Tag Archives: family

Be Angry and Sin Not!!!

I don’t even know how to start this post, I’m so angry and so hurt.  The discontent that started nagging me sometime ago has built up and spilled over into a boiling fury that at this moment can only be temporarily relieved through writing.

We, meaning black people need to WAKE UP, WAKE THE HECK UP and stop making excuses, stop trying to clean the house right before company comes, when the truth is, our collective house, that is our community has become filthy, dilapidated, and rife with vermin.  We are in a crisis, but trying so hard to blame everybody else for the crap that we’ve let fester in our own home.  On friday morning at around 7am I got a call from my mom, distraught and choking on tears asking me “Did I hear…”, how many times have we gotten the “Did you hear..” call? The doom call to tell us that something horrible has just intimately intersected our lives? This time it was that my little cousin had been shot and was in critical condition.  I went straight to my closet and got on my face and screamed to My Father, let me tell you this , my mom called me to tell me the news, yes, but she also called me because she knew what I would do and that was to take this crisis immediately to My Father. I screamed and pleaded for my cousin, interceding on his behalf to the only power that can help.  I didn’t call Obama, Eric Holder, Jessie Jackson, or Al Sharpton. I called Christ and he answered. Anger had not set in just yet. After putting the call out to my church to form a prayer circle, I went to the hospital.  All the while I was receiving updates from my aunts about my cousin’s condition and the events surrounding his being shot.  I got to the hospital and met my cousin, my little cousin’s mom. I had arrived the same time that the chaplain had arrived. Straight up, I know this might sound messed up, but the chaplain was  THE LAST PERSON I wanted to see. He was there for support though, and we all prayed for my cousin. When we were finally able to go in to see him, I looked at him on the bed and my heart broke. I had babysat this kid before, and now at 22 he’s here holding on to his life. and FOR WHAT?!!! FOR WHAT!!!! because some piece of trash decided to be a coward!! My cousin had just been doing his job, working security at a club when things got out of control and this person needed to be escorted out. And what does he do?, instead of just scooping up his manhood and going home he takes his gun and shatters a life. Because why? Because some one told him NO? because his ego was bruised???Why!  I don’t know the exact answer but I have enough insight to draw certain conclusions.  But guess what though I don’t see protests for this, unfortunately it’s happening so often that it’s commonplace in our community.  Black men kiling black men.  It’s the invisible terrorism that we don’t want to acknowledge.  We want to align ourselves as “brother” and “sisters” I’m sorry you can count me out of that all are welcomed fraternity/sorority, I am not going to affirm this mess.  These are terrorists, these are degenerates right here in our own back yards, shooting, killing, drugging, raping, brainwashing, and all other manner of wickedness yet we can be so quick to vilify anybody else that’s not our complexion who we perceive as having disenfranchised us from the American Dream, but can’t look at what we ourselves have allowed to flourish right under our noses. Black men have lost their way, they’ve lost their purpose, they’ve lost their dignity, and their sense of authority, and responsibility to the youth, to their peers, and to themselves. And please, DO NOT get into your feelings, this is not a male bashing session, we women are very much a part of the problem as well because of our own devaluing of ourselves and lowering of our standards, we’ve accepted and allowed too much. There is much to be said about a people lacking leadership and leaders. In many ways we’ve stripped men of their natural roles as leaders and have affirmed their passivity. We lift up things that mean nothing. Materialism and hedonism reigns. We glorify it. We’ve glorified misogyny. I go to work every day and have to listen to the most disgusting, filthy and disrespectful things coming out of the mouths of people that we have happily placed as figure heads of our people. Drake, Lil Wayne, Nicki Minaj and list goes on. Vomiting through the airways ideals that become implanted into the psyche and manifest themselves through debauchery and senselessness. We have a problem here, It needs to be fixed. Black people, we need to get it together, and FYI our getting it together does not mean tearing down other races. Stop it. We need to stop covering up for this garbage that has infiltrated our community. Yes I am angry, I’m frustrated. I am a mother and I deal with these frustrations daily, but I’m also not raising my son to believe that his future is dictated by another person. “They won’t let me…” is not an option for failure. NO ONE has the power over his future but God, and himself. Because it is God who gave him his purpose in life to begin with. I’m not raising him to believe “We used to be slaves.” I NEVER EVER EVER  heard my grandma or grandpa say no stupid mess like that. Our forefathers who were enslaved had more dignity in their little finger than what we collectively have today. They worked hard to cut a path for us! Who the heck are we to lessen those accomplishments by perceiving ourselves to still be in bondage to someone else!??? The funny thing is the younger the generation, the more they hearken back to the past trying to use past injustices (that they’ve never suffered) as a crutch to excuse their own lack of motivation, as if somebody owes them something. Nobody Owes You Anything! Get over it, work hard and GET IT FOR YOURSELF. When are we going to stop this trend. We’re raising brats with a twisted view of self and men with an atrophied perception of manhood. It’s time to grow the heck up. We are at war within our own neighborhoods and it just so happens that the enemy looks like us.  We can’t keep making excuses for this mess. Yo, I’m DONE!  Our ancestors did not fight for this mess, they didn’t fight for us to be so hateful of our fellow man. Everybody is so quick to talk about the way we’re presented in the public and “We need to put out better imagery to change public perception” Yo I can do a photoshoot, any body can do a photoshoot, heck Terry Richardson is a great photographer but he’s still a pervert so what are we saying? That’s all we care about is “public perception”, what’s on the surface, but what about the inside? Huh? What about that? We have reality and network shows that make millions off of showing us as buffoons, backbiters, gold diggers, glorified whores, and the list goes on, and we laugh right along with it, we sing right along with the Pied Piper and shmoney dance right over a cliff. I listen to these rappers talking about how many women they’ve slept with, how much drugs they use, how many cars they have, how can’t nobody tell them NOTHIN’, then we wonder how a person can go to a club, hyped up on his own ego, fueled by a volatile atmosphere, with no training in restraint, and what it means to be a real man, how this person can turn around and shoot someone in cold blood. I hate the state that we’re in. It sickens me. I’m sick of it and trust and believe just because you can look in the mirror and say, oh well that’s not me, I’m not out here doing that, don’t think for a minute that your silence isn’t resounding. It’s exactly that look the other way attitude that has gotten us to where we are today as a society.

