Friday After Next is the best Christmas Movie Ever… Let’s Fight.

Before 2002, we would be fighting over A Christmas Story. Because, prior to 2002, A Christmas Story was the best Christmas movie ever. They fought about it on All Def Digital, so I won’t go into particulars. I will however, bring you back to 2005. The year I got my first, very own, weapon of mass destruction (of cans and wild animal)… My BB Gun. Wrapped up. Hidden behind the couch. From my Daddie. In the same way Ralphie got his… FOR MILLIONS OF YEARS I asked for a gun. Like not to protect myself, because I am a single lady living in the world and I’m glad I got my girls… No, because my family is country, I’m country, and I wanna shoot things. It gives me the glads. And what you know about those glad texts, hunh? Cause, Bible.

http://www.mediastinger.com/friday-after-next-2002-after-the-credits/

Anyway, A Christmas Story reigned supreme, until along came Friday After Next. Yall, there are so many reasons which I will enumerate and alphabetize, but the real one is this…

We ain’t kids no more. I mean, I am children, but I’m not a kid. You see the difference? I eat cereal and watch cartoons on Saturday mornings, but I also work 40 to 60 hour weeks and get an annual W-2, so I’m not a kid. I know Santa isn’t real (now). I mean I should have known (then), because Santa’s handwriting looked suspiciously like my Mother’s, but she was a good liar and said that Santa drops the gifts off but the parents have to wrap them. And, we always got stuff that was on the what I look like/ain’t nobody buying that list…so I was maybe a year or so tardy to the he ain’t real party.

These days I get group text messages wishing me a Merry Christmas, and/or Happy Holidays from the #SAPros being all inclusive and whatnot. You know what else I get? To go to work the next damn day. Or use my PTO that I accrued to have the ‘itis a while longer. Oh, and the privilege to pay $600 to $800 for flights. Or spin off the highway driving to/from Christmas. Arent’cha just filled with joy like good ole Saint Nick?

Nope. Your Christmas holiday sounds like Craig & Day Day’s Friday (after next).

12. Did we even know that Friday was in December? If we did, I didn’t. Which makes Friday After Next all the more majestic. Your favorite Christmas movie is likely set in a place with crappy winter weather. Mine is set in California. You don’t know the difference between December, April, or June, cause that Cali sunshine is out ALL THE 12 MONTHS OF THE CALENDAR YEAR. It’s amazing. But uh, don’t move here. We don’t have no mo’ room. Not that you could afford it tho. Honestly, we really can’t afford it. But still don’t come.

C. C is for Cousins…because Black Twitter already meme’d what it feels like when you’re reunited with your cousin(s) for the holidays, so I won't do what they mastered in meme. While Craig and Day Day were in the same city, there is something special about the brother/sister like bond that you have with your cousins. That relationship is everything. Who else can you make fun of your parents with if your siblings aren’t around, if you have them at all? Friday After Next accidently highlights an important familial bond. I live for hanging with my cousins, family game nights, and the time that Aunt J lost her Black Card #revoked, and D-Bo was hella funny taking it from her!

c. D-Bo – and we even got a D-Bo in our family so this movie/series is all the more magical!

1^st or 15^th. Craig and Day Day had real problems… Christmas doesn’t make the rent or PG&E being due go away. They were at work trying to figure out some real life ish. Be honest, how many Christmas’ as an adult, did you have to make some life altering decisions? Newsflash: YOU’RE MAKING THEM RIGHT NOW. You make the long drive home (a 1,000+ miles) but you realize while stuffing your face with a stolen sweet potato pie that you have to drive them all back, in inclement weather, with a more severe and inclement bank balance because you and your favorite cousins LIVED…and direct deposit didn’t hit the account. Oh, just me?

U. U is for Uncle…cause we all have a cool Uncle Elroy, specifically an Uncle with a special life situation. In this case, my man was dating Sugar, dropped her, and got with the younger sister, Cookie. C’mon now. You already know the dinner conversation: Hey Unc, who that is? That’s [insert name here] *snickers under his breath* …her SISTER. *aunties in the kitchen* You know that fool ain’t neva been ish, he gonna catch something… Just nasty… Girl, you know that’s the last one’s sister. Well no wonder she didn’t answer me, I called her by her sister’s name! *laughter and communal sipping of spiked tea*

10. Issa Poorty, and it gets cracking right around 10pm. For Craig and Day Day, it was a kick back to pay the rent. For me and my house, it’s a turn up at Uncle Tommy’s. Or down at the Post. Fried Fish. Dominoes. Catching Up. Music. Clowin’ around. Remember when… How they doin… You still talk to so and so? Remember last year when yall lost?! Run it back! Yall, one time I kicked it so hard, I woke up in one of the beds in not my house to the smell of breakfast. I have no recollection of how... Best. Night. Ever. The party might look a little different for you and yours, but the feeling is the same.

