My son is napping, and I am sitting here sipping Blue Moon beer trying to halfway watch a documentary on the great, misunderstood Sonny Liston. Unfortunately, my unfocused mind went back to earlier this week when I meant to write about the annoying usage of emoticons. The mind wants what it wants, so I will humor it.
Earlier in the week, one of my former co-workers hit me up on gchat, and let me know that she was on the prowl for a new job, and she was going to use me as a reference. I told her to I would be happy to oblige, but I needed her to send me both the description of this job and her latest resume. She didn't say "ok", "will do" or anything, she just sent me an thumbs-up emoticon which annoyed the shit out of me. You want to use me as a reference, which means at some point I will have to spend at least 10-15 minutes of my life talking about how great you are/were, but you don't think I'm worthy of words? That's no good, but she's not the only offender.
On a daily basis, I am subjected to smiley faces, thumbs, pictures of poo with smiley faces, HBD(instead of happy birthday), IJS (I'm just sayin'), and countless other abbreviations and emoticons. I brought this up to one friend of me, and she said to me, "Not everyone is an English major and good with words like you" but that's some lazy bullshit. English majors don't have a monopoly on words at all. In fact my three-year old son is perfectly capable of using the very words other people choose to truncate or animate via corny ass pictures. Words have sincerity and they show me you put some thought behind what you say to me. Hunting and pecking for emoticons does not make me feel special. And yes I expect people I am corresponding with to make me feel special to some degree. Don't judge me. Is that so wrong?
I have actually sat next to people who type "lol", when in fact they did not laugh, smile, smirk or even chuckle. They were as devoid of emotion as killer drones in Star Wars, but they misled the people they were chatting with into believing some laughter had taken place. As I am typing this, I realize that no one gives a good goddamn about this except me, so I will shut up now. I promise you people I am neither a snob nor an anal person, I just like a bit of structure, because without it, we will certainly have a Chinua Achebe situation on our hands, and no one wants that.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Monday, March 23, 2015
The new season of Mad Men starts on April 5th, which means I'm doing my best to catch up on and each and every past episode (even though technically, I only need to watch the first half of the last season to air.) Last night I was watching, and came to the episode called, "Shut the Door and Have a Seat". In that episode Betty and Don Draper (the two main characters) are in the midst of splitting up, and they come to the scene where they have to explain to their children why they are splitting up (go to the 21:17 mark and stop at 24:03):
I have watched that scene at least four times since it initially aired back in 2009, and it makes me cry each and every time. I know having my son Nyles has made me significantly softer in the emotion department, but these tears were legitimate. My parents had that exact same speech with my brother and I in December of 1991. I was 16, and my brother was 13, so we were older than the kids in this clip, but it was equally as painful. I was a senior in high school and I had yet to hear from any colleges, so the prospect of my parents divorcing scared me because I didn't know where I'd live if I didn't get into school. And then in my head I thought if I did get into college, how would I decided which parent to spend time with, which one to shun, and would I let them down (something I still deal with to this day)? But most of all I worried that my foundation (to that point) was crumbling and I would never be the same again (which in some ways I'm really not).
My brother had a different set of concerns to tackle with the impending split of his parents. Not only was his big brother leaving for college soon (maybe), and not only was he starting high school a few months later, which meant he'd be bullied by kids who did not like his older brother, but now he would be forced to shuttle in between two parents (my mother stayed in Maryland, my dad moved to Cleveland) without ever truly feeling like he had a place to call home. That type of arrangement was an inconvenience for me, but it was traumatizing for my brother.
But just the raw emotion, shock and sadness of hearing your parents say that have to split, was just a sad occasion, and I will never, ever forget it. My mom was crying, my brother was crying, my dad was compassionate towards us but indifferent toward my mother, and I was just too shocked to react properly. My wife was also a product of divorce, and we both agree that you never truly get over it. You go to therapy, you move on and you deal with the new reality, because that's what adults do. But it is never the same as it was...and that's a tough pill to swallow.
I have watched that scene at least four times since it initially aired back in 2009, and it makes me cry each and every time. I know having my son Nyles has made me significantly softer in the emotion department, but these tears were legitimate. My parents had that exact same speech with my brother and I in December of 1991. I was 16, and my brother was 13, so we were older than the kids in this clip, but it was equally as painful. I was a senior in high school and I had yet to hear from any colleges, so the prospect of my parents divorcing scared me because I didn't know where I'd live if I didn't get into school. And then in my head I thought if I did get into college, how would I decided which parent to spend time with, which one to shun, and would I let them down (something I still deal with to this day)? But most of all I worried that my foundation (to that point) was crumbling and I would never be the same again (which in some ways I'm really not).
My brother had a different set of concerns to tackle with the impending split of his parents. Not only was his big brother leaving for college soon (maybe), and not only was he starting high school a few months later, which meant he'd be bullied by kids who did not like his older brother, but now he would be forced to shuttle in between two parents (my mother stayed in Maryland, my dad moved to Cleveland) without ever truly feeling like he had a place to call home. That type of arrangement was an inconvenience for me, but it was traumatizing for my brother.
But just the raw emotion, shock and sadness of hearing your parents say that have to split, was just a sad occasion, and I will never, ever forget it. My mom was crying, my brother was crying, my dad was compassionate towards us but indifferent toward my mother, and I was just too shocked to react properly. My wife was also a product of divorce, and we both agree that you never truly get over it. You go to therapy, you move on and you deal with the new reality, because that's what adults do. But it is never the same as it was...and that's a tough pill to swallow.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
I was watching my son in the barbershop this morning, and I was amazed at how friendly and innocent he was. Even at 9am, there are some hard looking dudes in the barbershop, and no one was feeling particularly chatty and up to chatting with an effusive three year old. Yet there was Nyles speaking to everyone, asking how they were, what they were doing, and the other rhetorical questions that kids have in their endless arsenal. No matter how young, or old the person was, they temporarily put aside their own problems or thoughts, and gave Nyles a smile, or a high-five or some type of acknowledging gesture. It was sweet, innocent and very unlike me. I don't speak to people unless I absolutely have to, and even then, I do it begrudgingly.
But Nyles' behavior in the barbershop got me to thinking about me and when I lost that child-like innocence. I'm a bit crotchety these days, and I have been that way for quite a long time. But in my younger days I was young, engaging and most importantly innocent. I think that ended when my parents divorced in 1994 when I was 19. I was still friendly on the inside, but when my parents split up, and then when my dad got engaged a few months after that, it just took me to a dark, withdrawn place. I became an introvert and I decided that it was easier to keep folks away (with some exceptions). I thought I'd change in 1997 when I had my first son, but his personality mirrored mine (post-divorce) so there was really no need to change anything. Even now at age 17, my son and I have the same personality--which probably means I'm immature and need to grow up a bit. I've gotten some wonderful things with the version of me, but I need to progress.
Nyles has the same personality as my wife. He's outgoing, he's chatty, he likes to interact with people, and he has the amazing ability to put me in situations which are way out of my comfort zone. He'll see another kid his age and start speaking to the kid and the parents, which means I have to do the same, which starts a bullshit conversation that doesn't end as quickly as I need it to. I noticed that while I'm talking to other adults, Nyles stares at me and my mannerisms, and I realized he probably is taking in everything I do and say--which he should do considering I'm his father.
