In high school, there was this one Irish kid that for whatever reason had it out for me. One day during a study, he told me that he intended to fight me after football practice. I really didn’t want to, but I knew that his dislike for me had escalated to a point where a physical confrontation would be unavoidable. I sat for a moment, thought about his threat, a decided it was best not to wait. Not that a supervised cafeteria was a better stage than an empty parking lot, but the first option was immediate while the latter was six fear-filled hours away.
From that experience I realized two things about myself. One: It’s not in my personality to run from my fears. Two: It’s not in my best interest to run towards them while blindly swinging. Although the two realizations did not come to me simultaneously when I was able to put them together they became a powerful lesson.
Now that I’m older, I still run into that Irish kid from time to time, except now he’s in different forms and issues more complex threats. So, when I’m faced with that overanxious feeling of sitting in high school while waiting for the moment that football practice will end…I write.
01.07.04
I’m starting to see that people who are quick to give you their solution generally have no concept of what your problem is.
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01.06.04
For those who aren`t afraid to burn in Hell, you know what I`m saying.
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12.21.03
The word n*gger. A funny word. Depending on who is using it, the word can be a term of endearment or an excuse to pick up a brick and slap the hell out of somebody. Some of my friends use the word frequently. But in reference to my Brothers, you won’t hear that word come out of my mouth. Hell, I won’t even utter nizzle, nukka, or niggy. And as for my friends, I choose not to judge or correct, but rather lead by example.
With that said…
I was out with my people a couple of Fridays ago, specifically one of my boys that for privacy purposes I’ll call Money. Now, I always enjoyhanging out with Money because, besidesthe fact we’ve been cool since the days when we were both broke, drank 40’s, and wore polka-dots, he holds a little local celebrity status. So, nights out with Money are always a mix of different places, venues, and faces. And even if it’s only for a few hours and in someone else’s world it gives me the opportunity to step out of my mine.
Damn,did I say polka-dots?
So, anyway, Money had to make a stop at one of the comedy clubs downtown. Now this part of Boston (Faneuil Hall) I really don’t vibe with. It is notorious for overpriced dinner and drinks, rude service, steroid influenced bouncers, drunken hordes of "womanless" frat boys, gung-ho-ex-neighborhood-bullies turned cop, and more 50 cent thumping through the speakers than all of the Pop radio stations in America combined. Yeah, on a Friday night, or any other night for that matter, it would be very rare to find Brothers or Sisters out there. And if you did, it would be safe to assume that they were tourists, in which I would take it upon myself to strike up a conversation and give them a “friendly tip”. It would even be more of a rarity to find a group like ours, seven young Brothers with diverse backgrounds that could have been easily mistaken for having some sort of Timberland, Levi’s, or Wilson’s Leather sponsorship. But, I was with Money, and having made several stops with him in the past, I was comforted to know that this would not be our final destination, but just a small pit-stop on a much greater excursion. I decided not to unwrap my scarf and keep my scully hanging just above my eyes as we walked up to the door.
The show was already underway when the manager met us at the door then proceeded to escort us through the crowd to a private section at the back bar. Through the dim lights, Money’s small talk, the crowd’s laughter, and several beverages I had at the previous spot, my eyes and ears focused on the comedian. He was a slender regular lookin’ White cat who looked likehe could be straight off of an old Comedy Central or HBO special. The only thing that made him stand out to me and the rest ofthe people I was with is when he opened his mouth he said the word, “N*gger”. I tapped my boy, Ving “James” (who received this name for being a younger, bigger, splitting image of the actor, except this kid NEVER smiles) and said “Yo, what’s this dude sayin’?” We stopped and stood with open ears in the middle of the crowd as the comedian continued, “Yo, wassupmy n*gga! How you be?” Then respondingto himself in a deeper voice, “Just, chillin’ my n*gga…wassup with that n*gga? That n*gga’s crazy.” It was then I realized that he was making fun of the way some Black people talk. The audience was in subdued hysterics as several people, including the comedian, nervously looked our way.
