty of second-hand clubs ready to be cut down to custom lengths for him.
But my boy wants to hoop, not chip and putt, right now.
Our evening routine centers around basketball. He'll rush me out of my work clothes into some version of the shorts/t-shirt/sneakers combo he's wearing. On easy nights we go out and clang on the 6-foot portable on our driveway. More often, he pleads to go out to the nearby public playground, or to its dank, adjacent inside gym if it happens to be unlocked and/or atteneded.
Tonight, at mommy's behest, we switched things up and went to the fancy new black YMCA, where the baskets crank mercifully down to 8 feet, and where foul-mouthed, n-word infused, malt liquor-fueled, saggy-pants play ain't allowed.
He had a blast. The winter-league coordinator took notice of his four-year-old dribbling skills - which are about as good as mine were when I was a JV scrub in middle school - and people shooting around on the other courts didn't seem to mind at all as he handle the ball all around them.
Stupid me: I started feeling like it was a wasted trip if he wasn't able to shoot high enough to score on the lowest rims in the cleanest environment I could find. So I kept prodding him to shoot from the one spot _ with bended knees and thrust and follow through - that gave him the best chance at a bucket.
After three tries he would have none of it.
"Daddy," he groaned, with a frown, "this is not practice. We're just playing."
I'd missed the point. All he'd wanted to do was taunt, "Come get me," and then dribble off. He just wanted another game pitting him (the Hawks) against me (the Short Barneys).
I get it now. Almost. T-ball season starts in four days, and he can't be bothered to practice fielding grounders. The footwork and toughness he showed during the soccer season that just ended makes me wonder if he should be exposd to that a lot more.
And, looking on the bright side, he said something very profound and encouraging as I helped with his post-hoops, apres-dinner poopie tonight.
"Daddy, read me a golf magazine."
If I were of his caliber that I think I wish I was, the II would have gone to bed tonight with a Medicus gripped in his tiny, tired hands.
He'd be dreaming under a scaled-down painting of the 18th hole at Augusta; with the lights of his Titlelist Pro-V1 chandelier dimmed to a faint shine.
Instead, he's upstairs with an ice-pack on his head and a sweet vanilla soy milk pouch planted in his mouth because rolled off of the Lightning McQueen duvet on his new "big boy" bed. I suspect, that he might have been attempting an ankle-coiling cross-over dribble in his sleep, and took a highlight reel tumble off the side.
I've got the putting green in the back yard. He's got a near-complete set of Tiger's overpriced Nike sticks for kids; plus an off-brand junior set and plenty of second-hand clubs ready to be cut down to custom lengths for him.
But my boy wants to hoop, not chip and putt, right now.
Our evening routine centers around basketball. He'll rush me out of my work clothes into some version of the shorts/t-shirt/sneakers combo he's wearing. On easy nights we go out and clang on the 6-foot portable on our driveway. More often, he pleads to go out to the nearby public playground, or to its dank, adjacent inside gym if it happens to be unlocked and/or atteneded.
Tonight, at mommy's behest, we switched things up and went to the fancy new black YMCA, where the baskets crank mercifully down to 8 feet, and where foul-mouthed, n-word infused, malt liquor-fueled, saggy-pants play ain't allowed.
He had a blast. The winter-league coordinator took notice of his four-year-old dribbling skills - which are about as good as mine were when I was a JV scrub in middle school - and people shooting around on the other courts didn't seem to mind at all as he handle the ball all around them.
Stupid me: I started feeling like it was a wasted trip if he wasn't able to shoot high enough to score on the lowest rims in the cleanest environment I could find. So I kept prodding him to shoot from the one spot _ with bended knees and thrust and follow through - that gave him the best chance at a bucket.
After three tries he would have none of it.
"Daddy," he groaned, with a frown, "this is not practice. We're just playing."
I'd missed the point. All he'd wanted to do was taunt, "Come get me," and then dribble off. He just wanted another game pitting him (the Hawks) against me (the Short Barneys).
I get it now. Almost. T-ball season starts in four days, and he can't be bothered to practice fielding grounders. The footwork and toughness he showed during the soccer season that just ended makes me wonder if he should be exposd to that a lot more.
And, looking on the bright side, he said something very profound and encouraging as I helped with his post-hoops, apres-dinner poopie tonight.
"Daddy, read me a golf magazine."
Friday, May 16, 2008
Suge Knight should forgive and forget (turn the other cheek) so to speak
There, I've said it: the "S" word.
On the sports talk radio show that I used to thoroughly enjoy, the mere utterance of Marion "Suge" Knight's name in the wrong context (read: any context) was likened to a request for a beat down.
Mr. Knight, an ex-convict and former rap impresario who helped usher the term "gangsta" into the popular vernacular, had, until recently been leading a shadowy, not newsworthy existence out in Cali. Free to walk the streets as long as he met the obligations of his probation. He needn't have ever made news again until the publishing of his obituary if he'd played his cards right.
But no. Suge had to make an invasion back into public spaces (mainly the internet) by allegedly catching a sucker-punch beat down outside of a night club. Reports and photos of the unfathomable incident have spread so widely, you'd think the David vs. Goliath fable had truly been realized.