All of this rambling, combined with some other events which have gone down at work, have made me think that at age 40, it is time to make some mild tweaks to the way I interact with other adults. There will still be some curmudgeonly ways, but I need to start peppering in some of the normal behaviors which adults display in normal interpersonal relationships. Who knows how long this will last, but I will give it a try..
But Nyles' behavior in the barbershop got me to thinking about me and when I lost that child-like innocence. I'm a bit crotchety these days, and I have been that way for quite a long time. But in my younger days I was young, engaging and most importantly innocent. I think that ended when my parents divorced in 1994 when I was 19. I was still friendly on the inside, but when my parents split up, and then when my dad got engaged a few months after that, it just took me to a dark, withdrawn place. I became an introvert and I decided that it was easier to keep folks away (with some exceptions). I thought I'd change in 1997 when I had my first son, but his personality mirrored mine (post-divorce) so there was really no need to change anything. Even now at age 17, my son and I have the same personality--which probably means I'm immature and need to grow up a bit. I've gotten some wonderful things with the version of me, but I need to progress.
Nyles has the same personality as my wife. He's outgoing, he's chatty, he likes to interact with people, and he has the amazing ability to put me in situations which are way out of my comfort zone. He'll see another kid his age and start speaking to the kid and the parents, which means I have to do the same, which starts a bullshit conversation that doesn't end as quickly as I need it to. I noticed that while I'm talking to other adults, Nyles stares at me and my mannerisms, and I realized he probably is taking in everything I do and say--which he should do considering I'm his father.
All of this rambling, combined with some other events which have gone down at work, have made me think that at age 40, it is time to make some mild tweaks to the way I interact with other adults. There will still be some curmudgeonly ways, but I need to start peppering in some of the normal behaviors which adults display in normal interpersonal relationships. Who knows how long this will last, but I will give it a try..
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
So as I alluded to in my previous post, my son Carlton is headed to Old Dominion University in the Fall. I wanted him to attend Hampton University, but it always seemed like I wanted it way more than he did, which is fine. He wanted to attend George Mason University so he could be closer to his girlfriend (she lives in Woodbridge, he lives in Hampton) but his refusal to let me help him with his college essay, led to him receiving a rejection letter. He had three more schools he applied to, but ODU was his first choice and that is where he's headed. Now the wonderful financial aid, scholarship money game begins just as the child support part wraps up in August. It never ends, but this is the deal you make when you have kids right? You support them until they are 22 (give or take a few years) and then when you get old, they either take care of you or throw in a nursing home and willingly pay money for to go away. Win-win right?
But on a serious note, I could not be happier for my son given what he has gone through--both because of his parents and because of his own stubbornness. His mother and I were never married, and I've never had full custody of Carlton, so our relationship has primarily gone down via email, the phone, and visits that vary from a weekend to two weeks. We made it work with varying degrees of success. When his mother got re-married and moved to Japan, I was relegated to letters, the phone and the occasional phone call and that was tough. As he's gotten older and moved back to Hampton (and his mother getting divorced help) we have been able to talk and see each other much more, and as a result our relationship has improved tenfold. I doubt we'll be as close as me and young Nyles will be, but Nyles lives with me so that's to be expected.
Carlton also had some years between grades six and nine when he basically waved the white flag where academics were concerned. I tried to get him to see the short and long term consequences of his actions, but he was hell-bent on being cool and defiant. I do think the lack of a father in the home, as well his mother's numerous moves played a huge part in his lack of academic success, but ultimately, his work ethic sucked. Something clicked the second semester of his ninth grade year and he's been consistently rolling ever since, which lead to last week's good news. Now the challenge will be to keep him school. I know too many people who got in college, and then flunked out after one or two years. We can't have that and we won't.
For more of my views on fatherhood listen to this podcast right here. It features me, my main man Joe, and my main Jamal.
But on a serious note, I could not be happier for my son given what he has gone through--both because of his parents and because of his own stubbornness. His mother and I were never married, and I've never had full custody of Carlton, so our relationship has primarily gone down via email, the phone, and visits that vary from a weekend to two weeks. We made it work with varying degrees of success. When his mother got re-married and moved to Japan, I was relegated to letters, the phone and the occasional phone call and that was tough. As he's gotten older and moved back to Hampton (and his mother getting divorced help) we have been able to talk and see each other much more, and as a result our relationship has improved tenfold. I doubt we'll be as close as me and young Nyles will be, but Nyles lives with me so that's to be expected.
Carlton also had some years between grades six and nine when he basically waved the white flag where academics were concerned. I tried to get him to see the short and long term consequences of his actions, but he was hell-bent on being cool and defiant. I do think the lack of a father in the home, as well his mother's numerous moves played a huge part in his lack of academic success, but ultimately, his work ethic sucked. Something clicked the second semester of his ninth grade year and he's been consistently rolling ever since, which lead to last week's good news. Now the challenge will be to keep him school. I know too many people who got in college, and then flunked out after one or two years. We can't have that and we won't.
For more of my views on fatherhood listen to this podcast right here. It features me, my main man Joe, and my main Jamal.
Friday, March 06, 2015
Tuesday, March 03, 2015
There are two birthdays today. One I care about, the other I don't. I'm going to write about the one I don't care about. Sorry Janelle.
One of the few co-workers I can actually stand is having a birthday. His name is Victor, he's from El Salvador and he is an easy-going guy who in the past year has gotten promoted and lost a ton of weight. I like him because he knows a little about all sports, which is rare in my office, and he takes an interest in my Wizards-related articles. Some of our colleagues decided to go out and buy a birthday card for Victor, and thank God it hasn't come to me, because I wouldn't sign it. I'm against accepting or giving out birthday cards that basically are just slathered with signatures and corny phrases. My mother says that makes me ungrateful, I just think it makes me a snob, which isn't bad. You want to give me a card? Put some f**king thought behind and write words from the heart. I don't care if they are grammatically correct (actually I do) or how eloquent they are, I just want words with feeling. Is that so difficult?
Anyway, the guy whose office is next to mine was getting ready to sign the card, when he noticed some offensive things in the card. I'll remind you that Victor is from El Salvador:
Now, maybe there's an inside joke involved and those closest to him know that he loves Corona and tequila at the same damn time. Maybe Victor keeps a stash of both in his desk drawer, I don't know. But if that's a private joke, it should be shared on a separate card that is delivered privately. That card should NOT be passed around for signatures all around the damn office. Sadly, Victor is so nice and deferential, he probably will laugh it off. Perhaps I should ratchet up some anger for him.
Now you know what would have been a funnier joke? If they had given him this card:
Now that's funny..to me at least
One of the few co-workers I can actually stand is having a birthday. His name is Victor, he's from El Salvador and he is an easy-going guy who in the past year has gotten promoted and lost a ton of weight. I like him because he knows a little about all sports, which is rare in my office, and he takes an interest in my Wizards-related articles. Some of our colleagues decided to go out and buy a birthday card for Victor, and thank God it hasn't come to me, because I wouldn't sign it. I'm against accepting or giving out birthday cards that basically are just slathered with signatures and corny phrases. My mother says that makes me ungrateful, I just think it makes me a snob, which isn't bad. You want to give me a card? Put some f**king thought behind and write words from the heart. I don't care if they are grammatically correct (actually I do) or how eloquent they are, I just want words with feeling. Is that so difficult?
