"The reason that we have consistently had underperformance among our children is because too many of us think it is acceptable for them not to achieve. And we have to have a mindset where we say to ourselves, every single child can learn if they're given the resources and the opportunities. And right now that's not happening."
-Barack Obama at the 2007 Democratic Primary Debate at Howard University
"I'm going to insist that we've got decent funding, enough teachers, and computers in the classroom, but unless you turn off the television set and get over a certain anti-intellectualism that I think pervades some low-income communities, our children are not going to achieve. "
-Barack Obama on NBC's Meet The Press July 25, 2004
"“If you are planning for a year, plant rice; if you are planning for a decade, plant trees; if you are planning for a lifetime, educate people.”
-Chinese Proverb
________________________________________________________________
I'm sitting behind a desk in a classroom full of high school seniors. I am praying that they make it beyond their chosen stations in life. I say chosen because they are obviously brighter than their conversations indicate. Rims, shoes, and any rapper with "lil" in his name pervade their conversations. I hear talks of babydaddies, bad mommas, and mments of conscious indiscretion. Profanity flows from their lips like rivers of bile.
This is our future...
The children here are undisciplined and it's not their fault, to a point. At this school, tardies are unheard of. The bell rings and there are 1,000+ students still wandering the hallways as though they have nowhere to be, nowhere to go.
Class is merely a place to socialize. The club being more important than Calculus. The new Jordans are more important than George Washington.
Fights get discussed more than football games. Consequences are few. Crackdowns aren't forthcoming. It just doesn't "look good," they say, to have a bunch of write-ups coming out of your school.
These kids are being miseducated at a political cost. The principal is fighting and so many others are apathetic, or ignorant, towards the problems. Kids cannot learn if they are living the "Freakonomics" of failure.
At this school 60% of the children read AT or BELOW a 5th grade level.
Over HALF of the school is on free or reduced lunch.
AND they have all but given up hope...
They have relegated themselves to being illiterate, impoverished, and for the most part uneducated.
They don't want to learn, they just want to live.
The only problem is, we're not giving them a chance for survival.
Without some of the fundamental skills that are imparted upon students during their formative high school years.
I truly do NOT understand how some teachers do it....fight for these students with little to no support.
It's honestly on the verge of breaking me.
How could we have possibly screwed up so bad that the concept of en loco parentis no longer applies in the schools.
Maybe it's too many teachers only around because they get summers off...
Maybe it's too many administrators without clear educational aspirations for the pupils...
Maybe it's administrators refusing to discipline in favor of friendship...
Maybe it's just me...
Monday, October 22, 2007
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Beneath Poverty: The Underbelly of Birmingham...
This is another article that some of my close friends have read. I felt like this is another one that needed to be shared. I wrote this one about 6 months ago. Far too often we ignore the blessings we have in favor of the desires we want...if you're in SOME FORM of shelter, have a LITTTLE bit of food in your stomach, and even a small bit of change in your pocket. BE THANKFUL. Tell me what you think.....
______________________________________________________________
“Hell, I been out here so long sometimes it don’t even seem like I lived nowhere else…”
Behind a building filled with luxury lofts, around the corner from the Alabama Theater, across the street from a nondescript building that holds a credit union and some accountant offices is a pile of rags. Nestled up against the cold concrete of a retail store turned prime apartment real estate and the cobblestone of an alley only frequented by stray cats and high end automobiles looking to enter their hidden parking garage is a dingy, dirty, pile of must rags and sheets.
Cuts and tears in the piss yellow sheets resemble those made in a Halloween costume of days gone by. A sheet fit for a forgotten, thrown away ghost. Willie Foster could very well be considered all three. Forgotten. Thrown Away. A ghost.
“I sleep with my face pushed right up into that corna’ right there. It keep the wind off my face,” says the pile of rags. Tucked away in a cobblestone alley is the ghost of a man forgotten by society. He lives at the mercy of others excess, a half eaten sandwich here and a thrown away flat coke there. A street professional, this ghost has lived on the streets of Birmingham and various other cities for more than 15 years.
“Shiiit man, I just want the same thangs that err’body else want. A roof, some clothes, and maybe a little something warm on me every once in a while.”
Clarence “Bud” Flowers lives in the shadows of skyscrapers. On cold nights, he walks constantly. He searches for a steam grate to warm his body with and a corner to curl up into. Only when the cold is unbearable does he attempt to find a shelter. Occasionally he gets a warm spot near a generator or a place with a little bit of covering to take some of the bite off the cold.
“Hell I used to have a family and everythang man! But shit sometime you know that thang don’t work out like you wan’ it to,” he says. Bud still carries memories of his family that he rambles unintelligibly about sometimes. “That gotdamn Shirley was the best damn woman…got a lil’ lovin way about her,” he says. His dark brown eyes gaze off into the distance as he waxes nostalgic about yesteryear. Days when work was normal. Nights when love was his shelter. “Ain’t like that no mo’. Hell, I’ll be good to get a few dollars from a few of dese young peoples out here.”
“Man, don’t let that shit get at you. I’m tryin’ to tell you it ain’t nothin’ to play wit’.”
The smell of cheap wine covers Bud like New England Fog. Burn marks both old and fresh sit menacingly on his fingers, glaring at passersby from behind his clenched fists. “I ended up out here ‘cause I let that that shit get in my arm and shit. Now I can’t get rid of it,” he said. Bud is an addict. Crack, Heroin, and Cheap Wine, pick your poison. Death is his own personal vulture, hovering unseen to all those that ignore him. Sickness follows him, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Bud lost his family to his addictions, lost his job to his passions, and his mind to the streets. He is a shell of a man searching for sustenance in back alleys and vitality in corners full of degradation and vice.
The wind nips at Bud’s neck and he instinctively pulls the sides of his jacket tighter around his sunken chest. Ashy bruised knuckles with thin, gangly fingers grip his only protection from the elements in an attempt to keep him warm. Bud eases back onto his heels and leans into a wall as he continues talking about his life on the street.
“Shit, I been stabbed, beat up and hit wit’ stuff. All kind of stuff happen to ya’ out here man. Hell, an ol’ nigga like me won’t be here too much longer.”
The small knick on the right side of Bud’s face contrasts with his skin color like an Oreo floating in milk, it almost gives him childish charm that is unseen unless studied carefully. His eyes are wide and dark. They dart back and forth alluding to either constant awareness or the throes of a prolonged high. “Hell, you got ta’ watch your back out here. You got crooked police and these lil’ young niggas tryin’ to take shit from ya’.” Street life is killing Bud and he knows it.
“Hell, I’m ready to go. Least I won’t have to worry no more…hell, may be the best thang anyway.”
Bud knows how his story ends. He’s seen it before. He knows street folks that have died from the cold, an overdose, a beating. He doesn’t expect to be the old homeless man that a family takes in and treats like grandpa. He doesn’t want to be the man cared for by some University as its charity case. “I ain’t goin’ to no damn school man. I’m too old for that shit,” he says. Bud lives at the edge of existence. Death stares at him from the abyss below beckoning him to jump into it’s frigid embrace.
“Shiiiit, I know I ain’t gonna be here too long. Hopefully the good Lord will welcome me in,” he says. Thrusting himself away from the wall, Bud waves his hand up in a gesture of finality. Obviously exasperated with talking about himself, he wobbles toward the dark alley and away from the glare of streetlights and passing headlamps.
Bud ambles lazily back into an envelope of darkness in a forgotten pocket of big city life and traffic possibly to never see the light of day again.
______________________________________________________________
“Hell, I been out here so long sometimes it don’t even seem like I lived nowhere else…”
Behind a building filled with luxury lofts, around the corner from the Alabama Theater, across the street from a nondescript building that holds a credit union and some accountant offices is a pile of rags. Nestled up against the cold concrete of a retail store turned prime apartment real estate and the cobblestone of an alley only frequented by stray cats and high end automobiles looking to enter their hidden parking garage is a dingy, dirty, pile of must rags and sheets.
Cuts and tears in the piss yellow sheets resemble those made in a Halloween costume of days gone by. A sheet fit for a forgotten, thrown away ghost. Willie Foster could very well be considered all three. Forgotten. Thrown Away. A ghost.
“I sleep with my face pushed right up into that corna’ right there. It keep the wind off my face,” says the pile of rags. Tucked away in a cobblestone alley is the ghost of a man forgotten by society. He lives at the mercy of others excess, a half eaten sandwich here and a thrown away flat coke there. A street professional, this ghost has lived on the streets of Birmingham and various other cities for more than 15 years.
“Shiiit man, I just want the same thangs that err’body else want. A roof, some clothes, and maybe a little something warm on me every once in a while.”
Clarence “Bud” Flowers lives in the shadows of skyscrapers. On cold nights, he walks constantly. He searches for a steam grate to warm his body with and a corner to curl up into. Only when the cold is unbearable does he attempt to find a shelter. Occasionally he gets a warm spot near a generator or a place with a little bit of covering to take some of the bite off the cold.
“Hell I used to have a family and everythang man! But shit sometime you know that thang don’t work out like you wan’ it to,” he says. Bud still carries memories of his family that he rambles unintelligibly about sometimes. “That gotdamn Shirley was the best damn woman…got a lil’ lovin way about her,” he says. His dark brown eyes gaze off into the distance as he waxes nostalgic about yesteryear. Days when work was normal. Nights when love was his shelter. “Ain’t like that no mo’. Hell, I’ll be good to get a few dollars from a few of dese young peoples out here.”
“Man, don’t let that shit get at you. I’m tryin’ to tell you it ain’t nothin’ to play wit’.”
The smell of cheap wine covers Bud like New England Fog. Burn marks both old and fresh sit menacingly on his fingers, glaring at passersby from behind his clenched fists. “I ended up out here ‘cause I let that that shit get in my arm and shit. Now I can’t get rid of it,” he said. Bud is an addict. Crack, Heroin, and Cheap Wine, pick your poison. Death is his own personal vulture, hovering unseen to all those that ignore him. Sickness follows him, waiting for the right moment to pounce.
Bud lost his family to his addictions, lost his job to his passions, and his mind to the streets. He is a shell of a man searching for sustenance in back alleys and vitality in corners full of degradation and vice.
The wind nips at Bud’s neck and he instinctively pulls the sides of his jacket tighter around his sunken chest. Ashy bruised knuckles with thin, gangly fingers grip his only protection from the elements in an attempt to keep him warm. Bud eases back onto his heels and leans into a wall as he continues talking about his life on the street.
“Shit, I been stabbed, beat up and hit wit’ stuff. All kind of stuff happen to ya’ out here man. Hell, an ol’ nigga like me won’t be here too much longer.”
The small knick on the right side of Bud’s face contrasts with his skin color like an Oreo floating in milk, it almost gives him childish charm that is unseen unless studied carefully. His eyes are wide and dark. They dart back and forth alluding to either constant awareness or the throes of a prolonged high. “Hell, you got ta’ watch your back out here. You got crooked police and these lil’ young niggas tryin’ to take shit from ya’.” Street life is killing Bud and he knows it.
“Hell, I’m ready to go. Least I won’t have to worry no more…hell, may be the best thang anyway.”
Bud knows how his story ends. He’s seen it before. He knows street folks that have died from the cold, an overdose, a beating. He doesn’t expect to be the old homeless man that a family takes in and treats like grandpa. He doesn’t want to be the man cared for by some University as its charity case. “I ain’t goin’ to no damn school man. I’m too old for that shit,” he says. Bud lives at the edge of existence. Death stares at him from the abyss below beckoning him to jump into it’s frigid embrace.
“Shiiiit, I know I ain’t gonna be here too long. Hopefully the good Lord will welcome me in,” he says. Thrusting himself away from the wall, Bud waves his hand up in a gesture of finality. Obviously exasperated with talking about himself, he wobbles toward the dark alley and away from the glare of streetlights and passing headlamps.
Bud ambles lazily back into an envelope of darkness in a forgotten pocket of big city life and traffic possibly to never see the light of day again.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Adventures in Substitute Teaching...
Many of my closest friends have read this article I wrote probably around 6 months ago about some of my experiences as a substitute teacher. . .
Today, I've decided to share it with the world.
This blog post is dedicated to the Students at Shades Valley/JCIB who have made my experiences in teaching wonderfully enlightening and enjoyable. You all have helped me to find my passion.
_________________________________________________________________
Adventures in Substituting…Diary of an Endangered Species
I am a substitute teacher that takes his job too seriously. I am the one man crusade getting paid fifty bucks a day to baby-sit the children of Jefferson County parents while their real teacher is out sick, on vacation, or just plain fed up. The only problem is, I want them to actually learn something.
Walking into the front doors of any high school, after having received both a diploma and a degree, proved to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in life. My stomach was in knots as I moseyed down the fluorescent hallways to my assigned classroom. Today was my initiation into the world of education. I was to become a member of a fraternity of individuals who not only act as teachers, but disciplinarians, and at times surrogate parents
I sat idly behind the teacher’s cluttered desk waiting on the bell to ring and usher in a pack of trendy hipsters with no other purpose in life than to make mine, the new sub, a living hell. As the students amble in one by one, eyes heavy from their early morning bus rides and late night phone conversations about absolutely nothing, I am overwhelmed with a sense of queasiness that twisted my stomach into a Jacob’s Ladder.
“Hey, we have a guy substitute! Oh my God, and he’s black,” yells the 5’9” track star with the flowing ebony locks of hair, “I have got to take a picture!” I chuckle just a little bit and proceed to ask them to take their seats.
Being a substitute has made me highly aware of two facts. I am Black. I am Male. While these were always very obvious to me, I had no idea how obvious they were to those around me. Being such has made me a benefit to some and an oddity to others.
On the one hand I provide a friendly face and an articulate voice to an entire group of children that are “hard to handle” in the predominately white Jefferson County School System. I look like them, I speak their language, I can relate to them. Only six years (and 30 pounds) ago, I was in their shoes.
On the other hand, a male teacher is hard to swallow for some. A black male teacher that isn’t teaching athletics is even harder to grasp. I never was good at basketball, I’m too short. I couldn’t play football, I’m too small. I preferred Chess, poetry, and females to locker rooms and jock straps. I preferred Sum 41 to 50 Cent. I was simply different.
Patrick Carrington is an anomaly such as myself. The 11th grader prefers to wear button-down dress shirts instead of the long nightgownish tees that his friends swim through the halls in everyday. His square toed oxfords are immaculately polished and provide a sharp contrast to the $200 Jordans and Nike Air Force One’s that his peers wear.
Patrick often walks a lonely road in the land of promise and pain that is high school. He stares straight ahead when swiftly making his way through the crush of students that clutter the hallway between classes. He is a young man determined.
I was Patrick’s substitute for a vocational technology class, and was mildly inspired when the young man with the neck tie in a Windsor knot asked me about college, “Is college really that hard, Mr. Hullett?”
“Well, for me it was. But that was only because my focus was wrong in the beginning. I honestly went to college because there were prettier women there,” I reply with a smile. Amused at my response and shocked at my candor, Patrick laughs nervously and fidgets in his chair. He then sits in amazement as I detail the finer points of success in college. I go through the typical clichés and offer him unconventional wisdom.
“Make sure you study enough to get good grades, but don’t forget to have fun,” I tell him. He smiles and says, “Yeah man, I know I’m gonna party when I get to school.” I smile and urge him to focus more on the books than the babes and beer.
Glancing at the clock, I realized I have talked to Patrick for more than an hour. The bell rings and Patrick gathers his items. He says, “Thanks Mr. Hullett, you’re a really good role model. I hope you come back.” I smile and promise to hurry back soon.
“Why do we have to take math? I am never gonna use this stuff again in my life! This is so stupid,” shouts Rusty in the middle of his Calculus class, his pale face flushed and his mop of red hair tousled all over the place. The rest of the students freeze and look like sheep that have wandered into a wolf’s lair. One half of the class is expecting me to explode and write him up like so many substitutes that they have had over the years. The other half of the class is expecting me to nod and smile and pretend that I didn’t hear any of Rusty’s outburst of exasperation.
What they fail to realize is that I’m not the 68 year old retired blue hair who is subbing to keep herself feeling useful, or the 43 year old retired banker who is subbing just for something to do. No, I am the 23 year old naïve optimist, hell bent on making sure they charge bravely into the future.
“Do you really think that you’re learning calculus to teach you how to count,” I ask Rusty? “You’re not learning how to count Rusty, you’re learning how to think. Counting was achieved and mastered in third grade. Everything after that is teaching you problem solving, critical thinking, and logical reasoning skills.”
“I still want to know when in my life that I’m gonna use calculus! This is not what I need to be a police officer,” he bellows, his response a little less intensely delivered than his initial outburst.
“Rusty, when have you ever seen an unknown number? When have you ever had to find the square root of something outside of school? How did those things challenge you though? How many times have you had to work through some problem in your life without having all of the information? How many times have you had to reason your way through something, or break down a concept for your own understanding,” I ask?
Although the questions come rapid fire and in structured succession, Rusty doesn’t seem to feel challenged, his anger is slowly subsiding as the redness slips away from his face. He eases back in his seat and gives me a puzzled look.
“If you’ve ever figured something out on your own, you can thank math for that,” I said. It appears to be the death blow to his argument. With all the fight taken out of him, Rusty eases back in his chair and continues to do work diligently in his Calculus workbook.
The other students exchange glances and breathe the comfortable breaths of newfound knowledge. Calculus no longer seems as scary to them as it once was. A student whispers, “Damn, Mr. Hullett don’t play that huh?”
Later that day, I am recounting the story to the School Secretary, Ruth Waldrep, and she says, “Wow, you mean you actually got them to understand why they do math without raising your voice? You’re a good one.”
I simply reply, “I used to be them…”
Teaching has not all been triumph. As with anything in life, there is both feast and famine. The times of feast make us smile and remind us of the beauty and wonder that childhood and adolescence contains.
The famine though, is often heart wrenching and emotional. We are reminded of our teenage angst, our frustrations and the gripping fear of adult hood that held us captive as children.
You begin to care so much that your life takes on new purpose. Their triumphs become your joy, and their failures hurt you worse than it hurts them at times.