2. Something happens…at the family dinner, major celebratory event, or in Craig and Day Day’s case, their rent party – which doubled as a celebration of the return of Damon from jail – because someone’s always returning from somewhere, or redeeming their lives from a brink of something #WontHeDoIt #OhYesHeWill. There was a happenstance bathroom meeting with Damon and a magically delicious lucky charm. We even got a live performance of the nut cracker #TheRemix. And the turn up continued…

∞. Because some of you use the Lifetime cinematic equation to compute an official Christmas Movie, Friday After Next includes the necessary variables. There's a Santa. The presents are returned. You even get a tree that doubles as a bat. Donna makes snow on the storefront windows. There are carolers. You even get a happy ending where Craig gets the girl…though, he gets the girl at the end of all the movies. So he’s kinda practicing to be Uncle Elroy in the future. Which means the cycle will continue. Family traditions are preserved. The days future come are saved.

Solange (my baby sister) & Beyonté (me) will have a virtual panty party this Christmas season. Solange will probably be sporting a very fashionable headdress (get you one!). I’ll be wearing the silk scarf Uglee got me from the hair store in Gardena when we were black baby bruins. We will both, however, be sporting our very best sleeping panties, cackling whilst repeating every line to Friday After Next. Cause, it’s not small in here… You’re just big in here.

Honorable mentions include Trading Places, Die Hard I & II, A Huey Freeman Christmas (The Boondocks),This Christmas (c’mon now, it’s Idris…), and Nothing like the Holidays (I really just want some coquito...like, lo necesito ahora por favor) .

Merry Chri’mah Nucka! From Pinky & Teezy Nucka!

Also, just in case I wasn’t clear – don’t come to California. We full. Our cup runneth over. Stay in your winter. Remember how much you like seasons.

Tony! Toni! Toné! Part II Gave Me The Sads, Y'all

I saw Tony! Toni! Toné! at Yoshi's and I have sadness. But before I had sadness, I saw Raphael Saadiq at District in Oakland, and I had all kinds of awkward happiness. Yall, I was up in that tiny joint having a good ole time with my friends. Then, someone goes… Is that Raphael Saadiq? Yeah, that is…they say he’s always hanging out with his folks around here. And, they went on about their business, because it’s true. Raphael is a son of Oakland, so when he’s hanging out, he’s home. Only, it’s just that, he has no clue how many times my sisters and I danced to Little Walter in the large living room mirror in our house on Baylor Street, so I should probably talk to him and say Hey! In this tiny, crowded bar. In the most humble and awkward way possible. Because Sinbad was hilarious in that video.

And find someone to take a picture of you, gurl.

Happiness. I mean, so much happiness, I totally forgot that earlier in the day I spilled something on my shirt, and had been wearing a cream Banana Republic cardigan buttoned up as a shirt. Because, science.

So, even though I knew that the Tony! Toni! Toné! I was headed to see*, was not the exact same R&B, funky, soul super group of my youth, I expected to be pleasantly entertained. In my mind, it was not possible to mess things up, right? I mean, if every song you have is a hit, then how, Sway – we ask in love. How, Sway?

Before the performance began (late), there was a video showing. Timeless. I thought to myself, you know what, their music is timeless, so this must be something important to watch. Pay close attention, gurl. The video consisted of lovers on the beach, possibly slaves being sold, a cultural dance circle with painted faces, and the group in the studio exchanging hats. On repeat. For the entire time we were there.

The show begins with music. That’s all I can say about it. I can’t qualify the type of music, but it was a stage with people playing instruments so there was music. *shrugs*

D’Wayne Wiggins finally emerges from the back and I think to myself, okay, maybe they needed him out here to make the music better. I’ll wait. Well, it’s Monday. Guess what I’m doing. -_-

But, it sounds something like the sound I remembered from days since past. So I got time. Time enough to see the second coming from Raphael Saadiq. Who is this tall, bald, bow-tied, brutha trying to sound like Raphael? I mean, he doesn’t sound bad, but perhaps he should have had that tea before the show. It’s like in math, there’s an order of operations. When you do them out of order, you get the wrong answer in those FB posts with McDonald’s fries, fans with missing blades, and clocks telling different times. #YouDoTheMath

Beats are dropping, songs are playing, and I have questions that are beginning to turn into sadnesses. Jigs took a picture of me. I literally saw my soul broken. It wept, like Jesus, for my eyes and ears. All I needed was Anthony Hamilton to come thru and give me a good raspy bridge over my troubled spirit.