Anyway, the guy whose office is next to mine was getting ready to sign the card, when he noticed some offensive things in the card. I'll remind you that Victor is from El Salvador:
Now, maybe there's an inside joke involved and those closest to him know that he loves Corona and tequila at the same damn time. Maybe Victor keeps a stash of both in his desk drawer, I don't know. But if that's a private joke, it should be shared on a separate card that is delivered privately. That card should NOT be passed around for signatures all around the damn office. Sadly, Victor is so nice and deferential, he probably will laugh it off. Perhaps I should ratchet up some anger for him.
Now you know what would have been a funnier joke? If they had given him this card:
Now that's funny..to me at least
Monday, February 23, 2015
So my wife has this woman she has worked with (we'll call her Amy), the past few years. They became close because Amy has a son who is around the same age of our son Nyles. Nyles and her son have played together, my wife and Amy have had extended play dates, and I even got in on the action, when they hosted a couples play date at some point last year*
*Sidebar*: That play date was the most awkward sh*t I've ever attended and that's saying a lot. The women and children got along just fine, as was to be expected. The guys were not put in a position to succeed at all. There was a TV in the living room, but it stayed off, which meant there was no basketball, no ESPN, no soccer, no nothing. Just crazy kids running around and meaningless chatter about b.s. (the weather, the what-do-you-do-for-a-living question, etc). The only thing that kept this event from being an absolute disaster was the presence of alcohol. I downed one mimosa and 5 beers in a 10 minute span hoping it would set things off, but it was still awkward. When you throw in the fact that I was the only black guy there, it just made for a weird time. I will never allow my wife to convince me to attend such an event. Not on those terms at least **sidebar over***
Anyway I have been in Amy's home, I've talked to Amy while she was with my wife at work, and I have had at least 5-10 face-to-face conversations with her. Not to mention, my son looks exactly like me, so she's played with and been exposed to mini-me as well. I also should mention here that Amy, my wife and I all work on the same block (different buildings).
I have walked by Amy at least 20 times since we've worked near each other. When this happens my wife is not around and neither is Nyles, it is just me and Amy, and she walks RIGHT by me. I say good morning to her, and she looks at me, then she keeps walking like she doesn't know who the hell I am. Just this morning, she and I stood next to each other in Starbucks for seven minutes (I timed it). I said good morning, and she gave me the I-don't-know-you-but-I'm-speaking-anyway greeting, but she had no clue it was me. I'm not exactly the most socially-adjusted dude on the face of the Earth, and God knows I hate small-talk, but I put all that aside where my wife's friends are concerned. Plus, this woman has spent quality time with me and my son, so I'm almost obligated to speak. Apparently that's a one-way street.
Now in fairness, my wife tells me that Amy has endured some serious personal tragedies over the last year, which means she is prone to random periods of zoning out and not paying attention to her surroundings. I do understand that, but I'm not asking for a full-on conversation. I just want some acknowledgement that we know each other, our kids play, and how the hell are you?
I would be remiss if I didn't mention that this has been happening to me for years with white people I work with. While I'm at the job, they speak, they talk to me, we share playful jokes, but then outside of work, they treat me like I do not exist. Just a few months back I saw one of my co-workers--a woman who sits right next to me--at the Safeway. I said hello Alyssa, and she looked at me, took her headphones off, and said, "I'm sorry, have we met?". I thought she was joking, and when I realized she wasn't I had to tell her my name, where I worked, and where I sat, and then she said, "Oh hey Rashad, OMG I didn't recognize you!". I was not wearing a hat, a fake beard, or a disguise. I wasn't in work attire at all, but damn. Variations of that same scenario have happened several times during my 20 year work career. I don't understand it. It doesn't happen with all of white co-workers, but it never happens with any of my black ones.
God bless the life of Clark Terry
*Sidebar*: That play date was the most awkward sh*t I've ever attended and that's saying a lot. The women and children got along just fine, as was to be expected. The guys were not put in a position to succeed at all. There was a TV in the living room, but it stayed off, which meant there was no basketball, no ESPN, no soccer, no nothing. Just crazy kids running around and meaningless chatter about b.s. (the weather, the what-do-you-do-for-a-living question, etc). The only thing that kept this event from being an absolute disaster was the presence of alcohol. I downed one mimosa and 5 beers in a 10 minute span hoping it would set things off, but it was still awkward. When you throw in the fact that I was the only black guy there, it just made for a weird time. I will never allow my wife to convince me to attend such an event. Not on those terms at least **sidebar over***
Anyway I have been in Amy's home, I've talked to Amy while she was with my wife at work, and I have had at least 5-10 face-to-face conversations with her. Not to mention, my son looks exactly like me, so she's played with and been exposed to mini-me as well. I also should mention here that Amy, my wife and I all work on the same block (different buildings).
I have walked by Amy at least 20 times since we've worked near each other. When this happens my wife is not around and neither is Nyles, it is just me and Amy, and she walks RIGHT by me. I say good morning to her, and she looks at me, then she keeps walking like she doesn't know who the hell I am. Just this morning, she and I stood next to each other in Starbucks for seven minutes (I timed it). I said good morning, and she gave me the I-don't-know-you-but-I'm-speaking-anyway greeting, but she had no clue it was me. I'm not exactly the most socially-adjusted dude on the face of the Earth, and God knows I hate small-talk, but I put all that aside where my wife's friends are concerned. Plus, this woman has spent quality time with me and my son, so I'm almost obligated to speak. Apparently that's a one-way street.
Now in fairness, my wife tells me that Amy has endured some serious personal tragedies over the last year, which means she is prone to random periods of zoning out and not paying attention to her surroundings. I do understand that, but I'm not asking for a full-on conversation. I just want some acknowledgement that we know each other, our kids play, and how the hell are you?
I would be remiss if I didn't mention that this has been happening to me for years with white people I work with. While I'm at the job, they speak, they talk to me, we share playful jokes, but then outside of work, they treat me like I do not exist. Just a few months back I saw one of my co-workers--a woman who sits right next to me--at the Safeway. I said hello Alyssa, and she looked at me, took her headphones off, and said, "I'm sorry, have we met?". I thought she was joking, and when I realized she wasn't I had to tell her my name, where I worked, and where I sat, and then she said, "Oh hey Rashad, OMG I didn't recognize you!". I was not wearing a hat, a fake beard, or a disguise. I wasn't in work attire at all, but damn. Variations of that same scenario have happened several times during my 20 year work career. I don't understand it. It doesn't happen with all of white co-workers, but it never happens with any of my black ones.
God bless the life of Clark Terry
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
The creation of this blog hasn't really gotten me laid, it hasn't made me any money, and while it basically allowed me to be in a position to cover the NBA, it hasn't brought me a sustained amount of notoriety which is fine. I simply started this blog to remove the thoughts from my head, and put them on paper, or online.
However, one of the best parts of this blog is connecting with people who I may have otherwise never had the pleasure of meeting. One of those people is my main man jazzbrew aka Eric Brewington. He doesn't blog as much as he used to (and frankly neither do I) but he has his hands full with marriage, a kid, a step-kid, a new instrument (hello bass, goodbye trumpet) and his 9-to-5. He's a jazz head (probably even moreso than I am) like me, and I have had the pleasure of trading emails with him about jazz, family, Tiger Woods, and other subjects that shall remain confidential.
My main man Jamal--who I met in 1999 via the wonderful site Okayplayer, has started a podcast dedicated to fatherhood entitled, Your Mark - A Series About All Things Fatherhood and jazzbrew is the first featured guest. I highly recommend to listen to this episode to learn more about jazzbrew, and keep listening going forward, because eventually I will be featured on here as well.
