If Langston Hughes Can Do It, so can i

This is going to be a short post. Posting from my phone is not easy but in century 21 technology is a blessing and a curse. On to the topic of today's post. I was checking my blog from Google and for some reason, the post The Taxonomy Of White Folks seems to be the flagship or beacon to blog traffic from Google. Ok I decided to who else has written on white folks in a jovial manner and guess who I saw. Langston Hughes! Man I was shocked because he did what I'm doing, just in a fictious manner. His book, with 14 short stories is titled, The Stories of White Folks. Man that's amazing because his work came out in 1933. After a quick email exchange with a published and best selling writer and a word or two from some of my critics and even a stranger or two, I think it's time I take some of my stories, find a publisher and actually put them in a quick book of humourous yet true stories of some of my strangest encounters with what I define as white folks. (besides I gotta come up with a way to pay off my student loans and prove my friend wrong about making 100,000 dollars a year and still have my summers off) So don't be surprised if some of my future posts are more logistical. Btw for those who don't think there is a market for this, check out Rent a Negro.com.

Recovery-- Take Three: Breakthrough!!!!

Today was not completely one where I fell off the wagon so to speak. I had a rough moment in the morning. I think its a cary over from last week. At lunch I heard this one song which strangely made me bo ho a bit. It was the 2006 song used for the movie Curious George. Its funny because I never thought that Curious George would make a grown man cry, but it did in 2009, it did last week and it did today. See in the opening of the movie George, the monkey, who was always very curious, is doing what he does in the jungle, getting into mischief as would any toddler, hence, Red Chief. The song by Jack Johnson, "Upside Down," in the background just to me fits my son's personality at this stage to a tee. So as I watched this for the first time, and NO my son is no monkey, the animation and the song to me were the perfect marriage of animation and real life. So when he went off to MI last summer with his mom, I boo hooed like there was no tomorrow. I wasn't "right" for about a week because I was alone. -- More about this in a bit.. Ok so, when he and his mom pulled the first vanishing act, I was watching this movie and listening to this song and I was just totaled. I mean those who saw me then, would have sworn that there was a bonafied death in my family. In a matter of speaking, it wasn't a death of a person, but my marriage, took what I felt then was a catastrophic hit. The mortal hit came in November. Well like I said, last week, as I and a friend were eating lunch, that song came on and as much as I tried to fight crying, I couldn't stop. At least it was controlled some. I wasn't falling out in the floor some six months ago but, I did do the sudden tear up thing. My lunch partner was trying to be nice I think because they said it must have been my allergies. Nope no such luck. So anyway, this past week I had Red Chief from Friday to Wednesday and you know, it was very much like Curious George. I was the man in the yellow hat and he was George, getting in to mischief just like the actual character. Friday was an adventure of sorts because I bought groceries as a single dad. Note to self and others who may have to experience this transition; never take a toddler to the grocery store on a Friday night. They will pressure you into buying everything you don't need or at least try. The first challenge was the shopping cart. He wants to get a shopping cart that looks like a truck or a racing car. Dad, well dad is like lets get in lets get out, I'm tired. What did we do, compromise. He rode in the basket part of the cart. Note to self: Don't let the child ride in the shopping cart because then they just have better access to grab every item off the shelf. -- Pushing the cart I'm like "No boy, No man, Come one dude, can you work with dad, please."-- This brings me to a quote the ex made in her first ever podcast. Many men have said similar things. Men, especially us black men, feel as though we must exert authority over hour homes. In fact I sounded more like W. Bush. "I do not negotiate with terrorist or toddlers!" I was proud when I said that... In I was about to have a custom made tee shirt saying that. I'm so glad I didn't because guess what I was doing Friday night. No it wasn't a hostage negotiation, it was a toddler negotiation. Son, if we do this, can you please assure me that you will not do that. Ok, I'll release a few dollars (aka my hostages) if you if you can give me some assurances that you will not grab the next pot. I tried hard to be like Tommy Lee Jones in the Fugitive. There is this particular scene where he shoots the guy who takes one of his US Marshals hostage, narrowly missing his own Marshall. He tells the shocked rookie agent this. "Which ear can you hear out of? Good, listen to me. I don't bargain." Trust me, as a parent, a rookie single parent at that, you will make more deals than a game show host for peace and quiet. Don't believe me? Try it out for a few months. You will be surprised at your new found flexibility. No don't get me wrong; there are some deal breakers and no brainers. "No boy, you must hold my hand when walking across the street." "No little boy, bedtime is at 9:00." "No boy, you do not hit your mom or dad or even the dog!" "No boy, we cannot take this item out the store until we pay for it!" See these no brainers build life skills and in some cases can even save your child's life. Here is one particular no that is just unbreakable. It is an absolute must. "No. Under no circumstances do you open the door for anybody. If someone knocks on the door, you just come get me." "NO, you do not cut on the gas stove!" "No you do not put coins or items in the electrical sockets." So in a nutshell, things that keep your child safe and CPS from inquiring about your parenting skills are an absolute must. Sunday, we went over the door and the stove. Next time, stranger danger. Now, on to today. Yes I did have a minor tear up. In fact I decided to watch Curious George to try to get it all out my system. As I cried myself to sleep, it dawned on me, I can't do anything from a bed of tears. I can't even take care of myself let alone my son. So what do I do? This is again where I have to go back to the baby steps mantra. Put one foot in front of the other, and soon you will be walking out the door. Which is exactly what I did. I filed more job apps today. Regrettably they were out of state. For me, rt now, a job is a job and 1/2 of a job is better than no job at all. After I did that, I decided to go to the gym. I think I am now beginning to understand why people look better after a divorce or separation. There has got to be some type of release of the negative energy. In my case, with time on my hands, still getting a check (which really is a blow to my self esteem) it's either go to the gym or get grossly obese. Well like I said, I've decided to do the later. Getting obese is not an option. My grandfather would come out of the grave and pimp slap me up and down. As opposed to withering away to nothing, I am a muscular, athletically tone 175. I am able to run three miles in 28 mins, bench press 235 squat 225 and dead lift 355. So at 175 I can move 815 lbs. Strangely I am beginning to like powerlifting. I find it relaxing and somewhat cathartic. As I set mini goals for myself, they are tangible and I can see the results. So for me, the goal is to be able to dead lift 405 by my 40th birthday-- July 27th. The way I see it, I'm only 45 lbs off. I also want my dissertation to be finished by my 40th bday. However, one must contend with the nonsense of paperwork. I can't call it nonsense exactly, because I am interviewing human subjects, this paperwork is vital. It is my IRB paperwork or Internal Review Board. For the newly initiated, here is what that means. As a scientist (yes I am what is considered a social scientist) like any living creature, life must be protect at all costs. The first rule of human subjects research is this: DO NO HARM. Second rule: Don't ever forget rule number 1. This is relevant because there have been some rouge scientist who have initiated some shadowy research ( all in the name of science). Nurenburg and Tuskegee. Need I say more. So anyway, my research protocol has to clear my university IRB before I can begin any research. In my case, any interviews. My research subjects must receive what is called Informed Consent. Informed consent is simply this: they know the risks of the project and can choose to not participate in any form of the project without penalty. Again, in my case, the subjects will be asked to relive their experiences of the Duke Lacrosse Rape case. For some it might be traumatic meaning they might start balling. Or if I were an interview subject lets say on domestic violence, though I might be a good research candidate, for me to have to relive the whole domestic violence stuff might make me a little upset, hence why I can choose to bail out at any time. But lets get back to this recovery thing because I actually made a breakthrough about two weeks ago. One of my friends shared with me why he thought I was having trouble adjusting.
SEPARATION ANXIETY-- How about that? In the midst of a separation, I am going through separation anxiety. When he said that--strangely everything clicked. Lets play the degrees of separation game no pun intended.
As a child, I saw my mom and dad split up at the age of 7. Hmm ok that's one. As a child, I saw my mom leave me with her parents a few months later right when I turned 8. Hmm ok that's two. At the age of 8, when I saw my dad after the separation and he had to leave, I went to pieces. Hmm thats three. From ages 9-14 things were pretty constant. -- wait a min, I just forgot one: When my mom went to Europe in 1983; how does one explain the concept of overseas travel to a 12 year old? I didn't matter to me that she was going away for a week, she was leaving me again. My mom elected to move to Knoxville, TN (again to work on her Ph.D) I bawled. Hmm that's four. When I was 16 and I pretty much demanded to stay in Va with my grandparents after summer break, and my grandmother said I was going back, I took that as rejection and bawled again. Hmm thats five. Ok going for degree six, when I was 18, my mom again left and this time went and stayed in Atlanta for year (note to readers, she did return every two weeks) I broke down. Even my boy, my chief running partner couldn't cheer me up as we rode through the Hunting Ridge golfing community blasting public enemy waking folks at ungodly hours. OK, I think I am beginning to see a pattern. Not that I am indicting my mom. She was doing what she had to do. But in the process, apparently what I saw happening, was that a deeply seeded notion of being left behind has been a constant. When my mother's lover died I was 25, I was no good then but I recovered much faster. Even with break ups with women I recovered much faster. But in matters with people who are highly significant people who are at my epicenter, my mother, my wife, child, when they go, particularly for extended periods of time it frightens me. When my wife went off to Spain for a week, I was severely hurt because it symbolized my family being broken up, this time playing out in my adult life. It was weird: she was going off to Europe, the baby was going to Fayetteville, (i had no choice in the matter) and I was in Durham. I remember so clearly now. As she and the boy were driving some 70 miles to fayetteville to drop him off with her parents, I broke the land speed record and a few other speeding laws to get there--why, because I didn't want to see my family split up. And guess what happened, as I sit here and type: my family is split up anyway. I can't believe it. After two years of psychotherapy, and six months of post marital therapy, and quite a few dollars later, I learned in 10 mins from an Alpha of all people (I'm a member of the most illustrious organization Kappa Alpha Psi Inc) what I never came to terms with for more than half my life. I actually have separation anxiety, along with Anxiety Disorder NOS. Now I know why I took such issue with my dad, meaning, I wanted to do things different. In actuality, I really should take issue with my mother because what was happening to me, what has happened to me, what I live with daily ironically is oppression the female sex, well maybe thats stretching it. I don't think my mom was intentionally trying to oppress me, but her actions made me more than dependent, I'm codependent. It just so happens that the gender pool is not in my favor which is why I think I had to fight for a lot of things that are near, dear and valuable to me. In the case of my oppressive supervisor at NCSSM, it was my job and my sense of independence. In my mother, it was and still is my sense of identity. In my wife (don't know if she will be ex or not yet) its my future as a husband and even parent. These three women played crucial roles in my development. Now how do I make peace with all three.

