THERE ARE SOME THINGS I HATE TO DO THAT MUST BE DONE

I love cooking and baking for family and friends, but what I hate doing is the clean up that follows the preparation for and cooking of the meal or baking of the cake (or pie, or cobbler, or cookies, etc).

When I lived in Silver Spring Maryland, I had a friend who always needed to bring in treats for someone’s birthday. Sometimes it was just her turn to bring in a treat, and other times she just wanted something sweet to eat, and I’d bake something since she could barely boil water correctly. Anyway, when she was in the kitchen talking to me and watching what I was doing, what amazed me initially, was when I was done sifting the flour, making the batter and greasing and flouring the cake pan for example, I would open the oven door to put the cake pan in, and I would stand up and turn around to find that the kitchen counter had been wiped clean and every thing from the flour, butter, eggs, vanilla flavoring, and other left over ingredients has been put in containers and put back in their proper places either in the refrigerator or the cabinets. The second time I had prepared a cake for baking, I watched as she had come behind me with towel to wipe up sugar and flour that spilled as I was measuring up ingredients, and had disposed of egg shells, and she had put back each leftover ingredient just as I was done using them. All that needed to be washed was the mixing bowl and my mixing spoon. I liked that she had done that.

Anyway, it always reminded me of my college days; I was that rare college student that opened my books the first evening after each class. While my friends were out partying I was in the library, studying each chapter before I even had to do so. I did this because I didn’t want to wait until the last minute to read and cram the contents of entire book in my brain over night. I had lots of friends that gave me a hard time during each quarter for studying too much, but I was aware of and was always prepared, for surprise tests that always angered my friends and classmates. I was always prepared for mid terms and final exams because I had been studying all quarter and didn’t have to read a 500 page book overnight.

Sometimes we let things fester.

Life can get messy if we’re not careful, and knowing this, if we take care of business along the way, it’ll be easier to take care of if we don’t let it pile up. I'm still not there, but I try to remember that if I ignore it today, I might get bigger tomorrow  and bigger the day after tomorrow, and so on-

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”      Lao Tzu

"A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him."  

 -David Brinkley

What it do

A Brazilian friend showed me how to make my favorite drink, Mojito.

So I'm at home on a saturday night, by myself, drinking Mojitos and editing my blog

Resilience

“It is said an eastern monarch once charged his wise men to invent a sentence, to be ever in view, and which should be true and appropriate in all times and situations. They presented him with the words, 'And this, too, shall pass away.' How much it expresses! How chastening in the hour of pride! How consoling in the depths of affliction!”


Abraham Lincoln

Lies my mother told me- Volume 2

When my sister and I were little, we attended Bethel Elementary school. It was a Seventh Day Adventist school. No, we weren’t Seventh Day Adventists. It just happened to the be the only predominantly black Christian private school in New York City at the time.

I had this teacher, named Mrs North. She was my English teacher. She was really nice,  and she was  really old. As a kid, 30 is considered old, but, no she was, I would say, more than twice that. And she had  wrinkles with really deep crevices. Up until then, I’d never seen someone with so many wrinkles before, and the sight  of it was disturbing.

As I looked back at it, my mother took advantage of that fact, to finding a way to get me to stop doing something she didn't want me to do. For example, my sister and l loved candy. Guess how she got us to stop eating candy as kids?

I said: Mommy, why is Mrs North so wrinkled?

My mom: That’s because when she was a child, she ate a lot of candy. That’s what happens when you eat a lot of candy. You get wrinkles.

Guess what we never ate again for years, until we became teens and got wise--?

Before, during & after

I was thinking today, about my trip to Wisconsin the week of Christmas this year. When I’m there I’m going to visit my family and some friends. I was thinking about my old friends and not so old friends, and I realized that I didn’t have the motivation to see those not so old friends since they seemed to have fallen off since I moved away, but my old friends are still very much a part of my life, like bridge that always brings me back to them.

I have some friends that have lasted a lifetime, and along the way I have made new friends. While those lifetime friends are still close, those new friends I’ve met along the way, most are gone. It doesn’t disappoint me. I’d like to think those new people I’ve met along the way, were in my life for a reason; perhaps to help or inspire me, and once their work is done, they’ve moved on. I can’t think of any other reason, as these friends were not fair-weather friends. These were friends, like my lifetime friends, who supported me at the lowest points.