In the Bible, Queen Esther was charged with the responsibility of warning the King about the impending threat to the lives of her people. She had been divinely and strategically placed for “such a time as this” but she had to accept the responsibility thrust upon her. She had the choice to either act or stay silent, but check this out:

Esther 4:13-14

13 And Mordecai told them to answer Esther: “Do not think in your heart that you will escape in the king’s palace any more than all the other Jews. 14 For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

She could have stayed silent but that didn’t mean she was going to be safe, and that also didn’t mean that help would not come anyway. She had been given the honor to be the instrument of change. How much more so are we charged to save our own community?

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Dude Where’s My Blog and Part 1 of “The Raki Story”

What happened to my blog? This venture was supposed to be a fun journey where we traipsed and you tripped along with me down the road to mature adult hood and coming of age adolescence. Instead this became a prodigal sojourn where for the most part I left you the readers in the dark. I apologize for my somewhat stilted and formal writing style, I’ve been looking at Jane Eyre movies this entire week end and the narration of the book-to movie film has impacted my thinking so much that I fear Charlotte Bronte herself has possessed my writing. I’ll try to loosen up.

I realize now that when I started this blog I thought my life would remain pretty much consistent for at least 3 years or so. I thought that I’d be writing mostly anecdotal stories of lessons learned and funny glimpses into the lives of my son and I. Well that was true for at least the first few months after starting 30 and 11, now at 33 and 14. I must admit that the past year and a half has been the darkest and most trying time in my life. I’ve hinted at this in past posts and told you guys that I’d tell the story: I think now would be a good time to get it out. It’s pretty long and involved so I’ll have to break it up into a few parts. So let’s call part 1:


EXODUS: Escape from the District

The dictionary defines exodus as: a mass departure of people, especially emigrants. For our purposes let’s define Exodus as : an immediate need to jet, bounce, depart, etc from one locale to another. My flight from the DMV was prompted by a ever growing sense of unease, discontent, and the fact that the relationship with my son’s dad had descended to new lows of volatile proportions that could only be remedied through a curtailing of physical access. And straight up, my move was also in large part due to, as the ever so stern faced mustached Jimmy McMillan would say, “The rent was just too dang high!”. Shooo, I was living in Arlington, VA, in a 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom loft literally stitching my rent together piece by piece every month. We was hungry. So I made the decision to move to the promised land of North Carolina where my mom had promised us “2 hots and a cot”, military jargon for hot meals and beds to sleep in while I figured myself out. It wasn’t a bad deal except that, where she lives is in the middle of nowhere and that as SOOON as I told the dad about it, he went to WERK! And when I say he went to work, I would have never thought the Arlington County Court could process the amount of accusations that this dude leveled at me so quickly. I mean within a week I had subpoenas taped to my door. I won’t go into the details, because this is my story. My goal isn’t to rip on my kid’s dad regardless of the insanity that ensued from the moment I tried to level with him on why I had to make this move. I really want to give you guys a good understanding of what the summer of 2012 was like. Suffice to say that by hook and crook I got out of Northern Va, literally under the cover of darkness and found myself in the middle of COWVILLE USA, with no idea what to do next. I had the cops on my back saying that I’d kidnapped my own kid (who lives with me…) and to add to that, my first HUGE invoice for over 20,000 bracelets. It was the best of times and the worst of times. So, while I was in an out of court, I was also trying to put together a labor force to fill one of the largest orders I’d ever had in my life. Go figure. Plus my kid’s dad was getting married, BOOM! How’s that for when it rains it pours. I need to make clear that we had not been in any kind of romantic relationship for years so those feelings weren’t there, but there was A LOT of vitriol and it was suffocating me, and had been for years. So to be honest I thought that his getting married would release some of that tension, you know, focus his efforts elsewhere. I. Was. WRONG. WRONG. WRONGWRONGWRONG! Any who, so life was changing at an alarming rate, I couldn’t tell you guys about all of this stuff because like I said earlier, 30 and 11 was supposed to be a fun journey, not a perilous flight.