Now in the past, I’ve referred to how I sometimes consider myself two men. This night both men were staring at each other and pointing confrontational gats, asif
John Woo were the director. This comedian, although unintentionally, had brought us into his act. At that moment, when he kept his professionalism and continued with his joke as the audience chuckled, I honestly felt that our entourage was reduced to looking like rejects of
Fat Albert’s gang on parade. And the thing that stung the most was the knowledge that his stereotypical view wasn’t entirely false. In a matter of seconds, the Vodka in my veins combusted on the back of my neck. The two men inside of me grimaced and cocked-back their gats at each other. The first man wanted to find that brick I was talking about in the first paragraph, make his way to the stage, and conveniently bless anyone who stood out in the crowd. He felt it would be difficult for the comedian to continue his assault with a broken jaw and chipped teeth.Then the second man, equally determined, jockeyed in frontof the first man, holding out his weapon he sternly said, “Money is your friend.You know coming up has been hard for him. Remember the times you both shared aboxof Chinese food or when you slept on his couch, or when he slept on yours? I know you wantto war, but this is his place of business. This is how he eats and I won’t let you do this to Money. Fall the f*ck back.” Then he squeezed, followed bya flash and internal silence. I grabbed myboy Ving’s forearm and said, “Come on, dog….I gotta p*ss.”
At the back bar, I refused my complimentarydrink and submerged into the Blackness. I looked at my boys and realized we all seemed to go through the whole “two men” scenario….just in different ways. And Money did his thing, being Money. I heard some of our female company jokingly say, “Chris is getting shy again.” No, I wasn’t shy. Justat that moment I wasn’t there….not at the bar, not with my people, not paying attention or trying to be “charming”. I was listening to my internal men talk to eachother. One was, apologizing for pulling the trigger and saying “It was for your own good”, while the other was simply taunting with words like, “b*tch” and “punk”. Deep down though, I knew the shooter was right.
So, that leaves me here…
8am on a Saturday morning and I’m at work. People often ask me, “Why are you working?” or “Are you a work-a-holic?” And I always answer, “No…I just do what I have to do.” But sometimes when it’s real cold outside, or I’m tired and I don’t feel like getting up I think about that night at the comedy club or others like it. And I think about how I work in that world. No not a comedy club, but the type of world that finds humor in a lazy and ignorant person of color. You know what I’m talking about. Now, I’m the type of person who demands respect, simply because I earn it. I don’t care if you are the Grand Wizard himself, you might not like me,but you will never have avalid reason not to respect me. So, to answer the question,“Why are you working?”….that is the reason I am working. And that is the reason whyyou should be working, also.
I’m finished.
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12.17.03
Is it a sign of a good upcoming winter when yourjacket zipper snags, then breaks? Oh,noooo....I think not. >:(
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12.04.03
I’ve been reading the book
When I Was a Slave, Memoirs from the Slave Narrative Collection. It’s a selection of short stories told by former slaves about their lives in bondage. As I frequently read on my commute into work, I happened to have the book in hand when entering myoffice building. One of the securityguards, who I’m friendly with, a brother mind you, took notice to the book and inquired about it. I gave himabrief synopsis, told him it was a good read, and promised that when I was done that I’d pass it off to him. Handing me backthe book he sheepishly said, “Ok, but you know, these people don’t like to see this.” I told him, “Yeah, I know.” I got on the elevator drawing a comparison between our exchange and several testimonials from the book. The echo of these narratives can still be heard.
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11.25.03
Happy New Year!
Yes, I know. If you start your New Year`s resolutions a little early it makes the actual day go by a whole lot smoother. (Especially for those who take in too much of the celebratory beverage and other partyparaphernalia....don`t make me point fingers, now.)
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11.16.03
People.
Please ask yourself.
Do you define our culture?
Or does our culture define you?
Recognize the difference.
And expect more.
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11.10.03
"If a man lies to a woman he`s a dog. In turn, if he tells the truth he`s a d*ck."
I`ve been saying this for years and have yet to run across anyone who can even remotely challenge my theory.
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11.07.03
When I was younger I used to dream of the day when I would be able to spend hundreds like tens. Now that I`m older, I spend my time trying to find ways not to spend hundreds like tens.
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11.06.03
My connection is the BBQ spot. It’s the only place along my route where I can get some good wings. I look forward to them and the people I see.
Yesterday, the area became tainted by another
incident. An incident, like so many others, but different for the fact I feel the need to speak. Over the years, you can start to pinpoint the symptoms of the overall problem. Such as, a toddler fumbling after their young parent while absorbing a barrage of curses. To the same toddler, now ayoung teenager, cussin’ out grown folk onthe bus. You can see the results of these symptoms by taking a map of Boston and marking every incident scene with a red dot. Just from the Summer alone, it appears that, in contrast to other neighborhoods, Dorchester, Roxbury, and Mattapan have broken out with a disease. One that is giving AIDS and lung cancer a run for their money.
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10.26.03
It`s very seldom that I feel this way about anybody, but
she got that.
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07.13.03
If you ever want to know about someone’s character…just let them talk. In time, they will answer questions that were never asked.