I was talking to my mother yesterday on the phone. It was a typical conversation about what’s going on in her household and my sister’s life, and what’s going on in mine. It was a routine conversation, and at the end of the call, after I said I was about to go to bed, I told her that I love her. That comment always makes her feel good, I think, because she giggled as she informed me that my stepbrother and I, are  the only ones of her 4 kids ( 2 sons, 2 daughters) that always end our phonecalls with “I love you.” I’m glad that she notices what I say to her, even though it’s a habit, and a good one to have.

circa 2001

Day ONE.


enters Sonia,
shutting the door behind her.
She removes her full red lips
To tell me in confidence:
"I'm so glad they finally hired a
brutha here! You the only nigga that's been in this building besides the UPS
guy!

We gotta have each other's back.
If there is anything that you need,
nigga,
please don't hesitate to let a sista know!"

then she quickly leaves my office
after putting her lips back
where they remained
from my first day

through to my last;
attached
to
every
white
male
ass
in
the
company.



Watch Sonia's Lips Move, by Alieux D. Casey

Some things change, and some things remain the same.

I love honesty.

I love this picture of my sister and myself. It's really symbolic.
It was Easter. The personalities reflected in this picture holds as true today as it did back then. I was known as the referee, the comforter, the peacemaker, the child that never argued. I used to love when my mom told me I was a good boy and I did everything in my power to make sure she knew I was good. In observing her, I knew she had enough going on, with working a full-time job and a part-time job to keep a roof over our heads. I even helped my mother take care of my sister and myself by babysitting us, feeding us, and putting us to bed while my mother worked as my father slept off a bottle of muscatel in the living room.

I think, as I grew up, I wished I was more like my sister, in that she always spoke, and still does speak, her mind, at all times. She doesn’t care about people’s opinions. There is never any doubt. I’ve always been the peacemaker. I still am, and at my age, I just can’t all of a sudden start speaking my mind. Since it’s not expected of me, everyone would be taken aback. I do speak my mind, but only if I absolutely have to do so.

Lies my mother told me- Volume 1

Has your mother ever lied to you about something to teach you a lesson, and it scared the hell out of you? My mother lied to me, but it was a forgivable. It’s funny, now that I recall it.

I remember once, I was maybe 7 and my sister was 4. There was this boy that I made fun of. I don’t remember the specifics as to who the boy was or why I made fun of him, but I remember my mom’s reaction clearly, because it scared both my sister and myself. My mom didn’t tell me to stop making fun of the boy. She just said;


“ I knew a girl who used to make fun of me when I was your age, and when she grew up and had a baby, the baby was born with a pig’s snout, ears and pig tail.”


I was about 7 and I believed it, and it scared the hell out of me. Suddenly I imagined growing up and having kids that had pig snouts and tails, and I never made fun of another child again! I decided from then on, not only would I not make fun of people, I would also try to stop my friends from doing the same. And not just that- I decided to befriend any kids that were made fun of.

This says it all

I found this while looking for a picture a coworker has in her cubicle that was titled Children are Diamonds. The caption in this picture says it all. Nothing more to say.

Children are diamonds

   



   A co-worker
  has a picture in her cubicle that I always liked; I always told her, half-seriously that whenever I buy a house, one day she'll come in to work and find that picture missing for a day, because I'm going to borrow it and get it enlarged to poster size to put in my home.    This is the picture.

1 day

&

One day the clouds will part

And from the heavens

she

will fall

n2 my arms out-

stretched.

either God is preparing her (or me) right now

Or making my arms my finances my mind my life strong enough

To receive

her

1 day,    by  Alieux Casey

Even when I sleep

                                             It’s good to know that someone is looking in on me.

         Even when the door is shut and I'm by myself, I’m not really alone.

                                                                                                There is someone looking over my shoulder,

at all times.

No, I'm not being paranoid; it's God, looking out for me,

looking out for my best interests, which gives me peace of mind.

well done

                                                      


                                                أحسنت يا طيبة ومخلصة في الخدمة

                                               This is the 4th tattoo I have. It's on my left bicep.  Of the Pentecostal churches I've attended from childhood through my young adulthood, there was always a part of the service where people were allowed to stand up and lead in a song and/or give a testimony. My mother testified  every sunday. In her church she still does, and at the end of every testimony, she always said the same thing; "When I die, I want God to be able to say to me, Well done, my good and faithful servant."

That's my tattoo, in Arabic. Well done, my good and faithful servant. I say the same thing to God on a daily basis.

