dysfunctional tales, vol. i

So a cousin of mine has 4 kids and she’s not 30, nor did she commence having children in her 20s. Over the weekend, I spent some time with 2 of her kids (both girls). So the littlest one was eager to tell me she had books – the initial indicator that the girl is smart and is willing to learn, so I told her to show me. The child is 5 and is in kindergarten – remember this tidbit as the story evolves…

She gets the book and I point to each word in the title, however she’s creating her own title. Initially, I thought it was being done in jest, but as we turned the pages to the book she couldn’t logically sound out words. So, then I blurt out “Can you read?” And she says "yeah" a pet peeve of mine – it’s YES. So, I point to the word ‘the’ – and her response is a singular letter ‘a’ or ‘i’ – clearly my ass is lost. So, I close the book and ask do you know your alphabet. She retorts, “A, B, C, D, EFG, H, I, JK, LMP… just because she half-ass knows the song doesn’t mean she knows her alphabet. So, now I ask the easiest question of them all – spell your name… A.. y – enough, she doesn’t know how to spell her name.

Time for plan B.

"Get me a sheet of paper, I’m going to write the alphabet." Interestingly enough, she brought me writing tablet paper and not regular college ruled paper—that was a second indicator that the girl is smart and nobody is working with her. So, I write her the alphabet, capital and lowercase letters adjacent to each other and on the final line I write her first and last name. After the letters and her name were written, I began to quiz her on phonics. "What begins with A – name me a fruit, what begins with B — name a color…" This is the process I follow until we hit all 26 letters. So, I inform her that the next time I see her she needs to know how to spell her first name.

Now did the adults really think just because the proper tools were present for thriving learning environment, that osomosis would take place and ooze through the girl's brain and BAM -- she's a reader?

In this household on this given Sunday was the mother, grandmother, and grandfather. Mom is upstairs watching “Two Can Play that Game”, Pa Pa is yapping on the phone, and grandma is watching t.v. and braiding her great neice’s hair. The grandmother was present for my mini-school session. And she claims, "I had no idea all this summer the littlest one couldn’t spell her name." Lord forgive me, but had you struck her ass Bellini would have understood right then and there.

You have a child willing and eager to learn and no adult can put their fucking life on mute and dote on the child.

Ironically enough, I asked the Mother during the beginning of the school year how the 5 year old was adjusting to school and she replied “just fine”. Clearly “just fine” means two different things. I had the impression that she was on point as a 5 year old: could read, or was an emergent reader, identify letters of the alphabet, understood the phonetics of sounds, etc. cue Deneice Williams “Silly of me…” Be’cuz that’s what 'just fine' meant to me.

Unfortunately, the parents seem indifferent to the window of opportunity children have; where there could never be endless of hours of learning and their engagement is full throttle, it will be sad if this little girls aptitude for learning diminishes in the same year she officially started grammar school. And I pity the schoolteacher who has to teach this girl, but can not count on the parents to do their part. And folks holler and shout about the state of public schools, and yet the assumption is parents are doing their part, when clearly that is not the case.

So, I leave with you an op-ed piece from William Raspberry – a former Washington Post columnist during the 90’s who wrote provocative opinions about the state of black America.
Enjoy this kick-ass piece featured in the Post yesterday.

cheers,

Bellini

A Greater Appreciation

My grandfather served in World War II. When he came home he attended Hampton Institute (still the real HU), married my grandmother (a nurse) and had three sons. My grandfather purchased a home in Hampton that he remodeled himself and provided for his family while working at Fort Monroe.

I realize now that there was so much I did not know about my grandfather who passed away in 2003. I don’t recall having conversations with him about what it was like being a black man serving in the war. I never asked him how he felt protecting a country that denied his youngest son (my father) access to the nearest bathroom because they were black. I never asked him what it was like being raised in Fort Worth, Texas and not be discouraged by the racism that was rampant. But I do know that my Granddaddy was a man of faith.

I say all of this because sometimes I regret my youthful understanding of things. Often times in the moment, appreciation takes a backseat to the trivial. One summer when I was about 12, my Grandfather took me over to Fort Monroe and showed me some of his world. The model ships, the bombs, the history lesson, the photographs of young men now old. My grandfather, a carpenter, showed me this world of war and then led me down the halls of wood that he worked to preserve with his own hands. When showing me around a man overheard my Grandfather’s voice and was left in awe at his story. The man asked me, a child who did not know better, if I was proud of my Grandfather. I said I was, but at the time, in my heart, I didn’t care. I would have rather been anywhere else then at some old fort on a hot summer day.

