1.29.2004
Father to Son...
Some get a little and some get none | Some catch a bad one and some leave the job half done | I was one who never had and always mad | Never knew my dad, mother fuck the fag...~Naughty By Nature, Everything's Gonna Be Alright
An interesting conversation took place on the road home from Atlanta. The conversation was about black men and their fathers. Sdot started the convo…
“Do you know anything about Glen Bernie in Maryland?”
The Pub thinks for a minute. “Yeah. I know that area, why?"
“My father lives there.” Sdot answers.
“Really?”
“Yeah. We’ve never met though. A few years ago a friend of mine did a search and located him for me. I’ve reached out to him twice in the last year or so, but, nothing...”
A familiar sadness filled his voice. The same exact sadness I've heard every time he's brought up his father. Clearly, he wants to know the man. But the question is: Does the man want to know him? A tough question but one Sdot is determined to find out.
As the weight of loss begins to grip the car The Pub begins describing the first time he met his pop. He describes the scene in detail, right down to the look on his father’s face, his wife’s face; and the surprised expressions his newly found siblings wore, as each took critical inventory of who looked like who. Moments later with emotions running amuck, hugs began to fill a shattered room; a lost son has been found.
As I listen to The Pub break down the scene I get to thinking, what’s up with black men and their fathers? And why are these fathers abandoning their sons?
I grew up with my father. I met my father at birth. Or, at least that’s what they told me because still to this day I do not know him. He and my moms have been married for 50 years, and yet still, I do not know him. I know the way he looks. The way I’ll probably look when I reach his age; and yes, I know how much he absolutely loves spankin’ brand new wheels, but do I know him -know him?
Sadly, the answer is no.
Throughout my childhood my father was a provider. He paid bills, and kept a roof over my head, but that is where the love ends. Only once do I remember him attending a parents-teachers conference, and that was because my moms made him go. Never do I remember him attending anything else as a way of interest or support for his last born child. And for years, I resented him for it. I wanted him to invest in me, his son, his off-spring, his future. But I got nothing, nadda, zilch. And though I tried for many years to convince myself he was uncapable of giving me the things I needed because he did not know his father, and therefore did not know how to give to a son, I knew that if he but tried to love, he could do anything. Even, nuture me.
There are no set rules to being a parent, just as there are no set rules to being a child—but something’s should be mandated: Parents should parent their children, and fathers should be there to help.
Black women are raising our black men. Black women are teaching black men why and how they should wear a condom. Black women are at the schools, in the church, and on the ball-fields teaching, motivating, and raising a whole slew of black men to be responsible law-abiding individuals. Black women, (damn I wish I could scream this) not black men. It hurts my heart to know my brothers, a group capable of any and everything imaginable have not yet realized our sons are in dire need of lessons of which only another black man can teach.
At the tender age of thirteen I vowed never to be like my father, a promise I'm sure I alone did not make. And it is a promise to this day I plan to keep. If I should ever father a child I will make it my duty to be a father—even if it hurts me to open up and share that part of me men aren’t supposed to share. That part that says, embrace your children and show them that you care. That part that says, admit your mistakes, because everyone knows a man can be wrong. That part that begs you to admit, I love my son, and today I will tell him so.
When I finish processing my thoughts and return to my present environment, the car is silent. Sdot sits lost in thought, while The Pub drives solemnly ahead. As I whip out my laptop, I think: What will it take for us to really meet our fathers…
What are your thoughts?
An interesting conversation took place on the road home from Atlanta. The conversation was about black men and their fathers. Sdot started the convo…“Do you know anything about Glen Bernie in Maryland?”
The Pub thinks for a minute. “Yeah. I know that area, why?"
“My father lives there.” Sdot answers.
“Really?”
“Yeah. We’ve never met though. A few years ago a friend of mine did a search and located him for me. I’ve reached out to him twice in the last year or so, but, nothing...”
A familiar sadness filled his voice. The same exact sadness I've heard every time he's brought up his father. Clearly, he wants to know the man. But the question is: Does the man want to know him? A tough question but one Sdot is determined to find out.