On being accustomed

I’ve become accustomed

to the way

crowds disperse

when I make an entrance;

I have the power that,

in my youth

I didn’t realize I had:

The power to turn conversations

into whispers or si-

lence,

when I enter a room

&
I can cause people to stare

&
wonder about why I am present,

or my relativity to the situation in question,

&
to peek around people’s heads,

to point at me

always from a distance.

I can cause white women to clutch their purses,

or lock their car doors or roll their windows up

just by my being in their vicinity.

I can cause an entire pool to become contaminated

Just by dipping my big toe in it.

I can even cause property values to lower

just by being seen from a window

I have that kind of power.

                                                             Power, by Alieux D. Casey

I was inspired to write this when my nephew, who swims at the YMCA every day, called me recently to tell me that he’s been having the entire swimming pool to himself when he’s been there this summer because the parents of the other kids always get them out of the pool the second my nephew steps in, and when he enters the locker room he can hear the kids talking, but they stop talking when he enters and he can hear whispering. When he asks me why that happens, I never know what to say. I want him to believe that not all people are racist because I know some very cool people of all races that have treated me with the utmost kindness, equality and fairness and have been there for me at the lowest points in my life, but at the same time that are cool people, there are also some assholes out there as well

A 7 word poem- Volume 1

I

looked

for  love;

found u

in-

stead.

                                                                                                   Alex George 

Focus

Blurry. This is how I am sometime. How I feel.

Not all the time

But some time. Sometimes I get too close to the problem (or allow it to get too close to me) to see it. It’s when I take a deep breath while stepping back to get a clearer picture, that I see it for what it really is; something small. Nothing worth worrying about.

For the most part now, I’m focused.

Thankfully, I have a great family and network of friends that help to remind me to step back to see the clearer picture.

if love

came knocking on my door,

                                        

i would not

recognize it

it might come in,

under the guise of something else,

a million a thousand a hundred and one times

somehow knowing what I find appealing

in words and deeds-

i receive her words

like that insurance salesperson with her foot

in the door before

you shut it.

was it the look of desperation that they saw?

&

if love

came knocking on my door

i would not

recognize it

it might come in,

under the guise of something else

not well-meaning:

something

i might be convinced i needed.

a dream

reaching with the outstretched hand

for that which probably

did not exist

but anyway, reaching, grasping

something with the substance

equal to air

always:

invisible

but heavy

under the weight of something artificial or lacking in value or importance

to make one think that's all there is:

consciousness.

to be honest .

but i'm told it /love

is available to anyone who asks for it.

true?

if so, then where are you?

see me waving my arms?

                                                                                           Necessary,    by Alieux Casey

Redeemed, redeemed, redeemed

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair, let a child run his fingers through it once a day.
For poise, walk with the knowledge you'll never walk alone ...

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived,
reclaimed and redeemed and redeemed and redeemed.
Never throw out anybody.

Remember, if you ever need a helping hand,
you'll find one at the end of your arm.
As you grow older you will discover that you have two hands.
One for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

Time-Tested Beauty Tips, by Sam Levenson

Pictures like these always make me smile.

I'm looking forward to the day when the man in the pic is me, and the boy in the pic is my son.

Under Construction

This house is not complete… it’s a long way from being complete, but first, the foundation needed to built, then the walls. The walls need to be tall enough and strong enough to withstand the harsh elements outside ( the wind, cold in the winter, heat in the summer, rain etc), and to help keep it on it’s foundation no matter how strong the thunder or the heavy wind (or tornadoes or hurricanes). To do that, not just any kind of wood or metal will do. Construction workers use the most durable wood and metal products available. After the walls are built and reinforced and tested, the roof needs to be just as strong, and for the same reason. After the walls and roof is stable, then it’s time to work on the inside.

I feel like this house.

I am a loooooooooooong way from being complete. My mother is my foundation, having raised me on Christianity; teaching me to treat people the way I like to be treated, to love and respect the elderly, and to give cheerfully of my heart without expecting anything in return. I would say the walls is love of self, and my ability to not sway to outside forces or peer pressure (the way weeping willows sway with the wind), and doing what I feel is right even if it’s not popular. The roof is my brain. I want to learn everything there is to know about everything so that I can be an informed person. The inside… my heart. My soul.

Like this house, I’m still under construction, and I’m a loooooooooong way from being complete.