Halfway through the show, D’Wayne gave the members of the band an opportunity to showcase their musical talents. We also learned that he was unaware of some of their names, and the names of the instruments. A baritone saxophone is also known as a "big ass sax" and I really just wanted to go back to SF Jazz…like not even to see a show. I would have been good at one of their staff meetings. This was also a point in the show where I wondered if Sway was ever gonna tell us how this all was happening. He never showed. He makes good decisions.

Well, now that we’ve given the Raphael stand-in an opportunity to drink more tea, it’s time to play more of those hits we once loved. Let's Get Down begins, and I mean, I got kinda happy. It’s a classic. And it features a classic – DJ Quick. Just as soon as my mood was beginning to lift, I realize that there are dancers. Like two female-identifying persons dancing on the stage. Doing interpretive dance. You know, interpreting the song lyrics like you do with your friends when you’re in the car on the way to some shenanigan. Like on first Sunday when the youth and young adult ministry is performing before communion. Like, WHY ARE YOU DOING INTERPRETIVE DANCE ON THIS SMALL ASS STAGE WHERE THEY HAVE A BIG ASS SAX?! This is not okay.

I can’t do this Jesus.

So, there are more body rolls, tea being sipped, instruments being played by the forgotten, flatly held notes, and D’Wayne reminding us constantly how Oakland he is while sippin on tequila. I would blame my sadnesses on the tequila, but gin is the only alcohol that has ever wronged me. And I hold grudges.

My thoughts, enumerated:

3. I want a ginger ale.

11. Why am I here, in this place, doing this, with people I like?

2. What am I watching, exactly?

13. She should do this routine to Safe In His Arms cause that body roll would go well with that’s why I safeeee…don’t you feel safeeee?…

4. They shouldn’t give some people weaves. Because they get them and think they somebody, and really they just in my way when I’m trying to figure out if that’s indeed a scene from the slave trade, or I’ve been watching this looped video too long. If she stands up one more time, it’s gonn’ be smoke in the town.

22. I don’t really feel safe, or anything here. But, now that Oakland is gentrified, I kinda really actually don’t feel safe, but before the gentrifiers, I did. Is that weird?

1. It’s not over yet? Cause they promptly cut Rahsaan Patterson's set, and we definitely could have had more of that.

17. I don’t wanna do this anymore.

3b. I really want a ginger ale. Cause I’m sick of this.

Eventually, I got to a thought I continued to return to – #7. Why exactly isn’t Raphael part of this? Apparently, everybody on that tiny stage was related or went waaaayyy back – except for the people he just met that day and the instruments he renamed. I mean think about it, Brandy – Queen Latifah – MC Lyte – Yoyo wanted us to all be down again. Xscape gave us a reunion tour and reality show that we maybe didn’t want with hindsight being 20/20 and we ain’t got Lasik in the here and now. Like, people come back to a good thing, sometimes. The New Edition tour was hella dope! Remember? As out of shape as Bobby was, we all LIVED that night in Oracle! 

If the absence of Raphael is a thing, it’s a warning to us all, about returning to things that have long since passed. Like what Kandi is (not) doing now, in real time. Whether you left them, or they left you. Be it a happy departure, or one filled with words never to be recollected. Forever has a beginning and an end. And the era of Tony! Toni! Toné! has long since gone. D’Wayne is holding on to something so beautiful, letting it rust before our eyes. I mean, Tony! Toni! Toné! – as much as I love my Daddie-given name – made me want to be named Deja so somebody could sing about how much they really loved me on the field at Drake Stadium at UCLA while people ran around the track. I needed that.

But my name was never changed. And other songs came along. I grew to learn to love to insert my own name in them. And I found joy. D’Wayne hasn’t found any joy in the after, holding on to what was. We all learned this the hard way.

Friday night, I went to see a band do covers of Tony! Toni! Toné! songs. I give them a C. And we know that C’s do not get cashed out during report card season, thought hey earn degrees. But, make good decisions with your money and see Rahsaan Patterson next time he’s at Yoshi’s.

If you ever ask me to go see the different Tony! Toni! Toné! the experience following will be unpleasant.