1 down 25 to go

Then I will be in car payment bliss. :-)

Black Female Stereotypes in Media

For once I'm going to take a different spin on this topic because taking the obvious side is just too easy. Michael Eric Dyson once said that black women don't allow everyday folk to call them out of their name yet allow ministers in the pullpit to do so with impunity. I think the same can be said in general part due to the fact that we do have women who make he choice to actively capitulate to gross stereotypes portrayed in the media. Unfortunately, this operates at two central levels which are caryovers from the era of Reganomics, materalisim and devalued self esteme. Regretably, the character flaw with us black gen x ppl is that we have become our own worst enemy. Everything we want, especially if we never had it, we got to have it. We've allowed ourselves to buy into the media's Jedi Mind Trick where we link our idendity and social captial to what we have or lack their of. This materalisim in fact even operates within the construction of what we deem as masculine vs fem. If a man doesn't have a job, a place of his own, a car, benjamins stacked in the bank then he is he's not a man. Even more shocking is this same pateroical stereotype is thrust on to the women. If a woman is deemed too independent, she then is seen as a bitch, or if a woman chooses to be sexually permescious, have a voracious sexual appetite, she's called a ho. Now as Patracia Hill Collins points out, these gendered sterotypes in essence robs women of their sense of agency. If we go deeper, my thesis states with this lack of exposure to various acrutrements or even worse a prefrabricated planed introduction to certian segnafiers of "success" plants an early seed of materalisim, sexisim, racisim and a whole bunch of other isisms to germinate. Another aspect I offer as well is the latch-key effect. When children of the late 1970s came home from school, they took their key, came home to an empty apartment and anesthestized themselves with media-- be it video games, cartoons or reruns. Again, the economic component of this returns back to the parent or parents having to work a job that did not allow them the opprotunity to be home when their children came from school. The lack of after school programs or even the costs associated with them created a media problem where again, the media becomes the first point of contact for a large majority of black children. That said, media must be looked at as a caytalist for the larger problem: the social construction hypothesis. There are certianly other agents out there that reinforce stereotypes but again media operates as the initial spark. Now that said, the question of where to lay responsibility for this issue, to me simply is irrelevant. To me the bigger concern lies in breaking the cycle. How do we as an audience begin to excercise our captial to change the truth embeded in the lie, and reclaim our idendities within the hodgepoge of an overly saturated media society? If I can figure that out, I might get a Nobel peace prize.

Good Deeds Go Unpunished

Last week I think I actually saw that good deeds do sometimes go unpunished. In my dealings with the dominant other here are a few random acts of kindness that reminded me there is some hope:
In the parking lot-- I extended some curtesy over a parking space to a white driver, instead he allows me to take the space.
At the gas station--I allowed a white female driver to take my spot at the pump because she forgot to put her gas in the car. As I made the same mistake, I moved my car to the other pump, and an older whit woman thanked me
for my generous nature as opposed to me making her wait.
At the gym, I spotted three white people in one day, and the same white woman at the gas station spotted
me when I failed to lift some weight at the gym she and I share.
Maybe there is hope after all.

CSA: Confederate States of America -the docu you are missing

Like I have said before, network tv is getting just too sorry. Creativity and imigination have just gone out the window. Let's list the the most recent orginal series to wind up on the scrap heap. Bionic Woman, Knight Rider, oh wait a min these were original in 1976 and in 1982--they were just re-imaged. Let's try again, law and order, svu, law and order CI, CSI Miami and CSI New York --whops, wrong again! These progams are spin-offs from orginal series. Ok so I think the point is made. Network TV simply sucks. Again which is why I
have turned to YouTube for some of the best orginal programing. I came across this gem last night which really is more of a mocumentary called The Confederate States of America. It was probably one of the cleverest pieces I have come across since Bamboozled and Network. This docu is the brainchild of some Alpha Phi Alpha Tish School of the Arts graduate and I was just howling at the moon while watching it. It really takes the concept of revisionist history to the next level. In short the film tackles the hypothetical question of what if the South had won the Civil War? It took me a little while to realize I was watching a spoof of sorts because it comes across so deadpan serious. You have two professors discussing the aftermath of the civil war with a scenerio saying Lincon wasn't assinated but was captured and taken by President Jefferson Davis. The only way he was able to escape was through wearing blackface and getting through the underground railroad. Asside from it's jabs at history, neatly placed inside of the docu are comercials which make you just say dayum! The first one that stood out was this play on the old show, the Dukes of Hazzard. The comercial is selling motor oil with a NASCAR racer (a parody of Richard Petty) named Duke Cooter and they are selling what else: Sambo Motor Oil!

Right I was tripping because it really adressed a question that was the topic of debate in my house for a number of years: Do we allow our black child to watch The Dukes of Hazzard, a show that really promotes southern "white trash" more commonly know as rednecks. By rights the question is slightly legitimate as the central character, a 1968 orange dodge charger was named The General Lee with a bright confederate flag on the roof of the car. As a boy I was caught in the middle because I liked the car stunts which reminded me of one of my favoriate movies Smokey and the Bandit. In another comercial they adress those fly by night corspondance technical programs. Called CI the freedmans studies institute of health they allow folks to take up medical studies in black folks studying things like the runaway slave gene, to birth studies, to even how to be an overseer and e-slave trading. Needless to say all the students were white. They even had a comercial for some electronic slave teathering device which the 21st century master could lowjack their slave and have them promply returned. I haven't seen anything so funny since I saw Eddie Murphy's character Velvet Jones selling the book How to be a Hoe. This really is a must see that I highly recomend.