But look what I carry in my memory. I have no idea what else was more important than spending a summer day with Granddaddy. I have been taught to understand that time is both limited and fleeting. I have learned to appreciate the man who loved my grandmother through cancer, taught his sons to be men in a segregated South, and prayed for me when I had no idea what it took for him to be there for all of us.

This is just part of my Grandfather’s story-a veteran who served his country, community and family. As I enjoy a day off today, these are the words of a granddaughter who is grateful that she is finally able to appreciate a great man who fought. A man I am proud of. I man who I had the honor to call my Granddaddy.

I encourage ya'll to take a moment to think of those who have and currently serve in wars they may or may not believe in.

See You In Seven

What do you say, Courvoisier? (Part 2)

Dear Courvoisier,
Remember that friend I was telling you about? Well, she has offered to help me out with this project I am working on. I am not quite sure if I should accept this offer. I could really do with the help and she is willing to help me in every which way she can. She has proven this several times but this relationship is rather tricky. We have slept with each other a couple times, nothing steady or regular, and I am afraid that this may be ploy to get closer even though she already has a man. Like I said I could do with the help but I can’t…well you know how women are! What should I do?
Tyrone

Tyrone,
Although I am a woman, I can’t really speak for every woman. However, I do believe that neither pussy nor dick should hinder you from achieving your goals. If anything it should help the process or make it more enjoyable! (chuckle)

So, has this said friend exhibited a crazy-lady mentality? In other words do you think this chic will bust the windows out your car? If you two have been casual friends for a while, sleeping with each other on and off, it is highly unlikely that she will all of a sudden start wil’in out, break into your house and lay naked in bed waiting for you to come home. (chuckle)

Let’s do some math…you see each other a couple times a week, communicate everyday and have slept with each other 7 times over the past year and a half. I am guessing (no offense) if your little sporadic rendezvous were mutually all-that, potentially crazy lady might have already had a manic episode. (chuckle) People don’t all of a sudden become crazy!

Listen, it is understandable that you are hesitant about this situation, it is almost the same as screwing someone that you work with (ah-ha…another topic we might want to discuss later). My advice to you is, if you NEED the help…go for it. Successful ventures are fostered by a great team, not one man. Let potentially crazy-lady, whom you yourself said has delivered, know your expectations for the new dynamic of the relationship. Make sure YOU adhere to that and check yourself every time it goes too far. This may turnout to be a mutually beneficial relationship. If you know what I mean! (chuckle)

And if all else fails, assist potentially crazy-lady in finding a boyfriend.
Oh, I forgot…she has one already! (chuckle)

Seems like a no-brainer to me but let’s hear what everyone else has to say…

Much luv until next week…peace :)
Courvoisier

*Of course, like always the names have been changed to protect the misguided.

A Good Friday

During the presidency of Herbert Hoover, Congress appropriated funds for the mothers of soldiers killed in World War I to go to Europe to visit their graves. The government then divided the women by race. "White mothers sailed to Europe in style while black mothers whose sons had been killed in their country's service were assigned to 'cattle ships.' "

-Richard Cohen, Harlem Renaissance, Washington Post

The above statement is the America that I have always known and carried with me everywhere I went, in my heart, in the back of my mind, even when people were trying to tell me otherwise. And while I didn’t even know about this particular incident, when I read it, I was like DAMN AMERICA! And then I was like OF COURSE AMERICA! But allegedly it’s a new day and we need to move past these things. This is what I’ve heard said by commentators and everyday people. Now, admittedly I was not an Obamaholic. I was not on the O train. Not to say I didn’t think that Obama is a brilliant, capable man with a plan. I just thought that change was a loaded word and meant different things to different people.

But beyond all of that was the fact that when I envisioned a Black person successfully running for President of these United States, I envisioned a person who was a descendant of slaves. Someone whose ancestors had labored and toiled in this country’s fields and factories for nothing or little pay. Someone whose ancestors had been beaten and brutalized by their fellow Americans. Someone whose ancestors had roots down South, while parts of the family moved North to pursue a better life. Someone whose ancestors had been enslaved, gone through the brief glimmer of hope that was Reconstruction, then the shame and pain of Jim Crow, fought for Civil Rights and a voice in this country. Someone whose ancestors’ major struggle was at every turn, demanding to be seen as an equal in their own home. I felt that then this person’s rise to the presidency could be a huge fcuk you (even if they couldn’t say it aloud) I still made it despite these centuries of obstacles, to their homeland. But that was not the case.