______________

* Tony! Toni! Toné! crashed out of their Oakland neighborhood in 1988 with their Gold debut album Who? which spawned the hit "Little Walter". In 1990, to both critical and popular acclaim, their second album The Revival garnered four # 1 Billboard hits including "Feels Good," "Whatever You Want," "The Blues" and "It Never Rains (In Southern California)" and went Platinum. The success of The Revival and its subsequent headlining tour was realized during various awards shows: 1991 NAACP Image Award for "Vocal Group of The Year", 1991 American Music Award for "Favorite R&B/Soul Group" and 1991 ASCAP Award for "Feels Good". In 2006, D’Wayne Wiggins and Timothy Christian Riley regrouped along with their cousin, Amar Khalil performing lead vocals. They have been touring the United States delivering their classic hits to sold-out audiences across the country. Tony! Toni! Toné!’s much anticipated 25th Anniversary album is due to be released later this year.

(https://www.yoshis.com/event/903783-tony-toni-tone-oakland/) 

Naturally Selecting Blogs

I have never embraced change. At least change that I didn’t ask for. The only change I welcome without protest is the kind that jingles (or folds) #ComingToAmerica. And, because I live on both sides of every spectrum, though I hate change – I’ll roll with it. I will just be very honest with you about my feelings for said change – while doing it. Because comprehension (or agreement) is not a requisite for completion. This is a consequence of being hella coachable.

photo: Elite Property Research, LLC

What’s the change I’m having trouble with? This. This here blog production. It was started for one purpose, and purpose one alone – running. Only, it’s been about more than running. I did it as a lost bet (kinda) to Alica Keykey or something like that, because I wrote a letter to the Competitor Group that she felt like everyone should read. So I’ve been regaling you these tales from the pavement. I sometimes told you about other things – but it’s been like 90% running, 10% the tangents I’ve so called my life. Then it got to like 80%/20% which you know is a heated debate for the culture, so I began to feel some kind of way. When I got to the C grade, I was like whoa – this is levels of underachieving I’ve never known.

Then I had to think about my feelings. And yall know how I feel about those. Feelings and telling the innanets all ya’business – ‘cause I hate that. I know so many life stories from FB, IG, and tweets that I never wanted to (know/) be that person. It just so happens I have been that person – but it’s on this here blog thing, so you like have to click on it to see it, so it’s kind of exactly the same but not really. Stop judging me.

Anyway, this is going to be about running, and running a bunch of other things. I needed running really bad a few years ago. A few of those boxes of darkness I received had me believing something like #14in2014 would be impossible. And I still need it – just not like I need other things. Because humans change, and need an assortment of stuff, and even when it’s hard – we naturally select. So you evolve whether you want to or avoid it.

After all, it’s not like change is always a bad thing. If you can believe it, there was a time when I *brace yourself* hated wine. Remember that trip to Napa, Pops & MO.m? Yall, all the wine was wasted on a twenty-something who thought she knew everything. Not only was it wasted, I had the nerve to be slightly hung-over after it.

Okay, change is a good thing. I have successfully convinced myself. Today. As I write this. Right now.

I won’t agree with this tomorrow, so bookmark your receipt. 

Opened Boxed of Darkness #andothermistakes

My cousin is a healer. She is a nurse and a lawyer. I admire her so much for this (and other reasons). She has the perfect mix of empathy and accountability, especially in relationships, that she could probably give Iyanla a run for her money. But my cuzzo ain’t got time for that because she is actually fixing lives with pain meds and billable hours. Wait, whoa…I just realized right now that ALL OF HER HOURS are technically billable hours. Wow. My cuzzo is on the come up for real. Yall, my genetic lineage is full of greatness. *insert a Kendrick lamar ‘damn’ here*

But, relationships. She reins Queen above all us peasants when it comes to closure. Again, admiration, and a little adoration. She does this so well because of all her formal and informal training #SheWasRaisedRight. She will heal you emotionally because she really cares. Let you get all of your feelings in order, all the time you need, be all the understanding there is in this dying world, THEN order you to render that which is hers unto her in the form of admitting all the ways you effed up (or having her do it – she’ll let you choose which way to pay).

‘Cause all accounts come due eventually, and just like student loan debt, even if you file for bankruptcy, you still owe bruh.