There's talk on the web of a potential throw-down between Suge and the steel-fisted assailant in some sort of cage match on pay-per-view.
What good would that do any of us? How far do we set our kids back if we fixate at all on an infamous thug caught in a brawl, with more supposedly to follow?
Shouldn't we all just ignore what's up with Suge, so that the concept of getting even by violent means is the least of our concerned, no matter who's involved?
No matter what, let's shie;d our sons from the aftermath of this truly meaningless conflict .
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The Morehouse Valedictorian:What's wrong with this picture?
I didn't attend Morehouse College.
Neither, I've determined, will my No. 1 son.
Reason 1: His going there, in relative distance terms, would be the same as if I had (socred a few SAT points higher) and matriculated at Notre Dame. Being within walking or bike-riding distance from home would have done me no good. Getting out on my own at 18 was crucial to my matutration.
Reason 2: Some things I've observed make me wary of all-male schools of higher learning.
No disrespect to the HBCUs out there. The No. 1 son's mommy attended one; and earns about twice as much as daddy.
And I'm not even tripping on the fact that a Caucasian's graduating at the head of the class at Morehouse this year. More power to him.
I'm more focused on the reverse angle.
The promo posters to buy the No. 1 son's class pictures at twelve bucks a (5x7) whop just went up at his school. Luckily, he sat up front in the photo (the better to be seen with his (Caucasian) parner in petty-crime. Otherwise, the out-of-focus and poorly-lit shot of Pre-School 2 would have obscured the questions of diversity we deal with.
Do we feel like our kids are gaining an educational advantage when they're they're in the distinct minority in their classrooms? Should our kids be pushed to be best-in-class when they have less in common than the majority of their classmates, and that lesson plans are geared toward what the majority of parents expect?
We twist and turn endlessly about what's gonna be best for the No. 1 when Pre-K's over and we have to choose whether to go the uniformed, gender-exclusive charter school route, the "urban model" public school route or the snooty-patooty private path some of his current classmates will like be launched down once this Pre-K period ends.
The white valedictorian at Morehous, who I salute, makes just makes me wonder what's best for my son.
Mommy went to schools that were predominatly black. Daddy's education _ K through college _ was just the opposite.
Is any end of the extreme best, where the future's concerned? Or ca we achieve a happy medium where the No. 1 son still gets an above-average education?
Neither, I've determined, will my No. 1 son.
Reason 1: His going there, in relative distance terms, would be the same as if I had (socred a few SAT points higher) and matriculated at Notre Dame. Being within walking or bike-riding distance from home would have done me no good. Getting out on my own at 18 was crucial to my matutration.
Reason 2: Some things I've observed make me wary of all-male schools of higher learning.
No disrespect to the HBCUs out there. The No. 1 son's mommy attended one; and earns about twice as much as daddy.
And I'm not even tripping on the fact that a Caucasian's graduating at the head of the class at Morehouse this year. More power to him.
I'm more focused on the reverse angle.
The promo posters to buy the No. 1 son's class pictures at twelve bucks a (5x7) whop just went up at his school. Luckily, he sat up front in the photo (the better to be seen with his (Caucasian) parner in petty-crime. Otherwise, the out-of-focus and poorly-lit shot of Pre-School 2 would have obscured the questions of diversity we deal with.
Do we feel like our kids are gaining an educational advantage when they're they're in the distinct minority in their classrooms? Should our kids be pushed to be best-in-class when they have less in common than the majority of their classmates, and that lesson plans are geared toward what the majority of parents expect?
We twist and turn endlessly about what's gonna be best for the No. 1 when Pre-K's over and we have to choose whether to go the uniformed, gender-exclusive charter school route, the "urban model" public school route or the snooty-patooty private path some of his current classmates will like be launched down once this Pre-K period ends.
The white valedictorian at Morehous, who I salute, makes just makes me wonder what's best for my son.
Mommy went to schools that were predominatly black. Daddy's education _ K through college _ was just the opposite.
Is any end of the extreme best, where the future's concerned? Or ca we achieve a happy medium where the No. 1 son still gets an above-average education?
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Blind faith
I'm sitting here listening to some of the best of Ray Charles courtesy of WABE-FM and "your program host of Jazz Classics", H. Johnson.
I'm fixating on the fact that this national treasure couldn't see but had unparalleled powers of description.
My reverence for Ray Charles puts me at odds with a puriant taste of mine. Ludacris songs are a guilty pleasure that I fear I'll pass on to the II.
Every day, he pleads to watch Anderson Varejao's hoop highlight clips on Youtube. And his favorite glimpse at the Cavs' wild center, unfortunately, happens to be the one accompanied by the profanity-laced Luda lyrics to "Too Fast, Too Furious".
I keep having to make sure that the volume's down low enough that mommy doesn't hear. Oh, the grief I'd catch.
One great power of description is gone, and another is going to waste. That's the way I see it, at least.
Hallelujah, I just love her so
This one just out of conceit.
