The Budget of Red Chief

"The Force is Strong With This One."
Today I gave Red Chief something I never had. I introduced him to the concept of money and a budget. I can’t believe I did it but you know what, I actually felt like a responsible parent. Not because I introduced him to the concept of capitalism, but because I showed him money that was his own and he actually had to start learning some sense of financial accountability. It was funny because as I picked him up from daycare, I told his teacher that today, Red Chief was going to get his first allowance, $10.00 from dad. To me, this was a milestone because I actually put that in my own budget. It was important for me also in the sense where, I actively changed the course of my own history. I never had anyone show me, this is your money, this is how much you have to spend, go make good decisions. In my 39 years on the planet, I never had anyone show me the concept of a budget, so for me, this is going to be a learning experience as well. So we went to the ATM, where I explained to him what the letters stood for and withdrew $15.00. From there, I had the teller break the ten dollar bill into ten one dollar bills. Going further, I asked the teller to be so kind as to count the money for Red Chief and put it in his little hand. The symbolic message here was ownership. I think what was also important was that you had three African American males transacting financial matters, thrusting the little one into the concept of money and responsibility. He was like, this is mine? I said yes but you need to count it to make sure you have what you are supposed to have, so he counted 10 one dollar bills which were all his own. After that, I told him he had to put it in his pocket and he was now responsible for the money. It was all his, to do with, as he wished. So as we were walking around the wallmart, he saw some big-gulp mugs of which one he wanted. I asked how much was it? He apparently didn’t know so I told him. These are four dollars each. How much money do you have? He responded back, oh, I have $10.00. Ok, so not only was he getting a lesson in money management, but also a reinforcement on subtraction. Here is where today got more interesting! I shared with him that he was going to have to purchase his own triple chocolate chip cookie and chocolate milk at B&N for our father/son cookie time. So now, the concept of budget hit home because I explained to him that his goal was to make sure that he had some money left over by the weekend. I was so proud of him as he remained focused in the Wal-Mart. We walked all through the toy section and the DVD selection where he saw his favorite cartoons. He held on to his money until we got to Barnes and when he got there, I explained to him that he was in charge. He needed to tell the person behind the counter what he wanted and he had to pay for it. The only thing I needed to correct was of course the politics of diplomacy. Make sure you say please and make sure you say thank you. When the clerk said $3.54, I popped him on the counter, opened up his pocket and asked him to count out four dollars and sure enough, he did! He didn’t understand the concept of change so I had to let him know, you wait for your change. Then it was my turn, I got a little nervous because I was fishing for my money and Red Chief was like, that’s ok Daddy, I have enough money for both of us. OK, I was shocked pleasantly but it also struck a nerve. Never will I allow my son to pay my own way! Thank you Red Chief, but dad can handle his own. He was like, but you don’t have it daddy. Then I had to come back with, boy, who do you think gave you your allowance, as I paid for my cookie. I think that was a real turning point for me. I actually can model good behavior. It was like I saw my toddler grow up a little, instantly. Me and his mom, some days to my surprise, are actually raising a smart, good little boy, despite our crossed transgressions. When I have days like these, when I see him after a long break, well groomed, smiling, happy, it makes me cry tears of joy. Some days they are sad because I feel like he is having to re-live my past. That makes me so self-conscious because I so want him to have a home with a mom and a dad under the same roof. That said, I also realize that it’s equally important that the mom and dad who are under the same roof are not just loving to the child, but equally loving to each other. I digress, when Red Chief and I got back to the penthouse, I already had dinner waiting along with some of his favorites, and of course, his not so favorites. On the plus side, there was chocolate milk, chocolate ice cream, peanut butter and jelly, did I say chocolate milk. Now, not on his hit parade were vegetables. These included mustard greens, mixed vegetables, vegetable juice, in other words, the foods every toddler hates. Red Chief is no exception to the rule. Me I just don’t buy into sneaking vegetables in through other foods. To me, its a deceptive trick which I don’t even like to do with our dog. So dinner was fun, we had beef ribs and mustard greens. Needless to say, Red Chief made a mad dash to his closet to obtain some type of toy as a diversion, enter the Jack in the box. Dad can only take so much, so after dad patiently eats his meal, he asks Red Chief does he need some assistance? Why ask the obvious? No daddy, I’m fine as I see not now a mustard green going in his mouth. It got so comical that he picked up my 500 page anthology on cultural studies and feigned reading it at the dinner table. This was so hilarious. I was tempted to ask him, which theorist do you prefer, Stuart Hall and his concept of re-presentation or Barthes work on semiotics? If he had a tangible response, I probably would have started taking notes. Even if Red Chief is slated to be a genius, he is still a genius in training and I represent the head Jedi Knight in charge. That said, on to the Jedi Mind Tricks and the politics of vegetables otherwise know as cajoling and bribery.
Red Chief, if you eat the veggies, you can have the other half of the cookie. Needless to say this only went so far. In my best James Earl Jones voice, the force is strong with this one… This called for a more sophisticated and philosophical approach. Red Chief do you need help with your mechanics or motivation? The words went over his head like a Concorde. Mechanics appeared to be the problem. So, back to trains, planes and automobiles. He ate his veggies and his beef and the world was a much safer place. And guess what, he had a BM! I was so pleased. (it’s the little things that count). Well after chocolate ice cream for dessert we settled up his finances. With six dollars left, he put it in his bank until tomorrow. If he does good, he’ll have some spending cash for the weekend. If not, well this is where dad becomes the ATM. But I have to say this, today as a dad, I felt pretty damned accomplished. Now if I can nail this job interview tomorrow, I’ll feel even better!!!!