I, on the other hand, do the exact opposite – because while I was raised as rightly as she, I am no healer. If you leave me, then, well, eff you and the horse you rode in on too #butstilliwalked. Hell I look like closing something already closed? #NahSon

I feel like forgiveness and closure goes as far as me not praying for bad things to happen to you. Also, never ever praying for good things to happen to you. Like why in the world would I do that? What sense does that make? See, if something awesome happens to you after you leave me – Look at God. And, when you reap the awful you sowed after your departure then – Look. At. God. #WontHeDoIt? #OhYesHeWill

Who am I to interfere with the majesty and mystery of the Lord? His will be done. He ain’t never needed my help or intervention.

Why in the world would I make you better for another person? So you could be better to them? My name is not Chuck... #AintNoGoodLuckBih That sounds dumb as hell. What about me, fam? I didn’t deserve the better version of you? Sure, everybody ain’t for this one somebody, and you can learn a lesson from every relationship regardless of how it ends, but uh…you gonna need a tutor brah-brah. The only meds I take? My wine club membership...and if you think I’m sharing that with you see: sweet potato cookies.

What’s the point of brining this up now? Well, I tried out my cousin’s advice. I sought out closure when an opportunity presented itself. Presented…because I did not seek such a “gift” out. No sir. No ma’am. No mx. I put that little box of darkness in the closet with all the others and kept it pushin.

This last time my lil raggedy feelings got hurt, I let it go. It was actually how I “welcomed” the New Year. Side Note #1: I have taken SO MANY L’s this year…2017 is a bih. In the most adult way I could (read: teenage way, I am no adult) I helped myself build a bridge through it – acknowledging how I felt and not rushing myself across. Then, I ignored it completely, and folded some cranes in the skies over me hoping to feel something like healing.

He called. Months and months later. Good morning summer and heart ache – there was no sunshine. Called for no other reason, I suppose, than to disturb my attempting peace. The call ended strangely, without ever speaking to elephants in our respective rooms separated by time zones. Days later, I took my pain meds and disturbed his actual peace. I told myself I would ask the ‘what happened’ question and let him answer. Whatever he said, I would hear it, and I would move on. Because that’s closure, right? Side Note #2: I never actually asked my cousin what went into ‘closure’, like the actual steps in the conversation or process. I totally winged it with a glass of Riesling. While I still haven’t inquired about this, I think I know that the last part isn’t supposed to be part of the process. This is why I’m adult-adjacent.

The level of pissedivity I felt on the phone using my free minutes for a phone call I made but would not hang up cannot be described with my current level of literary skill. Where is Terry McMillian? I was a montage of so many emotions that I finally understood what my Daddie must have felt when he tossed that cat into a pack of dogs. I wanted to do awful hoodrat things all alone for the sheer pleasure of others suffering in the most excruciating ways – and live long enough to tell my kids about it, laughing. Because, #EffYoEffinFeelings. At one point in the wasting of my free minutes he brought up my not following up on things I said I would do when he straight up ghosted me. 

This fool wanted me to be like, hey, I know you don’t talk to me anymore on purpose, but um, here is all the stuff (read: benefits of being WITH me and/or calling me with frequency) I said I would give you and do. Have a blessed day that the Lord made. Be glad in it. Yall, the devil comes for my neck and my back and my cell phone reception regularly. How much more shall I render unto ‘ships that have that have long since set sail? I prayed to never know what he was whispering, ‘yonce. But, there I was, right there with you, listening…and praying, oddly enough #fordifferentthingstho.

So, pissed, petty, and full of pain meds I stayed on the line. Eventually, he realized that this wasn’t the best idea so he ended the conversation. I knew when I called this was dumb, but science #TestTheTheory. I guess that’s part of closure, though. One person being adult enough (because neither of us were very adult) to just end it.

What did I learn?

I am better off not praying either way for you and letting God have His way. It helps me enjoy the Riesling so much more than this ‘talking about it’ mess. I will just leave closure up to the experts – like my cuzzo. She got the right stuff in her to do it. Sure it’s hard, and when it’s hard and challenging it’s worth it. But do you know what’s more difficult than that? All the Riesling being gone when the conversation ends. There was only red wine left, yall!!! *angry emoji face*

I never want to know THAT kind of pain and heart ache again.

Anyway, I’ve never been one to mourn dead things – even the things I loved above all others. And…I have, well, you know what I have in me. That and sweet potato cookies are really only good for a party.

So, I should just do that. #GameNightComingSoon

Addiction Is Real #VivaLaResistance #boycott

Addiction is real, yo. No jokes.