Don't you just love you wife?
Man, that woman can give you grief sometimes. But, in the grand scheme of things... what's better?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Smoke and Mirrors
A young groom-to-be dies in a hail of police gunfire in New York.
A 92-year-old grandma dies in a hail of gunfire in Atlanta.
Coincidence.
No. Just unfortunate, isolated incidents.
Sadly, they're tragedies that will reoccur. Much like the stray bullet that, on the daily it seems like, hits one of our most innocent souls with fatal consequences.
And then, today, we see constant footage of three brotha catching a serious beat-down from 15 uniformed Philly cops.
Is there no end?
No. Not if we don't make some corrections.
Not if we don't repute, right now. the soundtrack to an unsalvageable generation or two of lyrical direction toward our collective downfall.
Yes, I'm talking about rap. All the tracks that delude boys into thinking that what they have is what they are.
That kind or rap distracts us from thinking about how much responsibility comes with impregnating a woman. Those tracks often make us forget that we're needed at home.
Old forgotten ladies huddle alone in the dark. Hopeful black women cling to picket-fenced dreams.
What's the best to teach boys how to switch on those lights, swing open those gates?
Our future prospects can't be so dim and slim, can they?
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Never learned to swim...
Can't catch the rhythm of the stroke, as Parliament/Funkadelic so sagely put it.
It's been a sore subject almost all my life.
Being unable to so much as dog paddle nearly got me killed years ago on a trip with the fellas to South Beach. Like most black folk denying themselves one of life's simple pleasures, I generally just avoid the water.
It's a sore subject. And I notice the stigmatic scap whenever the child, wife and I vacation someplace where there's a pool or lake or beach. I know better than to venture too far out. But I don't want to instill similar fears in him.
Not when it can be avoided. That's why an AP report I saw today on how few black kids can swim _ and how they drown in staggeringly larger numbers than white kids _ tugged at me.
Nearly 60 percent of our kids (ages 6 to 16) can't swim according to a survey compiled by USA Swimming, and our kids are three times more likely to drown.
So urge someone you know to check into USA Simming's "Make a Splash" program. If it's not offered at the Y or public pool nearest you, ask why not.
Part of the reason our kids can't swim is that we can't swim either. In other words, they lack role models in the exercise that could save their lives.
So make them aware of Cullen Jones, a "Make a Splash" alumnus according to AP, who is expected to compete for the 50-meter gold medal at the Beijing Olympics this summer and holds a world record as part of the U.S. 400-meter freestyle relay team.
Put up a poster of him (if you can find one) alongside Carmello's, whydon'tcha?
It's been a sore subject almost all my life.
Being unable to so much as dog paddle nearly got me killed years ago on a trip with the fellas to South Beach. Like most black folk denying themselves one of life's simple pleasures, I generally just avoid the water.
It's a sore subject. And I notice the stigmatic scap whenever the child, wife and I vacation someplace where there's a pool or lake or beach. I know better than to venture too far out. But I don't want to instill similar fears in him.
Not when it can be avoided. That's why an AP report I saw today on how few black kids can swim _ and how they drown in staggeringly larger numbers than white kids _ tugged at me.
Nearly 60 percent of our kids (ages 6 to 16) can't swim according to a survey compiled by USA Swimming, and our kids are three times more likely to drown.
So urge someone you know to check into USA Simming's "Make a Splash" program. If it's not offered at the Y or public pool nearest you, ask why not.
Part of the reason our kids can't swim is that we can't swim either. In other words, they lack role models in the exercise that could save their lives.
So make them aware of Cullen Jones, a "Make a Splash" alumnus according to AP, who is expected to compete for the 50-meter gold medal at the Beijing Olympics this summer and holds a world record as part of the U.S. 400-meter freestyle relay team.
Put up a poster of him (if you can find one) alongside Carmello's, whydon'tcha?
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Not enough Michelles to go around
Offering immediate reactions (and connections) here to Obama's better half giving AC360 an "exclusive" interview.
He may not win the nomination, but she gets my proverbial vote.
And here's why: she's setting what seems to be a woefully rare example to two daughters what it takes to keep a black man happy, and in check.
Dare I say, Michelle Obama is today's Coretta.
How many strong, capable, collected and calculating black women like her will be out there for my son to choose from when his time to choose comes?
Only divine providence could have turned the humbly-born Michelle Robinson into a regal candidate to become First Lady.
Down here on the ground, where I live, there's no evidence of a smart black princes refinery in operation.
I suspect the "talent" pool will be shallow when the II decides it's time to settle down with one woman. No doubt, that's why I take such interest and observing and encouraging the girls his age in my god-blessed inner circle.
No doubt their daddies are sizing up the II's potential at every opportunity, as well. As a jet-setting romance novelist and custom jeweler said to me yesterday over a getting reacquainted lunch gushed to me after a glimpse of his picture, "He's going to have his pick."
But "his pick" of what?
Over lunch, I got schooled on the "Jacks and Jills" society of well-off black kids in big cities who were groomed to be solid middle-class (at least) citizens who got good grades, good jobs and paired off to start families during the '50s, '60s, '70s and '80s.