Thanks for listening...
However, one of the best parts of this blog is connecting with people who I may have otherwise never had the pleasure of meeting. One of those people is my main man jazzbrew aka Eric Brewington. He doesn't blog as much as he used to (and frankly neither do I) but he has his hands full with marriage, a kid, a step-kid, a new instrument (hello bass, goodbye trumpet) and his 9-to-5. He's a jazz head (probably even moreso than I am) like me, and I have had the pleasure of trading emails with him about jazz, family, Tiger Woods, and other subjects that shall remain confidential.
My main man Jamal--who I met in 1999 via the wonderful site Okayplayer, has started a podcast dedicated to fatherhood entitled, Your Mark - A Series About All Things Fatherhood and jazzbrew is the first featured guest. I highly recommend to listen to this episode to learn more about jazzbrew, and keep listening going forward, because eventually I will be featured on here as well.
Thanks for listening...
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Right now I have four books that are currently laughing and staring at me, wondering when I will stop procrastinating and finally find the time to give them the attention they deserve. They books are as follows:
Bob Ryan - Scribe
Al Michaels - You Can't Make This Up
Jim Boeheim and Jack McCallum - Bleeding Orange
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar - Streeball Crew 2 Stealing The Game
All four books are advances I got from various publishing companies, with the expectation that I would read, review them and prepare to interview the authors. Realistically speaking, I was not going to finish the first three books in time to be able to talk to the authors (they give you a tight turnaround period with which to finish the book) but for the Kareem book, I was determined to finish so I could interview him a second time.
I didn't finish reading the book, but I skimmed it with purpose, so I could get the main idea of the book. The key for me was to know enough about the book so he'd respect me and talk freely about the the writing process and the contents of the book, but I also wanted to ask him some sports and social related questions, because I know he's a versatile dude. I tried to get an interview through the publisher and through Kareem's PR folks since I've had dealings with them before. I traded emails, promises were made but nothing tangible has happened yet, which is disappointing. Not to be totally morbid or depressing, but Kareem will be 68 this year, and who knows how much time he has left. Selfishly speaking, I want a lucid Kareem at my disposal...I digress.
I used to be able to rip through books like it was nothing--at least one a month. Now I start books, and then I leave them on the side of the road (bookcase) not knowing when the hell they will be picked up again. My walk to work is 5 minutes, so its not like I can be on the train reading, and at home there are demands on my time. Perhaps I should join or start a book club, but that's not realistic time-wise..
I guess I need to improve on my time management...
Bob Ryan - Scribe
Al Michaels - You Can't Make This Up
Jim Boeheim and Jack McCallum - Bleeding Orange
Kareem Abdul-Jabbar - Streeball Crew 2 Stealing The Game
All four books are advances I got from various publishing companies, with the expectation that I would read, review them and prepare to interview the authors. Realistically speaking, I was not going to finish the first three books in time to be able to talk to the authors (they give you a tight turnaround period with which to finish the book) but for the Kareem book, I was determined to finish so I could interview him a second time.
I didn't finish reading the book, but I skimmed it with purpose, so I could get the main idea of the book. The key for me was to know enough about the book so he'd respect me and talk freely about the the writing process and the contents of the book, but I also wanted to ask him some sports and social related questions, because I know he's a versatile dude. I tried to get an interview through the publisher and through Kareem's PR folks since I've had dealings with them before. I traded emails, promises were made but nothing tangible has happened yet, which is disappointing. Not to be totally morbid or depressing, but Kareem will be 68 this year, and who knows how much time he has left. Selfishly speaking, I want a lucid Kareem at my disposal...I digress.
I used to be able to rip through books like it was nothing--at least one a month. Now I start books, and then I leave them on the side of the road (bookcase) not knowing when the hell they will be picked up again. My walk to work is 5 minutes, so its not like I can be on the train reading, and at home there are demands on my time. Perhaps I should join or start a book club, but that's not realistic time-wise..
I guess I need to improve on my time management...
Monday, January 26, 2015
I was passed over for a promotion today at my job, because the person in charge of hiring felt that I lacked the ability to motivate and inspire. The person who got the job--who I respect tremendously--is an outgoing woman with an outgoing personality, and it is much easier to see results with someone with a learning style like that. My managerial style, actually my entire style, is all about being understated, subtle, but equally as effective and my results were and are just as impactful as hers (well not JUST as impactful otherwise I would have gotten the fucking job). But just as closed mouths don't get fed, I suppose the same can be said for reserved ones, so this is my fault. It certainly doesn't lessen the hurt and irritation. I'll come up with a Plan B in a couple of days. But to get dealt that type of a blow not even a week after my 40th birthday definitely makes a mark on my psyche. I have to do better.
Speaking of birthdays, my mother turns 63 today, and she celebrated by asking a male friend of hers (she claims they are not dating) to accompany her to dinner. My mother and this class act of a gentleman have dinner together, and when the bill comes, he not only does not offer to pay, but he makes it his business to tell my mother, "I don't have any money, if you wanted me to pay, you should have given me a heads up". And no I'm not fabricating this story.
First off, I have plenty of female friends who I'm not interested in, who I would willingly come out of my pocket for on their birthday. It is just the honorable and polite thing to do for someone on their birthday, and it speaks volumes about one's character when the type of gesture is extended, just like it speaks volumes about one's lack of character when those actions are not taken. Second what grown man comes out of the house with no money, eats a full mean like this is a scene out of the movie Soul Food, and the boldly makes a declaration of poverty on a full stomach. To quote one of my favorite ushers at the Wizards' games, "Where they do that at?"
I hear stories from women my age and younger, about how some dudes are lazy and don't want to properly woo a woman, but I've never heard a 60-plus year old man do something that egregious. My mother (and other ladies) deserves better on her birthday.
Speaking of birthdays, my mother turns 63 today, and she celebrated by asking a male friend of hers (she claims they are not dating) to accompany her to dinner. My mother and this class act of a gentleman have dinner together, and when the bill comes, he not only does not offer to pay, but he makes it his business to tell my mother, "I don't have any money, if you wanted me to pay, you should have given me a heads up". And no I'm not fabricating this story.
First off, I have plenty of female friends who I'm not interested in, who I would willingly come out of my pocket for on their birthday. It is just the honorable and polite thing to do for someone on their birthday, and it speaks volumes about one's character when the type of gesture is extended, just like it speaks volumes about one's lack of character when those actions are not taken. Second what grown man comes out of the house with no money, eats a full mean like this is a scene out of the movie Soul Food, and the boldly makes a declaration of poverty on a full stomach. To quote one of my favorite ushers at the Wizards' games, "Where they do that at?"
I hear stories from women my age and younger, about how some dudes are lazy and don't want to properly woo a woman, but I've never heard a 60-plus year old man do something that egregious. My mother (and other ladies) deserves better on her birthday.
Saturday, January 17, 2015
"So what do you do?"
I don't know why this question annoys me so damn much, but it does. I didn't like that question when I was dating, and the girl's friends/parents would ask me that question, and I don't like it when it comes up in happy hours, Christmas parties, and other functions.
It isn't like I'm ashamed of either one of my jobs. By day I'm a project supervisor for the 9-11 Victims Compensation Fund, and by night I write for the ESPN True Hoop blog, Truth About It. Both jobs spark plenty of conversation with someone I deem worthy to share it with, but I just resent that question being acceptable fodder for public settings. Plus half the time I think it is an excuse for someone to a)judge or b) barely pay attention to your answer, so they can hurry up and tell you what the hell they do.