Standing in front of a tenth grade English class is a daunting enough task, it becomes even tougher at 1:30 on a warm Friday afternoon. To add on to my anxiety, I’ve been given instructions to administer their tests, a 23 question quiz on Perfect Progressive tense.
The first two periods of the day finished the quiz in well under their 30 minute time period. This last class, as I expected, would be no different. Except for one student.
Marquez is having a rough time. With two minutes left for the test, his paper is blank, his brow is furrowed and his palms are sweaty. I stare at him in a futile attempt to gauge what he is thinking. Suddenly, he picks up his pen and begins to write frantically. Scribbling answers all the way down the page in just enough time to beat the clock. He slithers out of his sit and propels his body to an upright position. He ambles up to my desk and nonchalantly lets his paper flutter to the pile. Wondering how the dreaming child with the sad eyes and unkempt hair in the first row is doing, I look at his paper. Each answer is the exact same, “I don’t no.”
I shake my head in disbelief and look up to see Marquez staring back at me. I wave my hand, beckoning him to come here. “You think she’ll understand, since I wasn’t here these last two days,” he asks?
I tell him that I don’t know and began to study his face, looking for some sort of dishonesty or an “I don’t care” attitude. I come back from my cerebral fishing expedition with nothing. Behind the baggy jeans, expensive shoes, and oversized basketball jersey is a young man who needs help, but it seems though his appearance, his vernacular, and customs are holding him back. He looks like a thug to some, talks like a rapper to most, and fights his peers as though his last breath depended on it. On the inside though, Marquez is simply scared.
I later hear him exclaim to a group of friends, “Ain’t no nigga gon’ catch me slippin’ in my cutlass cuz. On everything I love I’ll put two in a nigga.” His fellow students nod approvingly, with beaming smiles. I tell them to quiet down and get back to work.
Five minutes later a young lady who recently transferred from another school system (she had been expelled for fighting) creeps up behind Marquez as though they are children playing Cowboys and Indians. She makes a gun with her fingers and gently presses them to his temple in an almost inappropriate manner and says, “Bang nigga. You dead. Anybody can get got.”
I tell her to move away from Marquez and bring her seat closer to mine in an attempt to gain command of her rowdy group. The tactic restores order but the mentality still disturbs me. I can’t help but see a possibility of foreshadowing in the young lady’s actions and in Marquez’s cold and undisturbed response. While I’d like to chalk it up as youthful horseplay, the scene replaying itself in my head is simply chilling.
The concept of Social Learning Theory teaches us that children often form attitudes and beliefs based essentially on imitating their parents and authority figures. While many of these ideas are formulated during a child’s formative toddler years, one cannot ignore the adolescent stage and children’s impressionable nature in this period as one of intellectual development.
Substitute teaching a middle school class is probably one of the most tiring things anyone can do. Between the overactive bladders, hyperactivity, and general inquisitive nature of 11, 12, and 13 year olds, middle school teachers could most likely be seen as the Marines of the educational field. It is definitely intense.
I volunteered myself to sub for an 8th grade class at a suburban, predominately white middle school that had received a boom in the influx of black students over the past couple of years. While this shouldn’t be cause for alarm, at the end of my day subbing there I couldn’t help but think that there were certain elements fearful of this new wave of students.
“One in four of you will be victims of violence at some point in your life,” said the school counselor. She had taken over my class in a coffee driven, blonde haired, pancake makeup whirlwind. She was supposed to be giving them the lecture that she had given the other 7th grade classes.
She looked out over the bright faces of the class and asked, “Does anyone know what violence is?”
“Rape!”
“Homicide!”
“Fighting!”
“Domestic Violence!”
The MTV generation provided example after example flawlessly, which could be expected seeing as how they watch violence every day on their televisions and play violent characters on their XBOX 360’s and Playstations. “Violence is any kind of harmful physical contact that you don’t invite. This is why football isn’t violent,” says the counselor.
Her asinine statements make me smile. “Football’s not violent because you have a reasonable expectation to get hit,” I ask myself as she goes into the finer points of teaching the students the politics of victimization? I listen to the lecture and watch the kids drift off to the dull monotony of her voice like so many reruns of Ferris Bueller. Something she said snapped me out of my trance though.
“There are some people who are in the school, many are new transfers who tend to solve their problems with violence. You don’t want to be like those people,” said the counselor.
Those people? I can’t help but imagine that she was talking about the scores of black faces that I saw in the hallway that were new residents of the area. They stuck out like sore thumbs with their Rocawear t-shirts and baggy Girbaud jeans against a backdrop of Ralph Lauren, Abercrombie & Fitch, and Clarks wallabee shoes.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as she began to give the children a crash course in how to successfully perform gentrification. She drew a makeshift house on the board. “Let’s say this is a house in Clay-Chalkville, and it’s on the market for $150,000,” said the counselor. The children “ooh” and “ahh” in wonder because at twelve, $150,000 could possibly be all the money in the world.
“Every time you get in a fight and every time one of these people does something bad, it damages our neighborhood reputation and it drops our property values. After a while people won’t want their kids to come to Clay-Chalkville Middle School and this $150,000 will only be able to sell for about $80,000 because some people come to your school and don’t know how to act,” lectured the counselor.
I could feel the muscles in my face flex and tighten as I tried my hardest to maintain an air of professionalism in the face of such blatant disdain for people like me, people who came from the places I once played, people who moved to this side of town for a chance at a better life.
I stood up with all of the determination I could muster at this point. My eyes were narrowed into two menacing slits; my nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge and gore the taunting matador. An entire rant was formulating in my head about racism, gentrification, gerrymandering, the 60’s, Jim Crow, and the fact that black history month was coming soon. I was ready. I was a warrior. The spirit of Huey P. Newton possessed me and made old Negro spirituals run through my veins. I opened my mouth wide.
And said nothing…
If I had never been aware of the fact that I was a black man before, I most certainly was now. If I was never made aware of my place on the educational totem pole before, I most definitely knew my place now. At the bottom.
I am a substitute teacher. I am black. I am male. I am a rarity. Some may think I take my job too seriously, I say maybe they don’t take my job as serious as they should.
--Chad A. Hullett
Today, I've decided to share it with the world.
This blog post is dedicated to the Students at Shades Valley/JCIB who have made my experiences in teaching wonderfully enlightening and enjoyable. You all have helped me to find my passion.
_________________________________________________________________
Adventures in Substituting…Diary of an Endangered Species
I am a substitute teacher that takes his job too seriously. I am the one man crusade getting paid fifty bucks a day to baby-sit the children of Jefferson County parents while their real teacher is out sick, on vacation, or just plain fed up. The only problem is, I want them to actually learn something.
Walking into the front doors of any high school, after having received both a diploma and a degree, proved to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in life. My stomach was in knots as I moseyed down the fluorescent hallways to my assigned classroom. Today was my initiation into the world of education. I was to become a member of a fraternity of individuals who not only act as teachers, but disciplinarians, and at times surrogate parents
I sat idly behind the teacher’s cluttered desk waiting on the bell to ring and usher in a pack of trendy hipsters with no other purpose in life than to make mine, the new sub, a living hell. As the students amble in one by one, eyes heavy from their early morning bus rides and late night phone conversations about absolutely nothing, I am overwhelmed with a sense of queasiness that twisted my stomach into a Jacob’s Ladder.
“Hey, we have a guy substitute! Oh my God, and he’s black,” yells the 5’9” track star with the flowing ebony locks of hair, “I have got to take a picture!” I chuckle just a little bit and proceed to ask them to take their seats.
Being a substitute has made me highly aware of two facts. I am Black. I am Male. While these were always very obvious to me, I had no idea how obvious they were to those around me. Being such has made me a benefit to some and an oddity to others.
On the one hand I provide a friendly face and an articulate voice to an entire group of children that are “hard to handle” in the predominately white Jefferson County School System. I look like them, I speak their language, I can relate to them. Only six years (and 30 pounds) ago, I was in their shoes.
On the other hand, a male teacher is hard to swallow for some. A black male teacher that isn’t teaching athletics is even harder to grasp. I never was good at basketball, I’m too short. I couldn’t play football, I’m too small. I preferred Chess, poetry, and females to locker rooms and jock straps. I preferred Sum 41 to 50 Cent. I was simply different.
Patrick Carrington is an anomaly such as myself. The 11th grader prefers to wear button-down dress shirts instead of the long nightgownish tees that his friends swim through the halls in everyday. His square toed oxfords are immaculately polished and provide a sharp contrast to the $200 Jordans and Nike Air Force One’s that his peers wear.
Patrick often walks a lonely road in the land of promise and pain that is high school. He stares straight ahead when swiftly making his way through the crush of students that clutter the hallway between classes. He is a young man determined.
I was Patrick’s substitute for a vocational technology class, and was mildly inspired when the young man with the neck tie in a Windsor knot asked me about college, “Is college really that hard, Mr. Hullett?”
“Well, for me it was. But that was only because my focus was wrong in the beginning. I honestly went to college because there were prettier women there,” I reply with a smile. Amused at my response and shocked at my candor, Patrick laughs nervously and fidgets in his chair. He then sits in amazement as I detail the finer points of success in college. I go through the typical clichés and offer him unconventional wisdom.
“Make sure you study enough to get good grades, but don’t forget to have fun,” I tell him. He smiles and says, “Yeah man, I know I’m gonna party when I get to school.” I smile and urge him to focus more on the books than the babes and beer.
Glancing at the clock, I realized I have talked to Patrick for more than an hour. The bell rings and Patrick gathers his items. He says, “Thanks Mr. Hullett, you’re a really good role model. I hope you come back.” I smile and promise to hurry back soon.
“Why do we have to take math? I am never gonna use this stuff again in my life! This is so stupid,” shouts Rusty in the middle of his Calculus class, his pale face flushed and his mop of red hair tousled all over the place. The rest of the students freeze and look like sheep that have wandered into a wolf’s lair. One half of the class is expecting me to explode and write him up like so many substitutes that they have had over the years. The other half of the class is expecting me to nod and smile and pretend that I didn’t hear any of Rusty’s outburst of exasperation.
What they fail to realize is that I’m not the 68 year old retired blue hair who is subbing to keep herself feeling useful, or the 43 year old retired banker who is subbing just for something to do. No, I am the 23 year old naïve optimist, hell bent on making sure they charge bravely into the future.
“Do you really think that you’re learning calculus to teach you how to count,” I ask Rusty? “You’re not learning how to count Rusty, you’re learning how to think. Counting was achieved and mastered in third grade. Everything after that is teaching you problem solving, critical thinking, and logical reasoning skills.”
“I still want to know when in my life that I’m gonna use calculus! This is not what I need to be a police officer,” he bellows, his response a little less intensely delivered than his initial outburst.
“Rusty, when have you ever seen an unknown number? When have you ever had to find the square root of something outside of school? How did those things challenge you though? How many times have you had to work through some problem in your life without having all of the information? How many times have you had to reason your way through something, or break down a concept for your own understanding,” I ask?
Although the questions come rapid fire and in structured succession, Rusty doesn’t seem to feel challenged, his anger is slowly subsiding as the redness slips away from his face. He eases back in his seat and gives me a puzzled look.
“If you’ve ever figured something out on your own, you can thank math for that,” I said. It appears to be the death blow to his argument. With all the fight taken out of him, Rusty eases back in his chair and continues to do work diligently in his Calculus workbook.
The other students exchange glances and breathe the comfortable breaths of newfound knowledge. Calculus no longer seems as scary to them as it once was. A student whispers, “Damn, Mr. Hullett don’t play that huh?”
Later that day, I am recounting the story to the School Secretary, Ruth Waldrep, and she says, “Wow, you mean you actually got them to understand why they do math without raising your voice? You’re a good one.”
I simply reply, “I used to be them…”
Teaching has not all been triumph. As with anything in life, there is both feast and famine. The times of feast make us smile and remind us of the beauty and wonder that childhood and adolescence contains.
The famine though, is often heart wrenching and emotional. We are reminded of our teenage angst, our frustrations and the gripping fear of adult hood that held us captive as children.
You begin to care so much that your life takes on new purpose. Their triumphs become your joy, and their failures hurt you worse than it hurts them at times.
Standing in front of a tenth grade English class is a daunting enough task, it becomes even tougher at 1:30 on a warm Friday afternoon. To add on to my anxiety, I’ve been given instructions to administer their tests, a 23 question quiz on Perfect Progressive tense.
The first two periods of the day finished the quiz in well under their 30 minute time period. This last class, as I expected, would be no different. Except for one student.
Marquez is having a rough time. With two minutes left for the test, his paper is blank, his brow is furrowed and his palms are sweaty. I stare at him in a futile attempt to gauge what he is thinking. Suddenly, he picks up his pen and begins to write frantically. Scribbling answers all the way down the page in just enough time to beat the clock. He slithers out of his sit and propels his body to an upright position. He ambles up to my desk and nonchalantly lets his paper flutter to the pile. Wondering how the dreaming child with the sad eyes and unkempt hair in the first row is doing, I look at his paper. Each answer is the exact same, “I don’t no.”
I shake my head in disbelief and look up to see Marquez staring back at me. I wave my hand, beckoning him to come here. “You think she’ll understand, since I wasn’t here these last two days,” he asks?
I tell him that I don’t know and began to study his face, looking for some sort of dishonesty or an “I don’t care” attitude. I come back from my cerebral fishing expedition with nothing. Behind the baggy jeans, expensive shoes, and oversized basketball jersey is a young man who needs help, but it seems though his appearance, his vernacular, and customs are holding him back. He looks like a thug to some, talks like a rapper to most, and fights his peers as though his last breath depended on it. On the inside though, Marquez is simply scared.
I later hear him exclaim to a group of friends, “Ain’t no nigga gon’ catch me slippin’ in my cutlass cuz. On everything I love I’ll put two in a nigga.” His fellow students nod approvingly, with beaming smiles. I tell them to quiet down and get back to work.
Five minutes later a young lady who recently transferred from another school system (she had been expelled for fighting) creeps up behind Marquez as though they are children playing Cowboys and Indians. She makes a gun with her fingers and gently presses them to his temple in an almost inappropriate manner and says, “Bang nigga. You dead. Anybody can get got.”
I tell her to move away from Marquez and bring her seat closer to mine in an attempt to gain command of her rowdy group. The tactic restores order but the mentality still disturbs me. I can’t help but see a possibility of foreshadowing in the young lady’s actions and in Marquez’s cold and undisturbed response. While I’d like to chalk it up as youthful horseplay, the scene replaying itself in my head is simply chilling.
The concept of Social Learning Theory teaches us that children often form attitudes and beliefs based essentially on imitating their parents and authority figures. While many of these ideas are formulated during a child’s formative toddler years, one cannot ignore the adolescent stage and children’s impressionable nature in this period as one of intellectual development.
Substitute teaching a middle school class is probably one of the most tiring things anyone can do. Between the overactive bladders, hyperactivity, and general inquisitive nature of 11, 12, and 13 year olds, middle school teachers could most likely be seen as the Marines of the educational field. It is definitely intense.
I volunteered myself to sub for an 8th grade class at a suburban, predominately white middle school that had received a boom in the influx of black students over the past couple of years. While this shouldn’t be cause for alarm, at the end of my day subbing there I couldn’t help but think that there were certain elements fearful of this new wave of students.
“One in four of you will be victims of violence at some point in your life,” said the school counselor. She had taken over my class in a coffee driven, blonde haired, pancake makeup whirlwind. She was supposed to be giving them the lecture that she had given the other 7th grade classes.
She looked out over the bright faces of the class and asked, “Does anyone know what violence is?”
“Rape!”
“Homicide!”
“Fighting!”
“Domestic Violence!”
The MTV generation provided example after example flawlessly, which could be expected seeing as how they watch violence every day on their televisions and play violent characters on their XBOX 360’s and Playstations. “Violence is any kind of harmful physical contact that you don’t invite. This is why football isn’t violent,” says the counselor.
Her asinine statements make me smile. “Football’s not violent because you have a reasonable expectation to get hit,” I ask myself as she goes into the finer points of teaching the students the politics of victimization? I listen to the lecture and watch the kids drift off to the dull monotony of her voice like so many reruns of Ferris Bueller. Something she said snapped me out of my trance though.
“There are some people who are in the school, many are new transfers who tend to solve their problems with violence. You don’t want to be like those people,” said the counselor.
Those people? I can’t help but imagine that she was talking about the scores of black faces that I saw in the hallway that were new residents of the area. They stuck out like sore thumbs with their Rocawear t-shirts and baggy Girbaud jeans against a backdrop of Ralph Lauren, Abercrombie & Fitch, and Clarks wallabee shoes.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as she began to give the children a crash course in how to successfully perform gentrification. She drew a makeshift house on the board. “Let’s say this is a house in Clay-Chalkville, and it’s on the market for $150,000,” said the counselor. The children “ooh” and “ahh” in wonder because at twelve, $150,000 could possibly be all the money in the world.
“Every time you get in a fight and every time one of these people does something bad, it damages our neighborhood reputation and it drops our property values. After a while people won’t want their kids to come to Clay-Chalkville Middle School and this $150,000 will only be able to sell for about $80,000 because some people come to your school and don’t know how to act,” lectured the counselor.
I could feel the muscles in my face flex and tighten as I tried my hardest to maintain an air of professionalism in the face of such blatant disdain for people like me, people who came from the places I once played, people who moved to this side of town for a chance at a better life.
I stood up with all of the determination I could muster at this point. My eyes were narrowed into two menacing slits; my nostrils flared like a bull ready to charge and gore the taunting matador. An entire rant was formulating in my head about racism, gentrification, gerrymandering, the 60’s, Jim Crow, and the fact that black history month was coming soon. I was ready. I was a warrior. The spirit of Huey P. Newton possessed me and made old Negro spirituals run through my veins. I opened my mouth wide.
And said nothing…
If I had never been aware of the fact that I was a black man before, I most certainly was now. If I was never made aware of my place on the educational totem pole before, I most definitely knew my place now. At the bottom.
I am a substitute teacher. I am black. I am male. I am a rarity. Some may think I take my job too seriously, I say maybe they don’t take my job as serious as they should.
--Chad A. Hullett
Monday, August 20, 2007
Link to the podcast!