Just the two of us

Even through my ranting I still have to be thankful. I have a place to lay my head, a place for my son to lay his head and most important, I don't have to eat out of a garbage can, nor sit at the corner of the intersection asking for money. Don't get me wrong I'm still in a phase of recovery, but for now 14 days I can say I haven't been to that dark place I was at some time ago. This week marks my first week with my son in our new spot and well let me say I am leaning a new found respect for the song "just the two of us" the orginal and the remake. Everyday is not perfect. I don't see rainbows and butterflies everyday, but I am gaining a new found respect for them when I see them. That to me is progress. If anyone has read from my other posts they can still catch my lamenting over the domestic violence protocols in my state. In fact I have another update to add but more on that later. Even as I sit in my new abode, disgusted with my current martial woes, my son inspires me to keep on pushing. I'm learning even through my disciplening of him, despite sometimes I don't even like having to play the heavy, he is worth the fights I've fought, the setbacks, the tears and lonely nights I've had to endure. For him, and even now for me, I'm starting to accept what's happened, dust off my britches, and look at what I preceived as failures and now turn them into opprotunities. Ok so right now, I don't have a job but I've worked and continue to work to change that. Last year this time I had a signed contract to be gainfully employed, now I am among the jobless stastics. Last year this time I was a Ph.D. student. Inspite of what life has thrown at me, I'm now a doctoral candidate. In fact today I made a slight slip up and miss spoke. I said when I was in Washington, DC defending my dissertation when I caught myself and said proposal. I can chalk that up to Freud. Last year this time I was (what I thought) happily married. Now I am seperated. But even with that, I've been reminded that progress is made with baby steps, one at the time. Even mote important, as long as I at least take one step, somehow, I'll be blessed with two. The smallest things the least significant thing I took for granted, I now have to be thankful for because they are markers of progress. Last week I bought some cheep flatware. Just knives forks and spoons. Last night I bought a skillet and this morning cooked a small breakfast for myself and my son. Today I was blessed with a full set of dishes. Here is where the thing called inatiative comes in. Like a nut, I didn't bring a box for the dishes. But my son and I needed dishes. Well, putting my pride in my pocket, I put the dishes in my truck and drove cautiously down the highway. Old friends and new associate members of my changing circle are really pulling for me to succeed inspite of the circumstances and more important inspite of myself. As I think about the two of us, my son and myself, I guess I too am one Gods children (Alaha, Budaha's etc) and sometimes with that relationship, the spiritual one, it too is just the two of us, the Creator and I.

May 12, 2010: Time to get Political

May 12, 2010 this is the day I will bring my legislators to task.. For those who have been following-- I am carving out time to actually engage myself in the political process. DVPOs in the state of North Carolina are just plain OOO=out of order. It is astonishing how ones life can be turned completely upside down when they are accused of domestic violence. Getting back to my friend who suffered financial and emotional trauma, I have decided to become his advocate. The first thing on my list of to dos is to locate his local representative. This might be harder than trying to pull teeth out of an awake alligator. However, being a friend to those who have no friends requires some due diligence. Additionally, I think I am going to bring a little media attention to the problem by writing an op ed piece about the problem. When people are falsely accused and run through the meat grinder called the court system, it really is endemic social Darwinism. If my friend had his druthers, he would do away involving the courts in domestic issues. I have yet to see one lawyer take a real stand to keep families together and try to patch the problems of families on the brink of separation or divorce. Of course I realize it really is not the job of the lawyer to function as a family therapist. That said, I also take the stand that lawyers should not act like undertakers in the hood, waiting for the next body to die. Yet I digress. In my friend's case, ironically, the same lawyer who was the hired gun by his estranged wife is now running to be a judge. When he shared this information with me i was floored. This person who who was more interested in dissolving a family now seeks the power to sit on the bench and send people to jail.

This is the woman's website: http://www.catherineforjudge.com/.
DISCLAIMER: THE OPINIONS EXPRESSED DO NOT REFLECT THE MANAGEMENT OR OWNERS OF BLOGGER.COM--That said, she is already minus two votes.
I wonder is there away to find out what she would do to reform the DVPO structure in the city, let alone the state. So we need to put that on the list of things to do. Again the key is accountability. What are some of the recommendations to the system my friend and I would suggest? I am glad you asked!!! First allow me to share with you this link. I plan to present a copy of it to the folks I plan to question about this problem: http://www.hg.org/article.asp?id=6008. In West Virginia, their court system offers the following:
http://www.ncdsv.org/images/Remedies%20for%20False%20Swearing_WVCADV_1.15.08.pdf. Maybe if those who knowing make false allegations of domestic violence and child abuse faced some real penalties: ie. jail time, fines, court costs, attorney fees, maybe just maybe episodes like my friend encountered would really be minimized and the right resources could be used to heal families in crisis.

The ABD Status

Waiting... I hate waiting sometimes because it's just like water torture. One drop hitting your head, time, after time, splat, splat, splat. That's were I am now in the phase of my Ph.D. In the month of February, I moved from being a doctoral student to being a Ph.D, candidate. I wish it were like a campaign running for elected office but its not. Its more so the final test. The final hazing right so to speak. For those who don't know exactly how I got here, here is a quick recap. In 2004 I quit working at NCSSM because my mind just simply was thirsty. I no longer could continue making 29K a year having my mind turn completely in to mush. So after getting married, I took my retirement-- some 15k and made the ultimate investment. I used it and with a few other dollars from Uncle Sam, I began my course work at Howard University. I postponed admission to the university in 2003 when I looked in my fiance's eyes and she started crying because she felt if I went to DC and took up residence, she would loose me forever. So after one last year in the place i grew to call one of the nine hells, I began my own odyssey of sorts. The first time I tried to drive back and forth to DC from Durham, I realized after coming home at 2:30 in the AM, driving was not going to happen. So, I became a frequent flyer with Southwest Airlines. Every week for two years, I flew back and forth from Durham to Baltimore. -- Here is how it worked. On Tuesday, at 4:30 AM I would get up, my bag would be packed which included one change of clothes, a laptop computer, textbooks and various notebooks for my courses. So I had two bags, both cary ons. At 5:45, my wife would drive me to the airport. At 6:10 I would arrive and go through check in and airport security. At 6:50 the wheels were up and I was off to Baltimore. Once I touched down in Baltimore, I would then catch what's called the Marc train from BWI to Penn Station in DC. From there I would take the Metro to the Shaw Howard Station, walk form the subway to the communications building. Again with bags. I would be settled in the graduate lounge by 10:30 AM. I would read, correct papers before I submitted them and occasionally eat lunch. The first year was OK. The second year, that was the tester. The sophomore jinx. In fall of 2005, I accumulated a balance, 500 dollars which must be paid or I couldn't register for class. I was under funded and by this time my savings had turned into crumbs. Additionally, I had martial beef to deal with. I grew to call them divorce drills. I remember one so vividly. I left the airport and my wife was a little upset because our money was low and we didn't have enough food in the house. Not good, by this time I was teaching adjunct at a college in Bowie Md. My commute was altered. i would get off the plane, take the Marc to the school where I taught, and then go to my class at Howard. Again back to the divorce drill, I was issued an ultimatum as I was walking across the campus: fix this problem or we are done. OK so I am walking across the campus, with little of no money for myself and now I have a divorce drill hitting me. Again the fall of 2005 saw me at probably one of the worst times emotionally because I was hit with multiple challenges,,cheif among them was I didn't always have a place to stay. There were nights where I slept in my office or the graduate lounge. It was just that rough. Luckily a fellow grad student allowed me to crash on his floor in the grad dorm. There were some weeks I didn't take a shower simply because I was in that type of grind. Another issue was getting paid from this university in Bowie. I was told because I was adjunct, I had to wait to be paid. This did not help my money situation at home. I eventually had to just get foolish -- ignorant to get 1/2 of my paycheck after the football season was over. After surviving the first divorce drill, we decide to purchase a house. OK, so with the added stress of commuting from NC to BWI to DC I am now going to be a home owner. Great. Then we have two clinchers -- life and death. In December of 05 my grandfather who really was more like my dad started to fail in his health. I mean this was pretty dramatic. Also during December-- I had what was called a screening exam. If you failed the screening exam, you were washed out of the program. Then to top things off, after Christmas, we learn we are going to be parents.
2006, I finally get a scholarship allowing me more money to work with. I also get an assistantship that allows for more cash-flow. I'm feeling pretty good to so some degree because despite the fact that again, I carried a balance, I wrote a check to cover it and was able to register for classes and get the needed money. I also decided to take 12 hours as opposed to the recommended 9. One of the classes was at Georgetown where I was one of two blacks in the class. For me this was great because i was able to really test myself. I finished the semester pretty good but I took a ding (a grade of C) for one course because I just couldn't find time to write the paper for the course.
In Sept 2006, I officially became a dad and the pressure really started to hit. I took another adjunct teaching assignment in Raleigh, NC while sitting out for the entire year. I had to get aclemented to family life. In 2007 I went back to school, and completed my course work. In 2008, I sat for my comprehensive exams and passed with distinction. Then in the winter of 2010, I finally became what is called ABD where I had to defend my dissertation proposal. That was like the preleude to the deathmarch. and a half years