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07.03.03
When I left, I tried to do itas cleanas possible. Paid an extra month of rent and even got my boys up at 8am to help her move. Still, she hated me, hated me for breaking the promise that I had made to her. No matter what logical reason I gave to her she could not understand why I was leaving. Even if the touch of her skin caused me to have an allergic reaction that restricted my breathing to desperate gasps, she would STILL not accept that as a reasonable excuse. In her eyes, I was wrong…I was a dog…I was everything that her girlfriends said I was.
She did not understand.
Separation is not always that clean cut, if you truly care about the person that is. We had gone through a lot together andI soon realized that a compliment, encouragement, or an open ear, given on a consistent basis, can be addictive. So, I became a methadone dealer. I let the distance grow, while keeping a friendship, giving advice, and letting her know she was still a beautiful person. I humbly backed away from post break up arguments and self-destructive “make-up-only-to-eventually-not-make-up” sex.
She did not understand.
About a year went by and she invited me to a party that included her new circle of friends. My boy called to warn me that she had a new man or as he put it,“She got herself a Chris starter kit, except he’s missing a few parts.” My dog. The night of the party her new man was there….with his chest out. I consciously showed up with a smile, bottle of Pinot Grigio and pound and hug for her new man. Unfortunately, she had known me asa hot-tempered brawler. That guy didn’tshow up that night and everyonehad a pleasant evening without his presence. To the point that, as I was leaving, her new man sincerely jumped up to say in his Muppet-like voice, “Be careful out there….the roads are slippery.” That gave me a chuckle. She walked me to the door, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and stopped herself right before she was about to ask me a question.
She did not understand.
Recently, I ran into her cousinand asked how she was doing. She told me that she was good, graduated, very happy….and engaged. I froze for a moment only to snap back to say some generic response that I can’t even remember right now. Feelings of regret and insecurity pierced my body, as if somehow my worth had suddenly depreciated. As I walked away, time took its toll and the chill slowly warmed into a feeling of calm acceptance. There have been things I’ve done in the past that I have not been proud of. At times I feel like I’m a sinner walking the earth and somewhere there is a record of each breath I take as if I were stealing the air from God. But that day I felt something different. I do not have any children,but that day….as I was walking away…I had the feeling that a dedicated father must have when he has proudly walked his little girl down the isle.
I knew that she finally understood why I had to leave.
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07.03.03
Sometimes a weekend gives birth to more stories than I canwrite about so let me just say this: Props goes out to Boston for finally establishing the smoking ban. For once, I woke up and didnot feel like everyone at the spot had extinguished their butts, backwoods, and bidis on my chest. Excellent work!
I hope stray bullets are next on the list.
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06.30.03
B.B. King soulfully sang, “I woke up this morning...from another one of those crazy dreams”
And I awoke...late...well,late for me. Only to race outof the door to catch a train that was destined to stall mid-destination and be taken out of service. But just before I joined a sea of 9 to 5 veterans, who looked like they have been stranded ona desert island, the train had a slight “spasm” causinga drop of coffee to miss my tie by a quarter ofan inch only to land directly on my shirt…the one that took me 20 minutes to iron. O.K....breathe. Myphone battery is dead, my ATM card and securitypass remain in yesterday’s pants, and it seems the citizens of our beloved city still have not got the concept that you LET PEOPLE GET OFF OF THE TRAIN before you get on. Luckily,I played high school football and know how to dip my shoulders. O.K....breathe. Earlier, my horoscope eerily forewarned, “Those around you will wish to tread lightly so not to provoke you.” And I’m thinking...mmmmmm...maybe this is a good time to take a personal day. Then as I walk to the security desk to convince them that I’m not a courier I’m like...Naaaahhhhh...I do my best work on days like today. Right now, I feel like Gulliver in the land of Lilliput.
And B.B. concluded, “It seems nothing is going right this morning...the whole damnworld is wrong it seems.”
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02.27.01
There is a difference between fate and destiny. Fate comes to those who find comfort in the day. Destiny is achieved by those who overcome pride, release themselves of shame and fight tooth and nail for what tomorrow can be.
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02.23.01
Welcome to Black Planet.
I think you’ll find it to be like a nightclub open 24/7. Like in any nightclub you’ll find a lot of people trying to look good...run game...get some @ss...exhibit their sexuality...pose in front of the drop. Yes, this club is packed wall to wall with wannabe Lil’ Kims and Ruff Ryderz, all grinding to “B*tch betta have my money”. You get sick off all the corny lines and people trying to rub up on you after a while. That’s when you see a dim light coming out of the back room. You tell the reincarnation of Tupac you really don’t feel like dancing right now and make your way through a sea of flesh...sometimes ignorance. Stepping into the room you discover a small lounge with an even smaller group of people, just sitting on the couches, talking and laughing. Once your ears stop ringing they are stimulated by the sweet sound of Maxwell, Musiq, Jill, or the Roots. One person stands up and asks you to join the conversation, he asks you your opinion, he wants to know what brings you here. As you speak there is a comfortable silence as if your words were pure thought. Only a reassuring “true that” breaks the silence. You sink deeper into the softness of the throw pillows and are massaged by the music. You take off the shoes, yes the ones that were a little high in the back and have been hurting your feet all night. Your host walks over to you, holding a Black Russian, introduces himself as Chris...and welcomes you to his planet.