Is that a tradition that needs rekindling?
If it isn't, I fear that the majority of 40-something men like me will wind up with grandchildren who don't proudly bear the same last name and wouldn't recognize them if they bumped into them on the street.
What if standards of decency and abstinence decline further than they have already.
When it comes to finding a Michelle generations from now, the pickings could be mighty slim.
He may not win the nomination, but she gets my proverbial vote.
And here's why: she's setting what seems to be a woefully rare example to two daughters what it takes to keep a black man happy, and in check.
Dare I say, Michelle Obama is today's Coretta.
How many strong, capable, collected and calculating black women like her will be out there for my son to choose from when his time to choose comes?
Only divine providence could have turned the humbly-born Michelle Robinson into a regal candidate to become First Lady.
Down here on the ground, where I live, there's no evidence of a smart black princes refinery in operation.
I suspect the "talent" pool will be shallow when the II decides it's time to settle down with one woman. No doubt, that's why I take such interest and observing and encouraging the girls his age in my god-blessed inner circle.
No doubt their daddies are sizing up the II's potential at every opportunity, as well. As a jet-setting romance novelist and custom jeweler said to me yesterday over a getting reacquainted lunch gushed to me after a glimpse of his picture, "He's going to have his pick."
But "his pick" of what?
Over lunch, I got schooled on the "Jacks and Jills" society of well-off black kids in big cities who were groomed to be solid middle-class (at least) citizens who got good grades, good jobs and paired off to start families during the '50s, '60s, '70s and '80s.
Is that a tradition that needs rekindling?
If it isn't, I fear that the majority of 40-something men like me will wind up with grandchildren who don't proudly bear the same last name and wouldn't recognize them if they bumped into them on the street.
What if standards of decency and abstinence decline further than they have already.
When it comes to finding a Michelle generations from now, the pickings could be mighty slim.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Jeremiah Wright, meet James Earl Ray
hello. is this thing on?
In my mind, Obama'a former pastor and MLK's convicted murderer will go down in history the same way: as dream-killers.
A sniper shot King down in Memphis while he was rallying trash collectors for their civil rights. The self-righteous and opportunistic Rev. Wright shot down Barac's Presidential aspirations with his lengthy sideshow at a meeting of Detroit's NAACP faithful this Sunday night. CNN showed it live and replayed it over and over. In its entirety.
If not for Wright's presence there, that event wouldn't have drawn flies. Sadly, times and publicity-starved personalities conspired, once again, to sabotage a people's campaign.
Thanks, Rev. Anthony, for luring Jeremiah to Judas's pulpit.
Thanks, Rev. Wright, for making it easy for me to answer the question, "Why didn't Obama win" when my young, idealistic son inevitably asks.
You and your pitiful grab for the spotlight.
What did your song and dance achieve, other than serving the oppositions' aims? What did you really have to get off your chest that couldn't wait?
What did your bombastic display of misplaced emotion do to uplift anyone but yourself?Worthy beliefs die tonight because you needed attention.
Satisfied?
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Hoop Dreams
I'm sitting here watching CNN's exultant reports on the Pennsylvania primary (they say Hillary's winning) and I'm coming to grips with the harsh truth that winning this nomination probably won't be a slam dunk for Obama.
This isn't to say he can't score on some sort of allez-oop, fade-away jumper or left-handed layup or buzzer-beating tip-in.
Pardon the sports analogies. But they apply here.
Barack himself has spoken publicly about how playing basketball helped him connect to his blackness as a juvenile growing up on the isolating Hawaiian islands. And I'm trying to grasp the significance of my 4-year-old's insistence on bringing one of his basketball's every time we visit the neighborhood playing, which is often over-run with black babies who are scarcely supervised in their play and often outnumber the mamas who brought them there by 4-to-1.
Tonight after school, the only other "apparent" black father of one (some) of the lil rascals on our playground was outnumbered by at least 20-to-1. My son dribbled around intrepidly on the periphery until the black-to-white ratio thinnned out. He sensed the right time to engage the remaining crowd.
On top of that, he insisted on an extra 15 minutes of shootaround in the backyard before dinner. He's grown so good at running jumpers since Christmas that he's pleading for me to raise the rim, which he ably knuckles, higher.
Hillary's victory speech is winding down now. She says 100 mayors in Pa. endorsed her.
Well, now wonder she won. I wouldn't set foot outside of the Pittsburgh airport mall (except for a smoke) into the Quaker state sunshine if you paid me. What for?
She just said something. "Will we take back the White House?"
Draw your own conclusions.
(Man, does that "sister" who wears pink and that bleached backswept natural and spouts scripts from the conservative side irk me?)
Obama's up to bat next.
Ouch. Even worse: mixed sports analogies.
I'm biased. So whatever he has to say, in losing, will be persuasive and encouraging.
I'm just thinking long term... what do I tell my boy if the math-tested rightful candidate to face McCain doesn't win?
So far, they haven't kept score at his kiddie soccer or T-ball games?
How do I explain how to deal when you feel cheated?