Day 1 Man and Boy

This is the first night big man and red cheif have pitched tent at camp payarnise. Red cheif was surprisingly impressed. He enjoyed the two story climb to the apt nicknamed Paranyse. Ok I know I murdered the spelling. I bought the first items for the place.
like detergent some basics. Rebuilding I am learning is a process. You have to start small and work your way up. I guess I can celebrate the small victory of buying cutlary. I think the next thing will have to be dishes and cups. Today was intersting in a well twisted sort of way. I think I have come to the conclusion that my coparent is going to be a problem unless she can get on board. Today Red Cheif wanted to stop by and say hello to his mother. I was a bit reluctant but I am really having to remember what is in the beat interest of the child. (Brothers this is a phrase you must remember if you ever go through this type of transition you must always put your child first even if it hurts you) In talking to her, little boys will be big boys when they think they can. Red Cheif said it's ok daddy, I'm going to stay with mommy. Looking at the mom who is kinda smilling my sunglasses and my steel jaw did not even move an inch to the left or right. It was just deadpan. In her mind I'm thinking she beleives she's going to have some extra time with him thinking that he chose her over me. My reaction was a low toned reminder of our custody agreement. Again, I don't make a scene, no drama I just ease on. When I return I make a small inquiery about a belt for him because his pants are falling. Needless to say I don't get a belt (despite the fact I have bought him three). The next thing I ask about is the collection of my property. She retorts back with aren't we to communicate through our lawyers? I remind her that I have been and then of course there is a blow off. (note to the brothers: patience is a virtue and an absolute must. Transition is worse than 110th street. Leaving with my dignity in tact I do what I can do and leave. Red Cheif and I have just started on a new adventure and well, as one door closes another one opens. I may never know the real reason why things are as they are, I just know they are. I can only say that for me, what is most important is the image I model for my son, a man who is honest, hard working, willing to take a few on the chin, but making things happen for him to insure his future. As long as I have his respect, everything else is gravy.

Recovery III: Learning again how to walk

Baby steps. Where do we begin? I think today, with baby steps I have to go back to some degree. I'm thinking with baby steps man has to first learn how to crawl, then stand up then, walk. The walk turns into a trot, the trot turns into a jog, the jog turns into a run and run turns into a sprint. That pretty much I guess is what I'm having to learn how to do all over again. Learning how to again be independent.  I'm getting my life back so to speak.  Figuratively speaking, I have to learn how to walk all over again.  I have to retrain and focus bits my pragmatic life back to baby steps. In my academic life Ive made tremendous strides yet in my pragmatic life, I have to get back to basics. It's so weird yet true. I've really taken for granted the luxuries I've had, like cutlary. Last night, I had food, but I had to eat it without a knife and fork. That's pretty humiliating stuff. I may have to get a job just doing something even if if it's not in my feild. This is humbeling but it's also hustle time. The first thing I have to do is get some income so I can get food. Communications I have to get back online.   I'm in the apartment by myself and sometimes it's scary, but then again that's a blessing of itself. I can't be mad. I have to accept it and move forward. I think the person i have to make sure that i can sustain it. That's  the first hurdle, make sure that the rent is paid on time. Make sure the car payment is paid on time and the insurance is paid on time. I think it's in the series of tests and everything is just going to build upon one success after another. I have to take one step at a time. Capitalize off of each success. It's not to be easy. In fact it's pretty damn scary. I am really beginning to wonder about my relationship with the Creator. I know that the Creator is looking out for me. But just reflecting, pondering, I wonder how why I am being tested like this. Hell I really don't  have time to wonder. I only have time to make things happen, to act while others just talk. We are not here to dream or drift, I have much work to do and heavy loads to lift.

09 is officially behind

I have never been so happy to see a year go.... Man 09 was a very bad year...
To keep it short lets start with the begging

1) January -- Had job issues (straight from the gate)
2) February--Major family issues-- at war with mother, aunts
3) March--Beware of the Ides of March--More crap to deal with at the job
4) April-- The world starts to turn backwards, beef with Mom and Aunts escalate to Grandmother
5) May--Reckoning Begins-- Wife and Baby head off to Michigan, against my wishes-- New Administration at the office--Office troubles have a blow-out on damper 3
6) June-- Terminated with extreme prejudice and no due process-- Wife and boy off in Michigan-- Wife has nervous breakdown when told of terminated employment.
7) July--Birthday (not too Happy)-- reality of unemployment starts to hit-- depression starts knocking
8) August--Unemployed and now separated charged with Domestic Violence, almost involuntary committed. Two panic attacks that put me in the hospital. Brother in-law intercedes and basically tells me -- his sister is just sick of me.
9) September--Wife and child are back after separation, still anxious as hell, no job, drawing unemployment, attempts at marriage therapy.
10) October -- the swine flu -- oh how I loved the swine flu. My mentor Dr. Freddy Jones is a casualty of the swine flu. He dies in October. For the first time in my life I cry at a funeral.
11. November-- Separated again, evicted from the house, again charged with Domestic Violence, involved in a car accident, have my first concussion in life and oh yes, I now get an education of the Domestic Violence Laws of North Carolina...
12. December--After being exonerated of all Domestic Violence charges, I begin to try to move back into the house only to have my wife create a toxic environment. Living downstairs trying to keep peace in the house a truce is drawn so that our child will have good holiday. The truce is broken promptly at 12:00 AM Jan 1 2010 and the war of the roses is on once again.
1. January 2010-- I get a surprise special guest visit from Child Social Services regarding an child abuse claim. Our child who split his lip at daycare is seen under stealth at the hospital under the allegation of child abuse.-- Yeah--
2. February 2010 -- The war is on again even more intense-- After again being exonerated on child abuse claims, I am able to be admitted to Ph.D. candidacy status-- still no job, drawing unemployment benefits
3. March 2010--Thinking that my marriage has some chance of being resuscitated -- I now come to terms with its terminal status. I no longer wear my wedding ring and begin to really absorb what has happened to me with the many false claims against me. I realize all the money that is wasted in attorneys and really begin to hit the wall.
4 April 2010-- After hitting the bottom, I now realize which way is up. Slowly i begin to crawl out of the pool of self pity and begin to reclaim my life back. I have an apartment, job opportunities, and even a new teaching post at a new university. I am rediscovering myself and consider myself a recovering spouse of female spousal abuse.

Mad White Men

The TV show Mad Men. Hmmm I have to stop and think about it. Mad Men-- There are two things that stand out in my mind about his show. Its an Emmy winner, there are no Black Folks and its gotten the Oprah Seal of Approval. Is it me or am I just seeing things. Recently there was this clip on youtube-- I have really weened myself away from traditional TV because its become what I like to coin as "network." Network for those who don't know is award winning screenplay by Paddy Chiesky in which it really tells of things to come regarding the shape of television. Murder of the week, kidnapping of the week, terrorist of the week: its really what we have become. I am more inclined to watch YouTube or Daily Motion or even Hulu strictly because with 1000 on HDTV I can't seem to find a damn thing on. Hence YouTube. Anyway while watching my dose of YouTube, I came across this news article discussing the need for male studies. At the cornerstone of the piece was the show MadMen. Looking at the news piece and of course just a glimpse of the show something obviously was missing. Black Folk. Damn... The show is set in 1960s where "real men were men." OK to me that's a wee bit hard to swallow part due to the fact that, that same line was also uttered by Archie Bunker- America's favorite bigot portrayed by one of America's biggest progressive liberals, Carol O'Connor. I guess the reason why I'm not attracted to a show such as Mad Men is because it to me represents a celebration of White ideology. Its almost as though the program operates as form of revisionist history in which people of color have conveniently been placed figuratively back to the back of the bus if only for 60 mins per episode. Now there are professors in the academy who wish to use this program as a model for male studies. As an African American Man, and father this maddens me on a plethora of levels but today I will just choose one, and that would be again how the media functions as an agent of cultural positioning. Again, not having seen the program, I am concerned with the fact that as the program functions as a nostalgic piece of television, is the program really relevant. I think I am not attracted to the show because simply put, I don't see any aspect of me at all in the program. Not that I was alive in the 1960s but the black experience in the 1960s really isn't that damn euphoric. While white folk were sipping scotch, downing martinis listening the rat pack-- Black folk were catching hell on a daily basis. Under employment, families being split apart so that some income would come in rather than no income, human rights, civil rights, asserting one's sense of masculinity in the presence legalized apartheid in the United States--(white folks had Uncle Sam where as blacks had Uncle Jim-Crow); I digress as I write a incoherent sentence. The point I am trying to make here is that as Oprah works to celebrate whiteness in her lauding of MadMen who has the iniative to offer a counter reading of MadMen. It would be so cool if some one were to take the base material from Loraine Hansbery's Raisin In the Sun and develop that into a series (preferably shot in black and white). That play germinated with so many topics that honestly it took African Americans out of the monolithic images of White America. Unfortunately, that would not be profitable in our commercialized economy. Again, I sigh as I sit on the sidelines and watch