I have to admit to worrying alot, to almost cracking under the pressure, and luckily I have friends that remind me of the Bible verse I tell them when they're worried about something:


For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7


I recite that verse as part of my meditation during my morning drive to work, and by the time I get to work I feel better because I've dismissed the issue I was worried about...at least until I remember it and I begin to worry again, and I have to recite the verse again. Long story short, the issues always seem to resolve in my favor! I'm still learning to have a sound mind!

Solitude

sometimes an Amiri Baraka book is all that I need.


“Others inspire us, information feeds us, practice improves our performance, but we need quiet time to figure things out, to emerge with new discoveries, to unearth original answers.” Dr Ester Buchholz

Answers waiting for a question

There is one thing of which I am certain. Every time I have doubts about myself, someone will call or email me to let me know I was on their mind. It seems to always be at the right time. I’m glad people allow themselves to be used by God as His instruments, even if they don't realize it.
I know that when someone enters my thoughts I communicate with that person immediately for that same reason-maybe it’s that point when they need to hear a kind word, or they’re questioning something or themselves, and I’m being used to give them the answer.

Some Certainty

There is some certainty ahead.
It’s love.

Nahla Ariela Aubry's mom's 43rd Birthday!

Happy Birthday, Halle Maria Berry

Fried Chicken

Subtle Racism

i reached.
i reached,
looking.
looking
for the love
i thought i had;
digging.
digging
through layer
upon layer of your smile
to find
nothing.
nothing
but darkness--
and deep dark bloodied buried cross
that
continues
to
burn.


Alieux Casey


I felt inspired to write this poem about 25 years ago, after I got home from a friend's house for dinner. The previous years when I would call his house his mother would answer the phone, and during that time she and I had become friendly over the phone and she asked her son to invite me over for dinner one of these days.
As he and I walked up the path from their driveway where we parked the car, she and her husband looked out the window. They both looked at me, then themselves, then back at me again, as if little men from Neptune had landed on their property. I wouldn't say I'm any good at reading lips, but I saw her lips press together to form the words OH MY GOD, He's Black! As we approached the door I asked my friend why he didn't tell his parents I was black, and he said that was a stupid question as it shouldn't matter. He was right. It shouldn't matter. But when he turned the doorknob, his mother opened the door. She had the look of someone who was disappointed but wanted to pretend to be happy. The words that came out of her mouth set the direction of the evening;
"It's a good thing I made fried chicken!"

Forgiveness

Forgive and forget.


I used to hold a grudge,
but I found that holding a grudge was stressful, and it was heavy, and contrary to how I was raised. How can I ask God for forgiveness if I'm not willing to forgive?

Taking Chances

I can’t swim, at all. Though I’m 5’10”, there was a time when I couldn’t even stand in a swimming pool that had a water depth of 4 feet high without my body clenching up and tightening. Even though the water reaches up to my pecs, I have this morbid fear of slipping and falling and for some reason, any reason (pick one) not being able to stand up, and drowning.
I have a nephew who can swim like a fish. He loves swimming. He learned at a really young age. When we hang out, one of his favorite pastimes is to swim at the local YMCA, and I like to chill out on the chaise, relaxing until he’s ready to leave. I keep saying to myself that one day I’m going to surprise and impress him by having taken a swimmers course and showing him a thing or two about swimming. He’d love that because he’s always trying to coax me into standing in the water. I can at least do that now, but I prefer to stand along the edge and hold on, just in case I slip and fall. I know it can’t be as scary as it seems. I know that once I get over my fear I will look back and laugh. I hope.
Life is about taking chances, about doing things that are scary. Like my uprooting from Wisconsin to Oregon almost 2 yrs ago, to accept a great job. It was scary because my family, a lot of my friends, and everything with whom I was familiar,I left behind, to go to unfamiliar territory where I only knew 1 good friend and his wife, and no one else. I do enjoy my job and the people with whom I work though...I feel like I made the right decision. If it bores me I can always visit my best friend who lives in Los Angeles, which is less than a 3-hour flight!

Quote of The Week

But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.

Umberto Eco

Priorities

In every conceivable manner, the family is link to our past, bridge to our future.
-- Alex Haley

Family. Some people get it right. Some don’t. I see this so rarely that when I do, I can’t help but smile, like this family

Who Do You Think You Are?

I hope that as the days go by, I am evolving into a smarter, stronger, happier, healthier, more spiritual, and wiser form of self. As the heavy, unhealthy, unwanted layers peel off me, one day I will be unrecognizable even to my self. Becoming closer to who I want me to be; that’s my goal, with the assistance of God, family, and friends, books, teachers, and experiences, both good and bad.