Monday, April 21, 2008
Gangsta Pull-Ups
Late shift again. Home in time, thank goodness, for my "Boondocks" fix.
Didn't laugh as much as normal.
The whole episode centered around gay rappers who are in the closet, and yet still idolized by little black boys because their mixed signals are irresistibly impossible to decipher.
It made me itch because I can't firmly draw the line yet when it comes to my 4-year-old's exposure to rap.
He and I don't listen to it in the car. I feel bad when we just listen to a few snippets of the Steve Harvey show during the drive to pre-K because the hosts' diction is so ig'nant most times.
Mommy forbids rap of almost any sort here at the crib. "Welcome to Jamrock's" about the only exception; and then, that's when I'm out working in the yard.
My guilty pleasure is that night, every two or three months, when me and my ol' ass (almost 45) college roomie and I hit the streets for a couple hours. He bumps hip-hop constantly. He looked at me like a fool the last time out and asked me, seriously, if I realized it was constantly available on the radio.
Yes. And no.
It doesn't occur to me to tune into it on the daily.
But I notice how appealing the boy finds it. He's got these mad beat box skillz; origin unknown. And he's fixated on some web clips of his favorite NBA player; which include the sort of rap accompaniment we can only listen to (while mommy's cooking) with our headphones on.
I like how he imitates the athletic exploits on our backyard court; but I don't want him to embrace Ludacris's lyrics to "Act A Fool".
Are boys better off in homes where rap (in its sorry, present form) is banned entirely? Or would you rather find a way to share rap's virtues (lacking as they are now) with your son; to keep things in perspective?
My dad drilled grilled groups like The Spinners, The O'Jays, Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes and Earth, Wind and Fire into my dome just by playing them. Not by force-feeding them.
I'll take any entree into that little boy's ear I can get. I'm just glad he know "jazz" when he hears it.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Insert rhrthmic clapping here...
Routinely, I rush home from my Monday 3-to-midnight shift to shake the world off and muffle my giggles at the latest episode of "The Boondocks".
What had me laughing the most at it tonight wasn't any one of the three warped portrayals of a mythical slave named Catcher (Catcha?) Freeman.
I'm still chuckling about the crude song that playing through the show's closing credits.
It went something like (sung acapella, mournful, gravely)
And what a profoundly simple and sarcasstic parody of those ol' Negro spirituals (which I treasure) and their plaintiff honesty.
All that our ancestors asked for themselves and their babies was freedom.
Singing simple songs _ when learnic to read lyrics was punishable by death _ helped them get over.
That sitcom got me thinking,. Again.
The average Black boy's concept of what slavery might/must have been like has to be so skewed nowadays it's absurd. Right?
You don't see any news of Black achievement (outside of sports or record sales) from as far back as three days ago being widely broadcast anywherer? Do you?
Asking a kid to wrap his head fully around the whole "slavery" concept won't be easy.
So what's the right way to say, 'Look. This is how they treat us," without coming off beaten, bowed or bitter?
Do you pick the scabs or let them be?
He's either going to be being taught thoroughly and thoughtfully about it, or he's not.
And if we're not properly impressing what slavery "means" on these 7th, 8th and 9th generations removed from its horrific lessons, will the 10th generation "remember" them at all?
Pause here. Go listen to Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley's "Confrontation" from his profound newest disc. Hone in on the declarations by Marcus Garvey mixed in.
That guy had a way with words.
I only bring all that up because there's going to come a time when I have to speak frankly, frequently about slavery with my son. The questions will come out of NOWHERE.
They'll make me wonder things I hadn't fully grasped myself.
Here's the comic irony: all three cartoon interpretations of the mythical slave-freer's center around a house negro who could care less about the field folk ('cept for that high=yalla temptress Jasmine Dupree) and could think of nothing more than having his "Massa" help him get his screenplay produced.
And here I am, spouting off simply for the sake of spurring conversation. That and trying to inspire more writing and filming and conversing about improving our sons' prospects.
Then again: maybe the ones who relied heavily on sad spirituals to get by deserve an echo.
What had me laughing the most at it tonight wasn't any one of the three warped portrayals of a mythical slave named Catcher (Catcha?) Freeman.
I'm still chuckling about the crude song that playing through the show's closing credits.
It went something like (sung acapella, mournful, gravely)
"clap clap clap clap
get our black asses out a' heeeeeeeeere!!
clap clap clap
won't get our black asses out a' heeeeeeere!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
clap clap clap
we sick of these shacklessssss!!!!!!!
we sick of these crackersssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
clap
just get our black asses outta hereeeeeeeee!!!!!!
Not sure I got the exact wording right. But you get the gist.get our black asses out a' heeeeeeeeere!!
clap clap clap
won't get our black asses out a' heeeeeeere!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
clap clap clap
we sick of these shacklessssss!!!!!!!
we sick of these crackersssss!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
clap
just get our black asses outta hereeeeeeeee!!!!!!
And what a profoundly simple and sarcasstic parody of those ol' Negro spirituals (which I treasure) and their plaintiff honesty.