Here's a link to the Podcast!
http://www.mediafire.com/?dny0m5n1xyt
The topic of this one is the dreaded "N-Word"
Seriously, what is the purpose of burying it or banning it if EVERYTHING else in Black America is falling apart?
I'll try to have the one on Dogfighting and Michael Vick up later....Any suggestions for future topics?
http://www.mediafire.com/?dny0m5n1xyt
The topic of this one is the dreaded "N-Word"
Seriously, what is the purpose of burying it or banning it if EVERYTHING else in Black America is falling apart?
I'll try to have the one on Dogfighting and Michael Vick up later....Any suggestions for future topics?
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
What Type of Seed Will You Be? (My Testimony...)
I've been M.I.A. for quite a while...I know it's bothered some people. Some it has caused concern. If I worried you, I apologize. However, know that God has been moving in my life in an awesome way and I would like to share it with as many people as I possibly can...
On Friday, May 26th my oldest Brother Cedric passed away...needless to say, it was very unsettling to me. His funeral was Saturday, June 2nd. At the request of a very close friend of mine, I went to church that next day. I had not been to church voluntarily in over a year. In the midst of my pain, anger, and frustration I agreed.
On Sunday, June 3rd, 2007 I turned my life over to Christ. I got saved. I knelt on my knees and fell on my face and asked God to take over my life, order my steps, and remove all the pain, frustration, anger, disappointment, reluctance, and unfaithfulness that had taken over my mind and soul. I prayed that He would make me a vessel through which others could see His glory and power. Ever since that day....He has been faithful. I have been....trying really hard. (LOL!)
This is probably strange and foreign to some of you reading this. You're used to me writing about Black Nationalism, activism, poetry, or some other random thing on my mind. Well, this is no different. I'm writing about my passions. My passion (not to sound cliche') has become Christ.
It's funny though, I never thought I could be saved and be "cool" so to speak. True enough, dedicating your life to walking the "straight and narrow" is no easy task. It is the HARDEST thing I will ever do and have begun to do. However, it is comforting to know that I can still be the same crazy, joking fun loving person I have always been and still be dedicated to Him and His word.
Well, recently God revealed something to me and I had to share it with the world...hence, it being posted on the World Wide Web.
While reading the book of Mark, I came across the Parable of The Sower. A Story I had read many times before, I just had not truly looked into it. Well, God gave me a certain revelation about myself in relation to it and I'm sure there are others who can relate as well.
Mark 4:1-9 (KJV)
1 Again Jesus began to teach by the lake. The crowd that gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake, while all the people were along the shore at the water's edge.
2 He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said:
3 "Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed.
4 As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up.
5 Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow.
6 But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root.
7 Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain.
8 Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, multiplying thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times."
9 Then Jesus said, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear."
Further on in the 4th chapter of Mark up to Verse 20, Jesus tells His disciples that this parable is about how the Gospel will be accepted among man. However, for those struggling in their faith or those lost in their faith it may serve as a point of reference to their own lives. It may say to them, "God knows what I'm going through." So I ask you today to make a decision. What type of seed will you be?
Jesus spoke of 4 types of seeds....and I have been the first 3. I am determined and prayerful to not regress in my walk with Him back to one of those types...
Seed Type 1:
This type of seed is described in verse 4, "some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up." This type of person is one who lives life as if there is no God. You may know God is there, yet you do not acknowledge Him. He is but a mere afterthought or a passing fancy. Some would even go so far as to say He does not exist.
Now, I never went to the point of saying he doesn't exist, but I have led a life without God. When you live a life without Him, you are completely at the mercy of the World. You have no direction and your life is merely yours. That being said, if you think you can make it without Him, I'm living proof that you can't.
During my period of God-less living, I had more trials and tribulations than I care to remember. I had death, sickness, financial troubles, and pain all around me. I always said to myself, "It's just tough times, everybody goes through them. I can make it out. " I did...sometimes. Other times, I didn't. When I did make it out, I can't say that I made it out unscathed. Many people who know me, met me during this time. Yeah, I'm a preacher's kid in every sense of the stereotype. (I won't say "the phrase" in this instance) I must admit that while I thought my problems were typical and my life was fine without God, in my spiritual growth I'm realizing that my problems were often caused because I was seeking something (acceptance, pleasure, approval, etc.) and I did them in worldly and often FOOLISH ways because I did not know God. I am grateful that I know Him now, but I wish so badly I would have known Him then. I would have been saved quite a bit of trouble and pain.
Seed Type 2:
Seed Type 2 is talked about in verses 5 and 6. It states, "Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root." This is essentially what we commonly call, "the backslider." Yup, I've been that too.
Have you ever been desiring to know God and you didn't feel like you were worthy? Have you ever been to church or heard the Word of God or maybe just felt the words of a song that made you want to have a personal relationship with Him? I'm sure you have. So you went to church right? You confessed your sins, sang the hymns, paid a few tithes and/or offerings and then went outside and listened to your Kirk Franklin cd until you got home. The next few days, weeks, or months (in some cases like mine, hours) you were ON FIRE for Jesus. You sang "Send Down the Rain " in the shower. You were jogging and singing "Order My Steps." You saw a beautiful woman (or man for the ladies) in something flattering to their figure and you said out loud, "Satan, get thee behind me!" Then you got home and saw a bill marked "Past Due", then a bill collector called about your student loans, then your boys or your homegirl calls and asks you to get drunk/high/a combination of the two, you immediately forget all about your "On Fire" for Jesus mindframe and began to live a worldly life again, because you subconsciously believe prayer and faithfulness has failed you.
I've been there. God never said that following Him was easy. It is , however, easy to follow the world. We all know it's easier to be a sheep than a shepherd. You don't have to worry about anything in action or thought as a sheep because the shepherd often thinks for you and tells you what to think. That's how it is in the earthly sense. In God's sense, we are a part of His flock and He wants you to bring those problems to him. He doesn't want you to go back to the worldly ways that you let go off for that period of time as a release or an escape from problems. For all intents and purposes, JESUS should be that release. He is our own personal "beast of burden" so to speak. Just a bull or oxen is tied to a yoke and carries the plow, Jesus wants to be yoked to us and help us plow through the field of trials and tribulations that may make their way into our life. We cannot allow ourselves to get discouraged in tough times. In all actuality, the trying times are there to strengthen our faith, not to destroy it.
Seed Type 3:
Seed 3 is probably the most prevalent seed. Verse 7 says, "Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. " This is especially close to my heart, because I've had to deal with it.
When you have acquired new found faith and you are truly 100% sold to the concept of serving God, living your life for Him, and basking in the glory and forgiveness that He has provided through his son Jesus there are things that come against you. You will begin to notice some of the things within yourself that are a hindrance to you in your growth in Christ Jesus. These hindrances, or thorns, manifest themselves in a few different ways...the ones I have had to deal with are people, vices, and spirits. Keep in mind, this is what I have had to pray about. We must each pray that the Lord delivers us from WHATEVER has hindered us or will hinder us in our relationship with Him.
In people form, I have had to deal with my own struggles. I had negative/toxic people in my life that I've had to let go and pray for. I've had people that I disliked for some reason or another be a hindrance to me. (Sidenote: The word says that you MUST forgive others of their sins if you are to receive forgiveness for your own.) I've had people who just don't understand Jesus or live a God-less life try to be a bad influence. While we are to definitely love our neighbors as we love ourselves, for that is the greatest commandment of all, we cannot allow ourselves to go to hell because of them. Giving your life to Christ is like a marriage. You must CHOOSE to be with Him. He'll get your attention, but He is a gentleman...He will not force you. Often times we hear in weddings, "What GOD has brought together, let no MAN put asunder." Well, if a MAN or woMAN is keeping you from a relationship with God....you MUST let it go.
We all have vices. Vices are things of the flesh or of the world that we enjoy that are not pleasing to God. We've got to let those go too. I know my vices. I'm not gonna spell them out for ya, but know that I have them and they are not easy things to let go. When you give up the world to follow Jesus, you are essentially becoming His disciple. His disciples gave up all of their worldly possessions to follow Him. They gave up jobs, family, and lifestyles to be a servant of the Most High. When Jesus called Levi, better known as Matthew, he was a tax collector. Which, at that time was a VERY lucrative position. Now, if Peter, Andrew, James, and John can walk away from their positions as fishermen to become "Fishers of Men" who are we to allow something detrimental to us stand in our way. Why should we let lust, alcoholism, smoking, anger, pride, hatred, or anything else stand in our path? If we truly want to know God, we must pray that he removes these detrimental activities, spirits, and feelings from our lives. I know he's delivered me from some...
Last, but definitely not least, are spirits. Spirits scare people. They conjure up images of ghosts, goblins, and movies about the "undead." Spirits are real. If we believe in God, if we believe in Jesus, then we must also believe in the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is our counselor and comforter. In convicts us when we are wrong and also blesses our spirit when we are right. Now, if we believe in the Trinity, we must also believe in negative spirits. Why? Because they exist according to the life of Jesus. In Matthew 8:16, we are told the story of demons casting a number of demons into a herd of pigs. These demons/spirits had possessed a man and made him do many things that a sane person wouldn't do. Sometimes we are affected by different spirits and don't even know it. Spirits can cause us to have vices. The reason I have separated them is because we often think of vices as tangible things we do and spirits as things we do not see and often don't think about. They exist and we must pray for God to deliver us from any spirit that is not of Him or for the benefit of His Kingdom.
Seed Type 4:
"Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, multiplying thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times."
This is the seed that we should strive to be. This is the seed I am trying to be. I often ran from the possibility of giving my life over to God because I thought I wasn't worthy, or I thought he didn't care, or I was afraid of any sort of responsibility he may place on me. I couldn't have been further from the truth.
God KNEW I wasn't worthy, He just wanted me to admit it and admit that I need His help to make it . He wanted me to kneel down and confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. I then prayed for His Son Jesus to come into my heart and make me whole again so that I may be a better man and a servant of Him. I wanted to live my life (that he gave me) according to His Will. Ever since then, I have been a better man and a better Christian.
God Cares even when we're too blind or stupid to know it. We often ask God, "Why Me?" when bad things happen to us. Sometimes we don't see how WE caused those bad things and are trying to blame God for it. We don't acknowledge all that God has shielded us from in our own unbelief or disobedience. We often ignore the blessings that God has given us to focus on the bad things that we have brought on ourselves or the devil has brought in our lives. We must be faithful and diligent to, as Cee-Lo put is, humbly hear God when He's speaking. He cares about YOU more than YOU could ever imagine. He's protected and provided for YOU when you didn't deserve it. It hurts Him when YOU sin. He sent HIS ONLY SON to die for YOUR sins. If that's not love....I don't know what is.
I admit....I'm still afraid of what I will do if he shoulders me with any sort of responsibility, but I'm praying about it. It's not a reason to not seek His face is what I had to realize. I learned that He doesn't do things on accident. He does everything in good and perfect order and you won't be given anything or blessed with anything not one millisecond before HE is ready for you to have it.
What much of this boils down to is faith...
God knows that new converts or rededicated Christians are still growing in their faith. He shows us this through a statement Jesus made. Matthew 17:20 says, "And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you."
Unbelief in Greek means, "little faith." Jesus scolded the disciples for having faith smaller than a mustard seed. A mustard seed is but a little bit larger than the period on the computer screen you're reading this from, but it grows into one of the largest plants in a field.
Think about it, if the disciples were with Jesus EVERY DAY, and they didn't believe (at least fully until after the resurrection) we aren't expected to have this mass outpouring of faith overnight. Our faith must be planted by asking Jesus to come into our hearts, nurtured by studying the word, watered by shepherds sent by Him, and it will grow according to our faithfulness and acknowledgment of Him in our lives.
In a little over two months mine has grown EXPONENTIALLY. It's almost scary....LOL!
So, I want to ask you again. What kind of seed will you be?
Pray for me and my Strength in The Lord. God Bless.
On Friday, May 26th my oldest Brother Cedric passed away...needless to say, it was very unsettling to me. His funeral was Saturday, June 2nd. At the request of a very close friend of mine, I went to church that next day. I had not been to church voluntarily in over a year. In the midst of my pain, anger, and frustration I agreed.
On Sunday, June 3rd, 2007 I turned my life over to Christ. I got saved. I knelt on my knees and fell on my face and asked God to take over my life, order my steps, and remove all the pain, frustration, anger, disappointment, reluctance, and unfaithfulness that had taken over my mind and soul. I prayed that He would make me a vessel through which others could see His glory and power. Ever since that day....He has been faithful. I have been....trying really hard. (LOL!)
This is probably strange and foreign to some of you reading this. You're used to me writing about Black Nationalism, activism, poetry, or some other random thing on my mind. Well, this is no different. I'm writing about my passions. My passion (not to sound cliche') has become Christ.
It's funny though, I never thought I could be saved and be "cool" so to speak. True enough, dedicating your life to walking the "straight and narrow" is no easy task. It is the HARDEST thing I will ever do and have begun to do. However, it is comforting to know that I can still be the same crazy, joking fun loving person I have always been and still be dedicated to Him and His word.
Well, recently God revealed something to me and I had to share it with the world...hence, it being posted on the World Wide Web.
While reading the book of Mark, I came across the Parable of The Sower. A Story I had read many times before, I just had not truly looked into it. Well, God gave me a certain revelation about myself in relation to it and I'm sure there are others who can relate as well.
Mark 4:1-9 (KJV)
1 Again Jesus began to teach by the lake. The crowd that gathered around him was so large that he got into a boat and sat in it out on the lake, while all the people were along the shore at the water's edge.
2 He taught them many things by parables, and in his teaching said:
3 "Listen! A farmer went out to sow his seed.
4 As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up.
5 Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow.
6 But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root.
7 Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain.
8 Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, multiplying thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times."
9 Then Jesus said, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear."
Further on in the 4th chapter of Mark up to Verse 20, Jesus tells His disciples that this parable is about how the Gospel will be accepted among man. However, for those struggling in their faith or those lost in their faith it may serve as a point of reference to their own lives. It may say to them, "God knows what I'm going through." So I ask you today to make a decision. What type of seed will you be?
Jesus spoke of 4 types of seeds....and I have been the first 3. I am determined and prayerful to not regress in my walk with Him back to one of those types...
Seed Type 1:
This type of seed is described in verse 4, "some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up." This type of person is one who lives life as if there is no God. You may know God is there, yet you do not acknowledge Him. He is but a mere afterthought or a passing fancy. Some would even go so far as to say He does not exist.
Now, I never went to the point of saying he doesn't exist, but I have led a life without God. When you live a life without Him, you are completely at the mercy of the World. You have no direction and your life is merely yours. That being said, if you think you can make it without Him, I'm living proof that you can't.
During my period of God-less living, I had more trials and tribulations than I care to remember. I had death, sickness, financial troubles, and pain all around me. I always said to myself, "It's just tough times, everybody goes through them. I can make it out. " I did...sometimes. Other times, I didn't. When I did make it out, I can't say that I made it out unscathed. Many people who know me, met me during this time. Yeah, I'm a preacher's kid in every sense of the stereotype. (I won't say "the phrase" in this instance) I must admit that while I thought my problems were typical and my life was fine without God, in my spiritual growth I'm realizing that my problems were often caused because I was seeking something (acceptance, pleasure, approval, etc.) and I did them in worldly and often FOOLISH ways because I did not know God. I am grateful that I know Him now, but I wish so badly I would have known Him then. I would have been saved quite a bit of trouble and pain.
Seed Type 2:
Seed Type 2 is talked about in verses 5 and 6. It states, "Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root." This is essentially what we commonly call, "the backslider." Yup, I've been that too.
Have you ever been desiring to know God and you didn't feel like you were worthy? Have you ever been to church or heard the Word of God or maybe just felt the words of a song that made you want to have a personal relationship with Him? I'm sure you have. So you went to church right? You confessed your sins, sang the hymns, paid a few tithes and/or offerings and then went outside and listened to your Kirk Franklin cd until you got home. The next few days, weeks, or months (in some cases like mine, hours) you were ON FIRE for Jesus. You sang "Send Down the Rain " in the shower. You were jogging and singing "Order My Steps." You saw a beautiful woman (or man for the ladies) in something flattering to their figure and you said out loud, "Satan, get thee behind me!" Then you got home and saw a bill marked "Past Due", then a bill collector called about your student loans, then your boys or your homegirl calls and asks you to get drunk/high/a combination of the two, you immediately forget all about your "On Fire" for Jesus mindframe and began to live a worldly life again, because you subconsciously believe prayer and faithfulness has failed you.
I've been there. God never said that following Him was easy. It is , however, easy to follow the world. We all know it's easier to be a sheep than a shepherd. You don't have to worry about anything in action or thought as a sheep because the shepherd often thinks for you and tells you what to think. That's how it is in the earthly sense. In God's sense, we are a part of His flock and He wants you to bring those problems to him. He doesn't want you to go back to the worldly ways that you let go off for that period of time as a release or an escape from problems. For all intents and purposes, JESUS should be that release. He is our own personal "beast of burden" so to speak. Just a bull or oxen is tied to a yoke and carries the plow, Jesus wants to be yoked to us and help us plow through the field of trials and tribulations that may make their way into our life. We cannot allow ourselves to get discouraged in tough times. In all actuality, the trying times are there to strengthen our faith, not to destroy it.
Seed Type 3:
Seed 3 is probably the most prevalent seed. Verse 7 says, "Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants, so that they did not bear grain. " This is especially close to my heart, because I've had to deal with it.
When you have acquired new found faith and you are truly 100% sold to the concept of serving God, living your life for Him, and basking in the glory and forgiveness that He has provided through his son Jesus there are things that come against you. You will begin to notice some of the things within yourself that are a hindrance to you in your growth in Christ Jesus. These hindrances, or thorns, manifest themselves in a few different ways...the ones I have had to deal with are people, vices, and spirits. Keep in mind, this is what I have had to pray about. We must each pray that the Lord delivers us from WHATEVER has hindered us or will hinder us in our relationship with Him.