Goals

It is not enough to be industrious; so are the ants. What are you industrious about?

Henry David Thoreau

Some Of Us Are Still Alive

some of us are still alive;
the good ones.
the men
every morning we awaken,
the blood swirling around
warming our bones
our joints;
we make sacrifices.
we’re made a-
ware
again of our existence
we have survived
again
to wonder
why we stand taller
than the lowest of the low
yet they are the ones that get the attention.

one day you will see our pictures in museums.

one day the blood will turn cold
will freeze
our arms raised
(from begging to be noticed)
will die and break off like branches
and you and you and you and you
will wonder
where
we
went
or if we ever existed at all.


Alieux Casey

Police Escort

I had a police escort on the way home for lunch today.

Only, I didn't ask for one. Maybe they thought I needed one.

As I left the parking lot here at work I noticed a cop car behind me. I always get nervous when I see a cop; I'm a safe, conscientious,law-abiding driver anyway, but I'm even more cautious when I see a cop directly behind me. There are two lanes and no one in the lane to my left. So, I drove down Murray and took a right at Farmington, and the cop took a right. He follows me as I signaled before getting in the left lane. Then I took a left @ 149th st, and he took a left. I convinced myself that he just happens to be going in my direction, and I took a right @ Division and he did the same thing. Then I decided I would go past my street (155 th) and take a right at 160th. So did the cop. Then I took a right and was back on Farmington again, and when he took the same right, I knew he was following me. Then I took a right on 153rd , and he followed. Then I took a right on Division. He followed, and I took a right to 155th, and he followed. I parked my car at my place. The cop car parked beside me. I didn't even look in his direction. I pretended he didn't exist. I got out of the car and went to my house. I used my key to unlock the door, walked in, shut the door and locked it, and looked at the cop through my front door window and watched the cop drive off.

I remember when I was in my teens, I had attended driving school. My instructor, in teaching me how to drive defensively, told me something that still sticks with me today, more so during inclement weather, but anyway, he said; 'when you drive, pretend everyone else on the road is an idiot.'
Was the cop trying to protect me from drivers that might not be as conscientious as I am, from those idiots my driving instructor warned me about?

Maybe I should have said hello, thank you, and maybe waived goodbye?

BURGUNDY

“Aren’t you going to ask me what happened to the last woman who slept here?” Randy said as he stood over Casey, his father’s most recent girlfriend. She didn’t open her eyes. Randy could hear the sound of the shower running. The bathroom door was closed. Randy guessed that father was showering. He touched her shoulder. There was no response. Randy smiled. “There’s a reason daddy takes his time bringing new girlfriends home,” he whispered.
“Today we’ll go meet my mom. You’ll love her. She’ll love you too,” Scott, Randall’s father, yelled through the closed bathroom door. “Get in here, share this shower with me! What's taking you so long?”
Randy pressed down on her shoulder, and she didn’t respond. He dared to squeeze her nostrils tightly, to press them closed. If she was still alive her eyes would suddenly open and she would push away whoever it was that was violating her. But upon watching her body lie there like a life-size doll, he did just that, but there was no movement. No reaction, and with that, Randy smiled.
“She had an aneurysm, just like you. Did you know that people with aneurysms often show no symptoms? Do you even know what an aneurysm is?” Randy asked her. He wasn’t expecting a response. He answered himself; “It’s a ballooning-out of the wall of an artery in the brain. It ruptures and blood leaks out into the brain. I found out that’s what happened when my mother died. Giving birth to me.” Randy stood over her, as his father was still beckoning through the closed door for her to join him in the shower.
Randy left his father’s bedroom. He went to his room and waited for his father’s reaction. He closed his bedroom door just enough to see the poster that was behind it. It looked like a brain with thin tree branches growing in every direction inside the brain, each branch independent of the other. He looked at the description on the bottom of the poster, studying it. He was surprised. He looked at it as if he had never seen it before. It said:
X RAY OF A SUBARACHNOID ANEURYSM
Five minutes later he heard, “Oh my God! Oh my God! No! Wake up Casey! Wake up! You’re not dead too! No! Every time I bring a woman home she dies in her sleep! What the hell is going on?”