For example, this past Thursday I attended a happy hour with co-workers, and some friends of some of my co-workers decided to show. Initially everything was going lovely. Drinks were consumed, hookah were smoked and meaningless conversation about sports, politics and the weather flowed as easily as the alcohol. Then one of the women asked the dreaded question and the following conversation went down:
Her: So Rashad what do you do?
Me: I'm a Project Supervisor and I'm a sportswriter
Her (pausing): Oh, so you're not an attorney (she was, and so are some of my co-workers)
Me: I am not
Her: Oh, well I'm an attorney
Me: So Whoopty Damn Do (I didn't really say that)
After she realized I was not an attorney, there was the most awkward of silences, and she abandoned me to talk to someone else, and I kept on imbibing and smoking. She didn't ask me more questions, or try to strike up some common ground banter, it just was awkward. Although if I'm being honest, even if she had started asking me legitimate, pointed questions about my professions, I probably would have shut her ass down and walked away. If I'm drinking and smoking, I want to have mindless time, not thing about work.
I told my wife that the next time we go out, and someone asks me that, I'm going to just tell everyone I'm a high school janitor, and just roll with that all night. That ought to go over great...or at the very least produce yet another exciting blog.
I don't know why this question annoys me so damn much, but it does. I didn't like that question when I was dating, and the girl's friends/parents would ask me that question, and I don't like it when it comes up in happy hours, Christmas parties, and other functions.
It isn't like I'm ashamed of either one of my jobs. By day I'm a project supervisor for the 9-11 Victims Compensation Fund, and by night I write for the ESPN True Hoop blog, Truth About It. Both jobs spark plenty of conversation with someone I deem worthy to share it with, but I just resent that question being acceptable fodder for public settings. Plus half the time I think it is an excuse for someone to a)judge or b) barely pay attention to your answer, so they can hurry up and tell you what the hell they do.
For example, this past Thursday I attended a happy hour with co-workers, and some friends of some of my co-workers decided to show. Initially everything was going lovely. Drinks were consumed, hookah were smoked and meaningless conversation about sports, politics and the weather flowed as easily as the alcohol. Then one of the women asked the dreaded question and the following conversation went down:
Her: So Rashad what do you do?
Me: I'm a Project Supervisor and I'm a sportswriter
Her (pausing): Oh, so you're not an attorney (she was, and so are some of my co-workers)
Me: I am not
Her: Oh, well I'm an attorney
Me: So Whoopty Damn Do (I didn't really say that)
After she realized I was not an attorney, there was the most awkward of silences, and she abandoned me to talk to someone else, and I kept on imbibing and smoking. She didn't ask me more questions, or try to strike up some common ground banter, it just was awkward. Although if I'm being honest, even if she had started asking me legitimate, pointed questions about my professions, I probably would have shut her ass down and walked away. If I'm drinking and smoking, I want to have mindless time, not thing about work.
I told my wife that the next time we go out, and someone asks me that, I'm going to just tell everyone I'm a high school janitor, and just roll with that all night. That ought to go over great...or at the very least produce yet another exciting blog.
Monday, January 12, 2015
So last week I did this diet with my wife called, "The Military Diet". The wife lost 15-20 lbs last year doing this diet, and she looks fantastic, and she's been asking me to join in on the fun with her, but I had refused for the longest time. I respect the power of diets, but I much prefer to run, swim, skip rope and basically do a triathlon to get my excess weight off. I don't get too many chances to flex my athletic prowess anymore, so I rely on my workouts to fill that void. But last week I decided to give in and make the magic happen. The diet is all about depriving yourself with as little food as possible, and as a result of all this malnourishment, I was cranky as hell for the three days (ok two and a half) I had to the diet. The worst part of the diet was eating a grapefruit.
Now, I'm a huge fan of grapefruit juice. My late grandmother kept her some grapefruit juice in the fridge, and despite its occasionally bitter taste, I drank it like a champ because she did. I've also tasted the Ruby Red grapefruit juice, but that's cheating because they sweeten up way more than is necessary. Natural grapefruit juice does the trick as well. But in my 39 years of living on this Earth, I had never eaten a grapefruit, and now this diet was completely taking me out of my comfort zone and forcing me to tackle this unknown monster.
Before I left the house, I got a brief tutorial from the wife on how to eat it...the grapefruit that is. She said to take a knife and cut all the way to create about 7 or 8 different sections, and then to take that same knife and cut in a circle which would allow me to scoop up the pieces of grapefruit. It sounded easy enough, so I got to work and sat down, I tried this method and all hell broke loose. I cut the grapefruit in sections, and in the process, it squirted all over my good work clothes. Still, I thought that was just part of the risk involved when eating this fruit, so I pressed on and went to step two of the plan. I took a knife around the edges of the fruit, and more squirting went down. On top of that, I was unable to dislodge the grapefruit from the skin, so I started slicing and dicing everything in sight with the knife. All that resulted in was more squirting and frustration.
So at this point, I picked up the fruit, and just sucked all the damn juice I could out of it. I literally treated the fruit like it was a juice box, turned it upside down, and drank that sh*t like a champ. Mind you, I had co-workers walking by my desk periodically, so I had to be as smooth and discreet as possible. I have a (work) image to uphold. So here I was, holding a juiceless grapefruit, trying to figure out how the hell to get the mangled pieces of grapefruit out without looking like a complete savage at my place of employment. Finally, I looked left, then right, picked up the grapefruit, and ate it like Little Black Sambo. It was pitiful, and I'm quite sure I set the race way back, but I conquered the grapefruit like a champ. Needless to say, I will not ever eat that thing again. The grapefruit I mean...
Now, I'm a huge fan of grapefruit juice. My late grandmother kept her some grapefruit juice in the fridge, and despite its occasionally bitter taste, I drank it like a champ because she did. I've also tasted the Ruby Red grapefruit juice, but that's cheating because they sweeten up way more than is necessary. Natural grapefruit juice does the trick as well. But in my 39 years of living on this Earth, I had never eaten a grapefruit, and now this diet was completely taking me out of my comfort zone and forcing me to tackle this unknown monster.
Before I left the house, I got a brief tutorial from the wife on how to eat it...the grapefruit that is. She said to take a knife and cut all the way to create about 7 or 8 different sections, and then to take that same knife and cut in a circle which would allow me to scoop up the pieces of grapefruit. It sounded easy enough, so I got to work and sat down, I tried this method and all hell broke loose. I cut the grapefruit in sections, and in the process, it squirted all over my good work clothes. Still, I thought that was just part of the risk involved when eating this fruit, so I pressed on and went to step two of the plan. I took a knife around the edges of the fruit, and more squirting went down. On top of that, I was unable to dislodge the grapefruit from the skin, so I started slicing and dicing everything in sight with the knife. All that resulted in was more squirting and frustration.
So at this point, I picked up the fruit, and just sucked all the damn juice I could out of it. I literally treated the fruit like it was a juice box, turned it upside down, and drank that sh*t like a champ. Mind you, I had co-workers walking by my desk periodically, so I had to be as smooth and discreet as possible. I have a (work) image to uphold. So here I was, holding a juiceless grapefruit, trying to figure out how the hell to get the mangled pieces of grapefruit out without looking like a complete savage at my place of employment. Finally, I looked left, then right, picked up the grapefruit, and ate it like Little Black Sambo. It was pitiful, and I'm quite sure I set the race way back, but I conquered the grapefruit like a champ. Needless to say, I will not ever eat that thing again. The grapefruit I mean...