Recovery Take Two

If any of my readers have noticed, I haven't posted much this week. For me that is a good thing. In the words of Hal 9000 all systems nominal. I did something I haven't really done in a while, went back to work.. On my dissertation that is. One of the things a close friend of mine says, (her nickname is well never mind) but still this person was the same person who pretty much took me back in the ally (figurtaively speaking) and just did the Santeno Corleone on me. The thing I remember so suscently is the quote, "It's Time!!!!" This is where the rubber meets the road and either I am going to sink or swim-- no other way to put it. After that conversation I was a bit pissed with her-- but then after I was pissed, removing the emotion from everything-- she hit me with that thing called Truth. That shit can hurt. I had to really look at myself look at my actions and as I was stripped raw i didn't like what I saw. I was becoming a person immersed in depression, self pity, making stupid decisions, having stupid thoughts. I mean in short-- I got stuck on stupid in the worst way. Then it dawn on me.... Life is just a game, we're all just the same--(Prince) The thing that is so hard for me to accept is that failure is apart of life and failure only has power that one gives to it. Ok so shit didn't go right today--Tomorrow is another day to do with as you please. In the back of my mind- i hear the voice of the character "Devon Miles" saying -- "take care of yourself, we can regroup to fight another day." However, knowing me, knowing the person I am I would rather die in battle rather than submit to defeat. And from there, I think honestly, that is the person I am. What I am experiencing in all honesty is nothing more than a test. if you hit the canvas are you down for the count? Are you-meaning me--bad enough to turn failure into victory? I can't believe how out of my gorge I was but damn it if I was not out there being a dumb ass. I don't know if they have a term for it but i think I could coin one up, a recovering separated spouse.
How do I know I am on the road to recovery?
Well the following things took place this week...
1) I took charge of me being a parent again. This meant no longer being afraid of disciplining my child and no longer being afraid of my co-parent will or will not do. Again, the only person I can control is me. I live for myself and my son. His respect represents the only opinion and respect that matters. I see that now.
2) I stayed at my apartment for two nights in a row by myself. OK now for some that may seem small but for me it was a big step. I have no furniture (yet) but at the same time I have a place to lay my head, a comforter and right now that's a lot considering others have far less than that.
3) There was some crap with my co-parent, minor but still it represented crap. Without going into details allow me to say that ok this person is going to do whatever they wish to do and I can't change that. For me I just had to let it go.. Chalk it off to this individual being them. That being the case, petty actions do not necessitate me being equally petty. Who I am, who I always have been represents one who is regal and above such foolishness. Getting back to my perch my position my inner self (though its a journey) makes me realize things happen for whatever reason. If life has dealt you a shitty hand, bluff.
4) I am becoming more engaged in the present and the future. My present is this: finish my degree, get a job to get the job I want. Give my son a positive legacy and future. An example of this came today when I placed a call to Howard University about my student aid for the final year of school. I was awarded 12,000 for the whole year. This was a discrepancy in the worst way. In my post state i would have been more in my nasty funk and not even know about it or just say it will work itself out. Instead, in my present state I vetted the problem-- went to the root of the problem and fixed it quickly. Ironically I placed one zero too many for adjusted gross income. When the person asked me did I report making $600,000.00 for the year. I was like no (though I do wish it were the case) so quickly I fixed it and now I think the right amount will be added to my aid package.
Life is not actually not too bad after all...
I think I am going to get back to mine and reclaim the time I lost and make the most of what i have to get to where I want to be :)

Pulling Back -- Getting Back To Me

The Six Million Dollar Man 3 of 4
Uploaded by RenaudMan. - Watch feature films and entire TV shows.I was told officially by my good friend who also can be a drill sergeant that they are through with my past. This is innuendo for enough screwing around.. This is obviously from a person I respect because I actually was quiet and listened. For me, thats a big one. They pretty much put me beside myself and told me that they were disgusted with me that I am not who I was. You know what, they were and still are right. An analogy to this could be seen with the fictional character Col. Steve Austin in the novel Cyborg and or the telefilm Cyborg: The Six Million Dollar Man. In the novel and the pilot film, the character Austin is the human form of "Humpty Dumpty." As the government steps in to put all the pieces -- his three extremities and a few other organs, including an eye-- he can't seem to put himself back together, emotionally. In the novel and the book, Austin is confronted by his superior (the novel, Dr. Rudy Wells) (the telefilm Oliver Spencer) and for the most part is told where he has been given a second chance, some people don't even have one. For his new prosthetic limbs, the ability to walk, his new arm and ability to physically out preform any human being (at that time at least) he refuses to see potential in himself, at least until he winds up in the desert. In the desert, after he is captured he has to come to terms with the fact the he is still alive, and he does in fact have value. Its here where where one does not see a "super man" but instead a man coming back together with himself. Though he has been altered, in many ways improved, only when he is confronted with death for a second time--(the first was the crash of his experimental aircraft when he lay in the hospital bed trying to commit suicide) did he opt for life instead of death.
In a nutshell, I had a similar conversation (well I was going to say minus the high drama) drama et al just minus the gory special effects. My friend pretty much laid me out on the phone. I really didn't know how bad I was spiraling. I honestly didn't. Now looking at everything-- damn I was and to some degree still am a wreck. At least now I have been called on it. When you have been called on it, you pretty much have no excuse. Either you pull away from the wreck or you need to fully commit to being a wreck. I think last night--might have been the turning point. When my friend told me the only person I needed to vie respect from was my son and now looking at him after a temper tantrum (in which I didn't give into-- he actually does need me. If no one else needs me he actually does. He, actually needs me -- damn he needs me to man up. Ok-- i think I owe my friend a beer or an olive branch... A man barely alive-- we can rebuild him-- we have the technology...better, stronger, faster...