In people form, I have had to deal with my own struggles. I had negative/toxic people in my life that I've had to let go and pray for. I've had people that I disliked for some reason or another be a hindrance to me. (Sidenote: The word says that you MUST forgive others of their sins if you are to receive forgiveness for your own.) I've had people who just don't understand Jesus or live a God-less life try to be a bad influence. While we are to definitely love our neighbors as we love ourselves, for that is the greatest commandment of all, we cannot allow ourselves to go to hell because of them. Giving your life to Christ is like a marriage. You must CHOOSE to be with Him. He'll get your attention, but He is a gentleman...He will not force you. Often times we hear in weddings, "What GOD has brought together, let no MAN put asunder." Well, if a MAN or woMAN is keeping you from a relationship with God....you MUST let it go.
We all have vices. Vices are things of the flesh or of the world that we enjoy that are not pleasing to God. We've got to let those go too. I know my vices. I'm not gonna spell them out for ya, but know that I have them and they are not easy things to let go. When you give up the world to follow Jesus, you are essentially becoming His disciple. His disciples gave up all of their worldly possessions to follow Him. They gave up jobs, family, and lifestyles to be a servant of the Most High. When Jesus called Levi, better known as Matthew, he was a tax collector. Which, at that time was a VERY lucrative position. Now, if Peter, Andrew, James, and John can walk away from their positions as fishermen to become "Fishers of Men" who are we to allow something detrimental to us stand in our way. Why should we let lust, alcoholism, smoking, anger, pride, hatred, or anything else stand in our path? If we truly want to know God, we must pray that he removes these detrimental activities, spirits, and feelings from our lives. I know he's delivered me from some...
Last, but definitely not least, are spirits. Spirits scare people. They conjure up images of ghosts, goblins, and movies about the "undead." Spirits are real. If we believe in God, if we believe in Jesus, then we must also believe in the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit is our counselor and comforter. In convicts us when we are wrong and also blesses our spirit when we are right. Now, if we believe in the Trinity, we must also believe in negative spirits. Why? Because they exist according to the life of Jesus. In Matthew 8:16, we are told the story of demons casting a number of demons into a herd of pigs. These demons/spirits had possessed a man and made him do many things that a sane person wouldn't do. Sometimes we are affected by different spirits and don't even know it. Spirits can cause us to have vices. The reason I have separated them is because we often think of vices as tangible things we do and spirits as things we do not see and often don't think about. They exist and we must pray for God to deliver us from any spirit that is not of Him or for the benefit of His Kingdom.
Seed Type 4:
"Still other seed fell on good soil. It came up, grew and produced a crop, multiplying thirty, sixty, or even a hundred times."
This is the seed that we should strive to be. This is the seed I am trying to be. I often ran from the possibility of giving my life over to God because I thought I wasn't worthy, or I thought he didn't care, or I was afraid of any sort of responsibility he may place on me. I couldn't have been further from the truth.
God KNEW I wasn't worthy, He just wanted me to admit it and admit that I need His help to make it . He wanted me to kneel down and confess my sins and ask for forgiveness. I then prayed for His Son Jesus to come into my heart and make me whole again so that I may be a better man and a servant of Him. I wanted to live my life (that he gave me) according to His Will. Ever since then, I have been a better man and a better Christian.
God Cares even when we're too blind or stupid to know it. We often ask God, "Why Me?" when bad things happen to us. Sometimes we don't see how WE caused those bad things and are trying to blame God for it. We don't acknowledge all that God has shielded us from in our own unbelief or disobedience. We often ignore the blessings that God has given us to focus on the bad things that we have brought on ourselves or the devil has brought in our lives. We must be faithful and diligent to, as Cee-Lo put is, humbly hear God when He's speaking. He cares about YOU more than YOU could ever imagine. He's protected and provided for YOU when you didn't deserve it. It hurts Him when YOU sin. He sent HIS ONLY SON to die for YOUR sins. If that's not love....I don't know what is.
I admit....I'm still afraid of what I will do if he shoulders me with any sort of responsibility, but I'm praying about it. It's not a reason to not seek His face is what I had to realize. I learned that He doesn't do things on accident. He does everything in good and perfect order and you won't be given anything or blessed with anything not one millisecond before HE is ready for you to have it.
What much of this boils down to is faith...
God knows that new converts or rededicated Christians are still growing in their faith. He shows us this through a statement Jesus made. Matthew 17:20 says, "And Jesus said unto them, Because of your unbelief: for verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you."
Unbelief in Greek means, "little faith." Jesus scolded the disciples for having faith smaller than a mustard seed. A mustard seed is but a little bit larger than the period on the computer screen you're reading this from, but it grows into one of the largest plants in a field.
Think about it, if the disciples were with Jesus EVERY DAY, and they didn't believe (at least fully until after the resurrection) we aren't expected to have this mass outpouring of faith overnight. Our faith must be planted by asking Jesus to come into our hearts, nurtured by studying the word, watered by shepherds sent by Him, and it will grow according to our faithfulness and acknowledgment of Him in our lives.
In a little over two months mine has grown EXPONENTIALLY. It's almost scary....LOL!
So, I want to ask you again. What kind of seed will you be?
Pray for me and my Strength in The Lord. God Bless.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
The Black Male Psyche Riddled With Self-Hatred (Part 2)
The Black Male in America has been labeled...branded...marked.
Adjectives such as "Endangered Species", "Undereducated", "Unemployable", "Ignorant", and "Unambitious" are lobbed at men who look like me every day from the halls of academia, to the bright lights of Hollywood, to the simple "man on the street"....
I often ask why are we labeled as such until I think about the various self-destructive that we do within our own community. We have been trained to hate ourselves and as a result others are allowed to degrade and disrespect us.
In recent weeks and months, Hip-Hop has come under fire as the main source of this self-hatred. While I agree that hip-hop plays a role, I refuse to ignore other factors within this (not to sound like a conspiracy theorist) "grand scheme" of self-hatred. There are other factors in play here. I'll address Hip-Hop but I'll also address poverty, education, the media, societal attitudes, and the justice system.
I'll start with Hip-Hop because it's the easiest to address.
Hip-Hop
"These are more than words/This is more than rap/This is the Streets/and I am the trap..."
-Young Jeezy
I will bet a million dollars (that I don't have) that Jeezy didn't know exactly how true his statement was. Jeezy is a part of the canon of rappers that have enjoyed critical acclaim, wealth, and unimaginable success by telling their street tales in poetic form for audiences of millions. In the same vein as Etheridge Knight, Jeezy paints pictures of the late nights/early mornings that street hustlers see on a daily basis. Violence, Poverty, and Fast Money are his subjects. His Canvas is the street. His fans are afficianado's of this art.
Jeezy is, however, part of the problem. For all of his heartfelt tales, vivid imagery, and the simple beauty with which he tells his life story, Jeezy does not balance his tales of sex, money, and drugs with positive images. He's not the only one.
I don't get mad about it because it's his prerogative as an artist and entrepreneur to put out his body of work as he sees fit. I will defend his right to make his music without censorship.
I said all of that to make this point. Jeezy is not the problem with the black male mind. The problem, in effect, are the "gatekeepers" of hip-hop. MTV and BET (both owned by Viacom) are responsible for Hip-Hop being beamed into millions of homes everyday. Clear Channel, RadioOne, and Cox Communications shoot hip-hop right to the cars and ears of millions listeners every day at various times of day. I think it is an amazing thing. What disgusts me is the prevalence of only one side of hip-hop.
Tatiana Richards told me a quote that she heard someone say. "There are 35 Million different black people. That means there are 35 Million different ways to be black." Hip-Hop is JUST AS DIVERSE. You would never know it though. Hip-Hop is a culture. Rap is her music. Whenever you turn on the radio, all you hear is one type of rap music. You hear poignant street tales, guns busting, blunt blazing, crackhead serving, chickenhead chasing, booty shaking music. Very rarely do we hear "Conscious Hip-Hop" or "Trip-Hop" or "Skate Rap" or even "Rock Rap". We are force fed catchy tunes that do not feed the mind.
I am a firm believer that hip-hop was born out of the poverty of black and latino youth in New York in the late 70's. They rapped about their everyday lives. They rapped, danced, drew graffitti, scratched records, dressed, and lived for the rebellion against society that hip-hop was born from. Hip-Hop was the child of revolution. We are listening to hip-hop's fourth generation of rappers. What all the generation of rappers had in common was that they rapped about their experiences. Incarcerated Rapper Shyne once spit, "They Don't Do It Cause I Rap About It/I RAP ABOUT IT CAUSE THEY DO IT..." It is simply art imitating life.
As Hip-Hop grew up (Most recently turning 30) she became BIG business. She was taken over and distributed by the larger companies in the music making business. Now, if Hip-Hop was created by impoverished black and Latin youth and grew to be taken over by big business, who do you think is REALLY pulling the strings. Rich old men, often white, who package the most taboo and salacious elements of hip-hop culture and peddle it back to us as authentic. It's become so deeply ingrained into the mainstream of our society that you aren't "keeping it real" unless you are talking about serve the soft white or a few bricks of that tan. (Slang for certain types of drugs)
While the poverty, violence, and drug use have always been a large part of hip-hop tales, throughout history they were always told as simply stories. Now they are glorified. I'm not even calling for it to stop. I'm simply calling for a balance in the art. Period.
Hip-Hop is more than words. It's a reflection of impoverished society and many different aspects of black life.
Hip-Hop is more than rap, it's a culture. Essentially it began as a movement.
This is the streets. Hip-Hop came from the Streets. So did the blues, jazz, rock and roll, Etheridge Knight, Amiri Baraka, Ralph Ellison's Creativity, and Romare Bearden's eye for art.
I am the trap. No you're not Jeezy, not intentionally anyway.
Poverty (Specifically geared towards the large number of blacks living in poverty)
Blacks and Hispanics live in poverty in greater percentages than any other ethnic group in the country.
It has been proven that poverty breeds crime. Thus, more black males are expected to either commit or witness crimes in their living in poverty.
Also, since it's been proven that poverty is often cyclical and our living conditions determine our future and mindset often times, I'm naturally inclined to believe that the sins of the father are truly visited upon the son in these impoverished areas where crime becomes a somewhat accepted part of our existence. The more you witness or commit a crime, you less outraged you are by it. This desensitization more often leads otherwise intelligent, good black men who could get out of their situations to take chances within the illegal sector of American life. This coupled with various other factors more often than not becomes a recipe for disaster.
Education
In 2003, the average education level for black males was said to be 10th grade level. That's not even a high school diploma. Without a high school diploma it is almost impossible to get a job above minimum wage. Minimum wage is too low to feed a family or pay the living expenses for one human being. Thus, many black males turn towards crime. So, why are black males undereducated? For a number of reasons.
Black males tend to lose interest in education around 4th grade according to Jawanza Kunjufu's book Countering the Conspiracy to Destroy Black Boys (which I read for the first time actually around 7th grade). Kunjufu cites many different reasons for this breakdown. I'll try to go through it as simply as possible.
If they are impoverished, they have more to worry about than conjugating verbs, long division, and the Civil War. It's tough to concentrate on Social Studies when you don't know if you're going to eat that night.
Often times the student feels as though the subject matter doesn't relate to him. The figures in history don't look like him. The things that happen seem so far away. The math seems pointless and uninteresting. English is so very different from the AAVE he speaks at home. (African American Vernacular English) After all of that he is tested to DEATH. Standardized tests hear, Academic competency test there. Eventually he sees no point in trying. Lack of adequate attention to his problems and reconciliation with the world around him forces him to act out.
After he acts out he gets labeled. Learning Disabled. Attention Deficit Disorder. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Dyslexic. Problem Child. Just Plain Dumb. Believe it or not, students at a very young age are highly aware of adult's perception of them. They are very aware of their surroundings as well. They know why they have to go to the special class even though they don't feel anything is wrong with them. They know that the medicine that they are forced to take makes them jittery and jumpy and feel bad and they know that nothing is wrong with their mind. They know when adults think they are hopeless. They know when adults think they are stupid. At some point they give up caring. Special Education is used too broadly by lazy teacher, systems, and administrators to focus on problems that are not educational or mental. That's another soapbox thought.
I would continue but my brain drew a blank on Education just now....
I'll continue with this one as well as The Media, Societal Attitudes, and The Justice System in the next blog post.
Adjectives such as "Endangered Species", "Undereducated", "Unemployable", "Ignorant", and "Unambitious" are lobbed at men who look like me every day from the halls of academia, to the bright lights of Hollywood, to the simple "man on the street"....
I often ask why are we labeled as such until I think about the various self-destructive that we do within our own community. We have been trained to hate ourselves and as a result others are allowed to degrade and disrespect us.
In recent weeks and months, Hip-Hop has come under fire as the main source of this self-hatred. While I agree that hip-hop plays a role, I refuse to ignore other factors within this (not to sound like a conspiracy theorist) "grand scheme" of self-hatred. There are other factors in play here. I'll address Hip-Hop but I'll also address poverty, education, the media, societal attitudes, and the justice system.
I'll start with Hip-Hop because it's the easiest to address.
Hip-Hop
"These are more than words/This is more than rap/This is the Streets/and I am the trap..."
-Young Jeezy
I will bet a million dollars (that I don't have) that Jeezy didn't know exactly how true his statement was. Jeezy is a part of the canon of rappers that have enjoyed critical acclaim, wealth, and unimaginable success by telling their street tales in poetic form for audiences of millions. In the same vein as Etheridge Knight, Jeezy paints pictures of the late nights/early mornings that street hustlers see on a daily basis. Violence, Poverty, and Fast Money are his subjects. His Canvas is the street. His fans are afficianado's of this art.
Jeezy is, however, part of the problem. For all of his heartfelt tales, vivid imagery, and the simple beauty with which he tells his life story, Jeezy does not balance his tales of sex, money, and drugs with positive images. He's not the only one.
I don't get mad about it because it's his prerogative as an artist and entrepreneur to put out his body of work as he sees fit. I will defend his right to make his music without censorship.
I said all of that to make this point. Jeezy is not the problem with the black male mind. The problem, in effect, are the "gatekeepers" of hip-hop. MTV and BET (both owned by Viacom) are responsible for Hip-Hop being beamed into millions of homes everyday. Clear Channel, RadioOne, and Cox Communications shoot hip-hop right to the cars and ears of millions listeners every day at various times of day. I think it is an amazing thing. What disgusts me is the prevalence of only one side of hip-hop.
Tatiana Richards told me a quote that she heard someone say. "There are 35 Million different black people. That means there are 35 Million different ways to be black." Hip-Hop is JUST AS DIVERSE. You would never know it though. Hip-Hop is a culture. Rap is her music. Whenever you turn on the radio, all you hear is one type of rap music. You hear poignant street tales, guns busting, blunt blazing, crackhead serving, chickenhead chasing, booty shaking music. Very rarely do we hear "Conscious Hip-Hop" or "Trip-Hop" or "Skate Rap" or even "Rock Rap". We are force fed catchy tunes that do not feed the mind.
I am a firm believer that hip-hop was born out of the poverty of black and latino youth in New York in the late 70's. They rapped about their everyday lives. They rapped, danced, drew graffitti, scratched records, dressed, and lived for the rebellion against society that hip-hop was born from. Hip-Hop was the child of revolution. We are listening to hip-hop's fourth generation of rappers. What all the generation of rappers had in common was that they rapped about their experiences. Incarcerated Rapper Shyne once spit, "They Don't Do It Cause I Rap About It/I RAP ABOUT IT CAUSE THEY DO IT..." It is simply art imitating life.
As Hip-Hop grew up (Most recently turning 30) she became BIG business. She was taken over and distributed by the larger companies in the music making business. Now, if Hip-Hop was created by impoverished black and Latin youth and grew to be taken over by big business, who do you think is REALLY pulling the strings. Rich old men, often white, who package the most taboo and salacious elements of hip-hop culture and peddle it back to us as authentic. It's become so deeply ingrained into the mainstream of our society that you aren't "keeping it real" unless you are talking about serve the soft white or a few bricks of that tan. (Slang for certain types of drugs)
While the poverty, violence, and drug use have always been a large part of hip-hop tales, throughout history they were always told as simply stories. Now they are glorified. I'm not even calling for it to stop. I'm simply calling for a balance in the art. Period.
Hip-Hop is more than words. It's a reflection of impoverished society and many different aspects of black life.
Hip-Hop is more than rap, it's a culture. Essentially it began as a movement.
This is the streets. Hip-Hop came from the Streets. So did the blues, jazz, rock and roll, Etheridge Knight, Amiri Baraka, Ralph Ellison's Creativity, and Romare Bearden's eye for art.
I am the trap. No you're not Jeezy, not intentionally anyway.
Poverty (Specifically geared towards the large number of blacks living in poverty)
Blacks and Hispanics live in poverty in greater percentages than any other ethnic group in the country.
It has been proven that poverty breeds crime. Thus, more black males are expected to either commit or witness crimes in their living in poverty.
Also, since it's been proven that poverty is often cyclical and our living conditions determine our future and mindset often times, I'm naturally inclined to believe that the sins of the father are truly visited upon the son in these impoverished areas where crime becomes a somewhat accepted part of our existence. The more you witness or commit a crime, you less outraged you are by it. This desensitization more often leads otherwise intelligent, good black men who could get out of their situations to take chances within the illegal sector of American life. This coupled with various other factors more often than not becomes a recipe for disaster.
Education
In 2003, the average education level for black males was said to be 10th grade level. That's not even a high school diploma. Without a high school diploma it is almost impossible to get a job above minimum wage. Minimum wage is too low to feed a family or pay the living expenses for one human being. Thus, many black males turn towards crime. So, why are black males undereducated? For a number of reasons.
Black males tend to lose interest in education around 4th grade according to Jawanza Kunjufu's book Countering the Conspiracy to Destroy Black Boys (which I read for the first time actually around 7th grade). Kunjufu cites many different reasons for this breakdown. I'll try to go through it as simply as possible.
If they are impoverished, they have more to worry about than conjugating verbs, long division, and the Civil War. It's tough to concentrate on Social Studies when you don't know if you're going to eat that night.
Often times the student feels as though the subject matter doesn't relate to him. The figures in history don't look like him. The things that happen seem so far away. The math seems pointless and uninteresting. English is so very different from the AAVE he speaks at home. (African American Vernacular English) After all of that he is tested to DEATH. Standardized tests hear, Academic competency test there. Eventually he sees no point in trying. Lack of adequate attention to his problems and reconciliation with the world around him forces him to act out.