All that our ancestors asked for themselves and their babies was freedom.
Singing simple songs _ when learnic to read lyrics was punishable by death _ helped them get over.
That sitcom got me thinking,. Again.
The average Black boy's concept of what slavery might/must have been like has to be so skewed nowadays it's absurd. Right?
You don't see any news of Black achievement (outside of sports or record sales) from as far back as three days ago being widely broadcast anywherer? Do you?
Asking a kid to wrap his head fully around the whole "slavery" concept won't be easy.
So what's the right way to say, 'Look. This is how they treat us," without coming off beaten, bowed or bitter?
Do you pick the scabs or let them be?
He's either going to be being taught thoroughly and thoughtfully about it, or he's not.
And if we're not properly impressing what slavery "means" on these 7th, 8th and 9th generations removed from its horrific lessons, will the 10th generation "remember" them at all?
Pause here. Go listen to Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley's "Confrontation" from his profound newest disc. Hone in on the declarations by Marcus Garvey mixed in.
That guy had a way with words.
I only bring all that up because there's going to come a time when I have to speak frankly, frequently about slavery with my son. The questions will come out of NOWHERE.
They'll make me wonder things I hadn't fully grasped myself.
Here's the comic irony: all three cartoon interpretations of the mythical slave-freer's center around a house negro who could care less about the field folk ('cept for that high=yalla temptress Jasmine Dupree) and could think of nothing more than having his "Massa" help him get his screenplay produced.
And here I am, spouting off simply for the sake of spurring conversation. That and trying to inspire more writing and filming and conversing about improving our sons' prospects.
Then again: maybe the ones who relied heavily on sad spirituals to get by deserve an echo.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Thicker Than Water
Assuming he doesn't dress in drag (again) in his latest feature film, I'm already feeling Martin Lawrence in "Welcome home, Roscoe Jenkins".
No, I haven't seen it yet. And I probably won't until it comes out on DVD or screens long enough for us to see it at the drive-in.
(Note to self and others: discuss how to find a trust a babysitter when grandma's got other plans.)
There's just something about the sincerely pained expression on Martin's face in promotional shots for the film that come across as so real.
As fractious as we've become _ some of us ascending, others slipping through the cracks _ who doesn't cringe, at times, at the duty attached to extended family.
I can attest: a phone call about a second cousin needing a marrow donor, or a nephew-in-law's arrest, or an entire household of virtual strangers needing post-Katrina lodging can come like a bolt out of the blue.
Thank heaven for those (relatively) rarely delights like seeing a cousin you hadn't laid eyes on since she had baby teeth stand at the altar and exchange vows with the head of cardiovascular surgery she met in med school.
Through the good and the bad, the relocations and separations, it's seems so hard not to get detached. If you're reading this, you've know doubt had a "Roscoe Jenkins" moment yourself.
And our sons will most likely have theirs. We're raising them to be success stories. By blood or by marriage though, they'll need to know how to relate to and love living, breathing cautionary tales.
As the father of an only child, what's my best shot at making sure that the paternal relatives who live 11 hours by car (north and south) from him aren't virtual strangers by the time he grows up? And should I worry that he may grow far closer to his mom's side of the family than his dad's, as I did?
I basically left my hometown when I was 18 and for all practical, regretful purposes never looked back. But never mind me. Can I somehow soften the sort of "Roscoe Jennings" jabs my boy will one day absorb?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Hold up! Wait a minute!
You know, I was perfectly prepared to let February come and go, just like the first month of '08.
Making sure the bills were paid. Paying attention to the II and the lovely wife and both grandmas. Breadwinning. That kind of isht.
But certain things stir me from kicking it into coast.
First, there's this Obama thing. Whether he triumphs or trips up on Super Tuesday (get out and vote you lazy good-for-nothings) he and we come out winners somehow. Right. History's made either way? And the struggle resumes?
You follow me?
To quote, as best as I can, Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley, 'We built like roach-killin' boot...We just can't done.'
So I've got to find some way meaningfully celebrate Black History Month. If only for one day.
I highly doubt it'll be required teaching at the II's pre-Pre-K school. He's "the only spot in the class" as my Dad would so callously say. Two sisters (and a part-time brother) do some good looking out for him; and they always have WLCK-FM (the Jazz of the City) wafting around the room. But things won't get so detailed as the sympolics of the black-gloved salute on the medalists podium at the '68 Olympics.
Black Power, my ass.
What I'd like to do, since the spirit hits me, is pick up this new "African American National Biography" that the black egg heads at Harvard just compiled by narrowing some 12,000 characters down to 4,000 enttries written 1,500 words or less.
That's something me and the II could bond with; decipering chapter by chapter.
But the list price for the boxed-set sucker is $995.
Maybe if I get a decent tax return, or one of those nice panic/tax refund checks. Or hit a fat scratch-off lick.
This all to beg the question: how would/could/should you honor our history, ideally? Who would you urge your son(s) to read up on and/or emulate?
For me, personally, it's Marcus Garvey personna and oratory. Maybe, for you, it's Sherman Helmsley.