As the weight of loss begins to grip the car The Pub begins describing the first time he met his pop. He describes the scene in detail, right down to the look on his father’s face, his wife’s face; and the surprised expressions his newly found siblings wore, as each took critical inventory of who looked like who. Moments later with emotions running amuck, hugs began to fill a shattered room; a lost son has been found.
As I listen to The Pub break down the scene I get to thinking, what’s up with black men and their fathers? And why are these fathers abandoning their sons?
I grew up with my father. I met my father at birth. Or, at least that’s what they told me because still to this day I do not know him. He and my moms have been married for 50 years, and yet still, I do not know him. I know the way he looks. The way I’ll probably look when I reach his age; and yes, I know how much he absolutely loves spankin’ brand new wheels, but do I know him -know him?
Sadly, the answer is no.
Throughout my childhood my father was a provider. He paid bills, and kept a roof over my head, but that is where the love ends. Only once do I remember him attending a parents-teachers conference, and that was because my moms made him go. Never do I remember him attending anything else as a way of interest or support for his last born child. And for years, I resented him for it. I wanted him to invest in me, his son, his off-spring, his future. But I got nothing, nadda, zilch. And though I tried for many years to convince myself he was uncapable of giving me the things I needed because he did not know his father, and therefore did not know how to give to a son, I knew that if he but tried to love, he could do anything. Even, nuture me.
There are no set rules to being a parent, just as there are no set rules to being a child—but something’s should be mandated: Parents should parent their children, and fathers should be there to help.
Black women are raising our black men. Black women are teaching black men why and how they should wear a condom. Black women are at the schools, in the church, and on the ball-fields teaching, motivating, and raising a whole slew of black men to be responsible law-abiding individuals. Black women, (damn I wish I could scream this) not black men. It hurts my heart to know my brothers, a group capable of any and everything imaginable have not yet realized our sons are in dire need of lessons of which only another black man can teach.
At the tender age of thirteen I vowed never to be like my father, a promise I'm sure I alone did not make. And it is a promise to this day I plan to keep. If I should ever father a child I will make it my duty to be a father—even if it hurts me to open up and share that part of me men aren’t supposed to share. That part that says, embrace your children and show them that you care. That part that says, admit your mistakes, because everyone knows a man can be wrong. That part that begs you to admit, I love my son, and today I will tell him so.
When I finish processing my thoughts and return to my present environment, the car is silent. Sdot sits lost in thought, while The Pub drives solemnly ahead. As I whip out my laptop, I think: What will it take for us to really meet our fathers…
What are your thoughts?
1.26.2004
Back on-line [Well, sorta...]
Well, son, I'll tell you: Life for me ain't been no crystal stair. It's had tacks in it, and splinters, and boards torn up, and places with no carpet on the floor--bare. But all the time I'se been a-climbin' on, and reachin' landin's, and turnin' corners, and sometimes goin' in the dark where there ain't been no light. So boy, don't you turn back. Don't you set down on the steps cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now--for I'se still goin', honey, I'se still climbin', and life for me ain't been no crystal stair... ~Langston Hughes, Mother to Son
So many things have been going on recently that I really don't know where to start. Nevertheless I will start with the obvious: Atlanta was off the chains, as Fred would say. I had such a good time chillin' with the folks in the ATL. And it seemed everyone showed up just to ensure I had the time of my life and I am so humbly grateful to them all. Especially the brothers at the DIC who openned up their home to me and showed me the true meaning of southern hospitality! Words can not express the respect I hold for you brothers!
The website has decidely developed a mind of its own. I have no idea why the comments still aren't working. And today is the first time I've been able to actually type and post anything to this blog so whatever thoughts I had are gone since I used the additional time to catch up on some much needed work. But the important thing is, did ya miss me? Ah-ha! Gotcha! You can't comment anyway.
I would like to send a personal thank you out to Sdot and Fred (hereinafter referred to as The Pub) for holding me down (as always) in the ATL. No joke people these two men are amazing and without a doubt make me proud to call them friends.