My name was given to me by my dearly departed father, and I am addicted to professional football. My addiction started at the moment of my birth. Knowing that the professional football season was almost upon the land, I decided to depart my dearly infirmed mother during the pre-season, as to not interrupt the opening of the football season. Knowing that my father would want to have some company for the first Dallas Cowboys game of the year, I came to the earth in time to have full control of my senses to enjoy Sunday morning, afternoon, evening, and Monday night football. We would spend a few decades doing football together. Even to live long enough to see Thursday night football. #BecauseWeAreAblessedPeople #FootballAlmostEveryDay

Even at my birth I have been sacrificially selfless, putting the needs of others before me. I am the epitome of humility. Try it sometime.

Am I making fun of addiction? Absolutely not. If I go longer than a week without being in a mall the internal functioning of my organs go into survival mode. Let me not get the notification of my wine shipment – woes be until the next person I see after that missing email. And if you wrinkle the packaging on my sweet potato cookies, be assured, it will be my genuine pleasure to arrange the meeting for you and the Master. #Hawkeye #Creasy

Addiction is real, yo.

Which is the point of giving up football this season. We’ve spent so much time talking about what Colin has done, and what the NFL did to him in retaliation, we haven’t been talking about all the people murdered in the path of the debate. He just wanna be out here fully human and exercising his rights to live and throw a football, but that’s too much to ask. I wouldn’t hire Blaine Gabbert to throw trash away (and I despise taking out the trash), and you’re defending the NFL? Just, no. If Blaine is on your FF team, then you intentionally decided to come in last place. You didn’t even draft him. Which. Is. The. Point.

nflkneeldown.com

So some of us other humans have been faced with the non-alternative facts that we’re standing for a flag that is kind of actually doing nothing about the killing of other humans like us and maybe we should do something. And, since protesting, speaking out, and donating to worthy causes hasn’t seemed to fix it yet (keep doing that tho, fam) we decided to set our gaze in other places because the homey sat – and kneeled.

In the process, we managed to wake up, drink water, and mind our own non-watching NFL business on Sunday. That was not good enough. Because so many of you out there, woke up, sipped tea, and came up with all the reasons why this is stupid I bet Kap ain’t missing no games… and how we won’t make it But you gonna watch SportsCenter & play in your Fantasy Football league tho… May all your blowouts be sweated out in the winter and your line ups look like Dre’s from the #ChopShop episode. The man is a professional football player. That’s like me leaving higher education and not following the disaster that is devos to title ix. It has been my entire life – for my entire adult-ish life. The contradiction and hypocrisy is key. We are humans. Humans are walking contradictions and hypocrites. Don’t believe me? Look in your mirror. See...there you are - witcho’human self. Looking all mammal and what not.

Kap just want us to be fully realized and regarded as human beings – because there are some people who get to do it (read: YOU know WHO), and others who don’t (read: probably, YOU). Humans do things that are contrary to living a full and healthy life (read: drinking three swirls) and get to live the next day to maybe decide better. Shouldn’t we all be able to live in such a way? Also, this is me telling you NOT to have three swirls. Like, do the opposite of this thing and some other stuff I do. But if you decide to protest for you, that’s cool.

Kirby Lee - USA Today Sports

So, what? Why does that matter? Why do you care if I half-ass a protest anyway? There is money to be made in some FF leagues…and you have no idea how long Around The Horn & P.T.I & me been in this thang! Those are my real life TV friends that don’t know me at all. I love them, yall. We go way back like my Cadillac. You half-ass your workouts all the time, but you don’t see me out here in these innanet streets discouraging you. You miss the point of the protest completely because….Some. People. Are. Still. Dying. Some people are still being harassed by the police. Some people with hella scrilla-scratch that look like me get pinned down on Las Vegas streets. And you’re out here using your energy to criticize me? Trash. You’re basura, bro. Like la ordure I wouldn’t pay Dan Orlovsky to throw out...the back of the endzone. This is what this dude is KNOWN for. Remember that? How did these dudes make NFL rosters before Kap? #NahSon #ImWithKap #SoManyQuestions #ThatIhaveAllTheAnswersFor.

At work, I had the privilege (read: other duties as assigned) to give out 49er vs Panther tickets for this recent game. I put the call out to the students. One student in particular, conflicted, asked me about the tickets. Hey, are you still protesting football? Yea man, it’s so hard *neck scratch*, I didn’t realize how many other things I would have to stop doing. I can’t even watch sports shows because it makes me want to watch the games. I know…it’s just we had that conversation in training, and I really want to not watch, but you said the tickets were free, fam. I don’t know what to do. Sweetie…I have no reason to judge you. If you want to go to the game, it’s cool. Go and have fun. It’s not like I never went to a professional football game before. You have to find your own way to do it. Just like I need you to drink your water and mind your own business, I’m gulping these smart waters and crying real tears – alone.