After he acts out he gets labeled. Learning Disabled. Attention Deficit Disorder. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Dyslexic. Problem Child. Just Plain Dumb. Believe it or not, students at a very young age are highly aware of adult's perception of them. They are very aware of their surroundings as well. They know why they have to go to the special class even though they don't feel anything is wrong with them. They know that the medicine that they are forced to take makes them jittery and jumpy and feel bad and they know that nothing is wrong with their mind. They know when adults think they are hopeless. They know when adults think they are stupid. At some point they give up caring. Special Education is used too broadly by lazy teacher, systems, and administrators to focus on problems that are not educational or mental. That's another soapbox thought.
I would continue but my brain drew a blank on Education just now....
I'll continue with this one as well as The Media, Societal Attitudes, and The Justice System in the next blog post.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
The Black Male Psyche Riddled with Self-Hatred...(Part 1)
Being a Black Man is tough. Anyone with an ounce of knowledge, understanding, and insight knows that or can see that. We are beat down en masse by society, sytematic segregation, laws slanted toward us, and various other factors that make living with a Y-Chromosome and Darkened Skin akin to fighting a war every day.
One thing that has kept the Black Man sane has been the black woman. She has been both mother and father when the black male was unable to take his role. She has raised numerous black males. She has been the backbone of the family in trying times. She's "stood in the gap" and prayed for the favor of almighty in hours of need. She has been a comforting shoulder to cry on, albeit in the dark. She has been that slap in the face when brothers needed a reality check. She is motivator. She is Wife. She is Helpmate. She is Financial Planner. She is Mother. She is Bold. She is Strong. She is Queen of Civilization...
From the Project Dwelling Single Mother to the Penthouse Residing Yuppie, The Black Woman is as versatile as they come.
With the black woman being so much of what all men want and even more of what all men need, why then do many of us as black men choose to degrade them and hate them?
I write that last sentence as both a hypocrite and a man conscious of what I love about black women. I have referred to women as "bitch" before...I have done some less than noble things to my sisters over the years. However, I have apologized and atoned for them. I am not talking about the guy who has a rough past (or present) and sometimes has a bad dealing or two with our sisters. I wanna focus on a specific genre of brothers. The educated, upwardly mobile, seemingly intelligent brother who has a good job, an advanced degree, and is as financially stable as he can be at that point in life.
Believe it or not, many of these brothers have a sort of disdain for sisters that could be viewed as a hatred. They ignore black women. They degrade them. They decry them as ghetto, combative, unrelenting, unaffectionate, unsubmissive, uneducated, and unattractive. Forgetting all the while that they were brought into this world by a ghetto, combative, unrelenting, unaffectionate, unsubmissive, uneducated, and unattractive BLACK WOMAN. That their grandmother was a BLACK WOMAN. It's ultimately a form of self hatred.
In Psychology there is a concept called "projection." This ultimately means that you project your insecurities and perceived shortcomings on those closest to you or the object of your unattainable desire in some cases. Who is closer to you as a Black Man than the woman who brought you into this world? Also, for a successful man, rejection is the ultimate blow to the ego. Who better to hate than those who may have rejected you in life?
Also, another root of this sort of hatred of black women by both fairly and immensely successful Black Men is their constant need to prove themselves. They want to make the statement, "Hey, I'm just like you guy. I am NOT one of those white t-shirt wearing, Jean sagging affirmative action cases. I got here on my own merits and by my own intelligence and their ain't NOTHING different about me." For all intensive purposes, this may be completely and utterly TRUE to the fullest extent. (Minus all of the self-hatred and jargon) As a result, these black men do certain assmilationist things to go to the extreme of proving that they are not like those "black guys." They wear certain clothes, join certain fraternities (*sigh*) , talk a certain way, act a certain way, and do certain customs associated with "Eurocentric culture." (Point, there is a difference from Eurocentric Culture and Professionalism. Don't get it twisted.) They go so far as to see black women as only objects of sexual prowess and only good for the occasional tryst than wife, mother, confidant, and companion.
Is there any hope for this brother? Probably not. Let's see how he feels in 20 years though when the current crop of sisters in upwardly mobile positions start to take over the country. These sisters often outnumber brothers 3 to 1 and are typically more motivated and driven to succeed. Then I guess I'll be writing another one of these on the sisters huh? I've already seen some out there that fit the mold....in fact I'm looking at one right now.
One thing that has kept the Black Man sane has been the black woman. She has been both mother and father when the black male was unable to take his role. She has raised numerous black males. She has been the backbone of the family in trying times. She's "stood in the gap" and prayed for the favor of almighty in hours of need. She has been a comforting shoulder to cry on, albeit in the dark. She has been that slap in the face when brothers needed a reality check. She is motivator. She is Wife. She is Helpmate. She is Financial Planner. She is Mother. She is Bold. She is Strong. She is Queen of Civilization...
From the Project Dwelling Single Mother to the Penthouse Residing Yuppie, The Black Woman is as versatile as they come.
With the black woman being so much of what all men want and even more of what all men need, why then do many of us as black men choose to degrade them and hate them?
I write that last sentence as both a hypocrite and a man conscious of what I love about black women. I have referred to women as "bitch" before...I have done some less than noble things to my sisters over the years. However, I have apologized and atoned for them. I am not talking about the guy who has a rough past (or present) and sometimes has a bad dealing or two with our sisters. I wanna focus on a specific genre of brothers. The educated, upwardly mobile, seemingly intelligent brother who has a good job, an advanced degree, and is as financially stable as he can be at that point in life.
Believe it or not, many of these brothers have a sort of disdain for sisters that could be viewed as a hatred. They ignore black women. They degrade them. They decry them as ghetto, combative, unrelenting, unaffectionate, unsubmissive, uneducated, and unattractive. Forgetting all the while that they were brought into this world by a ghetto, combative, unrelenting, unaffectionate, unsubmissive, uneducated, and unattractive BLACK WOMAN. That their grandmother was a BLACK WOMAN. It's ultimately a form of self hatred.
In Psychology there is a concept called "projection." This ultimately means that you project your insecurities and perceived shortcomings on those closest to you or the object of your unattainable desire in some cases. Who is closer to you as a Black Man than the woman who brought you into this world? Also, for a successful man, rejection is the ultimate blow to the ego. Who better to hate than those who may have rejected you in life?
Also, another root of this sort of hatred of black women by both fairly and immensely successful Black Men is their constant need to prove themselves. They want to make the statement, "Hey, I'm just like you guy. I am NOT one of those white t-shirt wearing, Jean sagging affirmative action cases. I got here on my own merits and by my own intelligence and their ain't NOTHING different about me." For all intensive purposes, this may be completely and utterly TRUE to the fullest extent. (Minus all of the self-hatred and jargon) As a result, these black men do certain assmilationist things to go to the extreme of proving that they are not like those "black guys." They wear certain clothes, join certain fraternities (*sigh*) , talk a certain way, act a certain way, and do certain customs associated with "Eurocentric culture." (Point, there is a difference from Eurocentric Culture and Professionalism. Don't get it twisted.) They go so far as to see black women as only objects of sexual prowess and only good for the occasional tryst than wife, mother, confidant, and companion.
Is there any hope for this brother? Probably not. Let's see how he feels in 20 years though when the current crop of sisters in upwardly mobile positions start to take over the country. These sisters often outnumber brothers 3 to 1 and are typically more motivated and driven to succeed. Then I guess I'll be writing another one of these on the sisters huh? I've already seen some out there that fit the mold....in fact I'm looking at one right now.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Ok, Here comes my hypocrisy....
I am a blogger....
This means I am vain enough to think that other people actually benefit from and enjoy reading my thoughts.
The only thing is, I try my damndest to actually make sense and articulate my points thoroughly enough for whoever is crazy, interested, or drunk enough to read my ramblings to actually follow my logic.
I am a journalist...
This means that I am trained in the art of disseminating information for mass consumption. I have been taught to take the most complicated concepts and break them down to an eigth grade reading level. I have to be intelligent enough to be able to grasp a number of concepts with varying degrees of complexity.
So naturally it frustrates me when people attempt to expound upon B.S. or articulate undefendable points. It really pisses me off when people get verbal diarrhea and try to put all of the big words they know in a few sentences coupled with asinine ideas and try to pass it off as profound, groundbreaking, or "deep."
I have a suggestion for all aspiring to be a part of the black intelligentsia and the scores of Ph.D.'s and scholars in Black America. Before you decide to write something...whether it be a few thoughts, a complex theory of yours, a concept, a political viewpoint, a thesis, or whatever do us all a favor. Actually think about it...
I am one of those people who can sit down and type in a stream of consciousness. Everyone is not able to do that. I'm not saying I'm the Rakim of the blog world, I'm just saying that it's something I do. When I get ready to rap, I sound better if I write it down first. T.I. and Jay-Z are better at freestyling their rhymes in the booth. See where I'm going with this?
I often read blogs and facebook notes and all sorts of other stuff mainly because I'm a nerd, but more so because I like to keep abreast of what my fellow black 20-somethings are thinking about. Sometimes it's Hip-Hop (Fuck Oprah!), sometimes it's Politics (Obama in '08!), sometimes it's utter drivel (my lipgloss be poppin? WTF?!?!?!), and yet and still there are those who enjoy waxing poetic about a laundry list of things much like myself. My biggest problems comes with those whom, I would like to think, are like me. Conscious balls of never ending thought. (Did I just say "Conscious Balls?" I gotta name my next album that.)
Fellow rambling bloggers. PLEASE at least try and make sense if you're going to blog and save the rest of us a brain cramp trying to decipher the dumb stuff that you put on the internet. Thank You and God Bless.
This means I am vain enough to think that other people actually benefit from and enjoy reading my thoughts.
The only thing is, I try my damndest to actually make sense and articulate my points thoroughly enough for whoever is crazy, interested, or drunk enough to read my ramblings to actually follow my logic.
I am a journalist...
This means that I am trained in the art of disseminating information for mass consumption. I have been taught to take the most complicated concepts and break them down to an eigth grade reading level. I have to be intelligent enough to be able to grasp a number of concepts with varying degrees of complexity.
So naturally it frustrates me when people attempt to expound upon B.S. or articulate undefendable points. It really pisses me off when people get verbal diarrhea and try to put all of the big words they know in a few sentences coupled with asinine ideas and try to pass it off as profound, groundbreaking, or "deep."
I have a suggestion for all aspiring to be a part of the black intelligentsia and the scores of Ph.D.'s and scholars in Black America. Before you decide to write something...whether it be a few thoughts, a complex theory of yours, a concept, a political viewpoint, a thesis, or whatever do us all a favor. Actually think about it...
I am one of those people who can sit down and type in a stream of consciousness. Everyone is not able to do that. I'm not saying I'm the Rakim of the blog world, I'm just saying that it's something I do. When I get ready to rap, I sound better if I write it down first. T.I. and Jay-Z are better at freestyling their rhymes in the booth. See where I'm going with this?
I often read blogs and facebook notes and all sorts of other stuff mainly because I'm a nerd, but more so because I like to keep abreast of what my fellow black 20-somethings are thinking about. Sometimes it's Hip-Hop (Fuck Oprah!), sometimes it's Politics (Obama in '08!), sometimes it's utter drivel (my lipgloss be poppin? WTF?!?!?!), and yet and still there are those who enjoy waxing poetic about a laundry list of things much like myself. My biggest problems comes with those whom, I would like to think, are like me. Conscious balls of never ending thought. (Did I just say "Conscious Balls?" I gotta name my next album that.)
Fellow rambling bloggers. PLEASE at least try and make sense if you're going to blog and save the rest of us a brain cramp trying to decipher the dumb stuff that you put on the internet. Thank You and God Bless.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Musings of a Frustrated Substitute
Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.
-James Baldwin
I've often wondered exactly what determines a man's age. Is it the actual physical years that his heart has beaten? Is it dictated by life's experiences? Can age possibly be determined by the moments in which he feels a widening sense of disconnection from youth? The answer to all three appears to be a resounding yes.
I'm writing this from a high school classroom full of students of various ages, socioeconomic backgrounds, and temperaments. Their ramblings, musings, and childish activities all run together into an caucophony of absolutely useless drivel. It forces the question, "What is really wrong with our children?"
There is an obvious difference between the zeal and exuberance of the young and the pointless activities that our youth use to occupy their time. I have often blamed the media, society, and our educational system for failing our children on numerous occasions. While these institutions cannot be rendered blameless, I am finding more and more that our children don't want to do better. They have no desire to make any more of themselves than what their minimal effort and God's good graces will get them.
I know at 13, 14, 15, and 16, much of your life is wrapped up in self-image , fashion, and finding an identity. Much of this identity is shaped by the peer group that you find yourself within. What can one do though when that identity has proven to ultimately be destructive to not only themselves, but those around them? The answer, more often than not, is strict discipline. Detention, Suspensions, and (in some places) Corporal Punishment are handed out liberally as a "one size fits all" solution to even the simplest of behavioral problems. The only problem is that one cannot be disciplined within a school when they aren't disciplined properly at home and haven't been raised in a home where discipline is the norm. Therefore the school acting under the guise of en loco parentis attempt to properly handle a variety of children within certain parameters of not only good educational practice but also an even-handed, universal fairness so that all are treated equally.
Our children are failing in school and society as a result...
Partially of their own volition...
Partially due to a plethora of outside factors...
Is there a solution, or have we gotten too deep into this quagmire?
The optimist in me wants to say, "Hell yeah there's a solution!"
The realist in me recognizes that it would take two acts of God, an act of the United Nations, a conversion of George Bush to Hinduism, and the resurrection of Nipsey Russell to make the solution actually come to pass.
It would take a renewed interest in parenting, a COMPLETE overhaul of the entire U.S. Department of Education, we'd have to scrap No Child Left Behind, B.E.T. would have to be shut down, Hip-Hop would have to undergo a MAJOR transformation, the Dope Game would have to lose its luster, instutional racism would have to completely disappear, community involvement would have to become a priority for blacks, the black nuclear family would have to magestically reappear in the realm of American society, and last but not least our children would have to begin to give a damn...
Think its possible?
-James Baldwin
I've often wondered exactly what determines a man's age. Is it the actual physical years that his heart has beaten? Is it dictated by life's experiences? Can age possibly be determined by the moments in which he feels a widening sense of disconnection from youth? The answer to all three appears to be a resounding yes.
I'm writing this from a high school classroom full of students of various ages, socioeconomic backgrounds, and temperaments. Their ramblings, musings, and childish activities all run together into an caucophony of absolutely useless drivel. It forces the question, "What is really wrong with our children?"
There is an obvious difference between the zeal and exuberance of the young and the pointless activities that our youth use to occupy their time. I have often blamed the media, society, and our educational system for failing our children on numerous occasions. While these institutions cannot be rendered blameless, I am finding more and more that our children don't want to do better. They have no desire to make any more of themselves than what their minimal effort and God's good graces will get them.
I know at 13, 14, 15, and 16, much of your life is wrapped up in self-image , fashion, and finding an identity. Much of this identity is shaped by the peer group that you find yourself within. What can one do though when that identity has proven to ultimately be destructive to not only themselves, but those around them? The answer, more often than not, is strict discipline. Detention, Suspensions, and (in some places) Corporal Punishment are handed out liberally as a "one size fits all" solution to even the simplest of behavioral problems. The only problem is that one cannot be disciplined within a school when they aren't disciplined properly at home and haven't been raised in a home where discipline is the norm. Therefore the school acting under the guise of en loco parentis attempt to properly handle a variety of children within certain parameters of not only good educational practice but also an even-handed, universal fairness so that all are treated equally.
Our children are failing in school and society as a result...
Partially of their own volition...
Partially due to a plethora of outside factors...
Is there a solution, or have we gotten too deep into this quagmire?
The optimist in me wants to say, "Hell yeah there's a solution!"
The realist in me recognizes that it would take two acts of God, an act of the United Nations, a conversion of George Bush to Hinduism, and the resurrection of Nipsey Russell to make the solution actually come to pass.
It would take a renewed interest in parenting, a COMPLETE overhaul of the entire U.S. Department of Education, we'd have to scrap No Child Left Behind, B.E.T. would have to be shut down, Hip-Hop would have to undergo a MAJOR transformation, the Dope Game would have to lose its luster, instutional racism would have to completely disappear, community involvement would have to become a priority for blacks, the black nuclear family would have to magestically reappear in the realm of American society, and last but not least our children would have to begin to give a damn...
Think its possible?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Ramblings in Frustration
"Butterflies begin from having been another
As a child is born from being in a mother's womb
But how many times have you wished you were some other
someone than who you are
Yet who's to say if all were uncovered
You will like what you see
You can only be you
As I can only be me
Flowers cannot bloom until it is their season
As we would not be here unless it was our destiny
But how many times have you wished to be in spaces
Time places than what you were
Yet who's to say with unfamiliar faces You could anymore be
Loving you that you see
You can only be you
As I can only be
Me
I can only be me"
--Stevie Wonder
I've always loved that song.
Saturday night after an "interesting" dinner and standing outside for a while trying to put a bag over my freshly broken window...that's a story for another time. I sat at this new lounge in Birmingham called "Steel" and contemplated the drastic 180 my life has taken over the past month and a half or so.
I'm not gonna sit here and spout off a list of problems here, that's not the point. I just wanted to get a few things off my chest.
Closing My Circle
I'm finding my circle of interaction closing rapidly. As I've been going through my trying times, I've reached out to certain people only to be sent to voicemail and treated as a veritable leper. I understand that people have things that they go through. True enough. However, more often than not I don't want to call and talk about that. I may mention how frustrating it is to find a job right now, but I really want to talk about music and poetry. If you're busy, I understand. I think I at least deserve the decency of a call back after a few hours, even the next day. Really. Sometimes I just want to talk and laugh to take my mind off the situation.
There are people in my life who make me smile. I hope I do the same for them from time to time. That's why I reach out to them, because in our trying times we can make each other laugh through the frowns and smile through the tears.