To Be Continued

MCMLXXII

POETRY

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

Pablo Neruda



I exist, I think, somewhere in the lines of this poem

My Mind

my mind is
a big hunk of irrevocable nothing which touch and
taste and smell and hearing and sight keep hitting and
chipping with sharp fatal tools
in an agony of sensual chisels i perform squirms of
chrome and execute strides of cobalt
nevertheless i
feel that i cleverly am being altered that i slightly am
becoming something a little different, in fact
myself
Hereupon helpless i utter lilac shrieks and scarlet
bellowings.

ee cummings

Remember The Time?

Gone too soon.

8/29/58-6/25/09
Rest In Peace, Michael

The world may still judge you, but it's only God's judgment that truly matters.

Don't change

I saw this cement block during one of my visits to Los Angeles a few years ago, and I took a snapshot with the idea of making cards to give to my best friend and other friends, but I never got around to it. I saw it again today for the first time in years.
I just realized that there are things about people in general , that I could both love and hate at the same time. For example, I hate when people fail to be flexible and refuse to change. However, I have friends that have been exactly the same today as when we first became friends years and years ago. I appreciate that they did not change, because whatever it was that caused us to bond as friends is still there. Does that make sense?

President Obama’s Birthday today --- he’s 48!

Famous Last Words

"In my career I saved over 1000 slaves. I would have saved thousands more only had they known they were slaves."







Harriet Tubman's last public words at a formal retirement ceremony held in her honor, after the Civil War and the emancipation of enslaved Africans.

Quote of The Week

Life is like photography. You use the negative to develop.-- Swami Beyondananda

I'm in the world

I wonder what my friends will say (those who believe the cops are our friends and have a reason for doing what they do)
when I tell them I was stopped again tonight, at 11:30 on my way back from the store
and accused of driving too carefully, which, I’m told , raises suspicions: it tends to mean one might have something to hide.
I wonder what my friends will say (those who believe the cops are our friends and have a reason for doing what they do)
when I tell them that no amount of my respect towards them would stop them (at least in their late 20s) from calling me boy, even though my drivers license contains my first and last name. And I wonder what my friends will say (those who believe the cops are our friends and have a reason for doing what they do) when I tell them that while one cop went back to his car with my drivers license to check my records while his partner asked “are you out this late because you don’t have a job to go to in the morning?” before asking to see what was inside the paper bag in the passenger seat:
Contents:
8 lb bag of cat food
Carton of fat free milk
Container of butter
2 containers of yogurt
Package of hot dog buns
Batteries /I wonder what my friends will say (
those who believe
the cops are our friends and have a reason for doing what they do) when I tell them the cops said they couldn’t understand why I waited until late at night to get groceries when I have all day to get them and while I wanted to say that I didn’t know black people had a curfew but I didn’t, I just stated that “ I didn’t remember I needed these items until now.”
And I wonder what my friends will say (those who believe the cops are our friends and have a reason for doing what they do) when I tell them the cop gave me back my drivers license and told me to go straight home. Which I did.
I wonder what my friends will say
Now.

I too, sing America

I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

By Langston Hughes



When I was a child I had a stuttering problem that was so bad I spoke to no one but my mother. Then I went to a speech therapist, who helped me to learn how to alleviate the speech impediment.She introduced me to poetry, the first poet being Langston Hughes. This poem I Too, Sing America, was the first poem I'd ever read. At the time I didn't realize how personal, how profilic the poem would be because I had not been the target of racism at that point, but I knew I loved it. And I still love it. Now I can see the message he's conveying in the poem.
This is what I tell my nephew all the time. I tell him about endurance, about overlooking people's attempts to treat him as anything less than, and to remember his strength, his intelligence, his beauty, despite attempts to make him feel otherwise.

"I, too, am America. "

This morning-Today

I got the day off to a good start.

I fought every excuse to stay in bed;

I got out of bed and got ready for church.

I fought every excuse to not go because I was already late;

I went to church.

I couldn't find the right parking lot; fought every excuse to go home since I wasn't sure the church was still renting the high school auditorium for their services;

I drove around and saw a sign that said; 'Mt Olivet Baptist Church, this way,' with an arrow pointed in the direction in which I was driving.

I fought every excuse to get back in my car and drive home since I was late;

I kept on walking towards the door.

I decided I couldn't go that far to turn around, and besides, I know God would have appreciated if I went, so I could fellowship with other Christians.

I'm glad I did.

I got the week off to a good start!

“Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men! Do no pray for tasks equal to your powers. Pray for power equal to your tasks.” - Phillips Brooks


I came upon the above quote while looking at www.blackandmarriedwithkids.com. I loved it, and had to add it to my blog.