Podcast Project for TRM

Nobody Told Me There Would Be Days Like These

If ever I am fortunate enough to have someone turn my blog into a television sitcom, preferably on HBO or Showtime, the one thing I would insist upon would be having say so on the opening credits. The opening song would be the classic song by John Lennon, Nobody Told Me. I think that is the theme of my life at least right now. Nobody told me there would be days like these. I think I hit my point of breaking yesterday. It was really a crappy day, I mean pissy. Almost everything in the world--maybe the world is dramatic,--things that could have gone wrong yesterday is probably a better way of putting it. What could have gone wrong in my immediate 360 degrees that could blow up did. Nothing really went right except that I woke up. Well, I did have a place to wake up in. I didn't have to eat food supplied by the state, let alone out of a garbage can. I did have full use of my extremities and didn't have to rely on a machine to breath for me. Despite the fact that I do not have a steady means of employment, I can get to a job because I do have reliable transportation. Even as I am writing this blog, as I am about to launch into the silliness I am presently going through, I do have a computer-proabably one of the most powerful computers in this barnes and noble. In fact I actually can't really complain, now that I am thinking about it. I could be in prison having to explain the reason why to my son. So I have to be thankful for what I do have and work with it until things change for the better. Ok now that I have had my moment of reflection for the day. On to my gripe of the day.
The one thing I can say about my ethnography of being among the lower middle class-- remember, a year ago today, I was among the middle to upper middle class, is that unfortunately there is a drastic change in the quality of service one experiences when they are dependent upon the state for any type of financial assistance. It is a lowly place to be. I mean it is the bottom and I can honestly say that Idid not wish or have an aspiration to be in this position I am in right now. Anyone who thinks people are here because they wish to be are just completely nuts. I wish I could somedays just do just as conservative pundits put it, pull myself up by my boot straps and go out and find that job and get my family back in one piece as opposed to it being fractured as it is. I wish that the problems my estranged wife and I had were just non existent. However, denial is not an option afforded to me. Acceptance is. Is it painful-- the word painful derived from the word pain-- is absurd to describe the emotional grief I am experiencing right now.. Aside from being displaced, uncomfortable, its like a feeling of being vulnerable, susceptible to anything. I can honestly say that I am not immune to the psychological effects of this. What is happening to me. How do I feel? Dejected, despondent, harassed, I am not who I was a year ago. I feel depressed, anxious, pressured hurt. Yesterday, I nearly had one of my 1 out of 3 people days. I think a better word for it is probably the bailout day. An extremely good friend of mine told me back in August when this thing actually began, to leave her with a list of three people -- my ICE list -- in case of emergency. In case of emergency one of these three people must be notified because either one or a combination of these three people have the ability to talk me down from potentially stupid situations. Now a stupid situation is defined as where I would do something excessively disruptive to myself, or to someone one else. Each person on this list doesn't even know that they are on this exclusive link to my sanity. The person who made me develop the list is mad at me right now because they felt I was a bit cryptic in my call them. So what made me think I was having a bailout day yesterday? When one is in an apartment by themselves, I mean with literally nothing, just themselves a computer and a phone and they are acutely depressed-- the mind can become one's worst enemy. I was scared, alone, and I couldn't think clearly because of the externals. The externals were the things that were just yapping at my heals-- the lawyers, the finances, the animosity, the physical looniness suddenly became a psychic isolation. When one becomes psychically isolated, its only a matter of time before the psychic becomes spiritual and the spiritual becomes physical and then nihilism sets in. When that happens, one then becomes extremely dangerous. If they lose consciousness of the self then that individual looses all regard for others and then anything can happen.
Barnes and Noble actually now is a cruel joke that is being plaid on me by the folks above me. I'll tell you why. Barnes and Noble is where my wife and I met for the second time. It's where I think about what attracted me to her initially. It was September 2001 right after the World Trade Center Attacks. I was in the African American section-books that is, and I saw the hair, then her tail. She had nice buttocks. :) The skin was a walnut complexion and her hair, though it wasn't done to perfection, it still was nice to me. Honey blond I called it. She saw me looking though I tried to play it off. I didn't work because she remembered my name. For me this was not good because I didn't know hers let alone remember her until she called me out. Then I had some recollection. As we talked she told me that she was completing her PhD. I was impressed. I told her that I had plans of starting mine. I think from that point we had our first real connection. We both were academics and from what I perceived intellectuals. I mean in all seriousness we were two nerds, I was just going through the neo soul revolution of sorts where as she was a bit more conservative than me. Now here is where the cruel joke comes in, nine years later, as I am completing my PhD, I am in barnes and noble and every woman I see with wall nut complexion, a nice ass and various variations of hair color reminds me of her. They could be older or younger but every time I see one that has just the basic attributes, I see her. Isn't that twisted... Now, I know I was in love with her. That's the sad thing about love and marriage. Love to me at least represents organized self induced chaos. It's the shit (pardon my language) that one is willing to put up with. Its the continuous trips to hell and back that one allows them self to take because they because they know what life was like without them vs with them and they just cannot see the world without them.. Marriage should not be confused with love because marriage represents nothing but a contract which says we are in a committed relationship which can be enforced by law. Thats the bare bones of marriage. Its a contract that one signs with the aspiration of staying in love. The hope that one does not fall out of love with them. When one falls out of love, it basically means one of the parties has taken the trip to hell and back one time too many and now your existence is just begging to piss me off. That's when love takes a bitter turn and becomes disdain, despise, hate. Like the song says, its a thin line between love and hate. I now know what that means..
Like I said, Nobody told me there would be days like these.... Strange days indeed...(John Lennon)

The Asswhipping Called Life

Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today to this thing called life. (prince). As I get older and have more life experiences, certian songs gain new relevance. Let's go crazy, the opening of this post actually are the same opening words to the song mentioned, Lets go crazy. This week particularly the last few days are just kicking me all in the ass. Bruce Lee couldn't throw as many kicks with such accuracy. I signed the lease on my apartment. That was a little psychological drama because I guess this means physically I am starting over. Moving my belongings into a new place pretty much starts to put in motion the finality phase of the fact my marriage is pretty much terminal. It's a hard pill to swallow. That said, coming into the new spot by myself is pretty difficult. Coming into the new spot and having to explain to a three year old that this is where daddy is now staying is even harder. For him, as I'm delivieing one of the hardest messages of my life, on his mind is this, "daddy, can I have your iPhone?" I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. Another odd thing about transition is the fideucary responsibilities linked to it. One still has certian obligations which must be met. Monday's highlight was The Rental Store. When I acquired the livingroom suit for our home, I took on the bill. Fourteen months into the note, their computer wants to have a tizzy and guess whose debit card is in the tizzymill. So, while this is going on I am furious. I didn't authurize the merchant to use that card but they did so anyway. This of course as you can imagine has me propperly pissed. Thinking after talking to the debit card company as well as the merchant would solve the problem common sense is the exception to the rule. Tying to buy air matrice at dark 30 with the debit card it comes up as declined. I felt like such a looser with the price is right horns playing in the background. Talking with these underpaid overworked folks is about as useful as talking to a head of cabage. At least if I didn't like the feed back form the cabage, I could at least boil the cabage for food. I was so mad at the end of that conversation, I figured I would at least have some sastifaction by calling the individual who started this mess. When second tier lenders are involved, sometimes they actually execute collection efforts on their personal cell phones. I was fortunate enough to have this happen to me. So I figured I would return the favor. I called him back on his cell phone at 12:30 am. I think he was shocked because as he answered his phone in the back of his mind I know he was wondering why he would get a business call in the midnight hour. This leads me up to today. Getting up at 8:37, I call the debit card folks again thinking that I would get a diferent response. This without fail is an excercise in futality. It's like a tug of war with my money. As I was calling, I was thinking the call by itself, would be enough to suffice as a dispute. No according to them I have to literally say I am disputing transaction X for them to really do something about it. Well at 11:30, I am hoping at least they the merchant is going to come through and put the money back on my card. Oh yes I forgot to mention I got a call from my attorney this am. When ones attorney calls, the call usually has something to do with money leaving ones pocket. This call, was not an exception to the rule. As it turns out, the money used for the ADR, was like monopoly money. The check bounced and I had to make good on a thousand dollar check by close of business or a warrant for worthless check would be issued and my attorney would have to cover the costs of the check and then my attorney would no longer be my attorney. Laywers have an unbelivable power of pursuasion. They are worse than a rouge Jedi Master because they litterally operate at a level, a layperson, such as myself don't undrstand. They literally know how to legally put your life on permant hold. Lawyers, though I do like mine, are civil gangsters. They are masters of diplomacy who are incidentally liscenced to steal, harass, threaten, and of course, kill. They are good at what they do, but when matters of money and their reputations are concerned, they can and will become
self preserving pretty damn quick. So again, as one could imagine I am comming in my usual last place in the one legged asskicking contest called life. As my great grandma Mary would say, "life everlasting.."

And now In this Corner

Grandparents are hypocrites. I'm serious. Why is it that grandparents like to spoil the grandchildren. This installment of the sitcom called my life goes back to my child. Bedtime. Why is it that bedtime has to be a night time soap opera? It's 9:30, he is trying so hard to fight sleep like Rocky, and now saying he's hungry. Now he ate; like food was going out of style. In fact I packed a serious lunch for the lad so I know he can't be hungry. In fact the grandparents decided that oh--its brownie night. Not just brand x brownies, oh no--- double fudge caramel Duncan Hines brownies. Let the games begin. First he starts running around the house. Then he starts throwing the pillows around. The he starts jumping around like house of pain. Then 9:00 -- bedtime blues. Daddy, I'm hungry. No burh you are not hungry. What you are experiencing is a sugar high that was induced by your grandmother. Now you have to crash which is not going to take more time than the usual time. Even as I take time to type this this boy is like so not listening to his only daddy. I just had to pull out the big guns, yank the pacifier. Oh now he wants to comply I think because he is really trying hard to stay in the bed. Well the grandparent heist will be over soon as I have finally gotten the lease on my new APT. I don't feel like the TLC scrub as I was for the past few months. I mean I have a car but because of the transition, and the thousands of dollars spent on mediation and potential litigation it kinda makes one wonder how they can keep their head straight, let alone a dollar in their pocket. Lets see it's 9:42-- he is still kicking but not as hard so I think he knows as his wonderpets say, "This is serious." Oh, I hear a yawn. I think we might be on our way to the sandman's house. It's now 9:45, home slice is not moving as hard but he is still hanging in there. -- Let see he is now sucking on his paci pretty hard now.. Oh-- do I hear the heavy breathing-- do I hear the sweet sweet sounds of him starting to snore? Great, now I have to sneeze, if I sneeze he's going to do what--say Bless you Daddy. Please don't let me sneeze... It's 9:47 and he's now starting to do the hamburgler. The wubble wubble and there goes another yawn. Ok now its 9:49 and homeslice is turning in the bed still not going down without a fight. But at least he is quiet. One day when he is older I am going to read this to him, hopefully, there will still be Blogger by the time he is a -- DAMN, he just said daddy. Its now 9:52 and homeslice is still putting up good fight. I think the sandman is coming in pretty good now--note to self, when he is in his room at daddy's spot, make sure to remove all distractions at sleep time. 9:54, I think the sand man has him down-- the ref is counting-- 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, --- oh no he's up again going at it, but I think the sandman is coming back and homeslice is back on the canvas, the ref steps in fo the count: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, damn-- I sneezed-- he got up now explaining the political correctness of sneezing. Daddy, when you sneeze, I have to say bless you. Bless you daddy, -- thank you I say. Note to self, next time an allergy attack happens, have plenty of antihistamine on standby. Ok the sandman is getting back up. Ok I'm watching the sandman shake it off and he's circling, --This is my round, I'm going to take you this time and wait, wait, I think the ref is signaling, homeslice's trainer is throwing in the towel, it looks like it's all over for home slice-- Not a minute too soon, it's now 10:01. The single dad's MMA, sleep fighting.