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02.19.01
The other day in the grocery store I heard a song that made me stop inspecting fruit and look up. It was a song that I knew by heart but have no recollection of memorizing the words. It was one of those old sweet potato pie with extra brown sugar and cinnamon love songs that my father would pull out and spin once we went to bed. The song was “One-Hundred Ways” by James Ingram. At this point I’m walking down the aisle singing this joint like I wrote the song. While people are looking at me funny, it dawns on me for the first time what this man is saying. This man, this artist, with a voice as soothing as slow saxophone, simply breaks down and tells a man how to keep a relationship alive. Anything that your woman wants, anything she desires, find “One-Hundred Ways” of delivering it to her. During the lesson he warns, “ Don’t forget, there may be…an old lover…in her memory / If you need her so much more…why don’t you say / Maybe she has it, in her mind / That she’s just wasting her time / Ask her to stay / Find one-hundred ways.” Yo, I was all types of open in the bread aisle. When the song ended and the store went back to Musack I started reflecting on past relationships that for whatever reason went wrong.Things just became so clear. Besides the fact that I really can’t sing, relationships did not have to be complex. With a little attention and positive direction they can blossom to become pure and honest. At the checkout line, the cashier smiles at me not aware of the fact MisterChris is walking out with more than his groceries. He’s walking out with a new theme song. So as I write the story of my love life I would like to give much respect to Mr. Ingram by calling it “One-Hundred and One Ways.”
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01.27.01
My senses suddenly open
waking me of daily routine
I am blinded by beauty
that I have only witnessed in a dream
As you move towards the door
seemingly suspended in time
Every motion is a synchronized breath
and leaves a tiny footprint in my mind
My mind, my nature
awakened with the thrill of the chase
Until instinct conflicts with reason
I drop my book…I lose my place
Out of subconscious reflex
My eyes move straight to the floor
Only for a whisper of time
I look up, and my dream is no more
Shifting shapes, colors
I search but you are not there
Suddenly, I see my entire life
with your silhouette gliding up the stairs
As the train jerks forward
I exhale deeply and sit with cold stare
I`m back to my routine
But when I dream...I can still smell your hair
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01.17.01
I am not the man, da sh*t, da bomb, top dog, G.O.A.T, papi chulo, da mack, pimp daddy, super thug, the Don, playa-playa from the Himalayas, ghetto superstar, or head n*gger in charge. Born under two signs, reality and coincidence, I am the underdog. I am the small family coffee shop facing the tyranny of Starbucks. I do not have the time or the energy to pretend I am something I`m not. I focus on establishing a life that my grandchildren will be proud to talk about, so I remain the underdog.
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01.13.01
Last night I was out with my father at this BBQ spot. It was real casual, just laughing and joking...hanging out with pops. A little while after he finished his catfish he took a sip of brew and asked, "Son...how long do you think you are going to live? How much time do you have left?" Ordering another round to converse over I said, "Well the average person lives to about 80, so I figure I have another 50 years or so." I looked at him with a dauntless smile to say, "Yeah, I know what time it is." He responded, "No, think of it in terms of decades, you have 5 decades left. I have 2 decades left. You have to plan your life in terms of decades." Yo, at this point it seemed like there were only two people in this restaurant...my dad and I. I sat back in my seat and thought, "Damn, that’s not a lot of time...years go by so quickly, it was just summer yesterday." My pops seeing me drift off asked, "You feel me?" "Yeah, I feel you.", I replied. "Good... pass the cornbread and some of that butter.....don`t tell your mother" Even in my college days when I would explore my world with enhanced senses from cannabis smoke they do not compare to how far my mind is opened by one of my father`s questions. By one of my father`s lessons. "Yo, let me get the check, dad." He shows me the smile I see in the mirror, like he knew what I was going to say.
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Her peach cobbler dish was nearly as empty as my wallet. We began to discuss how such small portions could be dished out at such a hefty price. It seemed to me that there should have been some sort of regulatory committee that set a basic list of standards that would allow this establishment to call itself a Soul Food restaurant─especially when my stomach could feel my wallet’s pain.