Regardless. Please respond in 28 words.
Or less.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Tears: Four fears
1: My son's about to turn 4 and he cries. Not because he's fragile, mind you. He's single-handedly ruining our heart pine and slate floor with his assorted antics and prat-falls. He cries when he's pissed, denied privileges and/or tired.
My problem as a daddy, is not knowing how to teach him _ from this day forward _ that no one's sympathetic to your cries.
2: When he cries _ and it's not that often, since he prides himself on big boy antics _ is he saying something I can't grasp?
3: Am I just a moron who thinks little boys can merely told not to cry so much when they don't get their way and expect them to respond accordingly?
4: This kid's top notch: So is it write or wrong to harden him for the hard knock ahead?
("Step out of it baby, people are jealous of you. They smile in your face but behind our back they his. What's a sweetheart like you doing in a place like this. BOB DYLAN, "SWEETHEART LIKE YOU, C. 1998)
Just wondering...
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Obama, Yo Mama and how not to shop for home furnishings with your wife...
I hope the Boss Lady finds her way onto this blog some day and reads this entry because I mean it as a heartfelt apology.
I was, as you would put it mildly, a dickhead today because I hate shopping at Ikea.
Don't get me wrong. It's a fine store and you're sometimes fun to shop with. But that place overwhelms me and I'm already too jaded for whiz-bang experiences like that. I didn't wake up thinking it was time to buy the Big'un a bigger bed. I thought I'd earn my "good guy" points for the day by getting my mom out of the house for the pedicure she wanted so badly. After that I was gonna hit the couch and waste the day watching Tiger blow away the Buick Invitational field. As usual, after that, I'd cook us a great meal.
But no. My quick mission with mommy dear turned into a hunt for new dining room furniture as well as the bed. All that threw me off. In hindsight: if we have to get a new table, (huff, puff) the cheaper, rectangular one is the only logical way to go (we can worry about the chairs later, or just buy really nice table cloths and go with what's working for us already); and if it was up to me we'd by that minimalist box frame they had on sale for $30, paint it to fit the color scheme I'm sure we'll have to redo next and reward ourselves later for the thrift and ingenuity.
Moving on...
I got so stressed that I snapped back at my mother when she told me to smile. No matter what, she wants me to grin and bear it. But I don't have a fake bone in my body. I didn't want to be there. Forgive me.
Fast forward...
How great are these hours in the afterglow of Barack's primary win in South Carolina? Doesn't it feel great raising a child in an age when he could drift in and out of attendance to the victory speech as if he takes it for granted that a black man could become President in his lifetime?
Aren't you proud that our boy refers as casually to Obama now as he has for the longest to Tiger?
Squatting barefoot on the comforter in the den with you three, and the puppy nipping unnervingly at our heels, while the Crescent State shouted "Yes we can!" To me, that's joy.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
They spinnin', n***a, they spinnin'!
So what's the scenario?
Say you're a cat like me who went (twice) through the sub-prime mortgage wringer.
You dug your way our of that bad-debt avalanche.
You're "fixed", so to speak. But the houses around your piece aren't exactly selling like hotcakes. And your current job ain't exactly foisting the collards on you like Granny on New Year's Day either.
Given all that, should someone like you be thrilled about some sorta tax rebate that's gonna kick you back $600-plus (if you're lucky and the politicians' stop-gap plan holds together) in one lump some?
Weak and/or welcome as that infusion of cash may be, what's your strategy for applying it?
As a dad living in what's long (and, perhaps, undeservedly) been considered a "questionable" public school district, I'm tempted to apply all of that back-handed handout into some kinda 529 fund that'll help us pay for college in case his grades, scores or athletic prowess don't gain him a free ride.
(Make your boys repeat this ten times nightly: "Free ride, free ride, free ride....")
If he has trouble grasping the concept, tell him it means a brand new car if Daddy doesn't have to pay a single cent for you to college. And, as a parting gift if you don't get a free ride, here's a lovely set of steak knives. Take your pick, buddy.
Everybody's got a theory. I'd like to know who else thinks tucking the dough away is the best tact. But just out of jealous curiosity, it'd be cool to know what I'd be missing by not splurging on 'found' money.
COMING SOON...*
"Make MY funk the P-Funk!"
*thestinkytruthexperiment
Did "stoopid" go on clearance?
I'm just asking?
I mean, once upon a time I couldn't wait for January '08 to get here.
I figured, somehow, a new year would issue in a renewed sense of clarity. Not just for me, but for all the bro's who soaked in all the idiotic acts our folks (can't deny 'em) committed in '07.
I won't list them here. Pick your Vick, Bonds, Busta, Snipes, or T.I. as a reference point.
My point is: the insanity never ceases.
Within a 24-hour block: I'm reading about the bombastic young mayor of the city I cut my journalistic teeth in getting put on full blast for exchanging lewd, juvenile texts to his chief female (married, also) aide; and trying to grasp how the father of the local football franchise's backup QB figured he could get away asking web-savvy student to fix the county-issued laptop where he stored lewd photos of mistress, who WAS the assistant high school principal where he coached.