Along came a man who was born into this world by a Kenyan father and a white mother from Kansas. We all know his story. Here was a man talking about how much he loved America. And seeming sincere. Pointing out the best parts of America. Carrying nary a chip on his shoulder about the pain that my folks had been through. Making white folks feel all good about themselves. Talking about we are all one. All united. What America was he talking about? My feelings about America have always been like Chris Rock said, “America is like that uncle who put you through college, but molested you.” Yes, I have been to many other countries, and I recognize that the U.S. is a great place to live, but as a person of color, I recognize America’s black eye that is racism and injustice. And no matter how much foundation they try to put over it, until it’s barely visible, I know that it’s still there.

But then on election night, the results came pouring in and state after state turned blue. And I sat on my mother’s bed with breath that was baited, wondering if it were really going to happen. And when Obama hit the 220 electoral vote mark and California still hadn’t come in, I turned to my mother and said, “He’s got it.” My mother who was literally beaten in her hometown of Selma, Alabama on Bloody Sunday couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it until they finally called it. And even then she was in awe. When I immediately called my 82 year old grandmother she said, “When they put me in jail, I didn’t think I was doing it so I could live to see this.” And I was certain that my great grandmother,who passed away nine years ago, who protested for the right to vote on the courthouse steps and finally voted for the first time at the age of 58 was smiling down from heaven.

And when it was officially official, when CNN and MSNBC news anchors actually started calling it and saying President-elect Obama, my mother turned to my father (who rarely gets emotional about anything) and said, “Can you believe we lived to see it?”
And he quietly said, “No, I can’t.”

And my mother cried and cried. And my father sat in stunned silence. And we watched President-elect Obama speak, and the beautiful first family smiling on stage. And then we joined hands and prayed together.

And I realized that for my parents and their generation, my grandmother and her generation, it didn’t matter where this man Obama came from. What his roots were. Because when he stepped outside his door he would always be treated like a Black man and receive the unfair treatment they had known since the day they were born, that had unfairly been handed down from generation to generation, and then to every person of color who arrived on this shore. But here was a Black man who had risen higher than any of them could have ever imagined. They were the ones who scraped and saved for a better life as they were beaten, separated by race in the classroom, in neighborhoods, on the train, in the workplace, spat on, sprayed with hoses, bitten by dogs, marched until their feet were sore all the while praying and believing in a better day for their children. Always hoping for that check to be cashed and not come back marked insufficient funds. Knowing that America as whole was better than this.

And so this man could be their President of the United States of America. They had done the hard work so that he could reap the benefits. And if they were cool with him, then shit, how could I not be? Because during this campaign season, I have seen Black men walk a little taller, heard a Black mother proudly say, "You always tell your children they can be anything they want to be. And you mean it, but now they can see it", observed people of all races, classes and creeds come together with shared hope and vision. And with a great conclusion to this lonngg campaign season, a little bit of me and how I view this nation is changing. And I gotta say, it feels good.

That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!

when I was 6...

"So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?"

--President-Elect Barack Obama, Grant Park, November 4, 2008


On Tuesday, I spent the day with my 6-year old niece. Like our new first-second (?) daughter, she's unbelievably cute. She's super smart and has a wisdom beyond her years. When you look in her eyes you see joy, inquisitiveness and a playful spirit.

My niece was out of school on Tuesday because the local school system was closed for business. The powers that be claimed that because of the heightened "enthusiasm" surrounding the election, children should stay home since many schools double as polling places. While I'm sure some parents grumbled at having to find childcare on such short notice, my niece was elated.

She came home on Monday bouncing off the walls, proclaiming that there was no school tomorrow. When I asked her why she replied, "cause it's election day!"

MJ -- Who is the president?
Niecey -- George Washington.....Carver
MJ -- Uhhh, no. George Bush but he's forgettable. Who do we want to be president?
Niecey -- Arack Obama!
MJ -- Barack Obama! Go girl go girl go girl!

So the next morning, my niece and I were up bright and early. I had signed up to volunteer with the Obama campaign in Georgia and decided to take her along with me. As we pulled up to the local Democratic headquarters, I felt excited and cautiously optimistic. We walked up to the front desk and offered ourselves for whatever task needed to be done. The woman smiled and sent us out front to wave Obama signs along the sidewalk.

I grabbed a sign and passed one to my niece who looked at my skeptically. But once we stepped out front she became the biggest cheerleader. We took pictures with our signs and posed in front of a lifesize Arack Obama. She caught on quickly...FIRED UP! READY TO GO! FIRED UP! READY TO GO! She was a trooper for about 30 minutes before she asked, "can I play games on your cellphone?" At that point I knew it was time to go.