I've also been closing my circle for another reason. I'm finding out about entirely too many people who are supposed to be "holding me down" actually bringing me down. I got stories for days and proof for weeks....
Prayer...
I haven't prayed in a very long time. I've often felt ashamed to kneel before Him. Not because I'm embarrassed to pray in front of others or ashamed to be a Christian. I'm more ashamed of myself than anything. I don't feel worthy to stand in His presence and ask for forgiveness. I am embarrassed because I know better than my actions would lead Him to believe. I am ashamed of some of the things I do, say, and think.
I hear all the time, "Well, that's the beauty of God's forgiveness. He knows that you are imperfect and He wants you to lean on Him." That doesn't help my shame. I have the biggest trouble forgiving myself. It's kind of like that line from Nina Simone's song, "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"
"Sometimes I find myself alone regretting, some little foolish thing, some simple thing that I have done..."
I love that song too...In fact, I feel as though it's my theme song (Check out the John Legend version)
Anyway, I'm afraid of God's reproach...although I'm probably experiencing it now. My definition of "God Fearing" is probably different from 90% of the Christian population's, I fear God in the same way that Adam and Eve feared Him when they first came to the realization that they were naked...
That's the only way I can describe it.
My Love Life...
I give up on this love thing. I've been chewed up and spit out and ground into the dust...
Love sucks...I'm running from it.
Peace ya'll
SE7EN
As a child is born from being in a mother's womb
But how many times have you wished you were some other
someone than who you are
Yet who's to say if all were uncovered
You will like what you see
You can only be you
As I can only be me
Flowers cannot bloom until it is their season
As we would not be here unless it was our destiny
But how many times have you wished to be in spaces
Time places than what you were
Yet who's to say with unfamiliar faces You could anymore be
Loving you that you see
You can only be you
As I can only be
Me
I can only be me"
--Stevie Wonder
I've always loved that song.
Saturday night after an "interesting" dinner and standing outside for a while trying to put a bag over my freshly broken window...that's a story for another time. I sat at this new lounge in Birmingham called "Steel" and contemplated the drastic 180 my life has taken over the past month and a half or so.
I'm not gonna sit here and spout off a list of problems here, that's not the point. I just wanted to get a few things off my chest.
Closing My Circle
I'm finding my circle of interaction closing rapidly. As I've been going through my trying times, I've reached out to certain people only to be sent to voicemail and treated as a veritable leper. I understand that people have things that they go through. True enough. However, more often than not I don't want to call and talk about that. I may mention how frustrating it is to find a job right now, but I really want to talk about music and poetry. If you're busy, I understand. I think I at least deserve the decency of a call back after a few hours, even the next day. Really. Sometimes I just want to talk and laugh to take my mind off the situation.
There are people in my life who make me smile. I hope I do the same for them from time to time. That's why I reach out to them, because in our trying times we can make each other laugh through the frowns and smile through the tears.
I've also been closing my circle for another reason. I'm finding out about entirely too many people who are supposed to be "holding me down" actually bringing me down. I got stories for days and proof for weeks....
Prayer...
I haven't prayed in a very long time. I've often felt ashamed to kneel before Him. Not because I'm embarrassed to pray in front of others or ashamed to be a Christian. I'm more ashamed of myself than anything. I don't feel worthy to stand in His presence and ask for forgiveness. I am embarrassed because I know better than my actions would lead Him to believe. I am ashamed of some of the things I do, say, and think.
I hear all the time, "Well, that's the beauty of God's forgiveness. He knows that you are imperfect and He wants you to lean on Him." That doesn't help my shame. I have the biggest trouble forgiving myself. It's kind of like that line from Nina Simone's song, "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood"
"Sometimes I find myself alone regretting, some little foolish thing, some simple thing that I have done..."
I love that song too...In fact, I feel as though it's my theme song (Check out the John Legend version)
Anyway, I'm afraid of God's reproach...although I'm probably experiencing it now. My definition of "God Fearing" is probably different from 90% of the Christian population's, I fear God in the same way that Adam and Eve feared Him when they first came to the realization that they were naked...
That's the only way I can describe it.
My Love Life...
I give up on this love thing. I've been chewed up and spit out and ground into the dust...
Love sucks...I'm running from it.
Peace ya'll
SE7EN
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Sometimes You Just Gotta Walk Away...
"Part of being a winner is knowing when enough is enough. Sometimes you have to give up the fight and walk away, and move on to something that's more productive."
--Donald Trump
"Sometimes...when you hold out for everything, you walk away with nothing"
--Ally McBeal
"I got this Icebox where my heart used to be..."
--Omarion
I've finally made it to my breaking point...
I've never quit anything that I started. I really haven't, it's not in my nature to quit. I've often marveled at my own level of willful perseverance. I get knocked down, beat up, and kicked, yet somehow I keep getting up asking for more.
This quality is most evident in my personal relationships and educational career. While I'm no where near giving up on my education, my personal relationships are definitely in turmoil.
2006 has probably been the most trying year for myself, my REAL friends, and my personal relationships. I am beginning to lose my ability to find the value in other people who I am not already acquainted with. Why? I feel the need to defend myself. Defend myself from what? From the pain that goes along with having a big heart. I have been truly heartbroken by certain people that I held near to me this year.
My outlook is atypical of what's to be expected. Many would be frustrated and see it as just another casualty of life. I think it's only a matter of people eliminating themselves. God is pruning me. Shedding dead weight from my circle. While it may be somewhat frustrating and painful on my end, I know it's for the better.
To all those that I've loved and lost, thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson in my life. Some things we just can't change...peace out. Enjoy your life, stay blessed.
--Donald Trump
"Sometimes...when you hold out for everything, you walk away with nothing"
--Ally McBeal
"I got this Icebox where my heart used to be..."
--Omarion
I've finally made it to my breaking point...
I've never quit anything that I started. I really haven't, it's not in my nature to quit. I've often marveled at my own level of willful perseverance. I get knocked down, beat up, and kicked, yet somehow I keep getting up asking for more.
This quality is most evident in my personal relationships and educational career. While I'm no where near giving up on my education, my personal relationships are definitely in turmoil.
2006 has probably been the most trying year for myself, my REAL friends, and my personal relationships. I am beginning to lose my ability to find the value in other people who I am not already acquainted with. Why? I feel the need to defend myself. Defend myself from what? From the pain that goes along with having a big heart. I have been truly heartbroken by certain people that I held near to me this year.
My outlook is atypical of what's to be expected. Many would be frustrated and see it as just another casualty of life. I think it's only a matter of people eliminating themselves. God is pruning me. Shedding dead weight from my circle. While it may be somewhat frustrating and painful on my end, I know it's for the better.
To all those that I've loved and lost, thank you for teaching me a valuable lesson in my life. Some things we just can't change...peace out. Enjoy your life, stay blessed.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Hip-Hop Is Dead?
Young Jeezy vs. Monie Luv
Ok, I am sick of people telling me "Hip-Hop Is Dead" and "The South Killed Hip-Hop." That is the most baseless, asinine, elitist claim I have ever heard in my life. In the interview above, Hip-Hop veteran (I refuse to call her a legend after this interview) Monie Luv ATTACKS Young Jeezy verbally. They discuss Lil' Wayne's most recent comments about Jay-Z (Which is an entirely new blog) and then she baits him into a conversation about whether or not hip-hop is truly dead.
While I don't necessarily like the way Jeezy handled it, I respect him for holding it down as a Southern Artist and a Man.
ATTENTION:Hip-Hop is NOT Dead!
The South is NOT responsible for any sort of negative shift in Hip-Hop and I'm tired of Northern Hip-Hop heads claiming that we are. As an artist I feel personally slighted. I don't have a record deal, I'm not making millions. I spit for the love. I MC. I am a rapper. When you say Southern rappers suck, by association I am lumped in.
I am a hip-hop purist. I long for the days of Doug E. Fresh, Grandmaster Flash, Schooly D, a young LL Cool J, and Run DMC.
I am also a Southern Hip-Hop Purist. Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik is STILL in my heavy rotation. I still listen to Comin' Out Hard and get that tingly feeling in my spine. UGK is still my favorite Texas group!
Do I like everything that comes out of FYE with a "Hip-Hop" label on it? Hell No! I don't really care for snap music, trap music is very cliche', and crunk is on the verge of crap at times. Think about it though, those are three very distinct genres simply within southern hip-hop though! Rapper Big Pooh from Little Brother said it better than most. He said that the rappers from the south are the most versatile artists because we grew up listening to everything.
We have some of the BEST and BRIGHTEST in the game. Seriously. I know now why a lot of West Coast cats still don't really fool with Northern Hip Hop. When the West Coast began to reign in the 90's, a war sparked off! Mainly because a few cats from the North and some of the "Hip Hop Purists" didn't like the direction. I think it's ridiculous.
I find it amazing that the main critics of southern hip-hop are people who have never paid attention to it. It's SUPER hypocritical. They hate our snap dances, our "Walk It Out", and our "Poole Palace". We embraced their "Harlem Shake" and "Chicken Noodle Soup." They have Wu-Tang. We have the Dungeon Family. The South has ALWAYS been underrated in terms of lyricism and skill because of the Northern bias of the hip-hop media. We know New York is the birthplace, but damn can we shine too?!?!?!?!
Cee-Lo, Andre 3000, Big Boi, T.I., Lil' Wayne (after he stops feeling himself so much), Young Buck, Ludacris, Bun-B, Little Brother, Killa Mike.
All Southern Artists. All could hold their own in a cypher with anyone, anywhere. Jeezy was right about one thing he said in his interview. It's a new day, a new movement.
Take some cues from Fat Joe and show some love.
Give me your top 5 Southern Hip Hop Albums:
1. Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik
2. Comin' Out Hard
3. Soul Food
4. 400 Degreez
5. Da' Pimp and Da Gangsta
Ok, I am sick of people telling me "Hip-Hop Is Dead" and "The South Killed Hip-Hop." That is the most baseless, asinine, elitist claim I have ever heard in my life. In the interview above, Hip-Hop veteran (I refuse to call her a legend after this interview) Monie Luv ATTACKS Young Jeezy verbally. They discuss Lil' Wayne's most recent comments about Jay-Z (Which is an entirely new blog) and then she baits him into a conversation about whether or not hip-hop is truly dead.
While I don't necessarily like the way Jeezy handled it, I respect him for holding it down as a Southern Artist and a Man.
ATTENTION:Hip-Hop is NOT Dead!
The South is NOT responsible for any sort of negative shift in Hip-Hop and I'm tired of Northern Hip-Hop heads claiming that we are. As an artist I feel personally slighted. I don't have a record deal, I'm not making millions. I spit for the love. I MC. I am a rapper. When you say Southern rappers suck, by association I am lumped in.
I am a hip-hop purist. I long for the days of Doug E. Fresh, Grandmaster Flash, Schooly D, a young LL Cool J, and Run DMC.
I am also a Southern Hip-Hop Purist. Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik is STILL in my heavy rotation. I still listen to Comin' Out Hard and get that tingly feeling in my spine. UGK is still my favorite Texas group!
Do I like everything that comes out of FYE with a "Hip-Hop" label on it? Hell No! I don't really care for snap music, trap music is very cliche', and crunk is on the verge of crap at times. Think about it though, those are three very distinct genres simply within southern hip-hop though! Rapper Big Pooh from Little Brother said it better than most. He said that the rappers from the south are the most versatile artists because we grew up listening to everything.
We have some of the BEST and BRIGHTEST in the game. Seriously. I know now why a lot of West Coast cats still don't really fool with Northern Hip Hop. When the West Coast began to reign in the 90's, a war sparked off! Mainly because a few cats from the North and some of the "Hip Hop Purists" didn't like the direction. I think it's ridiculous.
I find it amazing that the main critics of southern hip-hop are people who have never paid attention to it. It's SUPER hypocritical. They hate our snap dances, our "Walk It Out", and our "Poole Palace". We embraced their "Harlem Shake" and "Chicken Noodle Soup." They have Wu-Tang. We have the Dungeon Family. The South has ALWAYS been underrated in terms of lyricism and skill because of the Northern bias of the hip-hop media. We know New York is the birthplace, but damn can we shine too?!?!?!?!
Cee-Lo, Andre 3000, Big Boi, T.I., Lil' Wayne (after he stops feeling himself so much), Young Buck, Ludacris, Bun-B, Little Brother, Killa Mike.
All Southern Artists. All could hold their own in a cypher with anyone, anywhere. Jeezy was right about one thing he said in his interview. It's a new day, a new movement.
Take some cues from Fat Joe and show some love.
Give me your top 5 Southern Hip Hop Albums:
1. Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik
2. Comin' Out Hard
3. Soul Food
4. 400 Degreez
5. Da' Pimp and Da Gangsta
Friday, December 08, 2006
Play at Your Own Risk...
Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.
--Charlie Brown (Charles M. Schultz from hit Comic Strip "Peanuts")
Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart.
___________________________________________________________________
I'm accustomed to not getting what I want. I'm definitely not worried about things that I know I can't have...materially. However, I just like any man, am always somewhat curious about what makes members of the opposite sex tick. This is not a "woman bashing" note by any means, it is simply an observation of the inconsistencies we tend to overlook when it comes to them.
I will never understand the logic behind women's choices in dating. 9 times out of 10, when I look at my boys, I can see why they would date the people they would. I can see how they can be attracted to them. My female associates, not so much. I'm often confused about what motivates women who always tout the virtues of intelligence, ambition, and stability to date people who are inferior to them in each category.
I have listened to women dog men without ceasing. I have listened to them bitterly make statements about how, "there are no good men left" or "a good man is hard to find" or (my personal favorite) "all the black men are either dead, in jail, or gay." I find these statements to be utterly false and also very aggravating as a good black man. I can rattle off 10 right now. The problem is no that we aren't out there the problem is that you either a) don't want to be with us, b) are with us and treat us like crap, or c) are too hung up on being with someone you know doesn't want to be with you. Honestly, like Katt Williams said, if you are over the age of 21 and you are still talking about how all men are dogs, you need to grow up and start saying all the dudes YOU choose to mess with are dogs.
Fellas, at some point and time in your life you will realize that you are in somebody's life for their convenience only. The relationship is NOT reciprocal. Unrequited love sucks, and we all know it. There has been at least ONE female in every guy's life that he has loved to DEATH. He would have tried to fight the fleshly incarnation of pain itself for her honor and protection. He treated her like a queen and all he got in return was the Red Badge of "Friendship". Ladies, when you do that, you're essentially spitting in the guy's face and telling him, "You're not good enough for me." Then 2 days later you'll call him at 2 a.m. for comforting while a man that doesn't even COMPARE to him is doing you wrong. I have been in this situation. I used to find it annoying, now I find it amusing...
Some people may be wondering about my motivation behind this. Well, let me give it to you. I'm getting tired of black women who are upwardly mobile, intelligent, stable, focused, highly active, and independent completely disrespecting black men. It's old, it's trifling, and it's probably the reason you're single. I simply cannot understand why some women who are building a career and making themselves economically viable cannot deal with a man who is doing the same. Simple cowardice seems to be the answer, you've dealt with men who have had nothing comparable in terms of intellect and drive, yet when you find a good man such as myself, or one of the people I associate, with you run. No one wants to buy a problem. No one wants to commit to frustration. If we can grow up and treat you with respect, admiration, and love, can you return the favor with some understanding at the very least?
--Charlie Brown (Charles M. Schultz from hit Comic Strip "Peanuts")
Some prices are just too high, no matter how much you may want the prize. The one thing you can't trade for your heart's desire is your heart.
___________________________________________________________________
I'm accustomed to not getting what I want. I'm definitely not worried about things that I know I can't have...materially. However, I just like any man, am always somewhat curious about what makes members of the opposite sex tick. This is not a "woman bashing" note by any means, it is simply an observation of the inconsistencies we tend to overlook when it comes to them.
I will never understand the logic behind women's choices in dating. 9 times out of 10, when I look at my boys, I can see why they would date the people they would. I can see how they can be attracted to them. My female associates, not so much. I'm often confused about what motivates women who always tout the virtues of intelligence, ambition, and stability to date people who are inferior to them in each category.
I have listened to women dog men without ceasing. I have listened to them bitterly make statements about how, "there are no good men left" or "a good man is hard to find" or (my personal favorite) "all the black men are either dead, in jail, or gay." I find these statements to be utterly false and also very aggravating as a good black man. I can rattle off 10 right now. The problem is no that we aren't out there the problem is that you either a) don't want to be with us, b) are with us and treat us like crap, or c) are too hung up on being with someone you know doesn't want to be with you. Honestly, like Katt Williams said, if you are over the age of 21 and you are still talking about how all men are dogs, you need to grow up and start saying all the dudes YOU choose to mess with are dogs.
Fellas, at some point and time in your life you will realize that you are in somebody's life for their convenience only. The relationship is NOT reciprocal. Unrequited love sucks, and we all know it. There has been at least ONE female in every guy's life that he has loved to DEATH. He would have tried to fight the fleshly incarnation of pain itself for her honor and protection. He treated her like a queen and all he got in return was the Red Badge of "Friendship". Ladies, when you do that, you're essentially spitting in the guy's face and telling him, "You're not good enough for me." Then 2 days later you'll call him at 2 a.m. for comforting while a man that doesn't even COMPARE to him is doing you wrong. I have been in this situation. I used to find it annoying, now I find it amusing...
Some people may be wondering about my motivation behind this. Well, let me give it to you. I'm getting tired of black women who are upwardly mobile, intelligent, stable, focused, highly active, and independent completely disrespecting black men. It's old, it's trifling, and it's probably the reason you're single. I simply cannot understand why some women who are building a career and making themselves economically viable cannot deal with a man who is doing the same. Simple cowardice seems to be the answer, you've dealt with men who have had nothing comparable in terms of intellect and drive, yet when you find a good man such as myself, or one of the people I associate, with you run. No one wants to buy a problem. No one wants to commit to frustration. If we can grow up and treat you with respect, admiration, and love, can you return the favor with some understanding at the very least?
Monday, November 13, 2006
Lost and Found....
So, the past couple of weeks have definitely been a learning experience....ups and downs. Mostly ups, but a few downs. What would life be without them though?
I'm gonna focus on the past few days though because it makes more sense to.