When, as a dad, do you start thinking a long-term dalliance is worth a calculated risk of it all?
And by all, I mean access to and approval from you kids.
You think anyone's asking to be tucked in or bankrolled by the aforementioned idiots any time soon?
I think not. Not that I'm perfect.
I'm just no where near that ig'nant.
How could anyone be so silly and sloppy when there's so much at stake?
Sunday, January 20, 2008
You get what you need...
Without really meaning to, I got myself a tutorial in surviving what passes for a "weather emergency" here in the panic-prone ATL.
Let me back up; I've got to mention the only things I felt "missing" in my life when Tan and my sister got around to asking what I wanted for Christmas. Talk about a stumper.
The things I want _ like the boom-boom room of life and all its accoutrements _ I can't list or afford. Not right now. So what's the use of asking for anything else?
(This they should know and be guided by by now: I only play one make of golf club; I only wear one brand of sportswear; I only wear a certain denim; I only like neutrals; I'm old school; and I only root for Notre Dame.)
Got that Santa?
Deep down, though, I think she knew I was desperate to replace my old Lab, Coffee, who dropped dead on our deck last Easter while, thankfully, Tan and Scottie were at the hippie church and I was either recovering from a hangover or getting ready for work.
Long story short: I told Tan that "more of those button-down shirts (same style and size as last year) would do it. And I specifically ask my little sister, Traci, for "The Dangerous Book for Boys."
I got both. Perfecto. Throw in a better-than-expected double-date on New Year's Eve and this bro' couldn't ask for more from the holiday season. (Less drama? Yes, Please. But let it end there.)
Fast forward to the "blizzard". We knew it was coming. The local news played it 48 hours in advance like the coming closure of every grocery/gas/medication/water source within broadcast range. And we bought in. We ate and (I, mainly) drank like royalty. Both grandmas here; content as could be. Scottie indulged to the nth degree. Tan's "a place for everything..." outlook confirmed amid the thwarted chaos.
Me? All I cared about was following through on the promise of taking the boss man sledding if it indeed snowed enough. I'd learned enough weeks back from a futile search for age-appropriate hockey gear he craved (because his buddy, Miles, brought a stick to daycare) to know that sled-shopping in Atlanta would be ridiculous.
My solution was paying $15 for a sheet of quarter-inch-thick plastic long and wide enough bor us both to lie back and glide on. The snow fell as expected. Thick, slick and soft. After about six runs, down short 45 degree slopes at our neighborhood park, our sheet-sled snapped into
jagged pieces.
No worries We live in the right 'hood. We'd been trying to get our picturesque sled on near another dad with his two boys. Turns out he was a contractor who happened to keep sheets of stiff, inch-thick insulating foam in his garage. He had an extra; offered it to us. Scottie obliged. Had a blast. Didn't crack his skull. Happy ending.
The puppy, to my surprise, has been embraced from the get-go. I sense someone knows how great her guard-dog potential is and commends me by pampering her.
And, it goes without saying, I look good in button-downs.
As for that "Dangerous Book"... the raging best-seller that has spawned a girlish spin-off that's now out-selling it? It still sits at the foot of our bed, unopened since Christmas Day. I can't wait to read and see what's in it. But I'm still compelled to just improvise with the time and energy and ideas at hand.
Before I GO on forever (and I could) do you have a better tale of making do?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
As DJ Kool would say...
Let me clear my throat.
I may fumble through this first message to you. But you'll get the point, eventually.
Many moons ago I started fretting over how well, or how bad, I was doing at helping to raise my son. At the same time it occurred to me that my closest confidantes all led lives that mirrored mine. They're all married black guys around my age and stage of career accomplishment with at least one young son at home.
But I never really turn to them for anything but tee times or rare nights out for a few drinks.
From the outside-in look of things, everyone's house is in order. Still, I figured, there's got to someone else among us (besides me) who's anxious as hell about how his boy(s) will fare in this world.
Trying to set the right example's a mo'fo. Right?
For now, I won't burden you with the frights troubling me now, as I listen for signs that my namesake is finally down for the night; and Mommy's about to fall asleep Googling whatever it is she Googles every night before crashing (laptop in lap). For now I'll just say that you're invited into the conversation if you've got insights.
I, for one, need support and guidance and, for goodness sake, comic relief , where doing the right thing towards your young son's concerned.
I live in a city barely stirred today by the news that teenagers (presumably) had gunned down two uniformed, off-duty cops who were patrolling a slum a scant few miles from my house.
I live in a city where both the former mayor and the former NFL franchise quarterback were sent to federal prison within a span of two years.
I live in a city where a disproportionate number of celebrities come to floss, build McMansions, "make it rain" at strip clubs, and scuffle with the law.
I live in a city that embodies a national tragedy: fewer than two out of every ten young black boys born in America have a father at home to kiss goodnight.
That trend's got to be stopped. Or else, black father figures go the way of the buffalo and/or syndicated TV.
The goal is to start a dialogue that helps black fathers be more fully engaged. So, without further adieu, let the Ask Your Daddy blog commence.
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