Tuesday, January 06, 2015
Being a father has taken a little starch out of the militant stances I've taken in the past. My son (as all kids do), gravitates towards boys and girls of all colors and races, which means I have to interact with the parents of all these wonderful flavors of kids. I have no problems with interacting with parents of all races (which sounds just like "all my best friends are black"), but interacting with other adults leads to awkward pauses, extended silence and even more extended conversations about kid-related things which is not my deal. This is not why I am inserting race into this particular conversation.
After taking in a steady diet of kiddie movies and television shows, I am noticing that this line of kid programming---which shouldn't surprise me given what adult programming is looking like these days--is disproportionately white. I guess I don't notice it as much with my shows, because thanks to Netflix, Hulu, and other apps designed to compartmentalize my life, I'm able to play God with what I do and do not watch. But kiddie programming is much more limited, especially considering his dayc is multiracial and perhaps not as conscious of what a little black kid as I am. But from Toy Story, to Frozen, to Cars, Sprout TV all these movies and shows have lots of white people and white voices. Sesame Street, Madagascar and Shrek provide some relief, but even those contain voices and not young black faces on the television, that my little black kid can see and relate to on a daily basis.
The only two cartoons that young Nyles can view and feel like he's looking at someone who looks like him are Little Bill (not exactly the most popular of cartoons right now given Bill Cosby's clusterfuck of a personal life and Franklin from Charlie Brown. In fact when Nyles saw Franklin on tv during Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving special, he walked right up to the television, pointed at Franklin, and said, "That's Nyles". It made me smile that he felt that way, but it also broke my heart, that he saw so few brown folks on television, that he enthusiastically gravitated towards the first one. It was bittersweet.
Again, I get that kids and adults need to interact with all races, because that's an important skill to perfect the older one gets. But damn if it isn't equally as rewarding for a brown kid to see some brown people as affirmation that his people matter. That was one of the great benefits of Obama being elected president. Whether he was good, bad or mediocre, every damn day of the week, there would be lovers, haters and everything in between, discussing this man on all kind of media outlets every damn day. And for the most part, he's always referenced as the President. While I'm at it, that's what made the Cosby Show so damn good in the 80s. Here was a black family who was rich, close, cultured and articulate. I want my son to have a President, a dad and a multitude of television characters to watch when I chose to let him look at the television
After taking in a steady diet of kiddie movies and television shows, I am noticing that this line of kid programming---which shouldn't surprise me given what adult programming is looking like these days--is disproportionately white. I guess I don't notice it as much with my shows, because thanks to Netflix, Hulu, and other apps designed to compartmentalize my life, I'm able to play God with what I do and do not watch. But kiddie programming is much more limited, especially considering his dayc is multiracial and perhaps not as conscious of what a little black kid as I am. But from Toy Story, to Frozen, to Cars, Sprout TV all these movies and shows have lots of white people and white voices. Sesame Street, Madagascar and Shrek provide some relief, but even those contain voices and not young black faces on the television, that my little black kid can see and relate to on a daily basis.
The only two cartoons that young Nyles can view and feel like he's looking at someone who looks like him are Little Bill (not exactly the most popular of cartoons right now given Bill Cosby's clusterfuck of a personal life and Franklin from Charlie Brown. In fact when Nyles saw Franklin on tv during Charlie Brown's Thanksgiving special, he walked right up to the television, pointed at Franklin, and said, "That's Nyles". It made me smile that he felt that way, but it also broke my heart, that he saw so few brown folks on television, that he enthusiastically gravitated towards the first one. It was bittersweet.
Again, I get that kids and adults need to interact with all races, because that's an important skill to perfect the older one gets. But damn if it isn't equally as rewarding for a brown kid to see some brown people as affirmation that his people matter. That was one of the great benefits of Obama being elected president. Whether he was good, bad or mediocre, every damn day of the week, there would be lovers, haters and everything in between, discussing this man on all kind of media outlets every damn day. And for the most part, he's always referenced as the President. While I'm at it, that's what made the Cosby Show so damn good in the 80s. Here was a black family who was rich, close, cultured and articulate. I want my son to have a President, a dad and a multitude of television characters to watch when I chose to let him look at the television
Monday, January 05, 2015
For the second consecutive day I have been called out to do something greater, although this time it was one of my co-workers. She explained that I seemed to have gotten complacent at work, and that she sees much greater things out of me given my intelligence, but my work ethic lately leaves much to be desired. She went on to add that she feels like we've worked together long enough for her to be able to say the things that she did. I didn't disagree with a single word she said, and given that my father basically did the same thing to me the day before, I get the point. I can do more, and I will.
My wife took what I consider to be a great, great picture of my son and I laying on the couch yesterday. I want this framed and put on my desk at work. It shows love, trust, love and a genuine closeness between father and son. It also demonstrates that I have a reason to get off my ass and do better in all aspects of my life.
My wife took what I consider to be a great, great picture of my son and I laying on the couch yesterday. I want this framed and put on my desk at work. It shows love, trust, love and a genuine closeness between father and son. It also demonstrates that I have a reason to get off my ass and do better in all aspects of my life.
Sunday, January 04, 2015
This morning I called my dad to talk about the sad and premature death of Stuart Scott, when he started running down the list of writing projects I started and never finished. He kept saying "whatever happen to this" and "where are you on that", and I just felt like a little kid who didn't turn in my homework. I gave him the tried and true company line about being overwhelmed with being a father and a husband and having to juggle my paying job, my Wizards job and everything in between. He told me he certainly understood how I could get bogged down with all of those things, and then he said something that justifiably game me pause:
Now I know my father is unbelievably biased when it comes to his son, and he has to say things to pump, me up. But he is on to something, because I have not been very good in following through with any of my writing projects--including this blog. And my attempts to restart this blog are literally well-documented, but my father's words resonated with me, so I will try yet again. It reminds me of the words of the late, great Ralph Wiley who wrote in the first sentence of his last column before he died, "All a man has is the integrity of his work".
My responsibilities will continue to increase, and it will continue to be a chore for me to blog, write meaningful articles about the Wizards, and do other things, but I have to do it. After all, I will turn 40 on January 20th, and I need to start cementing my legacy. There's no time like the present right?
Rashad, you have a unique voice and there are people who want to hear you
Now I know my father is unbelievably biased when it comes to his son, and he has to say things to pump, me up. But he is on to something, because I have not been very good in following through with any of my writing projects--including this blog. And my attempts to restart this blog are literally well-documented, but my father's words resonated with me, so I will try yet again. It reminds me of the words of the late, great Ralph Wiley who wrote in the first sentence of his last column before he died, "All a man has is the integrity of his work".
My responsibilities will continue to increase, and it will continue to be a chore for me to blog, write meaningful articles about the Wizards, and do other things, but I have to do it. After all, I will turn 40 on January 20th, and I need to start cementing my legacy. There's no time like the present right?
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
I just read an insanely long Facebook post by my good friend Janelle, and I commented that she should consider putting those thoughts in a blog. Then I realized, hey I have a blog too, and I've neglected it like D'Angelo did his fans until two weeks ago. So on this the final day of 2014, I won't attempt to make any grand proclamations about the resuscitation of this blog. I also won't attempt to write any New Year's resolutions or 2014 in review posts. For now, I'm just going to talk.