This weekend was both Tuskegee and Alabama State's homecomings. However, in retrospect, I realized that I did a LOT of thinking....despite the "hazy" condition I was in for the most part. I learned a few things.
I learned that life is too short to take for granted...
In the past couple of days, a few ICONS have died. Ed Bradley, Gerald Levert, and Brandy Nicole Murphy. Some of us know Ed Bradley, as the intelligent Black journalist on 60 minutes. Many of us know Gerald Levert as the soulful big man with a wonderously rich voice. However, many of us did not know "Nikki"...and that's a shame.
Nikki passed away this weekend as the result of a car accident in the Atlanta area on I-20. The other person in the car, UA basketball player Jermareo Davidson, was seriously injured. While I don't know Jermareo well, I pray for his speedy recovery.
Nikki was one of the most beautiful people that I had ever met. Not only did she have a beautiful smile, but she had a way of making you feel like all was right in the world. Every time I saw Nikki, whatever was on my mind at the time disappeared. She would hug you so tight and talk to you until your problems disappeared into thin air. She was a beautiful soul and she will be missed greatly.
My heart goes out to her family and her sisters in Delta Xi Phi. They were a big family filled with love. My prayers, as I'm sure many others are as well, are with you.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Some people are just not gonna like you....even if you don't know why
Not too much to say other than that....Some people are just childish like that.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Sometimes you can worry yourself right out of a blessing....
As long as you are trying to do things in your own way and manner, God is not being glorified through your work. I am guilty. I've had a SUPERMAN complex for years in matters of political and social importance. (At least what I considered important. Now though, I just want to let go and let God. I've retired from "The Revolution" in favor of going where God wants me to go. This must be how the Israelites felt.
I feel as though I'm walking through life, now humbly seeking to hear God's voice in the midst of all the shouting. I know that I DEFINITELY have a good way to go, but I'm sure I'll get there if it's HIS will.
In the fussing, fighting, rigamarole, and strain of everyday life, I forgot about HIS plan because I was too busy making my own. That was my worst mistake. Fighting my own battles instead of letting Him fight for me was another one.
Times are a'changing friends....
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Life's too short my friends.....too short.
Meosha, you're on deck! LOL!
I'm gonna focus on the past few days though because it makes more sense to.
This weekend was both Tuskegee and Alabama State's homecomings. However, in retrospect, I realized that I did a LOT of thinking....despite the "hazy" condition I was in for the most part. I learned a few things.
I learned that life is too short to take for granted...
In the past couple of days, a few ICONS have died. Ed Bradley, Gerald Levert, and Brandy Nicole Murphy. Some of us know Ed Bradley, as the intelligent Black journalist on 60 minutes. Many of us know Gerald Levert as the soulful big man with a wonderously rich voice. However, many of us did not know "Nikki"...and that's a shame.
Nikki passed away this weekend as the result of a car accident in the Atlanta area on I-20. The other person in the car, UA basketball player Jermareo Davidson, was seriously injured. While I don't know Jermareo well, I pray for his speedy recovery.
Nikki was one of the most beautiful people that I had ever met. Not only did she have a beautiful smile, but she had a way of making you feel like all was right in the world. Every time I saw Nikki, whatever was on my mind at the time disappeared. She would hug you so tight and talk to you until your problems disappeared into thin air. She was a beautiful soul and she will be missed greatly.
My heart goes out to her family and her sisters in Delta Xi Phi. They were a big family filled with love. My prayers, as I'm sure many others are as well, are with you.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Some people are just not gonna like you....even if you don't know why
Not too much to say other than that....Some people are just childish like that.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Sometimes you can worry yourself right out of a blessing....
As long as you are trying to do things in your own way and manner, God is not being glorified through your work. I am guilty. I've had a SUPERMAN complex for years in matters of political and social importance. (At least what I considered important. Now though, I just want to let go and let God. I've retired from "The Revolution" in favor of going where God wants me to go. This must be how the Israelites felt.
I feel as though I'm walking through life, now humbly seeking to hear God's voice in the midst of all the shouting. I know that I DEFINITELY have a good way to go, but I'm sure I'll get there if it's HIS will.
In the fussing, fighting, rigamarole, and strain of everyday life, I forgot about HIS plan because I was too busy making my own. That was my worst mistake. Fighting my own battles instead of letting Him fight for me was another one.
Times are a'changing friends....
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Life's too short my friends.....too short.
Meosha, you're on deck! LOL!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
To Be Self Righteous....
self-right·eous (slfrchs)
adj.
1. Piously sure of one's own righteousness; moralistic.
2. Exhibiting pious self-assurance: self-righteous remarks.
self-righteous·ly adv.
self-righteous·ness n.
I am ashamed of a few things right now. Bare with me as I go through this...
I am ashamed of The University of Alabama. I hang my head at the very thought of the imperialist attitudes displayed as a result of the Homecoming festivites of years gone by. The black community at UA has often felt that the University of Alabama Administration had no commitment to making us feel welcome in a bastion of white privilege. We now see how true that is.
I am not a race baiter. I am not one to simply throw out the race card in the interest of gaining attention or embarrassing others into action. However, the racist undertones of the ENTIRE homecoming celebration are too hard to ignore. Moving the Ying-Yang Twins to a completely different venue for the homecoming concert while citing "logistics issues" as the reason is utterly ludicrous. A has been country singer and a rap group with more crossover appeal than the "thug rappers" that everyone decries them as, would not draw any more of a crowd than Lynrd Skynrd did 5 years ago. In fact, they would be LESS appealing.
The conclusion MUST be made that, the presence of an act that wasn't a part of mainstream, southern, traditionally white music scared the university into forcing a move of the concert.
I am embarrassed by many of the students at my alma mater. I am embarrassed that in all their self-righteousness they cannot see some of the more blatant attempts to railroad black students on their own campus. They accuse us of self-segregation. This goes deeper than all the black kids sitting together in the lunchroom or all the black organizations keeping to themselves. This is deeply seated in the 40-plus years that black students were not allowed to participate equally in the homecoming festivities at The University of Alabama. 3 years ago, I personally sat down with other students and Dr. Witt and told him to his face, "There are two separate homecomings at this university. A black homecoming and a white homecoming." 3 years ago, I saw this happening. 3 years before, someone else saw the same. 30 years ago, is probably when it began.
So, in their self-righteousness the students and administrators who felt that the move was the proper thing to do make it a point to turn the tables and call the traditional homecoming stepshow, "self-segregation", suggesting that the NPHC change the date and/or time of the stepshow to accomodate the homecoming concert. Well, one thing about that is that the 9 traditionally black fraternities and sororities that make up the NPHC have a long tradition of stepping which dates back to our roots in Africa. The NPHC at The University of Alabama has a long-standing tradition of hosting this stepshow as a way for black students, who were segregated from the rest of the campus community, to celebrate homecoming. Now that the University is "pandering" to the black community (often on subpar levels)we are supposed to throw away our traditions?
I'm ashamed of some of the students at my alma mater for another reason. To justify this racist action of the administration, they point to the senseless killing of a bright university student and veteran of George W. Bush's War on AmerIraq. To blame this murder that occured two and a half hours after the concert and miles away from the concert is simply a logical fallacy. These are the same people that make racist jokes about the concert, call us separationists and self-segregators. Their ignorance makes them laughable....and dangerous. I am ashamed of them for disrespecting the memory of this young scholar and patriot who was so full of promise by using his death to further their own racist ideology. I am ashamed that they are allowed to be self-righteous comfortably because no one will call them the cowards they truly are....mostly because they hide behind computer screens, titles, badges, and hoods.
I'm ashamed of myself. For not rearranging my schedule to go support Tiffany Minnifield in the protest she organized. I'm ashamed of myself for not speaking out on this sooner. I'm ashamed of myself for allowing this sort of underlying racism to fester under my watch. I'm ashamed of myself for being emotional about the progress of Americans on the racial front. I'm ashamed of the crimson blood that pumps through my veins right now as I sit on the enemies campus, a tide of tears being held back only by the anger I feel by reading the Crimson White. The articles. The comments.
I'm ashamed to say Roll Tide....
I'm ashamed because obviously....The University of Alabama is ashamed of me.
--SE7EN
adj.
1. Piously sure of one's own righteousness; moralistic.
2. Exhibiting pious self-assurance: self-righteous remarks.
self-righteous·ly adv.
self-righteous·ness n.
I am ashamed of a few things right now. Bare with me as I go through this...
I am ashamed of The University of Alabama. I hang my head at the very thought of the imperialist attitudes displayed as a result of the Homecoming festivites of years gone by. The black community at UA has often felt that the University of Alabama Administration had no commitment to making us feel welcome in a bastion of white privilege. We now see how true that is.
I am not a race baiter. I am not one to simply throw out the race card in the interest of gaining attention or embarrassing others into action. However, the racist undertones of the ENTIRE homecoming celebration are too hard to ignore. Moving the Ying-Yang Twins to a completely different venue for the homecoming concert while citing "logistics issues" as the reason is utterly ludicrous. A has been country singer and a rap group with more crossover appeal than the "thug rappers" that everyone decries them as, would not draw any more of a crowd than Lynrd Skynrd did 5 years ago. In fact, they would be LESS appealing.
The conclusion MUST be made that, the presence of an act that wasn't a part of mainstream, southern, traditionally white music scared the university into forcing a move of the concert.
I am embarrassed by many of the students at my alma mater. I am embarrassed that in all their self-righteousness they cannot see some of the more blatant attempts to railroad black students on their own campus. They accuse us of self-segregation. This goes deeper than all the black kids sitting together in the lunchroom or all the black organizations keeping to themselves. This is deeply seated in the 40-plus years that black students were not allowed to participate equally in the homecoming festivities at The University of Alabama. 3 years ago, I personally sat down with other students and Dr. Witt and told him to his face, "There are two separate homecomings at this university. A black homecoming and a white homecoming." 3 years ago, I saw this happening. 3 years before, someone else saw the same. 30 years ago, is probably when it began.
So, in their self-righteousness the students and administrators who felt that the move was the proper thing to do make it a point to turn the tables and call the traditional homecoming stepshow, "self-segregation", suggesting that the NPHC change the date and/or time of the stepshow to accomodate the homecoming concert. Well, one thing about that is that the 9 traditionally black fraternities and sororities that make up the NPHC have a long tradition of stepping which dates back to our roots in Africa. The NPHC at The University of Alabama has a long-standing tradition of hosting this stepshow as a way for black students, who were segregated from the rest of the campus community, to celebrate homecoming. Now that the University is "pandering" to the black community (often on subpar levels)we are supposed to throw away our traditions?
I'm ashamed of some of the students at my alma mater for another reason. To justify this racist action of the administration, they point to the senseless killing of a bright university student and veteran of George W. Bush's War on AmerIraq. To blame this murder that occured two and a half hours after the concert and miles away from the concert is simply a logical fallacy. These are the same people that make racist jokes about the concert, call us separationists and self-segregators. Their ignorance makes them laughable....and dangerous. I am ashamed of them for disrespecting the memory of this young scholar and patriot who was so full of promise by using his death to further their own racist ideology. I am ashamed that they are allowed to be self-righteous comfortably because no one will call them the cowards they truly are....mostly because they hide behind computer screens, titles, badges, and hoods.
I'm ashamed of myself. For not rearranging my schedule to go support Tiffany Minnifield in the protest she organized. I'm ashamed of myself for not speaking out on this sooner. I'm ashamed of myself for allowing this sort of underlying racism to fester under my watch. I'm ashamed of myself for being emotional about the progress of Americans on the racial front. I'm ashamed of the crimson blood that pumps through my veins right now as I sit on the enemies campus, a tide of tears being held back only by the anger I feel by reading the Crimson White. The articles. The comments.
I'm ashamed to say Roll Tide....
I'm ashamed because obviously....The University of Alabama is ashamed of me.
--SE7EN
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
What I'm Sick Of....
So I'm on my soapbox again....
This is gonna be kinda funny, kinda serious, kinda half hearted....
I just need to get some things off my chest.
I am sick of Facebook....
I am sick of Everyone having so much access to my personal info at one time
I am sick of Everyone else's personal info bein so available to me
I don't really care if you joined a group....
I could care even less if you removed information from your profile....
I don't give a damn about your status being "So-And-So is Sleeping/in class/at a party."
I don't care!!!!!
I'm sure no one else does either.....
I don't care about you going from "it's complicated" to "in a relationship"
Real talk.
And another thing about facebook....
I am sick of EVERYONE who is in love telling the entire world how in love they are....
I am sick of EVERY tenderhearted female in the world co-signing that crap...
STOP IT! You people disgust me!
Relationships are between two people, not two people and the entire e-world!
Stop it!
The one thing I love to see is when people go from "in a relationship/married" to "single"....
Call me mean, but that crap is hilarious! I have laughed for days at a time when certain people break up. I'm not gonna lie.
If your profile's "About Me" section goes from: "I have found my one and only. They are my moon, stars, and sun. I want to love them forever...." THEN CHANGES TO: "Love sucks. Everyone in love sucks. I love not being in love. Dishonest people suck. I hate you. I want to die...." UNDERSTAND THAT I WILL LAUGH AT YOU!!! LOUDLY!!! IN PUBLIC!!!
In fact, I'm doing it now. HAHAHAHAHA!
Keep your business off facebook.
I'm sick of women with boyfriends/significant others...
I don't know why, I just am...
Am I bitter?
Probably...
I'm sick of BET...
I am sick of beating the "dead horse" that is the B.E.T. Sucks campaign....
I am sick of RAP
I am sick of "Chain Hang Low", "Chicken Noodle Soup", and any other song that sets black people back 1,000 years...
I am sick of Minstrelsy...
I am sick of women who are trying too hard to be cute...
Ladies, everyday is not your own personal fashion show...
I understand you have high sel-esteem.
I understand that you look fabulous.
I understand that you have a great sense of fashion.
What I DON'T understand is how you can set foot out of the house EVERY-DAMN-DAY with a straight face with some of the stuff ya'll have on.
Real Talk. Auburn has some of the most beautiful women I've seen in the state. Hands down. But, if I can look at you and think that you're attention starved....do you really think I'm gonna wanna talk to you? Period? Am I gonna take you seriously?
I am sick of women who confuse sexiness with exploiting themselves
If you have on a skirt that could double as a Kleenex, don't get mad when a dude grabs your butt....
I'm not gonna do it, I'm just sayin'...
I am sick of "talking heads"...
Why don't you ever have anything to say, yet you're always talking?
Shut up sometimes!
I've known some of you for YEARS and have never learned anything from you, but you're always talking!
Speaking of talking....
Why is it when two people kinda like each other, they call it "talking"?
That's so ambiguous...
There's got to be a better term for it...
From now on talking shall be known as "Getting to Know Each Other."
That sounds better....GENIUSES!
I am sick of "greek people"....
There's a difference between a person in a GLO and "greek people"....
Get over yourself, I SWEAR it's SO not that deep...
This is gonna be kinda funny, kinda serious, kinda half hearted....
I just need to get some things off my chest.
I am sick of Facebook....
I am sick of Everyone having so much access to my personal info at one time
I am sick of Everyone else's personal info bein so available to me
I don't really care if you joined a group....
I could care even less if you removed information from your profile....
I don't give a damn about your status being "So-And-So is Sleeping/in class/at a party."
I don't care!!!!!
I'm sure no one else does either.....
I don't care about you going from "it's complicated" to "in a relationship"
Real talk.
And another thing about facebook....
I am sick of EVERYONE who is in love telling the entire world how in love they are....
I am sick of EVERY tenderhearted female in the world co-signing that crap...
STOP IT! You people disgust me!
Relationships are between two people, not two people and the entire e-world!
Stop it!
The one thing I love to see is when people go from "in a relationship/married" to "single"....
Call me mean, but that crap is hilarious! I have laughed for days at a time when certain people break up. I'm not gonna lie.
If your profile's "About Me" section goes from: "I have found my one and only. They are my moon, stars, and sun. I want to love them forever...." THEN CHANGES TO: "Love sucks. Everyone in love sucks. I love not being in love. Dishonest people suck. I hate you. I want to die...." UNDERSTAND THAT I WILL LAUGH AT YOU!!! LOUDLY!!! IN PUBLIC!!!
In fact, I'm doing it now. HAHAHAHAHA!
Keep your business off facebook.
I'm sick of women with boyfriends/significant others...
I don't know why, I just am...
Am I bitter?
Probably...
I'm sick of BET...
I am sick of beating the "dead horse" that is the B.E.T. Sucks campaign....
I am sick of RAP
I am sick of "Chain Hang Low", "Chicken Noodle Soup", and any other song that sets black people back 1,000 years...
I am sick of Minstrelsy...
I am sick of women who are trying too hard to be cute...
Ladies, everyday is not your own personal fashion show...
I understand you have high sel-esteem.
I understand that you look fabulous.
I understand that you have a great sense of fashion.
What I DON'T understand is how you can set foot out of the house EVERY-DAMN-DAY with a straight face with some of the stuff ya'll have on.
Real Talk. Auburn has some of the most beautiful women I've seen in the state. Hands down. But, if I can look at you and think that you're attention starved....do you really think I'm gonna wanna talk to you? Period? Am I gonna take you seriously?
I am sick of women who confuse sexiness with exploiting themselves
If you have on a skirt that could double as a Kleenex, don't get mad when a dude grabs your butt....
I'm not gonna do it, I'm just sayin'...
I am sick of "talking heads"...
Why don't you ever have anything to say, yet you're always talking?
Shut up sometimes!
I've known some of you for YEARS and have never learned anything from you, but you're always talking!
Speaking of talking....
Why is it when two people kinda like each other, they call it "talking"?
That's so ambiguous...
There's got to be a better term for it...
From now on talking shall be known as "Getting to Know Each Other."
That sounds better....GENIUSES!
I am sick of "greek people"....
There's a difference between a person in a GLO and "greek people"....
Get over yourself, I SWEAR it's SO not that deep...
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Venom...