Children and Chilren: A Black Family Experience

Children and Chilren. Two words which are spelled differently but loosely mean the same thing. Children is the term I use when I am in professional settings. When I have to take my son to the god awful expensive daycare, there, they are children. In public, when we are at the Target, he is at the toy section, ripping every toy down in sight and as a parent, who is trying to be somewhat sophisticated yet cool, he is my child. Or at the god awful pricey Baby Gap--where I have to buy the clothes needed to fit into his daycare and he is going every way but the right way, you say, publicly, son, you're not helping daddy. On the surface this is cute and cuddly, especially if you are on the outside looking in. But on the inside, knowing the social norms, established by The Dominant Other, you cannot say what is on your mind or do what comes instinctively. You can't say "Boy, if you don't act right, I'm going to come down on you three different ways: long, hard, and frequent." Its funny how as a parent, especially as a middle class Black folk, you kinda have to really suppress the actions you learned from your parents when you acted out when you too were a child. I remember when Jocasta, aka Lady McBeth, (the my nickname for my mother) had no problem, no shame in in shooting me the glare. The glare was like defcon 3. It said an asswhippin was on the horizon but not eminent. When it got down to defcon 2, she would forget her private post secondary school education and start splitting verbs. Now when an English major starts to split verbs, especially the one who would go on to obtain a Ph.D. in English and Woman's studies, it was like I said before. I was tied to the railroad tracks and the train was coming. If I was really begging to made an example of--we then arrived at Defcon 1. Defcon 1 usually meant, I had a meeting in the ladies room and I would come out pretty much in tears. But hold on: there is one final level, Defcon 0. Defcon 0 meant war had officially been declared. At this moment, anything could and 9 times out of 10 would happen. I mean Lady McBeth would pull some CIA/Steven Segal type mind tricks on my ass. Classic line; "When I get you home, I'm going to tear that tail all to pieces." Now the only thing worse than a beating is knowing its going to happen but, not knowing when. In my home this could be delayed for a few days. So I could be up all night with the flashlight in my room hiding under the covers with the bedroom door barricaded. You don't want to be caught by surprise by the asswhipping. When I was under the "asswhipin watch" I was at my most obedient. But that still couldn't stop one from the inevitable. To make matters even worse, when my mom and dad were together, they would "cross talk." This meant they would actually pull the United Front on my tail. If it were the medieval days, it would be the equivalent me walking the corner and seeing my dad in Ye Olde Woodshed, building my personal stockade. "Come hither boy, allow me to see if this hole fit thy neck." If it were the wild wild west, it my dad would be the undertaker while mom would be Clint Eastwood. "Get three coffins ready." After the shootout, she would incidentally say, "My mistake four coffins." But this was the 1970s and my parents just got through watching Roots. I don't know why but after watching Roots, every black person in the America suddenly had some type of pent up rage and they had to release it. So my dad would come in to my room one night just out of the blue three days or so after I put my name right beside the word ignorant in a public place. "You know you got a beating coming right?" So my world is really just twisted, because I thought I had escaped the asswhippin advisory. I'm like you mean I been being extra nice only to catch this beatdown somewhere down the road. I'm in the room pleading with my dad, "Can't yall just beat me now and get it over with. Please?" Don't torture me with the anticipation come on already, just tune my tail up I'll be good for three months. For them, the hunt was on and of course as Charles S Dutton says, I was the prey.
Please believe it though-- when the overdue asswhippin arrived, my mom threw the ticker taped parade because she didn't have to administer the whippins of death. When the whippins of death arrived, those were administered by dad. I am still in awe how a man who drank so much liquor, smoked so many packs of cigarets had the gamma radiation strength to just tear my tail all to pieces. I got the beating so bad one time, I was like, I gotta do something different. Either they are going to change or I'm going to change. This is where too much TV and janet jackson became a potentially lethal combination. After watching the Good Times episode where the character Penny is introduced as a victim of child abuse, guess who goes to school the next day talking child abuse about his parents. Again, did I mention the words "potentially lethal."
No -- I didn't catch the beatdown behind that, gamesmanship loves gamesmanship. But lets just say that Lady McBeth shared with me on the way to school that she and dad knew about the child abuse claim and they were waiting for the right time to have conversation with me about it after school..

2 Words Which We Need II Learn

There are two words we as African American men need to learn. These two words would lead to less heart disease, stroke, cancer, hypertension and a few other maladies which are know to strike us brothers down in way before our time. "I'm sorry." Those two words are like the the instant get out of jail card free card when used in all earnest. My godbrother and I were talking about our marriages and of course eery marriage has its unique set of challenges. In his case, the latest drama, which he admitted to, was brought on by him coming home late with the 2.5 children. As he shared more of the story with me, I had to laugh because in my world his problems are minimal in comparison to mine. Anyhow, as he was sharing what happened, I had to ask him, "What did you say, after she blew your world up? " Nothing, I just took it and went downstairs to the basement (aka the man cave) cracked open a beer and played video games for about two hours. No where did he say, "I'm sorry." From the outside looking in, I tried preach to him as best as I could. "Dude, next time to cut to the chase, just say I'm sorry." I had to consult with one of my members of my cabinet to understand power a simple "I'm sorry." can have on a cacophony. "I'm sorry," quashes it. The I'm sorry has to be somewhat sincere. I mean it doesn't have to be a Will Smith dramatic production. Just concede let it go and keep it moving. I witnessed first hand how one of my African brothers slipped on a verbal banana peel. As he was running his lip, the wrong words just kept coming out his mouth while his size 12 feet kept going in, side ways. I kinda knew he was on a oil slicked slippery slope when the head female in charge of his estate shot some looks at him that could kill. In hindsight and again as the third person looking in, to me the issue was miniscule, but not to her, and see, I could leave where as he was a captive audience. Then I just heard a real honest sincere "I'm sorry." Boom, like that, it was like trump card in a spades game. The issue was nullified, at least while I was there. I don't know what happened when I left, but I assume all is well being that this took place years ago.
On the other hand another one of my friends just had his whole world blown up, I mean completely crushed like a big building in Justice League Unlimited. His scenario was a little different. There are three things a man never leaves behind.
1. You never leave a man behind.
2. You never leave incriminating evidence behind.
3. You never leave your child behind.

He broke rule number 2. He wasn't cheating, let me say that from the gate. At the same time, you don't throw out signals that would suggest you are cheating. That said, he and his first lady share the same cell phone plan and the same bucket of minutes. It just happened one day, the head female in charge of his estate got to the bill before he did. There appeared to be a list of calls and text messages that left behind the face of incriminating evidence. As I am listening to the drama unfold, I am thinking OMG, this dog house isn't big enough for two of us. I am trying to get my damn self out and this one is begging to become a lifetime member. Needless to say, he didn't use his get out of jail card and thus he was pulling some serious sofa duty. It didn't help him any with the John Edwards fall out taking place around the same time. See had he said I'm sorry, his sofa time would have been cut drastically in half.
From my conversation with my GodBrother, we left chanting our mantra from the late Michael Jackson..
"You can't win, You can't break even, and you can't get out of the game."

Etymology of Whiteness: You weren't white yesterday, today nor will you be tomorrow!