Now, a day after the morning after, as I talk to my friends, family members, co-workers, and random strangers on the street about how "we did it," I am still in quiet shock and ecstatic on the inside. I am overwhelmed with happiness for my grandmother, who did not have the opportunity to graduate from high school because she was married with children by the time she was 16. I am elated for my mother, who saw a cross burned on her aunt's front lawn when she was a little girl. But what moves me the most is my niece and her Obama experience. How wonderful it is that she got to participate in this election. That she can look back at that photo of her holding an Obama sign over her head at age 6 and say to her grandkids, I was there! That she got to witness Obama's resounding victory over McCain when folks thought it couldn't be done. And most of all that she gets to start her racial victories, her "how we got over" stories with Barack, her "I remember when the first black president was elected" story at the age of 6. Her forever gon be so fun!

He ran a Boston.

He gave it all he got, and he won big.

It was Michelle who reminded urban radio this can’t be close—we’ve got to win! And win he did. The folks who had ulcers, anxiety, and other ailments because they couldn’t figure out the outcome nor the magnitude of election day. The little kids jumped up down and said “Ma, he won New Hampshire!”

He’s rearranged the American map. He's created the chapter on how American campaigns are run in the 21st century. You engage the disengaged. You leave nothing to chance! He encroached on McCain’s territory in the Southwest. Unheard of. The birth of the Confederacy, Jim Crow states – the states Abe fought secession. Blacks knew what time it was. Latinos understood the bigger picture. And they said Black and Brown would never get it together?

There's no recount, no Supreme Court decision, it's American history. We can share the story with our grandchildren. Jesse crying like a baby--because MLK's dream was real. Martin, Malcolm, Medger, Marcus and others are forever remembered. No death was in vain nor forgotten.

My friend Kathy said it felt like New Year’s EVE. She’s calling Mississippi, giving her parents a state by state analysis of what's happening. “Mom and Dad he won Ohio! He’ll be the next president.”

In Spain, they aired our election and didn’t televise futbol.

My God, the world was watching and we didin’t disappoint.

In Ghana, Kenya, South Africa—the African continent prays.

Do you get it?!?

He’s not part of a political scion, wife didn’t come from money. He’s bucked every political myth.

Hard work, sweat, and perseverance—that’s it.
Nothing less, nothing more.

I spoke with Philly, and we reminisced about being in class and kids sharing their what I want to be stories. And how we can’t laugh, dream, or chide the aspiration. It’s real.

Kathy keeps reminding me we’ve got to ride these boys—their future is theirs. Did you see Barack kiss his daughter Sasha, and Sasha returned the kiss back? That wasn’t scripted or staged. It’s real…

I was in a vacuum, driving home from the election party. Folks in the city honking horns, praising him, brothas poppin’ bottles. I didn’t get the chill up my spine until the First Family Elect walked out to Grant Park. And it was another 2 hours later, when the tears strolled down my face because the American papers had their headlines. “Mr. President”, “Oh, Baby!” whoo Lawd

It was Amaretto, who sent the text – “praise him.” I phone Rum Punch and said save me a spot in the pews—Bellini’s going to church and if you know me this is rare. I reserve it for christenings, weddings, and other celebrations.
But a celebration it is, so I must go and get lifted!

So, these are the juxtaposition of my thoughts and emotions.

cheers

Oh, Say Can You See

Can you see...
How long have we waited? For decades.
picking cotton, sharecropping, working in places we couldn't afford to go, marching, working a factory job, excluded from the union, enduring when, told we didn't meet the qualifications because we were too dumb-too ugly-too black, not even considered a person...
Until we forced them to see us as people.
with families, and values, and hopes, and dreams, not so different, we are a great peculiar people, people of joy, peace, gentleness and long suffering...
Can you see?This is a new dawning.
One that we have to help rise up.

I guess this would be the place where I would insert a some lyrics from a good Negro spiritual. Or throw in a few verses of We Shall Overcome...but I feel like those type of battles are over. I think this election is more to remind all folks that this is our country too. We might be marginalized in the media, but we are more than what we see on television. We have a voice beyond the rappers and the athletes...we have a history and a culture the includes, but isn't exclusively hip-hop. To me this election is about me being seen as a person in my own country. It's about telling my yet unborn children that they can be anything they want to be...and it be a true affirmation that doesn't just stop at the Governor's mansion or in a Senate seat. Today is about getting the idealistic American definition of a land for all to truly represent itself. This election is about people being different and unique but no less American for being themselves.


So at this place, I leave you with a little Marvin, who rearranged our National Anthem so it showed his perspective. And that's what voting today is about! Showing our perspective. Making it impossible for our country to blindly ignore what must be seen..and that is us!



See You In Seven