***NOTE: For those of you who really know me, you know that this is completely out of character for me to write in such a manner. As usual, I start off all of my blogs with a verse or two , usually of a hip-hop song. This one is no different. ***
Yeah, usually I don't get into all this battle rap sh** and all that
Sh**'s stupid
But I'm gonna address it
And after I get it off my chest may God bless it
I will invest four minutes exactly for everyone who had the audacity to attack me
I kept quiet but perhaps I should have pushed this fire quicker/Cause to just sit with this shit I've only gotten sicker/
Yet I react without even a crack in my composure/But the only way he knows to bring this shit to a closure/
I'm worthy, and my associates and I named the South Dirty/And I'm even for sale in Braille, the deaf, dumb and blind have heard me/
But I ain't even breathin until I get an even 30/I could casually clap up the front of somebody's throwback jersey/
You makin' me hafta talk this way, aintcha?/You makin' me hafta talk this way/
You forcin me to walk this way/Maybe my album will get bought this way/
Niggaz slow down around me, I make em superstitious/And one of my vices used to be wanting to look visually vicious/
But instead I use my head and I fed niggaz something nutritious/But you will appreiciate what a sacrifice this is/
And I know you ambitious young men, you have my best wishes/Have a piece of this pain on a platter, it's one of my best dishes/
When you assassinate my character, not one remark misses/So it's gone get funky when I'm fryin these little fishes/
Fuck fakin, there has been some offense taken/But this itty bitty beef is, beneath me, like bacon/
But hear me when when I say, I ain't gone hate you halfway/You know me, somebody will surely owe me/
When it comes to respect, I only put my family before me/And the beat ridin, oh so slowly, but surely/
And you in danger, and I'll be strict about straight erry one of you niggaz like strangers/I'll put bullet holes in anything that oppose/
Through car doors and clothes, amateurs and pros/Hardhead niggaz and hoes, also friends and foes/
Let it be known that you'll lose your life fucking around with Lo/This is my Glockapella/
And I'll be wearing diamonds forever like I'm signed to Rocafella/And I'ma bust two times in the sky/
Cause ain't nobody around here ready to die/But if there's more that you want, can't but one side win/
And I'm damn sure ready to try mutha fucker, yeah
Lo crazy, Lo a'hurt somebody bad/Lo crazy, Lo a'hurt somebody dad/
Decide to ride down your street and just hurt somebody bad/You know, as in house, hurt somebody's child or somebody's spouse/
You see what I'm saying, and you know I can be what I'm sayin/And I got the most to lose, but you steppin on my shoes, nigga/
You become a target, and will remain a target until you are hit/You gone fuck around and found out that's Lo still down for it/
I ain't scared of ya, never been scared of ya/If anyhing I'm scared for ya because I'm so ahead of ya/
Take that to the head brother, before I walk up on your bed brother/And paint you bloody red brother
You heard what I said brother?
--Cee-Lo on the song "Glockapella" from his album Cee-Lo Green is The Soul Machine
I am a man
As a man, I understand that while peace is desirable War is sometimes necessary.
So from this day forth I am declaring war.
To all who would reach for a grip of affirmation with one hand and stab me in the back with the other, it's war.
To all those who are petty and trifling enough to dislike me for no discernible reason and speak ill of me, it's war.
To all who have nothing better to do than talk about me behind my back, while not saying anything to my face, it's war.
I am tired of being peaceful.
Peace has gotten me frustrated thus far.
I have even reached out to make amends with those who have slandered my name.
I have taken the blows of disrespect with my head held high,gaze fixed on peace.
No more.
I am the type of person who will tell you to your face anything that I would EVER say behind your back.
Apparently everyone wasn't raised in the same manner.
I was raised to believe that, as a man, I have no reason to degrade another, dislike another, or slander another man unless given a reason to.
I was raised to deal with any issue that you may have with another person, with that person...not talk to others about them.
I was raised to believe that a man has no reason to lie on another man.
I was raised to believe that a man has no reason to "hate on" another man.
Some of you so-called men out there have done all of these. What makes it even worse is that I know who you are.
You have shaken my hand in public.
You have smiled with me.
Some of you have chilled with me.
Some of you have asked for my help.
Some of you have even "gripped me up."
I have let you slide for this long.
If you are real about yours, tell me you don't like me.
Don't smile in my face and tear me down behind my back.
In the words of T.I. "If you got it on your chest, then shawty say it to my face."
If you can't do that, check your manhood cuz.
So, the next time I see a couple of you cats I'm gonna start pulling your skirts up.
Man up.
Be A Man...
Yeah, usually I don't get into all this battle rap sh** and all that
Sh**'s stupid
But I'm gonna address it
And after I get it off my chest may God bless it
I will invest four minutes exactly for everyone who had the audacity to attack me
I kept quiet but perhaps I should have pushed this fire quicker/Cause to just sit with this shit I've only gotten sicker/
Yet I react without even a crack in my composure/But the only way he knows to bring this shit to a closure/
I'm worthy, and my associates and I named the South Dirty/And I'm even for sale in Braille, the deaf, dumb and blind have heard me/
But I ain't even breathin until I get an even 30/I could casually clap up the front of somebody's throwback jersey/
You makin' me hafta talk this way, aintcha?/You makin' me hafta talk this way/
You forcin me to walk this way/Maybe my album will get bought this way/
Niggaz slow down around me, I make em superstitious/And one of my vices used to be wanting to look visually vicious/
But instead I use my head and I fed niggaz something nutritious/But you will appreiciate what a sacrifice this is/
And I know you ambitious young men, you have my best wishes/Have a piece of this pain on a platter, it's one of my best dishes/
When you assassinate my character, not one remark misses/So it's gone get funky when I'm fryin these little fishes/
Fuck fakin, there has been some offense taken/But this itty bitty beef is, beneath me, like bacon/
But hear me when when I say, I ain't gone hate you halfway/You know me, somebody will surely owe me/
When it comes to respect, I only put my family before me/And the beat ridin, oh so slowly, but surely/
And you in danger, and I'll be strict about straight erry one of you niggaz like strangers/I'll put bullet holes in anything that oppose/
Through car doors and clothes, amateurs and pros/Hardhead niggaz and hoes, also friends and foes/
Let it be known that you'll lose your life fucking around with Lo/This is my Glockapella/
And I'll be wearing diamonds forever like I'm signed to Rocafella/And I'ma bust two times in the sky/
Cause ain't nobody around here ready to die/But if there's more that you want, can't but one side win/
And I'm damn sure ready to try mutha fucker, yeah
Lo crazy, Lo a'hurt somebody bad/Lo crazy, Lo a'hurt somebody dad/
Decide to ride down your street and just hurt somebody bad/You know, as in house, hurt somebody's child or somebody's spouse/
You see what I'm saying, and you know I can be what I'm sayin/And I got the most to lose, but you steppin on my shoes, nigga/
You become a target, and will remain a target until you are hit/You gone fuck around and found out that's Lo still down for it/
I ain't scared of ya, never been scared of ya/If anyhing I'm scared for ya because I'm so ahead of ya/
Take that to the head brother, before I walk up on your bed brother/And paint you bloody red brother
You heard what I said brother?
--Cee-Lo on the song "Glockapella" from his album Cee-Lo Green is The Soul Machine
I am a man
As a man, I understand that while peace is desirable War is sometimes necessary.
So from this day forth I am declaring war.
To all who would reach for a grip of affirmation with one hand and stab me in the back with the other, it's war.
To all those who are petty and trifling enough to dislike me for no discernible reason and speak ill of me, it's war.
To all who have nothing better to do than talk about me behind my back, while not saying anything to my face, it's war.
I am tired of being peaceful.
Peace has gotten me frustrated thus far.
I have even reached out to make amends with those who have slandered my name.
I have taken the blows of disrespect with my head held high,gaze fixed on peace.
No more.
I am the type of person who will tell you to your face anything that I would EVER say behind your back.
Apparently everyone wasn't raised in the same manner.
I was raised to believe that, as a man, I have no reason to degrade another, dislike another, or slander another man unless given a reason to.
I was raised to deal with any issue that you may have with another person, with that person...not talk to others about them.
I was raised to believe that a man has no reason to lie on another man.
I was raised to believe that a man has no reason to "hate on" another man.
Some of you so-called men out there have done all of these. What makes it even worse is that I know who you are.
You have shaken my hand in public.
You have smiled with me.
Some of you have chilled with me.
Some of you have asked for my help.
Some of you have even "gripped me up."
I have let you slide for this long.
If you are real about yours, tell me you don't like me.
Don't smile in my face and tear me down behind my back.
In the words of T.I. "If you got it on your chest, then shawty say it to my face."
If you can't do that, check your manhood cuz.
So, the next time I see a couple of you cats I'm gonna start pulling your skirts up.
Man up.
Be A Man...
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Loving myself
"There is no remedy for love, but to love more."
-Henry David Thoreau
I'm a passionate guy. That's one of my better traits. It's one of the things that I love about myself and that tends to draw people to me. The fact that I have so much love to give and passion for people is a trait that is not widely held or acknowledged.
Since the recent demise of a few relationships between me and people that I love, I've focused all of that love, that I freely gave to others, inward. I am loving myself more than ever before. Things that I was once insecure about have become my saving graces in many situations. God is truly showing me favor on all fronts...in spite of my actions.
One thing that I've found to be true is that through loving myself I am finding myself able to love those around me more intensely and wholly. It's amazing when you cultivate your friendships and relationships with your loved ones and it manifests itself greatly in your life. I am finding the true intention of God's purpose for love.
Love was not created as a selfish emotion for man to grant as he sees fit. Love was created for God to show us exactly how much he cares for us. To give a just a small fraction of how he feels about us. Think about it, loving oneself is almost too easy. We do that through our own natural vanity everyday. Yet, to love another person as much as we love ourselves or even moreso is a beautiful thing. However, that goes both ways. Love is meant to be reciprocal in the relationships we maintain everyday for a healthy existence. When it is one-sided it becomes dangerous.
We glorify God through loving Him and loving our fellow man. God's face is manifested everyday in our friendships. The Apostle Paul himself said, "Oh how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity." To function as one entity, two souls moving forward in lockstep is wonderful. This is not a romantic thing either, it extends itself to friends of the same step. It is not a sexual thing, more so an emotional thing or a spiritual thing. Forgive me for not being able to more eloquently interpret such a feeling but I am still learning.
Oh lord, my strength, my redeemer.
Please forgive me as a walk daily and continue to bless me with the gift of LOVE, so that I may love more deeply and be a tool of blessing for you as you have blessed me.
In the name of your son Jesus I pray,
Amen.
AMEN
-Henry David Thoreau
I'm a passionate guy. That's one of my better traits. It's one of the things that I love about myself and that tends to draw people to me. The fact that I have so much love to give and passion for people is a trait that is not widely held or acknowledged.
Since the recent demise of a few relationships between me and people that I love, I've focused all of that love, that I freely gave to others, inward. I am loving myself more than ever before. Things that I was once insecure about have become my saving graces in many situations. God is truly showing me favor on all fronts...in spite of my actions.
One thing that I've found to be true is that through loving myself I am finding myself able to love those around me more intensely and wholly. It's amazing when you cultivate your friendships and relationships with your loved ones and it manifests itself greatly in your life. I am finding the true intention of God's purpose for love.
Love was not created as a selfish emotion for man to grant as he sees fit. Love was created for God to show us exactly how much he cares for us. To give a just a small fraction of how he feels about us. Think about it, loving oneself is almost too easy. We do that through our own natural vanity everyday. Yet, to love another person as much as we love ourselves or even moreso is a beautiful thing. However, that goes both ways. Love is meant to be reciprocal in the relationships we maintain everyday for a healthy existence. When it is one-sided it becomes dangerous.
We glorify God through loving Him and loving our fellow man. God's face is manifested everyday in our friendships. The Apostle Paul himself said, "Oh how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity." To function as one entity, two souls moving forward in lockstep is wonderful. This is not a romantic thing either, it extends itself to friends of the same step. It is not a sexual thing, more so an emotional thing or a spiritual thing. Forgive me for not being able to more eloquently interpret such a feeling but I am still learning.
Oh lord, my strength, my redeemer.
Please forgive me as a walk daily and continue to bless me with the gift of LOVE, so that I may love more deeply and be a tool of blessing for you as you have blessed me.
In the name of your son Jesus I pray,
Amen.
AMEN
Monday, September 11, 2006
Putting my business out there....ALL OF IT
"There are people I know who won't hurt me, I call them corpses"
Randy K. Milholland, comedian
"When you really trust someone, you have to be okay with not understanding some things."
Real Live Preacher, from a ministerial website
"This be the realest _ _ _ _ I ever wrote"
Tupac Shakur
___________________________________________________________________
I'm about to put it all out there. I maintain two blogs and write poetry because putting my feelings down makes me feel better about my own inconsistencies, logical fallacies, shortcomings, and any other way that you can say the word "flaws" in the english language. However, writing also gives me a reference point to see where I've grown from and where I'm headed.
I'm at the point of no return in my growth, which simply means I've gone past the halfway point to completion and it would be farther to head back to the beginning than it would be for me to finish growin into the person He wants me to become. So, in my grwoth, this writing thing helps me to continue my journey. So, I'm about to lay some things out for my benefit. Please, travel with me.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I have serious issues with abandonment and friendship. Well, over the past couple of months, those issues have been tested to their full limit. Now, I'm not one of those people who go around blaming their reluctance to love people on "trust issues". Let's get one thing clear, if you're over the age of 13 and you've dated ANYONE, you have trust issues. Just get over yourself. Stop using the phrase "trust issues" as a cover-up for your own inability and unwillingness to commit to someone. That's childish and it's not facing the true problem. But I digress, this post is about the tests that I've been facing.
I have a serious problem with giving people too much of myself. I'v cut back since I left Bama because if everyone has a part of you, no one ever knows the Whole you. I was tired of being pieces of a person for everyone. However, those that know the "whole me", so to speak, are often my trusted, time-tested, battle-worn confidants who I know, or at least thought I knew, would ride or die for me to the end.
Now, I've always trusted people to be themselves. Selfish. (Survival is the first law of humanity, so preservation of self is not necessarily a bad thing.) I don't mind that at all. However, when your survival (or comfort) causes you to risk tried and true friendships, then WE have a problem.
I recently had a "true friend" insult me to an infinite degree, thus ending what I thought was a great friendship. I was accused of trying something with this friend's girlfriend. Then, after telling my side of the story, this friend concluded that either me or the girlfrien was lying....
I know some of you are saying, that's understandable, right? Not in this situation. Would you believe the friend who's listened to you at 2 a.m. crying about your relationship? The friend who always offers you the honest truth? The one who holds you down in the presence of folks talking about you behind your back? The one who comes whenever you need them and offers you anything they have? Or would you rather believe the girlfriend who YOU SAY has always been selfish? The one who has lied to you before...repeatedly!?!?!?!? The one who has been a source of so much frustration and strife that you've made yourself sick over it? Think about it for a second.
Now think about how that real friend feels. Utterly insulted, degraded, and worthless. If the scale of friendship tilts in the favor of those who have no idea what true friendship is, then I good sir want no parts of this thing called friendship.
All in all, until this "girlfriend" is out of the picture we can't be friends. Because it's obvious that you hold her in much higher regard than those who truly respect and care about your well-being. So don't worry little homie. I'll be fine....I have friends who respect my honesty as much as you love hers.
Randy K. Milholland, comedian
"When you really trust someone, you have to be okay with not understanding some things."
Real Live Preacher, from a ministerial website
"This be the realest _ _ _ _ I ever wrote"
Tupac Shakur
___________________________________________________________________
I'm about to put it all out there. I maintain two blogs and write poetry because putting my feelings down makes me feel better about my own inconsistencies, logical fallacies, shortcomings, and any other way that you can say the word "flaws" in the english language. However, writing also gives me a reference point to see where I've grown from and where I'm headed.
I'm at the point of no return in my growth, which simply means I've gone past the halfway point to completion and it would be farther to head back to the beginning than it would be for me to finish growin into the person He wants me to become. So, in my grwoth, this writing thing helps me to continue my journey. So, I'm about to lay some things out for my benefit. Please, travel with me.
Anyone who knows me, knows that I have serious issues with abandonment and friendship. Well, over the past couple of months, those issues have been tested to their full limit. Now, I'm not one of those people who go around blaming their reluctance to love people on "trust issues". Let's get one thing clear, if you're over the age of 13 and you've dated ANYONE, you have trust issues. Just get over yourself. Stop using the phrase "trust issues" as a cover-up for your own inability and unwillingness to commit to someone. That's childish and it's not facing the true problem. But I digress, this post is about the tests that I've been facing.
I have a serious problem with giving people too much of myself. I'v cut back since I left Bama because if everyone has a part of you, no one ever knows the Whole you. I was tired of being pieces of a person for everyone. However, those that know the "whole me", so to speak, are often my trusted, time-tested, battle-worn confidants who I know, or at least thought I knew, would ride or die for me to the end.
Now, I've always trusted people to be themselves. Selfish. (Survival is the first law of humanity, so preservation of self is not necessarily a bad thing.) I don't mind that at all. However, when your survival (or comfort) causes you to risk tried and true friendships, then WE have a problem.
I recently had a "true friend" insult me to an infinite degree, thus ending what I thought was a great friendship. I was accused of trying something with this friend's girlfriend. Then, after telling my side of the story, this friend concluded that either me or the girlfrien was lying....
I know some of you are saying, that's understandable, right? Not in this situation. Would you believe the friend who's listened to you at 2 a.m. crying about your relationship? The friend who always offers you the honest truth? The one who holds you down in the presence of folks talking about you behind your back? The one who comes whenever you need them and offers you anything they have? Or would you rather believe the girlfriend who YOU SAY has always been selfish? The one who has lied to you before...repeatedly!?!?!?!? The one who has been a source of so much frustration and strife that you've made yourself sick over it? Think about it for a second.
Now think about how that real friend feels. Utterly insulted, degraded, and worthless. If the scale of friendship tilts in the favor of those who have no idea what true friendship is, then I good sir want no parts of this thing called friendship.
All in all, until this "girlfriend" is out of the picture we can't be friends. Because it's obvious that you hold her in much higher regard than those who truly respect and care about your well-being. So don't worry little homie. I'll be fine....I have friends who respect my honesty as much as you love hers.
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