Ain't Nothing but a D-Thing: A Black Man's Journey Through Separation and Divorce

Forward:
If you can remember these three constants about separation and divorce, you may actually make it through:
1) War is Hell
2) Life’s a Bitch and of course,
3) Shit happens.
Its like a three act play when you think about it.
The first act starts the action. One day, after a series of months maybe even years, you will look at your spouse or partner and say, Damn I can’t stand you or your ways anymore. Now, it may not come out that straight forward. Your first act might start with a more passive aggressive tone. You may come home, and be met with your shit at the door. Maybe the locks might be changed. Sometimes, the first act starts like an action movie. You may come home, go upstairs to your closed bedroom door and find your spouse in bed with the best man of your wedding, or your maid of honor. As your jaw drops to the ground, you instantly jump across the bed like a vampire in twilight, going for the throat of your spouse and the transgressor. Or, it might be more coy. You get the phone call about your spouse from the other woman. “I know he’s your husband, but I know he wasn’t your husband when he had that business trip with me in Nashville on January 24th. I can tell you of a certain tattoo located in a rather intimate place.” Or your first act might start out like a mafia movie. You might get the Good Fellas treatment where the brass knuckles are not too far behind. Out of nowhere, absolutely nowhere you are caught off guard. You’re walking off the job and you are met by a process server or deputy sheriff who instructs you, they will escort you to your home where you are able to collect the tools of your trade and a few items of clothes. Why? Because a protective order has been placed against you. Now while you are thinking about committing some of the acts you were accused of, that officer is there to save your life, because in the presence of the officer, you aren’t going to cross the line. In any event, if any of this has happened to you, welcome to the terror dome. You are about to board a rollercoaster ride beyond Space Mountain. War has been declared, and this is not a drill.

Separation/Divorce (War) is Hell, and has, in case you didn’t get the memo, Officially Been Declared

Separation and divorce don’t have to be states of war, however, as human beings, we thrive on conflict. Its like a sick adrenalin rush. We love the smell of war. The pain, strangely connects us back to the human side of life as opposed to bliss. I have yet to hear anyone say, I am in divorce bliss! No, being in a state of war enables us to finally say all that vile venomous vernacular which we have had pent up for months or even years.
I couldn’t stand you, or your damn mama. Kiss my black ass, not my ass hole but my whole entire ass. See what I mean. If you are married, and you are smart, you don’t act on it. You can think about it, but you don’t do it. That said, when the declaration of separation has been issued, war has officially been declared.

Life is a Bitch (and so are you for that matter)

During the separation and even during the divorce, your life will be bitchy. Lets face it, you will become a certifiable bitch. You will be bitching and moaning, why because your life has been completely discombobulated. There will be moments when you are straight-up depressed. Your heart is broken. You are mad not at the world, but at your spouse. That said, the world is a more readily available target, ergo you are hyper sensitive and bordering self-destructive. You may choose to self medicate. It may happen. You may go totally over the edge and make the 6:00 news (in which case you may not be reading this). Or, if you are lucky, truly blessed with family and friends who actually give a damn about your bitchy ass, you may make it. You may actually navigate yourself through this crucial cerebral mind field turning the corner to the next critical step, acceptance.

Shit (and Separation/Divorce) Happens
You can then say shit happens. Yeah, that was a part of my life. You can clearly identify the good parts and the bad parts and embrace both when appropriate. Your outlook on the world wont appear discolored. You can take what you have recently experienced, and just call it a chapter in the book called your life, as opposed to the final act, the curtain call where they lower your ass into the ground.

The purpose of these writings is two-fold. One, for me these writings are cathartic. If you don’t know what that word means, look it up. I consider myself in a process of healing and my journaling represents a healthy constructive antidote to the pain, sleepless nights and the long road to new self-discovery. The second reason for these writings is to help you the reader. I take it if you are reading this, your number just as mine, has come up; so, come on down, you’re the next contestant on catch the beat-down. You can make it. I am not promising that it will be a smooth trip at a cruising altitude of 40,000 feet. There will be times you will want to jump out of the plane without the damned parachute. Certainly, that option is available to you; but as I say that, realize this, bailing is a permanent solution to what really represents a temporary problem. By the time this comes to print, I will probably have the title of Ph.D. beside my name. Disclaimer: I am stating now for the record, that my Ph.D. has little, if anything to do with these writings. Furthermore, no I am not a psychologist, a relationship therapist, or someone with the brand new snake oil to sell. What I am, is you, Joe Ordinary. I, like you have and still in some cases have navigated through the maze of bitterness, toxicity, court, lawyers, child social services, you name it; I’ve had to face it. It ain’t easy. I am hoping that these writings will help you as there weren’t any out there for me, an African American man. I spent nights on the floor, crying at friends homes, searching laboriously through book stores, and for me, there really weren’t that many support services, let alone books or texts on the subject. In social sciences, this is what we would consider a research dearth. In layman’s terms, a hole, in Russell speak, I call it a damn shame. At the risk of sounding political, sure there are texts or books if you will that problematize black men and problematize the relationship between black men and black women; but there are few and far between any books which discuss healthy black marriages, let alone a healthy black divorce. Looking back at my family, I mean my grandparents, on my wedding day, you would never believe that my grandmother took a shot or two at my grandfather with her pistol. Divorce was not practiced in the late 1950s through 1975. Their generation believed in “death do us part.” More times than you would think, death operated as the agent of divorce. But now, if you do go through the divorce, some folk don’t know how to do it in a reasonable manner. When the separation/divorce becomes chaotic, anger driven, and malicious, love then becomes a battlefield. Last I checked; battles have yet to be bloodless. There has yet to be a war where there are no casualties. What’s even worse, if children are involved, they regrettably are the victims of collateral damage. I can speak to that because my parents divorced, and no, they did not prepare the best model for marriage or divorce. It’s only recently that I have now started to dress the wounds from 1978. Going with my mom, not knowing if my parents would get back together again, being one of the first generation latch key kids, anesthetizing myself with television; there are sometimes I wonder, what if my parents did separate and divorce in an amicable way, what would my potential really have been? In short, I am not writing this proposing to know all the answers. Again, this is a form of healing for me and a vehicle for you to possibly see yourself and look at this as one of the many available routes to get through possibly one of the most agonizing experiences you will ever go through.
As I would say, were we in a class setting, I have few a ground rules. They are short, yet still important.