I bought the aforementioned D'Angelo album/cd/download a couple of weeks ago, and I enjoy it immensely. I won't declare him as the second coming of Prince, and I won't let his 15 year absence cause me to inflate the importance or quality of this album. But what I DO appreciate is his attention to detail on this album. Once you sift through his mumbled vocals, you can hear deep lyrics, funky baselines, chord changes, orchestral arrangements, etc. Most R&B singers shun live instruments, and just put out a packaged, artificial product. D'Angelo, god bless his hesitant-to-pull-the-trigger soul, took his sweet time and it was worth the wait. Go buy the album.
Happy New Year everyone. Listen to this song, reflect on the past and upcoming years, drink responsibly, and most importantly, get laid.
I bought the aforementioned D'Angelo album/cd/download a couple of weeks ago, and I enjoy it immensely. I won't declare him as the second coming of Prince, and I won't let his 15 year absence cause me to inflate the importance or quality of this album. But what I DO appreciate is his attention to detail on this album. Once you sift through his mumbled vocals, you can hear deep lyrics, funky baselines, chord changes, orchestral arrangements, etc. Most R&B singers shun live instruments, and just put out a packaged, artificial product. D'Angelo, god bless his hesitant-to-pull-the-trigger soul, took his sweet time and it was worth the wait. Go buy the album.
Happy New Year everyone. Listen to this song, reflect on the past and upcoming years, drink responsibly, and most importantly, get laid.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Earlier in the summer, I stated that I wanted to ride cross-country with my son as a father-son team building exercise. I ran the idea by my son, and he complained that the drive was a bit too long, and he really wasn't interested (aka, it would keep me away from my girlfriend much too long for my liking). Luckily for me, I had a plan B in my pocket, and I proposed to my son that he and I should run the 5k race to prevent cancer. I did the race in 2013, and I thought my son would enjoy it, since he's an avid runner. To sweeten the deal, I told him his girlfriend could run too, and he agreed in a heartbeat.
Not only was this race important because I could spend time with my son and his girl, but cancer prevention is something that remains important to me. My father had a brief bout with prostate cancer, and I had a bit of a brain cancer scare myself last summer, so I am conscious of how important cancer prevention will be for the rest of my life. Granted, I'm not the only one in the world who shares that sentiment, but before those two factors affected my life, I can't say cancer was at the forefront or even the back of my mind. Plus, my son's grandfather (on his mother's side) was just diagnosed with cancer, so I know the disease was floating around in his mind as well. Everything about our participation in this event felt right, and the morning of the event, the perfect weather (60 degrees and sunny) pretty much confirmed that statement.
My goal was to finish under 30 minutes and to defeat my son (17 and an avid runner) and his girl (16 and a member of the track team). I ran the 5k in 25 minutes, and I defeated the both of them by 5 minutes..I did not let them forget that for a good hour after the race. But in the same token as John Thompson says, we laughed, we talked, we ate a healthy post-race meal, we got post-race blood pressure readings, and it was just an overall fulfilling time. I continue to be a proud dad.
Speaking of fathers..Common's dad, Lonnie Lynn (aka Pops) recently passed away. He didn't know me, and I didn't know him, but I did appreciate the appearances he made on his son's recordings. One particular recording--the one I attached below--is especially important to me. The song is called Fatherhood, and I played it in August of 1997 when my son Carlton was born, and I played it again in 2011 when I sent Nyles home. My wife doesn't even like for me to play this song, because it makes me cry every damn time. The words aren't all that moving, although they are poignant, but the thoughts it invokes are powerful to me. My favorite part is at the 2:57 mark:
"You've been a teacher to me, like I have supposed to have been a teacher to you. A lot of people think that parenting and raising a child is a one way street, but you taught me continuous, numerous lessons...and I love you my son"
Not only was this race important because I could spend time with my son and his girl, but cancer prevention is something that remains important to me. My father had a brief bout with prostate cancer, and I had a bit of a brain cancer scare myself last summer, so I am conscious of how important cancer prevention will be for the rest of my life. Granted, I'm not the only one in the world who shares that sentiment, but before those two factors affected my life, I can't say cancer was at the forefront or even the back of my mind. Plus, my son's grandfather (on his mother's side) was just diagnosed with cancer, so I know the disease was floating around in his mind as well. Everything about our participation in this event felt right, and the morning of the event, the perfect weather (60 degrees and sunny) pretty much confirmed that statement.
My goal was to finish under 30 minutes and to defeat my son (17 and an avid runner) and his girl (16 and a member of the track team). I ran the 5k in 25 minutes, and I defeated the both of them by 5 minutes..I did not let them forget that for a good hour after the race. But in the same token as John Thompson says, we laughed, we talked, we ate a healthy post-race meal, we got post-race blood pressure readings, and it was just an overall fulfilling time. I continue to be a proud dad.
Speaking of fathers..Common's dad, Lonnie Lynn (aka Pops) recently passed away. He didn't know me, and I didn't know him, but I did appreciate the appearances he made on his son's recordings. One particular recording--the one I attached below--is especially important to me. The song is called Fatherhood, and I played it in August of 1997 when my son Carlton was born, and I played it again in 2011 when I sent Nyles home. My wife doesn't even like for me to play this song, because it makes me cry every damn time. The words aren't all that moving, although they are poignant, but the thoughts it invokes are powerful to me. My favorite part is at the 2:57 mark:
"You've been a teacher to me, like I have supposed to have been a teacher to you. A lot of people think that parenting and raising a child is a one way street, but you taught me continuous, numerous lessons...and I love you my son"
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
I have no problem admitting that my wife is much better at dressing my son than I am. She factors in the morning and afternoon temps, she knows exactly what does and does not fit, she's in tune with what my son likes to wear, and her shoe selection is always perfect. It takes a bit of work to nail all of those seemingly minor details, and send Nyles to school looking like a champ, but my wife pulls it off each and every day. I tend to just grab what I want him to wear (aka what I would wear), and I could give a damn about the weather or Nyles' comfort, and I just basically impose my will on him. Sometimes it works, most times it does not.
When it doesn't work, my wife unapologetically (and discreetly) removes my (un)carefully crafted outfit, instantly comes up with something that's infinitely better than what I've chosen, and sends my son to school looking like a champ. And then to add insult to injury, she will make fun of my outfit through fake-ass, sarcastic conversations with my son:
"Let's see what Dad put on you in today?"
"Oh, I see Dad picked out your little outfit today"
"Now what do we have here? Dad has you wearing pants and it is 98 degrees today, how special is that?"
Yesterday I put my head down, powered through, and decided to come up with an outfit that she could not jump in and replace. The temperature was tricky yesterday (cold in the morning, mild, but not hot in the afternoon) so I knew had more options and more leeway to f**k or luck up--and I"m happy to say the latter happened. I picked out a long-sleeved shirt that was relatively thin, and I picked out khaki shorts just in case the weather warmed up. When the morning forecast turned out to be a bit colder than I thought, I replaced the khaki shorts with khaki pants which really set the outfit off. When my wife saw the outfit Nyles had on, she could not help but notice how handsome he looked. I know I shouldn't blow my own horn, but after nearly three years of trying to pick out bullshit outfits for this little monster, I'm happy to have finally nailed it.
