"Do you think...

...he’ll do it?”, she asked.

And I thought about the guy who was always there on moving day...who didn’t sweat it when I borrowed seven of his cds and either lost or scratched them all up to hell...or who loomed over my shoulder when I picked up a Heineken bottle and threatened to put it in a drunken all-pro linebacker’s throat...and I replied to her, “Yeah, B’s cool. Even though his relationship with God has been a little shaky since he lost his parents, he’s good. I’d trust that kid with my life.”

I personally don’t think you need God parents. Agent B and Slick Talk have been there for me and I know that they’d naturally extend the same to you. Brethren look out for brethren...and brethren’s kids. But that’s your mother, very religious. Her kitchen has more pictures of saints and deceased relatives on the shelves than Goya products. She pulls out different combinations depending on the occasion or circumstance, lights a candle, and sometimes asks me to pray with her. I call it her religious spice rack. I don’t always understand it, but I respect it...as you should. Since we’ve been together I’ve seen some strange things that always seem to revolve around that spice rack. So again, respect it.

So, with that decision agreed upon we had Agent B over for dinner last night. And after he complimented the chicken broccoli alfredo I had made that came out a little bland I asked him. And as I knew he would, he said yes...then asked for a second helping. Yeah, even though it didn't taste that good. That right there is B.

And let me just tell you, you’re lucky, because I never knew my God father. And maybe it was for the best, because I saw a picture of him once and if anything did happen to my parents I have a feeling that I would have ended up learning how to roll dice real well and identify restaurants that made good fish sandwich. Not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but from the looks of the picture I think those were his strong points.

I sat on the couch...

...and flipped through pictures of a buck-naked newborn peeping out from under a blanket, to a toddler with a head about as big as his curiosity, to an awkward teen who had more pimples than dates. And at times I had to admit, “Damn, I didn’t realize I was such a handsome kid.” The scary thing is, we could have passed for twins. That evening, at my parents house I reflected on my life in it’s different stages and it left me walking into the next stage with a real good feeling.

Today, I’m my biggest critic. I’m the first to say I’m wack or that sh*t I did just sucks. It’s that self-criticism that constantly makes me push a little further…try-learn-see-make-write something different. If I can’t do that I don’t feel I’m being true to myself and it depresses me. So, I try to do everything to my full potential and if a certain activity doesn’t elevate me to a higher understanding of the creative process…I try to avoid it. Especially if I only have the time and energy to do it in a half-@ssed way. That’s just not me. But at this stage in my life, it’s not about me. It’s about you.

In the past I’ve said, “I put so much of myself into my writing that you could clone me from the ink”. But lately I’ve viewed writing as a bad investment, one with no pay-off. And the time that I spent doing it could be used differently, in a way that is of more benefit to you. Although, after that evening at my parent’s house I realized that my writing can have purpose and be worth something, someday. So with that said…I’ll write for you.

Only I won’t be so hard on myself or try to impress you with twisted tales that are mostly written to fortify my ego. I’ll just focus on the straight talk, hoping that details I’ll give you will put together images that will one day give you the same feeling I had. Plus, I’d like to give you some insight into what my life was like and what was going on behind the scenes. I’m not sure what our relationship will be like when you read this. But, I do know that certain things I’ll do in your lifetime you won’t like or understand. I’m just hoping that we’ll be friends because right now, you’re my best friend. So when you do read this all I ask is…be easy on me. Don’t give me the same look I gave my father when I saw that picture of him in a wide-collar baby blue suit sporting a huge afro and sideburns. Just cut me a little slack. Because as you’ll see, we all go though stages.