1) No hating. For real, you cannot hate on me, but most important, you can’t hate on yourself.

2) Patience is essential. As you read through my experiences, the expectation is that you, the reader, will take notes about your experiences. How did you find out your relationship was in a terminal state. How did you feel? How did you manage your anger? How did you avoid self-medicating? Questions like these and others are powerful and need to be explored. I encourage you to read this text with others and talk about it. Each one should teach one and you would be amazed at the willful lack of communication we have among ourselves. Establish a meetup group, discuss your experiences in the barber shop. Whatever you do, practice and discuss your experiences.

3) Construct a new life mission. By the time you finish these readings, I expect you to have come full circle with yourself. This means, you should be inspired to re-design a plan to re-connect with yourself. Again, its not going to be easy. But hopefully, through my shared experiences, as comical as they may actually be, I had to do some internal and external make-overs. For me to be successful and provide a home that embraces love for my son, my outlook on life had to change. From that day, I became solution oriented. I became more critical and analytical about my decisions, my journey and the life I wanted to provide for my little boy. You will need to brainstorm and get to the point where you can say, damn it, I do love myself and screw the person who gave me grief and the horse they road in on every day of the week, twice on Sunday. Ironically, that may mean having to look your self in the mirror and saying that to the person on the other side.

4) Honesty is key. If you did some dirt, admit it. There are some things I did, skills I didn’t have.. That said, own it. Does it mean I am a screw up for life? No, in fact it demonstrates maturity. Knowing your limitations, whatever they may be forces cognizance and a means for new learning. Do me and money have a blissful relationship? No. Does it mean I am a failure? No. What it does mean, is that I have to learn skills to establish a better relationship with money. You may need to establish a relationship with communication skills. You may need to establish a relationship with sobriety. Whatever it is, own your limitations. It’s not a condemnation. In fact by owning your limitations, you can then begin to master them. As you own and master your limitations, you then start to become the master of your own fate. Master your limitations; don’t allow your limitations to master you. From there, everything else is a piece of cake baby.

5) I will not go over the cliff with you! Let me repeat that. I WILL NOT go over the cliff with you. It’s that simple; that short; that sweet. I will talk to you in the same manner I have talked to my students. In fact that probably got me the reputation of being that crazy one with the dreads. I have been known to shred my student’s work, literally to prove this one point. I’m hard; but life, life is ten times harder than me. If you don’t have high expectations for yourself, don’t expect me to waste my time with you. Failing my class is one thing. Failing life is something totally different. As long as you put forth the effort to swim, I will not let you drown. I will work with you in the class and outside of the class to make sure you don’t fail my class or life for that matter. That said, I will look over the side of the cliff with you. I will even allow you to tie a rope around me as you decide to explore the other side of the cliff. But when you start dragging me too close to the edge of said cliff, I will take out my machete and cut the rope like Indiana Jones, leaving you like Maxwell House, good to the last drop. That all boils down to my zero tolerance for bull shit. I am not going to bull shit you. Most important you shouldn’t want to bull shit yourself. If in the event bullshit arises, you are to take the book you are reading, to the nearest mirror and sufficiently smack the bullshit out of yourself. Once you have completed this task, you will then be free to move about the cabin, return back to your seat picking the up place in the text where you left off.

Simple isn’t it. Five easy rules to easily reading this text. You will make it. It may take you multiple readings and practice but if you put forth a real effort, be an engaged, active reader, you will make it through this. All I ask is once you have made it through, you pay it forward. Have discussion groups, learn to minimally use lawyers (unless it’s a 911 situation) learn effective means of communication, create your support groups, actively and creatively use therapy, journal: do all this and then some so that you can teach the next one how to get through this. If you can do that, and nothing else works, I’ll help you. But you have got to take the first step. As one of my good friends told me, your past and I are done. I am here in the present, to get you to here, your future.