Because that’s the other point. I have always known there was something not exactly okay about professional football. I avoided it, because we never want to face the things we love with a critical eye. The paradox of education is precisely this - that as one begins to become conscious one begins to examine the society in which he is being educated. #JamesBaldwin #BecauseWhenYouKnow #dobetter. More than that, we never want to leave them because we can’t imagine our lives without them. Our lives will always be less, we assume, so we might indulge a little less, but we never let go completely.

A friend of mine got drafted some years ago. I remember being super excited for him at his draft party. Laughing about our college days just recently passed. Speaking fame and fortune into his football future. Eventually we got to a conversation about the combine – because that had to be the dopest thing ever, right? About how he was “labeled” with a number. Because it makes sense to replace a name given to a person with all the love people have in their world with a number. It’s easier to replace a whole human with a whole digit, yall. Every part of his body, his grandma prayed over daily, measured. Once pride filled gazes from loved ones turned into gawking scouts with clipboards. Made to perform athletic feats at the sounds of whistles and starting stopwatches. Being examined, critiqued, timed, and debated behind is running down the field back. 4.4 seconds locked in an eternity. Hoping, perhaps, to be good enough to be “selected” when he was and still is one of a chosen people already. To do all the things he just did, in all the ways he had just done them, in front of millions, week after week, to be criticized because he makes millions (if he was “lucky” to) week after week. This sounds amazing. We should watch the product of this all day Sunday, Monday night, and Thursday night – forsaking all other activities.

Patrick Risha CTA Awareness Foundation

This is what I had to face. And so–the–eff–what it took me forever to see myself for what I was doing. People who smoke, drink, do illicit drugs, and a whole host of other things face the mirror too late (for some) too, and we welcome them back to the road to recovery. I have so much joy for people who choose daily to live their lives as a better version of themselves. The same can be said for us choosing to give up football. Sure, watching sports isn’t a death sentence to a fan, but if CTE is proof of anything, it’s that football IS killing somebody(’s son).

Sunday felt strange. It was my first day without professional football. I had all those impulses I had before – who am I watching the game with? …where am I watching the game? …dear God if you bless me with my perfectly smoked portion of wings and bar nachos, I will be satisfied. …what beer am I gonna waste today? #iMissYouSoMuchNaShaun #YouTooKRD #YouSoLoyalToMeAndMyBeerOrders. After all of that, I went for a run.

It’s also the first time I won’t be able to talk about football with Daddie. And, if i'm honest, him not being here makes it a little easier to do. Guess I’m just getting started with having more firsts. #MaryJackson #HiddenFigures #ShutUpTAT

She got a name, then he walked away...

Every Father's Day, without fail, someone posts to some social media in the internets, the following question (in varying syntax and leveling degrees of mastery of said syntax), All these songs about mothers…where are the songs about fathers?

One year I replied with this one. Mostly because poor grammar upsets me, and my unconscious ability to be petty amuses others. AND any father worth their fathering is not somewhere looking for a song.

He’s looking for the remote. Or a kid to bring it to him.

I digress.

But, I love this song. Before I loved it, my father had to help me. Remember that time my Daddie did that awful thing? When he left me in Westwood all by myself (yes, I’m this dramatic, still) to go make a life and be great or whatever it was? Yea, that. He left me with roommates. A caucasian and mexican girl. And because I like my mexican people from my neighborhood in the bay area (who are the southern californians anyway? they smell like avocado – not that this is a bad thing or I know what that is at this point in my life). HOW CAN YOU LEAVE ME WITH STRANGERS?!

…anyway, because caucasion people listen to different music, my roommate worships the devil.

Daddie…I think my roommate worships the devil? Will I go to hell because I live with her? It’s not like I picked her. What? What are you talking about? She listens to weird music. I think it’s on MTV. These white guys are like bouncing around and making strange sounds with instruments and whatnot. I am not sure what this is, and I don’t want my soul to burn in that place *because even though we’re preacher’s kids, we don’t use that h-word…around him* I’m sure it’s not that. Well, what are the people saying in the song? They’re saying…well, he’s talking about…Daddie their hair is like these weird colors!!!!! Baby, just relax. You’re going to have to give different things a try. I don’t think she worships the devil. If she did, I think you would be more certain of it. Just relax. If you don’t like it, don’t listen to it. But I don’t think you even know what it is…

Daddie – A Gazillion; Me – like maybe 5 or 6. I mean, I’m not a complete idiot…sometimes I got a W. But I certainly took waaaayyy more L’s, like not listening to the song.