Cliff hangers suck, but unfortunately I have to end here. Come back for Part 2 I promise you it’ll be worth it, but don’t take my word for it (insert LeVar Burton, eye twinkle).

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Man Child



The Man Child slept. Haphazardly strewn on sheets askew and pillows too soft. It was the sleep of adolescence, carefree and untainted. But just beyond the window pane a light flickered, and then it happened. Not all at once, but slowly it crept in sweeping past the old lamp post on Browery St. The still balmy summer night heralding it’s coming like a light house in  fog beaconing an ocean liner. The thin reedy songs of the cicadas were hushed as it rolled in leaving in it’s wake the sweet scent of honey suckle and lavender, with touches of apprehension mixed with fear and mystery…


photography credit: moi

short story: moi too







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The most selfless time you can spend with your parent is helping them buy, then teaching them how to use their first smartphone.


1. Babyboomers want to read the manual at all costs.

2. My real purpose in life is to be a line of defense between my mom and those Best Buy workers.


4. Passwords, Usernames, and Security Questions are real progress bandits. They are pitfalls that suck in your parents and make them begin to “MULL”…and when mulling ensues you know the next 5-15 minutes are a wrap.

5. SLOW DOWN. I think the biggest lesson I learned while helping my mom buy her phone and learn how to use it this weekend was appreciating the need to slow down. It’s different than being patient. Patience can sometimes mean just suffering through something with a polite smile or at the least, humoring a situation with finite placidity. I definitely had to employ patience this weekend, but in slowing down I was able to just really enjoy spending time with my mom as well as understanding that yeah, sometimes I should read the manual, question the sales people, read the packaging, save the packaging…the twisty ties…the little baggies, use scissors instead of teeth and nails when opening things etc. Slowing down really helps me appreciate the moment.


This I Believe

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Is This The Little Boy I Carried?

A Cake fit for a Being

A Cake fit for a Being

Well, this is what happens when you let him decide what goes on the cake. *sigh

In a few short hours I will be mother to a teenager. Y.I.K.E.S. We held his birthday party yesterday, saturday because Monday would have been too hectic.  There will never be another moment like this, literally, he’s 13, and I’m the converse: 31… and it’s 2013.  It’s just a cool little coincidence, and if I played the numbers I’d play 13,31,13 in that order. I still can’t believe my kid is a teen, and I feel like he’ll probably go to sleep, and out of spite grow an inch tonight so that he can be taller than me in the morning just to prove a point. The past year was pretty tough, this time last year I was in the midst of trying to abate a nervous breakdown and losing the battle.  I’ll tell you guys more about that later, but now I’d like to take a few moments to extoll the awesomeness that is David.

David rides around the neighborhood in snow boots and shorts, on a vintage BMX Mongoose bike with a bow and arrow strapped to his back wielding a 2 ft long Nerf sword. I love that about him because he really is a kid who does what he wants and doesn’t let pretense keep him from enjoying himself.  He still gets excited about stuff, he’s not “over it” as so many teens and preteens are these days. There’s an awesome sense of wonderment that I wish I could preserve in him forever although I know that, along with his estimation of my coolness, that too will begin to fade in the years to come. I just pray that he knows that no matter what, I love him with a vulnerability that’s hard for me to comprehend. That’s what parenting really is, it’s vulnerability, it means loving another person so much that self becomes secondary.  I’ve learned a lot about the resiliency of this kid, he’s surprised me with his maturity and tenacity even as I sit here watching him repeatedly stick his finger into a container of slime making it expel pitch perfect fart noises (the sloppy kind).  I took for granted the roundness of his face, and almost missed the sharpness of his mind. A fact I should have noticed years ago when at an early age, drawing on his superior sense of reasoning and observation: Dave posed the question:  “Mom, do I have utters?”

I could really go on and on about the joy my boy brings me. He makes me happy though not in a dependent way that can be sappy and is sometimes an unfortunate consequence of single parenthood. Yeah, he can get on my nerves and frustrate me to the point where I need to take a time out, but thankfully, those times are rare.  I delight in him and enjoy being his mom and wouldn’t want him to be any other way.

Happy Birthday Dave!

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