New items for a kitchen

Having to start from scratch one really doesn't miss the warter until it's gone. I never took forgranted so much when I had it. But with every new acquisition, I can say I have taken another baby step. Yesterday, Red Chief and I collected some minor items for some long overdue brownies. Note to single dads: Make Super Walmart your new best friend. When you are working with a shoestring budget, where the string looks more like a thread, you really begin to celebrate the small things. I got a can opener for .97 and a mixing bowl for $1.50. Let's
see eggs for .67 and 3 2 liters minute maid juice for 1.00 each. To me that's grand. Learning how
to shop smart is essential for the single dad. I was about to buy a $3.00 knife set but getting to check out counter, I was like I can make the knives I have at home work. Another thing one learns is to buy in bulk so you learn how to make leftovers work for you. A good example of this came in the form of chicken. $8.00 for a big rack of 18 wings. Ok after we cut them up, we save want we don't cook. Hence, the freezer is getting stocked. More later. The Red Chief is calling

Relapse: A Flashback

Yesterday and not too long ago, I have to say I experienced a series of flashbacks to my childhood. RedChief was experiencing a slight cold of some sort and I had to pick him up from school. The daycare informed me that his temp had risen to the magic number of 101 degrees. Therefore, he needed to go home and rest. Ok, nothing too traumatic about that. They stated that they did, try to contact his mom, but to no avail; hence the back up parent was called. Namely, moi. Promptly, I get in the Knight Automated Tactical Transport (aka KNIGHT3K) and head off to the school. There, he did appear to be a little out of it; so, I quickly took him to the drug store to get some of the basic cure alls. Pedeialight, Ibuprofen, some Benadryl and of course fluids and fish. In this case the fluids consisted of Fruit Punch and Prune Juice. Prune juice was suggested by the pharmacist. According to his daycare staff, RedChief, hadn't had a BM all day. So as opposed to giving him a dose of fleet, prune juice would be much better. So we get back to the PentHouse, the new nickname for my current place of residence and let the medications begin. I even cut on some Scooby Doo for him because ironically, that is his favorite cartoon character of the quarter. Last quarter it was The New Adventures of Batman and Robin. Don't ask me, because I don't know why, but its like that, and that's the way it is. 6:00 PM, the phone rings. It’s his mom. Thinking this will be a friendly call: Unfortunately, I’m wrong. We commence with the interrogation, already in progress.
How is RedChief?
Did you take him to the doctor?
Can I come get him now?
Being peppered by these questions, I am flooded. The term flooded is one learned from our marriage counselor. Wait a minute, slow down, I say. He's fine, everything is cool. From there, the questions creep, bordering a hyper-extension into the category of demands.
OK, I want to pick up my son. By this time, I am consciously controlling my emotions as best as I possibly can. Though I choose not to articulate an immediate reaction, despite my best intentions, I’ve already mentally employed defensive tactical maneuvers. Quietly I'm thinking to myself, "what in the hell is that suppose to mean, your son.” …NOTE TO PARENTS: This is how separation and divorce can easily become toxic, potentially lethal. Allow me to qualify my definition of lethal. No, I am not singularly considering the term lethal in the physical sense of death, but more in the incarnation of a spiritual and psychic death. When parents begin to use the ultimate weapons of mass destruction—specifically our children, weaponized children can become everything from human shields, to landmines, IEDS, predator drones and of course smart bombs. Word choice is key. Timing is key. As parents, we know what the buzz words are. In psychology (note that I am not a psychologist, just one, like you going through this maze of human debauchery also known as a legal separation) they are called triggers. When the trigger is pulled, a projectile is launched, traveling faster than 432 feet per second, faster than sound, faster than light. From there, destructive thoughts come to the mind and guess what, children become collateral damage. In the words of military parlance, the casualty risk is too high. So not to be preachy, but to offer some unsolicited advice, put your child at the center of every breath you take, every thought you think, every word you say. Then, you and your partner/co-parent/spouse work to sustain the life you created. Now: back to our program. I attempt to maintain a sense of calm and control because 1) I can only control me. 2) How dare I allow another individual to have that type of power and level of control over me again, and finally the most important reason is this: Red Chief is in my presence. In the grand scheme of things what is more important to me is his well being. The constant mantra dictates "what is in the best interest of the child." I have a ZERO tolerance policy to exposing Red Chief to toxic situations, even when if they do involve me. So again, rather than debate from emotion, I try to evoke some since of logic.
I say to Jean Gray (member of what in my world personifies the Xmen) "Jean, he's already medicated and needs to sleep." However, Jean is persistent, "I want my son, and I want him now. Can you please have him available for me to pick up?"
By this time in the conversation, I can feel the calm trickling stream within my internal pond, slowly erupt, turning into a whirlpool of choppy waters. Why is this? Has our son become objectified, like a laptop computer, or a projector one reserves and checks out as they would a piece of equipment? Has the flesh of my flesh, now been reduced to the flesh of my flesh on lease? From my perspective, again at that moment in time, those were my feelings. Again I re-emphasize the potency of social linguistics, rhetoric and non verbal sub-cues. As you could easily detect, I was angry, again because of the triggers. I was emotionally flooded yet I still was cognizant of the control and power I had over myself, and trust me like my inner power, your inner power will be tested too. In my mind, regrettably now, I allowed Jean control over my mind and perceptions of our child. So that said, I forfeit any awards for dad of the day. Our son, according to Jean's interpretation, from my perspective (that’s labyrinthian isn’t it ?) is indicative of a rent-a-child. It’s a hard thing to say, and I know its got to be a hard thing for any parent to read. Again, I try to humanize the situation,
"Jean he hasn't eaten dinner yet; Is it an unreasonable request for him to at least have dinner? Again, the needle is stock on a broken record,
"I want my son, I want him now."
By this time I am done with the conversation. I realize that my attempts at being; not a co parent, but just a parent have again been thwarted. I simply surrender. Maybe surrender is too strong. I resign myself to the simple fact that I am a co-parent, and damnit, I am, regardless of anyone else’s opinions, I am doing the best I can, with the resources I currently have. My situation right here, right now, at this very moment is a temporary setback. And setbacks are set ups for come backs; look at Robert Downy Jr. Academy award nominee one day, state property the next, divorced the next, remarried the day after and now has one of the top grossing films of the decade. If he can loose it all, in the public eye and get it back, I can do that minus the drug abuse. So in short, I say this with all humility: To hell with anyone who has the audacity to stand in the way of my or my son’s progress. This includes family, ex family, friends, and especially enemies or as we say in the 21st century, “haters.” Be advised and be warned, your chances for success are better, standing on the third rail of a metro train. NOTE TO READERS: Sometimes you, like I have just done, have to reissue a personalized declaration of new found independence. This is where that strength you don’t know you have until you have to use it comes out. Get strong, get aggressive, get what is yours and get what belongs to your child. In essence get back to you. In my case-I’ve had to put the breaks on some things while taking risks I never thought I would take. I’ve had to stand up and advocate for myself in a court room. I’ve had to advocate for my son. I’ve had to advocate for myself in the presence of my mom and her sisters. Hell, I’ve even had to distance myself from a few of my friends because what is most important is being there for Red Chief. The following represents an example of how I took an already potentially volatile situation and instead made it a character-building situation not only for me, but for our son. I responded with the following:
"After he eats his dinner, I'll take him to the spot."
Enter the relapse, By this time, I can feel the tears welling up. Why: because, I again am forced to relive my past through the eyes of my son. –(It ain’t easy now)
I don't raise my voice, I don't argue, I just cooked his meal and made sure he ate it along with his hydration drink.