So I took his advice. I listened. It was awful. Until I listened long enough to hear what they were talking about. Oh…this is about his father; he must have been a great guy. Oh, he left you? Uh…my bad. You were scared? Uh….okay, not exactly devil worship, but it’s not that bad.

 

Our fathers are nothing alike, but I love this song. There's this one part..., ♫♪ …daddy gave me a name, my daddy gave me a name…then he walked away… ♫♪

Same thing happened to me. Only, it happened much faster for him. His dad gave him a name, he closed his eyes, his world disappeared, and his daddy was gone. My Daddie gave me a name, then 18 of the best years a daughter could have, took me to Westwood and walked away…to the parking lot, to drive back to the Bay Area.

My Daddie gave me a name. On that day, when the one who (earthly) made me provided me that protection, he also shared the story of my name. And everything it means.

At Wheaty’s graduation taco party, we were all making introductions. As such, I extended my hand and told a man my name. I was sitting next to my Daddie. He looked up from his taco and made that eye contact that feels like a finger is being pointed at you and said proudy-matter-of-fact(ly), I named her. That’s my baby.

…and like a few of the other people here at this party, but yes Daddie, I’m your baby.

He says that he and my mother (before she became a turncoat) were talking to each other one of the nights they were anticipating my arrival. He loved the sound of names that sound like mine, but he wanted the “na” because, lucky for me, that's what he liked. And he even decided the middle name. But mother wanted the extra “e” in my middle name…so he signed off on it.

Mother needed his approval for my name. He had to sign off on it, or it wasn’t going to happen. The name had to please him. It had to be the name that he liked. Loved.

Being the first born third, I have always felt some kind of way about my gender. I’m a girl. I was born female. I’m a woman, because that’s the adult version of girl, but Daddie called me his baby, and you read these blogs, so you’re thinking what I’m thinking – she’s technically got "lady parts", but beyond that, the jury is out.

My father is the first son. Because of that, he carries the name of a great man. Exactly that man’s name…with a Jr attached. Because Papa was the original, and Daddie was that fire remix. My father’s brothers? Just about all have a fire remix walking around here. One got a sample outchea somewhere on someone’s playground. I have always wondered, would he have felt differently, better-differently if I were that remix. If I could carry three stacks behind my name, be a remix of Daddie – a sample of Papa. Be the legacy in title and task.

I have felt less because of this thing. Even more so in thinking about meeting someone and loving someone, and wanting to do that forever thing with them, and my name changing. I don’t carry his first name, and if married, I might not even carry his last name. It would be forever lost.

So I did what any guilt ridden daughter would do. Spent my entire life leaving things at Daddie’s altar (the night stand by his bed) to purchase his non-existent grief about this. Awards. Perfect grades. Complementary reports. Certificates. Good behavior. Recognition. I wouldn’t even ditch school on Senior Ditch Day – nobody anticipates you to be there, and it’s kind of weird for the teachers when you show up. Remember when I told you spent part of the 8^th grade in CST? I got a Computer Literacy certificate. My Daddie had it in a folder near his bed. Without a scratch or blemish. If I can’t carry your name Daddie, I am going to make sure I do right by this one I got. This was how I “fixed it”.

Daddie, though, being smarter and having sight beyond sight knew that this might happen (maybe). So he did something better than pass on a great name. He created one. One that every time he heard would fill him up with so much pride, that every time he heard it, the world would stop. Like my High School graduation. The story? It was hot as a bih on the Menlo-Atherton High School football field. So Daddie and his other Daddie homeys were standing under the bleachers doing Daddie things. When they called the name of the child represented by the Daddie group, they would come from under the bleachers, listen to the speech, or clap at the awarding of the degree, and go back under the bleachers. Because, we love kids, but shade too.

He probably said the same thing at my high school graduation. When I made my approach to the stage, and gave my stunning and inspiring speech, using my inspiration at the time – Tupac, because #HellaResist. I named her. That’s my baby.

This is all postulate though. How can I be sure of these things now, anyway? Much like Everclear, ♫♪ …I never understood you then, and I guess I never will… ♫♪

Oh…and if you’re looking for a song about fathers, check this one out. 

I promise, it’s a winner.