Okay so, I'm tapped out. And well since you probably can't respond to this blog, let's take it to The Forum and see what you guys have to say about a question The Pub asked while travelling back to NYC. Opinion anyone?
1.13.2004
Can You Say Busy?????
OMIGOD! I have been running around like a madman. Here. There. Everywhere! Whatever happened to those days when I would sit around vegged out in front of the television? Or the days I would twiddle my thumbs because there was absolutely too many friggin' hours in a day? Not anymore. It seems I wake up, blink and it's a quarter to one in the morning. I tell you people, I gets' no sleep!
Anyhoo...the week has been quite festive so far. Let's recap.
Saturday Sdot and I spent the day cleaning our place...with his constant on the go job, and my 'I can't find what I'm looking for so I'ma take everything out of all the drawers, closets, and basement 'til I find it' attitude, you wouldn't believe how much shit we accumulate in a matter of hours. Add to that I'm a struggling minimalist (struggling because I need more than I actially do) and you get an idea of how stressed I become when I can no longer locate the table. After dismantling the christmas tree we attempted to make it to the Bronx for a house-party but, after learning just how far north said party was we decided to keep our "damn that shit is far" asses in the house.
Sunday morning found me in the city picking up paper and envelopes for my parents 50th Wedding Anniversary. Whoa. 50. Amazing, amazing, amazing. Sdot and I have only been together for like 3 years and I'm like damn that's a long time! But after doing the math I realize we're just a drop in the bucket. Mom and Pop are the bucket! (A-yo Sdot, only 47 mo' years to go!)
That afternoon my sisters came by so that we could colaborate on the invite, the party, and gifts. The celebration will be taking place in February at The Cupola at Plantation Center in Macon, Georgia. So yes folks I will be in the ATL twice in one quarter!
Sunday night after wrapping up my folks party, Sdot, Fred (The Publicist) and I high-tailed it over to Miss Harmonica Sunbeam's birthday bash at Club Esquelita in Manhattan. Harmonica, gracious and more beautiful than ever glowed as the crowd of over 300 well-wishers assembled to celebrate her birth date. (Happy Birthday lady! You deserve it!!!)
Monday I spent the entire day readying myself for Hotlanta. Honestly I've been going to Atlanta since I was about 2 weeks old. My parents were born and raised in GA so every summer found me in the peach state hanging out with grandma and the rest of the fam. But this trip believe it or not, will be a first for me. January 2004 will mark the absolutely first time I've ever partied in Atlanta! So the resident headz must show me a good time!
Before I go any further I must send a public thank you out to Kevin Scott and Nathan Scott of gotnathan? for the support! These guys crafted one ole' beautiful bookmark for me--many thanks fellas! Also these guys are doin' their thang SUPPORT them as much as possible! For more info on their MLK Mimosa Brunch with speaker William A. Allen(a force to be reckoned with), click here, or email: events@gotnathan.com.
Okay, I think that's it...oh btw, I don't know what the fuck is up with my comment section--it's like here today, gone today! My web-designer is looking into getting me a new more-reliable service. I so want to convert over to Movabletype because they offer their own, but my web-host does not support the techonology. Oh well, just another task on my plate.
1.08.2004
Humbled...
Dear God,
I have a problem: me. I’ve been getting in my way, again. Stressing myself out, again. Believing I can’t, again. Worrying about others and their opinions when, just a few days ago I vowed not to allow their thoughts [good or bad] to affect me. But I’m human, and I make mistakes, and yes I fall.