Just then another call from Jean comes in.
"Look, I'm sorry, I'm just nervous, You can keep him until 8:00PM." The one thing I hate is to be patronized and to me that's what happened.
"I want to make sure you get what you asked for and what we agreed to. No ups, no downs." Then again, the offer is made to 7:30. Again I say no.
You said 7:00, so 7:00 it will be.
Damn, is this really what co-parenting is supposed to be about? I don't want to set a bad example for our son so after he eats his dinner, I saddle him up and put him back in the truck and off we go to the spot. By this time I am dressed to go to the gym because by this time, I have a host of pent up of angst that must be worked out. We arrive at the spot and I'm cordial. "Where's mommy, where's mommy, Oh there she is." I smile and update her of his condition. Say what meds have been administered. I don't know why, she offered to buy me something, like a coffee or a cookie. I kindly refused. Then she again offered to allow for some family time for the three of us. Again, I politely refused. I wasn't angry, yet, I was annoyed. I was annoyed because I really felt like I was nothing more than an extension of our daycare employee. That really sucked. To me, and again, I might be reading too deep into this, I didn't feel like I was his father in her eyes, but again, just like last May, I felt like an appendage, a nanny. Not a husband, not a father but a nanny. I didn’t even feel like Tony Danza in the sitcom “Who’s the Boss?” I felt like an indentured slave who served at the liberty of his mistress. This probably explains why I elected to sleep on the sofa during the last months of our marriage. I can honestly say I felt under fucking appreciated. Not that I preformed the miracle on the Hudson or deserved to be invited to the Presidential Estate. I am Red Chiefs dad, and there are certain obligations and perks that go with the job. To make the situation better or more palatable for me or any parent in this position, a simple thank you and recognition has more currency than a cup of coffee or a cookie. Yes the episode made me angry but it didn’t and I have to emphasize this, it did not make me DYSFUNCTIONAL. That is the difference between a healthy parenting and destructive parenting. For me, I take from this slice of my life, which I humbly offer to you, the needs of the one outweigh the needs of few or the many. –OK its Start Trek but ride with me on this one: Our child is more important than a self serving custody battle. Our child (and yours for that matter too) is more important than winning a daily battle with a co parent. If I had it to do all over again, yes I would again fight to be apart of my child’s life. That said, as I have joint physical and legal custody, I don’t flex with it. By that I mean, I’m liberal and in some cases maybe over extend some of my visitation time with his mom. Why, because regardless of where the love is coming from (mom vs dad) our child is going to have the love of both of his parents. So that’s why I say, his development is more important to me than winning a battle (which translates into nothing more than another in a long series of fights with his mom) I wish my mom and dad could have seen that. Unfortunately, my history is my history—the good thing about that is this, there is no future in history. That simply means, my past, doesn't predict our son's future.
On a brighter note, I have confirmed my parenting classes. They start next Wednesday. I am excited because I actually get to meet others who are going through what I am going through while learning and in some cases improving on some skills.