On top of that miracle, my son has recently decided to start wearing his Despicable Me backpack. He loves the movie and all the characters in it, so my wife bought him the matching backpack. Instead of gleefully wearing it to daycare every day, my son would throw a tantrum if either one of us tried to put it on, and he insisted that we wear it, even though the backpack is clearly made for people three feet tall and shorter. So when I leave to drop my son off at daycare, I have to carry my bag and his backpack. Not cool.
But yesterday, on top of wearing an outfit I picked for him, he finally wore the backpack. The daycare staff attributed this to the other kids in his class who have miraculously decided to start wearing their backpacks, but I choose to attribute his change of heart to the outfit. Of course that theory when out the window this morning when my wife picked out his outfit, and he still wore the backpack. My wife is probably reading this and saying to herself, "It is not a contest Rashad!" But it SO is, and I'm losing big time.
Here's the visual evidence of our son's outfit/backpack combo:
When it doesn't work, my wife unapologetically (and discreetly) removes my (un)carefully crafted outfit, instantly comes up with something that's infinitely better than what I've chosen, and sends my son to school looking like a champ. And then to add insult to injury, she will make fun of my outfit through fake-ass, sarcastic conversations with my son:
"Let's see what Dad put on you in today?"
"Oh, I see Dad picked out your little outfit today"
"Now what do we have here? Dad has you wearing pants and it is 98 degrees today, how special is that?"
Yesterday I put my head down, powered through, and decided to come up with an outfit that she could not jump in and replace. The temperature was tricky yesterday (cold in the morning, mild, but not hot in the afternoon) so I knew had more options and more leeway to f**k or luck up--and I"m happy to say the latter happened. I picked out a long-sleeved shirt that was relatively thin, and I picked out khaki shorts just in case the weather warmed up. When the morning forecast turned out to be a bit colder than I thought, I replaced the khaki shorts with khaki pants which really set the outfit off. When my wife saw the outfit Nyles had on, she could not help but notice how handsome he looked. I know I shouldn't blow my own horn, but after nearly three years of trying to pick out bullshit outfits for this little monster, I'm happy to have finally nailed it.
On top of that miracle, my son has recently decided to start wearing his Despicable Me backpack. He loves the movie and all the characters in it, so my wife bought him the matching backpack. Instead of gleefully wearing it to daycare every day, my son would throw a tantrum if either one of us tried to put it on, and he insisted that we wear it, even though the backpack is clearly made for people three feet tall and shorter. So when I leave to drop my son off at daycare, I have to carry my bag and his backpack. Not cool.
But yesterday, on top of wearing an outfit I picked for him, he finally wore the backpack. The daycare staff attributed this to the other kids in his class who have miraculously decided to start wearing their backpacks, but I choose to attribute his change of heart to the outfit. Of course that theory when out the window this morning when my wife picked out his outfit, and he still wore the backpack. My wife is probably reading this and saying to herself, "It is not a contest Rashad!" But it SO is, and I'm losing big time.
Here's the visual evidence of our son's outfit/backpack combo:
Monday, September 15, 2014
Since I had to stay home from work due to this cold kicking my entire ass, I decided to give my father a call. We talked about the Mayweather fight, the NFL, the Atlanta Hawks, and even DC politics. But we spent most of the time discussing Adrian Peterson, and the trouble he's gotten into after beating his 4-year old son.
My father spanked me (and my brother to a much less extent) from the age of 5 until 12. He primarily did his damage with the belt, although he was equally skilled with the palm of his hand on my naked flesh. I was a sneaky child, and my father felt like words at that stage of my life weren't nearly as effective as a good, old fashioned ass-whipping. Most times I was just sore as hell, but there were many times when I went to school, soccer and basketball practice with visible marks on my legs and arms. I had no problems telling people my father had spanked me, but in those days, people just looked at me like "What the hell did you do?" rather than, "Call the police on your dad".
Once I was 13 or so, my dad abandoned the belt and most physical intimidation (I still got in the chest via his fist from time to time), and he switched to mental warfare, which was way more effective. He didn't have to beat me, he would just stand real close to me, or mildly hint around hitting, which made me want to get my shit together. In his mind, the early ass whippings laid the ground for the mental domination in my teenage years--right up until I went to college.
I asked my father today to reflect on both the Adrian Peterson situation and the way he used to beat me, and he was in full mea culpa mode, which caught me a bit off guard. He said he regretted hitting us as much as he did, and acknowledged that distance from that style of parenting has taught him ways he could have been smarter. He also said that his parents used to beat him relentlessly with switches, belts, extension cords and their hands. And considering he had me at 25 years old, he simply did not have time to re-evaluate that style of parenting, so he just repeated what his parents had done with him. He absolutely understood why Adrian Peterson did what he did, but my dad did not condone that level of beating for a 4 year old. He also admitted that what he did to me in the early 80s simply does not cut it in 2014. My ass, arms and legs appreciated this 30 years late apology.
I didn't have my 17-year old son with me on a daily basis, so I didn't have to dole out too many ass whippings. I have popped my two-year old on his butt and hands, but it is never done hard or with bad intentions. It startles him and he magically starts to listen, which is all I'm really trying to accomplish. I hope my wife and I keep each other in check so we never go overboard the way Peterson did, but that can be a tall task since as my father says, "Children test your patience and grind your nerves". So far so good though.
Happy birthday to me mother-in-law, who sent me this link to celebrate the life of Joe Sample:
My father spanked me (and my brother to a much less extent) from the age of 5 until 12. He primarily did his damage with the belt, although he was equally skilled with the palm of his hand on my naked flesh. I was a sneaky child, and my father felt like words at that stage of my life weren't nearly as effective as a good, old fashioned ass-whipping. Most times I was just sore as hell, but there were many times when I went to school, soccer and basketball practice with visible marks on my legs and arms. I had no problems telling people my father had spanked me, but in those days, people just looked at me like "What the hell did you do?" rather than, "Call the police on your dad".
Once I was 13 or so, my dad abandoned the belt and most physical intimidation (I still got in the chest via his fist from time to time), and he switched to mental warfare, which was way more effective. He didn't have to beat me, he would just stand real close to me, or mildly hint around hitting, which made me want to get my shit together. In his mind, the early ass whippings laid the ground for the mental domination in my teenage years--right up until I went to college.
I asked my father today to reflect on both the Adrian Peterson situation and the way he used to beat me, and he was in full mea culpa mode, which caught me a bit off guard. He said he regretted hitting us as much as he did, and acknowledged that distance from that style of parenting has taught him ways he could have been smarter. He also said that his parents used to beat him relentlessly with switches, belts, extension cords and their hands. And considering he had me at 25 years old, he simply did not have time to re-evaluate that style of parenting, so he just repeated what his parents had done with him. He absolutely understood why Adrian Peterson did what he did, but my dad did not condone that level of beating for a 4 year old. He also admitted that what he did to me in the early 80s simply does not cut it in 2014. My ass, arms and legs appreciated this 30 years late apology.
I didn't have my 17-year old son with me on a daily basis, so I didn't have to dole out too many ass whippings. I have popped my two-year old on his butt and hands, but it is never done hard or with bad intentions. It startles him and he magically starts to listen, which is all I'm really trying to accomplish. I hope my wife and I keep each other in check so we never go overboard the way Peterson did, but that can be a tall task since as my father says, "Children test your patience and grind your nerves". So far so good though.
Happy birthday to me mother-in-law, who sent me this link to celebrate the life of Joe Sample:
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