I know you know. I know you understand so, in many ways that’s why I’m here…tonight, asking you to place your loving arms around me and protect me from all that I do not understand. I’m standing here asking you to touch my heart and mind and if you can, ease some of the tension that has begun to fill them so early on in the year. I’m nervous, and yes, I’m scared. But I know that with your loving guidance even the darkest road will appear safe. I can’t do it without you, and I don’t want to. I need you in my life and so glad that you have chosen me to do this task…but it gets so heavy sometimes, and I feel so alone…but I know that you are with me and that you protect me and that all I need to do is ask, and you said it will be given. So I’m here Lord asking, praying, knowing all along that the deed has already been done…Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
"I try, but sometimes I fail. But now I realize that I need your help. Cause I can’t make it all by myself…I need you, you, you in my life…” ~Mary Mary, I Try
I have a problem: me. I’ve been getting in my way, again. Stressing myself out, again. Believing I can’t, again. Worrying about others and their opinions when, just a few days ago I vowed not to allow their thoughts [good or bad] to affect me. But I’m human, and I make mistakes, and yes I fall.
I know you know. I know you understand so, in many ways that’s why I’m here…tonight, asking you to place your loving arms around me and protect me from all that I do not understand. I’m standing here asking you to touch my heart and mind and if you can, ease some of the tension that has begun to fill them so early on in the year. I’m nervous, and yes, I’m scared. But I know that with your loving guidance even the darkest road will appear safe. I can’t do it without you, and I don’t want to. I need you in my life and so glad that you have chosen me to do this task…but it gets so heavy sometimes, and I feel so alone…but I know that you are with me and that you protect me and that all I need to do is ask, and you said it will be given. So I’m here Lord asking, praying, knowing all along that the deed has already been done…Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
"I try, but sometimes I fail. But now I realize that I need your help. Cause I can’t make it all by myself…I need you, you, you in my life…” ~Mary Mary, I Try
1.04.2004
Better Days...
You can't get to no better days | Unless you make it through the night | Oh, you will see those better days | But you gotta be patient | Be patient, oh baby, be patient...~Dianne Reeves, Better Days
It’s amazing how many people have abandoned New Year's Resolutions. It seems the idea of meeting a New Year, with new change is considered taboo. Is it because traditionally people pledge to do things they know in their heart they can’t and won’t—under any circumstances whatsoever—do? Or is it simply, people have grown tired of this much needed custom?
I for one believe in this age old tradition, and the possibilities of its outcome. Whether you choose to follow the standard calendar year, or rotating year of your choice, checks and balances (a point at which you stop and figure out just what the hell is working, and ain’t working in your life) is most definitely needed. Typically I start with New Year’s, and by my birthday in March I pause to see just how much I have accomplished, and so on throughout the rest of the year.
Last year I did well with my resolutions, and managed to surprise even myself! This year I hope for the same.
So here now, are a repeat of my last year resolutions, since they worked so well:
1. To be more patient.
2. To live like I mean it.
3. To open up and share more of myself.
4. To stop allowing others opinions to affect me so fucking much.
5. To call my parents on a regular basis.
6. To go to church on a regular basis.
7. To stop putting things off as if I have all the time in the world.
To all my peeps: Whatever you do this year, do it like you mean it--and make sure you check me if you see me doing the opposite.
I cannot do it without you…
It’s amazing how many people have abandoned New Year's Resolutions. It seems the idea of meeting a New Year, with new change is considered taboo. Is it because traditionally people pledge to do things they know in their heart they can’t and won’t—under any circumstances whatsoever—do? Or is it simply, people have grown tired of this much needed custom?I for one believe in this age old tradition, and the possibilities of its outcome. Whether you choose to follow the standard calendar year, or rotating year of your choice, checks and balances (a point at which you stop and figure out just what the hell is working, and ain’t working in your life) is most definitely needed. Typically I start with New Year’s, and by my birthday in March I pause to see just how much I have accomplished, and so on throughout the rest of the year.
Last year I did well with my resolutions, and managed to surprise even myself! This year I hope for the same.
So here now, are a repeat of my last year resolutions, since they worked so well:
1. To be more patient.
2. To live like I mean it.
3. To open up and share more of myself.
4. To stop allowing others opinions to affect me so fucking much.
5. To call my parents on a regular basis.
6. To go to church on a regular basis.
7. To stop putting things off as if I have all the time in the world.
To all my peeps: Whatever you do this year, do it like you mean it--and make sure you check me if you see me doing the opposite.
I cannot do it without you…