Mothers day 2010

First, happy mothers day! As one could imagine for me mothers day this year is a bit conflicted. For the first time I have the court system managing how my holidays will be spent when it comes to my child. Don't I feel stupid? Yep I do. Even as I sit here and type fighting off a good sinus cold I'm even wondering myself if I am actively going to participate in any mothers day activities. Here is my concern. In 2002 I had the pleasure of escorting two women I loved to a play called the vagina monolouges. It was a wild experience when you think about it. On one arm I escorted the vagina that I traveled through to get to this planet. On the other arm I escorted the vagina that would bring my son to this planet. Eight years later, both vaginas have caused me and my son a great deal of pain; not only to myself but to each other. I won't go into too much history because simply put there is no future in history. Instead, I'll wordsmith. I did buy mothers day cards with the exception of the estranged spouse as our relationship is obviously strange rt now. But, I did purchase a card for Red Cheif to give to his mom because regardless of what happens to me and his mom, she will be his mother for life and I don't want my transgressions or impressions to muddy his relationship with his mom. To me, I want to make sure I always put his mom in the best light because I know the critical role a mom plays in a boys life. In fact, I even initiated making some peace with her. I called her yesterday and did something that I hope will be the start of a lot debt repayment. I told her I was sorry for any pain I caused her. I humbeled myself and just simply said there are some things, that were in my control that I really could have done a lot cleaner; among them keeping my mother out of our marriage. I acknowledged that we may not get back together and even said that I wished we had relocated to another state when we got married. The logic for that in my mind is simple, it forces the husband and wife to make things work as opposed to being emotionally and in some cases finicially dependent upon parents. Within the context of what's happened that probably was the best mothers day present I could give to my ex wife now co parent. Note to men in my situation: if you are faced with the court overseeing holidays with your children, remember the child really is the center of everything. If the court paper says have the child with the mother by 7:00 AM, have the child their by 8:00 PM the night before. I wanted to make sure that Red Cheif saw his grandma but even more important, Red Cheif needed to see his mom a d vice versa. It made logistics slightly uncomfortable for me, but again, it's not about me. Now on to the older vagina. I have to shake my head on that one too. I love the Queen Mother, I really do. That said she too has flaws that I have to address. I was so
outdone with the queen mother that I had to call the Duke of Earl last night, meaning her ex husband. During this entire process, and it is a process, the queen mother was acting more like Mary the Queen of Scotts crying off with her head every other day. Again I am trying to see things from her perspective because she is exceptionally protective of her prince son and her prince grandson. As I have said earlier, the prince had been charged and exhonorated for crimes he did not commit. As with any mother, the queen mother was no exception. She was propperly pissed. But in my last days at the royal estate, she just changed becoming more of a wild shrewish banshie and less and less supportive. In her eyes, the queen mother felt as though she was more of the indicted party here. She obviously felt put upon because she loudly put me and Red Chief out. Chalk it up to being 60 and wanting here space back. Here is where I have the issue: when vaginas colide.

Wassabi Tuna and the IRB

first, I did something I haven't done in a while, I went out. No it was not an offically date for two reasons. Admiditly I am emotionally vulnerable right now and to even think about that really is not in my best interest. It was an opprotunity to go
out have a good laugh and enjoy company of the female sex on Friday night. Guess what: I actually had fun. I mean I had intellegent stimulating non confrontentational conversation. It was great. There was no talk of sex and strangely I shared a small part of my self with her, my love of bookstores. After dinner at the cheesecake factory, note this was my first meal at the cheese cake factory, we actually had deep conversation. I wanted to know more about her, she wanted to know more a out my fear of fish, we discussed each others vulnerabilities. It just felt different. Now this wassabi tuna on the other hand, like I said, I like fish as long as it is in a plate, it was surprisingly good on the way down. Now later that night, like clock work, my alergies open wide. Guess that this means, a night of sneezing, snoring and blowing my 14k dollar nose. Right now I am still feeling some of the after effect. We took a walk to the book store (Note to the brothers in my situation: ladies love it when you allow her to see you for who you really are) and there I introduced her to books I have read, come
in contact with and even books related to my research. Here is the funny thing, she hadmentioned Hill Harper. I was like he's alright, but if you really want to engage in writers who in opinion who really engage the multimimentional discourse of people of color, especially when they operate within the duality of being African and American Dubois, hooks, Lorde, Locke, Hill-Collins
I mean it was fun for both of us as was able to act like I knew a little something, she geniunelly was interested. We even clowned eachother in the Dvd section. All in all I had a great time which was a long time overdue.
Now on to blasting the IRB. Turns out some items were missing and I found out about it over the weekend. Needless
to say I have till Sunday (meaning today to get them in). On the positive side, I am one step
closer to my goal today Than I was yesterday. Foodles!

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.

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.

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..