Again, I was asked the question this time face to face the difference between white people and white folks. So once again I think I have to explain and reshape my Etymology of Whiteness. So what does it mean to be white in America. To best answer that question, again, I feel it is essential that one explores whiteness in terms of oppositional relationships. The opposite of black is white. The opposite of good is evil. The opposite of moral is immoral. So that said: entering into a discourse of just the word itself, white: in our country -- their is this long standing association of the word white with all things positive. The power, be it economic, political, and or social, white has been associated with many positive aspects of our culture. I remember when I attempted to make this case to a majority white teenage audience and how just the word white in our culture has such significance. I remember making the statement about the power of the name we call the presidential estate, The White House. This shook the audience up pretty hard because it was a concept that I think they just could not or refused to understand. Some of the remarks were like well its called the white house because it is white. My response, OK, it that is the case, then why are you so anti calling it the white house as opposed to calling it what it really is, the presidential estate. Mind you I was making this case in they year 2000 prior to the arrival of Barak Obama, the first official African American to be elected to the position of POTUS.
Back to the person who asked about my blog title: I explain that being white is not just simply waking up and walking out your home and life is simply good. No, position is that being white in our culture is a performance of sorts. In my mind I delineate the notion of being white from the performance of being white. To be white requires an existential probe. To be white (again from my POV) is simply being white and not buying into the privilege or the easy access to the accouterments afforded by the dermatological and epidermal definitions.. That's a convoluted gobbledegook which simply says, I am white and that is it. To me, this represents a white person and NOT white folk. White folk again I link to imperialistic, classist, sexist, race consciousness which one uses either blindly or on demand for self identification and accessibility not afforded to others again because of dermatological and epidermal considerations. I have had to politely and sometimes with less decorum check check a few whitefolks who just for lack of better term got on my last half of the few good nerves I had left on particular days.

Crossing the line:
Again, at Barnes and Nobel I was wanting to check out with my purchase of books and cards for various occasions and I noticed that an older white man was running the cash register. There was a senior white couple in front of me and the store clerk was insistent on following the rules to a tee. To some degree I understood his position but at the same time I am like it should not take 20 minutes to buy books. While there were looking for their Barnes and Nobel card, I offered to allow them to use mine. The clerk said no no no, they can't use your card unless their family members. I was floored because to me what difference did it make.. Give them the discount, they're spending money and frankly I really don't care. So I tried to play the race card, in a nice way. They are my long lost cousins, now can you let them use the card. Now the couple was shocked that a young black man with locks would advocate for them. The clerk's response was, "Sir I'm going to have a hard time believing that." Part of me was insulted because I was like, who are you to tell me about my family genealogy. In fact, by marriage and even genetically there are white people in my family. Even the couple was taken aback. But I think I got the message. Sir, you are not white today, you were not white yesterday, and you will not be white tomorrow, hence, you cannot come to the aid of these white people tonight. But that wasn't the shocker. The real don't taze me bro moment came immediately afterwards. Now as I said-the clerk was older and a little slower. (Its sad that in the present or better yet post bush economy that 70 year olds have to work) Needless to say he was the only one working the desk for a while and a line was forming. Eventually another clerk came to the check out desk. I am thinking I am the next to be assisted in the line since she showed up. But no!!!! This short baldheaded Mr. Slate looking like SOB snatched my spot and everyone in the line saw how he did it. Again, white Folk in the front and now in the rear. This guy, with no consideration for the fact that I too was waiting to be assisted completely ignored me. In his world I was invisible, non existent, not even a structured set of molecules. Just broke the line. Now of course the spotlight shines on me.. people are wondering --what's he going to do now? What's he going to do now? Now by rights, he did deserve a sonic boom to the head, but no instead I elect to chill because. Its more important in my mind at least not to go for the bait that life throws at you. That's how one catches a heart attack or stroke. Now please don't misunderstand, in my mind I was pounding his head on the desk saying "da line is right here!!!! da line is right here you stupid (you fill in the blank). I can't go Shaft on people all the time. Thats the dilemma black people face. When and when not to go Shaft.

Paradise Lost

The one thing I hated growing up as a kid was seeing my mom and dad fight. As I kid I felt so powerless. Be ware of the ides of spring. I say that because as the sun comes out the clothes on people become less and less. That can be a positive or a negative depending on ones interpretation. Back to my post. Yesterday I was transported back to being 7 years old because I heard Jocasta venting like a banshee about here expectations for my future amid this bacdrop of transition. With her scolding me while Red Chief was sleeping I I'm trying to advocate on the side of being fair. In the midst of the conversation I flat out tell Jocasta that the remarks are acidic and not productive. I am probably one of the people who actually feel that under no circumstances should anyone say derogatory statements about a co-parent, especially in the presence of the child. It just is poor judgement. So as things progress, Jocasta goes down stairs still venting while get Red Chief ready for school. But noting is good enough for Jocasta. She continues to rip, continues to probe until finally I have to go to bathroom and I just start crying. I was so nervous on multiple levels. I nervous because whenever Jocasta goes off, immediately I am placed in the role of being subservient. What was even worse for me, was that I was taken back to the point where i was 7 years old and had to see my mom and dad bicker in front of me. Then it really gets heavy. The same things that I don't want for myself, which i don't want for him, he is experiencing. I could just remember myself in the bathroom just sobbing to myself, why is she doing this? Why is she doing this to him. He's innocent, non corrupted, but the tone and domineering demeanor are corrosive yet Jocasta doesn't see it. Eventutally I pull myself together but in the car, Red Chief is singing his ABCs and to hear his voice, so child like, so innoncent, again brings me to tears because part of me feels as though I failed him as a parent. Part of me felt as though I wasn't there to buffer him from that. Part of me feels as though I failed him because he now will grow up in the majority of kids with single parents. i don't want that for Red Chief. I feel that he deserves so much better, and I let him down. It's kinda hard absorbing the bits and pieces of transition. Well there is no kinda to it, simply put it is.. Money spent, emotions spent, hostilities at crazy highs,. The one thing I can take away from this particular experience in my life as I approach 40 is well hell after taking time to think, I don't know what to take. Its just so nummbing. i look at the pictures, I see the memories the time he was brough home from the hospital and the high hopes we had as we started our new life as a family-- Then the state of dis-ease hits and then chaos begins.
Tips to those: Especially African American Dads going through transitions such as this:

1) Place your child first at all costs. -- In the you and the co-parent are the ones who are responsible for binging this new being into the world. Whether or not the relationship with your co-parent contiues, the bottom line is the child always is priority 1.
2) Don't ever under any circumstances forget rule number 1.
3) Man up and accept responsibility. I don't mean for the relationship-but for the child. We as parents are the exclusive teachers of our children. The child, and I have accepted this, will always look to their parents as those who set the model. Do the right thing right now and lay a strong rock solid foundation.
4) I got this one from a book: Don't allow the court system to introduce you to your children. Be there, be engaged, be active in your child's development. How does one do this. Half the battle as the saying goes is showing up. By that, be there. Let him or her watch you prepare the meals, be there at practice, be there at the daycare if you have one, do things that are free. In my case--Red Chief loves trains, planes and automobiles. The things we do on the cheep,, are more enriching than any toy I could buy him. An example of this i got from my childhood. I remember my dad bought me airplane (battery powered at that) that just went around making plan noises shooting out sparks. i was afraid of the damn thing. But then when my dad took me to the airport to watch the planes take off and land. That was magical because I then understood why the toy plane was doing what it did-- it was taxing . How much did that cost us? Time.
5) know your parenting style and then work with what you got and build upon the rest. There are quite a few parenting styles out there.. i am not an authority but i will say this, in my case--i had to learn that i am a bit authoritarian meaning bossy. However, now knowing that, I can learn from my limitations and accentuate the positive while learning to work with the areas I need improvement.
6) discipline does not mean you are a bad parent. Discipline means you love your child, so much to the point where you are willing to direct him or her in making the best choices while protecting him/her from themselves. i.e., no you cannot stay up past 9:00, no, you cannot walk across the street without mom or dad--do you think putting the cup at the edge of the sofa is a good idea? I am going to count to 5 and if you fail to comply, you will be in time out.
7) I have come to understand this.. Toddlers cry. Toddlers cry when they don't get their way. Toddlers will stop crying. Here is the funny part, you as the parent have to remain cool. You've got to keep it together.. This means when they cry. Or at least I do this. if Red Chief cries, I give him enough space to allow him to do his thing give him three mins to let it all out. After, i guide him out of his tantrum by asking him to count to ten. Now this is where logic comes into play. He can't solve his problem if he is out of control. Contain the tantrum first, then re-direct the behavior. Now its not always easy but so far that's the best way to address the tantrums
8) Don't cry over spilt milk. Sounds cliche but it is the truth. Crying over split milk and cleaning spilt milk are two different actions. What's more important? Grieving milk which was spilled or cleaning the milk which was spilled. Strangely, there will be more messes to clean up than one will have enough time to cry about.
9) Get exercise, eat properly, and get sleep....a healthy dad is better use to a child than a dad in the hospital. Take preventative measures to keep yourself healthy. If it means that prostate exam, go get it. If it means shedding 50 pounds, get to shedding. If it means stop smoking--kick the habit... here is a link which might be of assistance
10) Pray