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

Time Out

At the risk of sounding like a race monger -- the term time out is a white thing. Timeout during the discipline process in middle to lower class black households, at least to me meant where the parent takes a time out from beating your ass. I recall one of the top ten beatings I got as a pre-teen. Report card day fall 1982. Coming home on the school bus, me and my best friend were comparing grades.. and it was like the countdown to Armageddon. He was like dude you might as well just give your Atari to me cause I don't think you going to be using it for a while. I was in denial; complete denial. I figured that ma would be pleased with my two Fs and one D because I played football during the fall. I think the grades were like this -- Math F, Science F, English D, Social Studies B, Physical Education/Health B, and Orchestra A. I was kinda pleased with myself.... Lord, what was I smoking, drinking, sniffing, or inhaling. When I got to the house, I got in at about 2:50 and turned on the TV. The first phone call comes from my Aunt who is wanting to know about my report card. I give her the news and she has a different view than me. "Do you know your mom is going to kill you?" Again, denial kicks in. I offer that football took up most of my time. 3:45, mom walks in all proud. You got your report card? (Note: this was obviously an icebreaker because she taught in the school system where I went to school of course she knew I got my report card) Yeah I got it, I think I did pretty good considering I played football this semester. I hand her the envelope and I see the contortions in my mom's face. She had on a Cheryl Teigs blouse and a long black skirt. What in the world is this? What are you doing with two Fs and a D? -- My response, I don't know how they got there myself. I tried real hard in those classes but I just don't think the teachers like me. The teachers I was accusing social bias included Mrs. Mekenna (math) Mrs. Allen (science) and Mrs. Blank (English) all of whom were white and I am sure were in some of the same classes Moses. I'm going to your principle cause this just doesn't seem right. From my mother's perspective, how could her son who scored in the superior/borderline very superior category of the IQ test make grades like these. One thing to remember, sons in the eyes of their mothers can do no wrong at least up to age 12. So while my mom is driving her camaro to my Jr high school, my aunt shows up to assess the situation. I don't believe it she says. Neither can I-- deniability is a good thing up to a point. At about 4:30 the phone rings. Its my vice principal calling with my mom also on the phone. Tick tick tick. I just hear the clock ticking on the bomb cause my world is about to get blown completely up. I remember the VP saying something about me misleading my mother, and I remember my mother saying we would discuss this matter further when she returned home. Mind you the vice principal was also white so it was safe to conclude that my mom was speaking in the tongue of the educator and concerned parent. Sub titles would be so appropriate at this moment because the sub script would read something like this--"send your soul to heaven because your black ass is mine!" At 4:47 the invisible timer hit 00:00 because that's when mom descended. She came through the door, took off her pumps, put on some dingy white and blue nikes in her long skirt and blouse. Went to the nearest tree which had the freshest green branches rolled back in the house and said, "I'm not beating on any new clothes I just bought! Take off them jeans!" I have never seen a woman move so fast in a long skirt.. Where I ran, it was like she teleported. After the switches broke and I still had yet to cry, she got my belt. She was a little out of breath so she took a time out. My aunt, who was there to observe the whole thing was no advocate at all, she was more like the referee in a wrestling match. After mom got her breath back it was like round two. She broke out the heavy artillery, the shoe. Still no tears.. My aunt was like boy you better start crying for you give your mother a heart attack. I'm going to give her a heart attack? I'm the one catching this monstrous ass whipping and you are concerned about her cardiovascular health? I'd say she was doing pretty damn good. But strangely when my aunt threw the guilt trip on me, I finally decided that I needed to at least fake crying cause I didn't want my mom to have a heart attack.
After I hollered like the world was coming to an end of course we all know the classic lines that follow--stop all that crying for I give you something to cry about. Of course I lost my atari privileges, my other aunt came and repo-ed my violin and threatened to repo my hamster. But that was only the beginning. My business got put on to the damn family pipeline and North South East and West.... Of course the irony now is that I'm completing a PhD and I have a son to throw all the same stuff back on me.....But at least he has time out.

On Parenting

The one thing I cannot stand is how the black bourgeois assault the image of the the Black Father. It just really makes me physically ill. Tonight I did dad thing, which really is every night I have the 37lb boss man. What is the dad thing. Plead with my boy to eat his veggies, at 6:30, allow him some time to watch Nick Jr. (that's at 7:15) get him to the bath by 8:30, read the bedtime stories by 8:45, and tuck him in by 9:00PM. That said, three year olds are very detailed at bed time. Mine, oh he is highly aware of his last eats before he goes to bed. He must have, chocolate milk. Ok, thinking that the chocolate milk would seal the deal, oh no, he then sees the Ritz crackers, of which he must have at least an entire stack. This is where my life becomes a sitcom. He starts to grab the crackers and I'm like wait a second, you said you just wanted chocolate milk. Yes daddy I know but I have to have something to go with the milk don't I? Needless to say this sparked a minor debate, where he folded his arms and put his yellow tail on the floor with his back to the fridge saying nope. Okay-- I breath in and breath out and ask him is this is final decision. Needless to say he starts the silent treatment. Now when my back is turned this little boy tries to just take the crackers, the ski mask way. This is when I then become my parents circa 1970something. I know you didn't just do what I saw you do. -- In hindsight that possibly was one of the dumbest questions I asked for the week because I think I was just dumbfounded that he just overtly defied me. Damn. I can't get too angry --because really it's nothing to get bent out of shape about, but at the same time, I have to put the "mutiny" down. I pick up the boy, take the crackers and we head right upstairs. It's about 9:12PM when war has officially been declared. With boy hoisted over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he is literally kicking and screaming because he knows in his heart, dad's hip to the game. See this is what is more commonly known as give the inch, prepare to build an interstate. This really wasn't about the cracker, not even the chocolate milk, but more so about him extending his Nick Jr time. This boy of mine is a closet Machiavellian, the ends will justify the means. I am kinda impressed but I really can't let him know that because then he'll think he's running things. Crying at full blast, making a run to the door saying I'm hungry I'm hungry I'm like if you don't put that little rusty butt to that bed. -- Still more negative feedback-- now back in 1970something this is where the long white belt would just show up like pootytang my dad would have marked a damn Z in my back like Zorro. The white belt, the switch (especially the green ones) and the paddle would end all negative feed back and insure immediate compliance. But remember-- that was then, and this is now. This is the negotiating age for toddlers where we try to constructively defuse matters of this type. I know, right. But damn if were even to think about in house corporal punishment, you might want to have a defense attorney on standby. Anyway after I got him to calm down-- see i have learned how to use my voice like Mufassa the lion, I think he got the point he was fighting a loosing battle. But don't get it twisted, he didn't go down without a fight. At about 9:30, homeslice comes down the stairs saying Daddy I want you to go to sleep with me. Again, logic and reason are tested, the result -- boy take yourself back to bed. But daddy I need you. This is where the pick and choose the battles thing comes to mind. Fine, if it means he goes to bed in the 9:00 hour, lets compromise. So he's in the bed, I'm on the sofa and he is singing hey diddle diddle. Then a light comes on and he sees it.. Daddy, Daddy, the light came on, I have to go see what's going on.. It's here where my late grandfather GW is channled through me I hear myself saying- Boy if you don't put your butt back in that bed. Ain't nothing down there for you to see. If something is down there you better keep your but up here so what ever it is don't hurt you. He was quick to get to the door knob, but I think he finally got the point, keep you little yellow tail in the bed. By 9:45 he finally was snoring off. Parenting in 21st century-- Man, I am so glad I didn't do this when I was 20soething.

Being a Dad

There are moments where I could let the worst of my situation just get the best of me. But to kiss my son good night and have him tell me he loves me puts everything in perspective. Right now I am watching him do what used to do, he's in his bed playing with one of his favoriate toys. Actually he got it when he went to the circus with his grand parrents. Looking at him and seeing him grow up and listening to his expanded vocabulary is well it's a real rush. I see him with his eyes wide open while I in contrast live with my eyes wide shut. Being a dad, particullary under the present dynamic has it challenges. There are some well many days I find myself waking up with fear. Am I doing this parenting job right. Am I a good model for him? Will his needs be met? I was told by one of the shrinks I see that apparently this is the cross I have to carry. Not only do I have to be a dad, I have to be a single dad. See in my case and I am sure with other brothers who may read my superflous ode to BS somedays, they too didn't have the model of dad in the house. I mean as there was the Cosby Show which provided examples of the model two parrent household. But rarely was there an example for the single parrent household. For some reason it was seen as taboo. Tv regretably perhaps is an agent of social construction. People look to it for idendity-shapping what have you. I kinda now wish there was a show that provided a blueprint for bow to raise an African American boy by a single African American dad. As much as I liked Sanford and Son you never saw the father/son development over the years. How am I going to do this-be
a model dad to my son? I am so nervous because the consequences for failue are eponentially high. If I wasn't before I am now: standing in the need of prayer.

Popularity Breeds Comtempt

This will be a cross post at MLTWF. In this new age of transparency particularly with government, we are now beginning to see those in power, suddenly coming under fire. The most recent contestant asked to come on down to catch the beatdown is former NC Governor, Mike Easley. From the media reports, apparently his political muscle went a little too far as he used his power and influence to get his wife an appointment at NC State University. From the now recent fall out, a provost and a chairman of the board of trustees of NCSU have been either forced out or been given their walking papers. Just yesterday the Chancellor of NCSU leaned on Easley’s wife to leave her position. How did all this happen? Could it be trip to Europe that I and other NC taxpayers fronted the bill for where he and his wife stayed at hotels which exceeded normal line item costs. Could it be the fact that his wife, a state employee received an 88% raise in pay when all government agencies were asked to cut back? What I find interesting is the ivory axe coming for one of its own. Again from my perspective when it comes to white collar crime, white folks have low tolerance when it comes to one of their own in a position of power operating in nefarious activities. Remember Mike Nifong. After being summarily bankrupted, tarred and feathered by the press, he then spent one day in jail after being disbarred all curtsey of the Duke Lacrosse Machine. From this latest report, I believe the feds are beginning to preform their version of a colonoscaphy on the former governor. Just think about it if you will. If you are like me, you don’t exactly look forward to a prostate exam. Now imagine Dr. Jeckle administering it. You really don’t want it now. For Mike Easly, he’s about to really feel the wrath of pissed off white folks, especially in this new age of transparency. Again, you’re the governor, and ex NC Attorney General, who’s going to stop me? What was that thing about Pride and Falling? Man that cliff is looking pretty steep, and I am a moderate democrat–somedays libertarian. As a rule, I usually stay away from politics because to me I really don’t see the spot where the interworking of the government I just see the aftermath. That said, maybe this should be my wake up call. After all, they are public servants whom we elect. I think the problem though is the status we associate with the elected official. We see politics as we do many things in our society, through the lens of celebrity as opposed to what it is, a job. As Chris Rock said, if your register comes up short at the Gap, you’re going to get fired. Same thing with our elected officials–there has to be some accountability otherwise the system becomes jaded and as usual you have the few feigning service for popularity-which as the culture club said, “Popularity breeds contempt.”