While firmly holding…

…the television remote in one hand your other hand was busy trying to figure out the secret relationship between the back of this device and the batteries. For an hour your little fingers twisted and turned the cell like it was a Tetris block. All the while the expression on your face was that of a head surgeon carefully trying to reunite two microscopic something-or-others under the pressure of a fading heartbeat. It was then I realized that I never sit and think what you will grow up to be. That is because I am already amazed at what you currently are.

People who have the ability...

...to cry uncontrollably have always held my admiration. It has always been difficult for me to express sorrow in this way. Instead of crying, I internalize, meaning I don’t do much of anything, except for hold a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach for not crying. In the past I’ve carried this feeling around for years.

I was a little relieved when Q said, "Yo, cuz…I feel the same way."

I grew up far away from my extended family, but I never felt like I didn’t have one. Even though the time that I spent with my Grandmother was short, she gave me the type of memories that I’d expect from a person who would have had me over for dinner every weekend.

"That was Granny, she gave love that was worth a lifetime.", Q responded.

And I saw this when you met her for the first time. She held you as if you were here own, because in a way you are. And at that moment the love and happiness she experienced when meeting you was stronger than her cancer.

"I don’t mean to sound cliché or anything, but she looked like she was sleeping. Man, she really looked at peace.", Q said right before we ended our conversation.

The early AM sky no longer held the mystery of Halloween, but an air of loss I as stood out in the empty parking lot of a Chinese restaurant. After circling in my car for hours, listening to music and trying to shed more than a few miniscule tears I prepared for my long ride home. During the ride I prepared for the feeling that was awaiting me.

When I woke up this morning I was calm. I realized that my salvation lied within you. Specifically, I can teach you to walk in your Grandmother’s name and make her proud of your steps. And the only way I can do this is by example, by making her proud of me.

Hopefully, I will cry for my Grandmother.

Until then I will walk for her.

Little known fact.

I’ve always fantasized about being the guy who saves someone else’s life. You know, the guy you see on the 10 o’clock news accepting a gift from the Mayor for being in front of a building just when it started to smoke. Or the guy who screamed "watch out" right before the construction scaffolding overloaded with cinderblocks made it's way to the sidewalk. Or the guy who managed to reach deep inside himself and throw the perfect sucker-punch (or nut punch) to knock the hold-up weapon under the soda fountains at KFC. And in the end my reward was a big check, a beautiful woman, or a free side of coleslaw. And I would be happy with either three.

However, my moment to shine never presented itself. Instead, I have frantically fished several coins, tacks, and other bite-sized objects out of your mouth; made flying leaps worthy of a Ringling Bros. trapeze artist to prevent you from falling off the bed backwards; and tumbled down stairs and escalators to prevent you from finding out you can’t walk down either.

When I am lying in bed allowing my back to heal I realize that I am so over that fantasy.

The art of...

...the straight face.

----- Original note -----
Date: Sep.19.2005 09:58
From: mr-kossi
To: MisterChris
Subject: From the desk of Mr. Anthony Kossi.


Mr. Kossi (edited): Dear Friend, I am MR Anthony Kossi. The director in charge of auditing and account ingsection of Habic Togolaise Banque (HTB) Lome-Togo in West Africa with due respect and regard. I have decided to contact you on a business transaction that will be very beneficial to both of us at the end of the transaction .During our investigation and auditing in this bank, my department came across a very huge sum of money belonging to a deceased person who died on November 1st 1999 in a plane crash and the fund has been dormant in his account with this Bank without any claim of the fund in our custody either from his family or relation before our discovery to this development…

MC: That is absolutely terrible. Please let me know how I can be of assistance. My resources will be at your disposal!

Mr. Kossi (edited): Thanks for your response to my proposal. God in his infinity mercy has greated an opportunity for us. Considering the confidentiality and secrecy involved in this transaction. We have fully put everything in place and since this is not an opportunity open to everybody, we do not see anything wrong or “fraudulent” in what we are doing as long as we are not hurting who should not be hurt period. I need your response as soon as possible so that I will know what your position is before I give you details of the project. I awaits your urgent response….

MC: Oh my. That is truly a tragic story. I’m sad for all involved. Thank you for taking the time to further explain the history, it makes me feel more comfortable with this business transaction. I also feel strongly compelled to help because I, too, have suffered loss. Not anything as devastating as losing a parent or sibling, but the loss of my childhood dog, Mr. Nibbles. He was like family to me. He was always there waiting when I got off the school bus, or sitting under the dining room table patiently waiting for me to throw him a scrap of my mother’s boiled fruit and tofu surprise or religiously licking his crotch on the foot of my bed every night. You could even say he was my best friend. But one day he got into the cleaning products and “nibbled” on something he shouldn’t have. I came home from school to find him dead on our kitchen floor after trying to vomit up his pancreas. It was several years until I could look at my mother’s fruit and tofu surprise without crying. Anyway, I’d be honored to help in any way I can. And not just for the Billings family…but for the memory of Mr. Nibbles as well! May this business transaction help them all rest in peace. Please let me know what you want me to do. Thanks, Chris

Mr. Kossi: Ok, you have to send to me you private email so that I can send to you the application text which you will fill and send to the bank. So that we can be expecting their response. Also, I will like you to send to me your telephone number so that I can call you be for I close work for the day. I awaits your response so that I can send to you the application. - Anthony Kossi.

MC: I'm sorry I took so long. I was making a personal pizza by using an English Muffin, spaghetti sauce, and topping it off with a healthy squirt of cheese wiz. If you want I can send you the recipe. Oh wait, I just did. Anyway, my email address is misterchris@blackplanet.com and my phone number is 617-861-3962. However, my big brother Claudius is a jerk. If you call and get hung up on or some sort of goofy message it’s him acting like a jerk. He’s always doing stuff like that. And honestly, I think he purposely fed Mr. Nibbles those cleaning products. He thinks he’s being funny but in reality he’s just being hurtful. I hate him so much sometimes!!! I glad he was born with an extra ear! So, if he answers the phone or does something stupid, just call back and I’ll pick it up after he falls asleep. He spends most of afternoon watching Judge Judy and the People’s Court, but for some reason he always falls asleep during Judge Hatchett. He has three ears but can only watch two shows….go figure. Do you have any brothers or sisters Mr. Kossi?

Mr. Kossi: I have sent the application to you email. So check and fill it carefully and send it to the bank by email info_htbtg@bankersmail.com like I directed you. Get me informed as soon as you send it ok.

MC: So, I take it you’re an only child. That’s cool. I wish I were an only child. Well, I just wanted to write and inform you that I have received the bank application. But in the process of filling it out I noticed that it required a fax number. I don't have a fax machine. Claudius has one, for some stupid business venture he's doing with beanie-babies or mail order brides or something stupid like that, but I don't think he'll let me use it. He has a sign that says "keep out" on his bedroom door. I could use the fax machine at Kinko's but they are all the way across town, I'd need to take the bus to get there, and if the bank is going to fax me the 8.5 million I think one of the workers might steal it before I get there. Those people, that work there are all Black and Dominican...they’d definitely steal it and spend the money on chicken. I'm sorry, I really want to help, but I don't want to screw up this transaction because I don't have a fax machine. Is there anyway around this? Please let me know, Chris

Mr. Kossi: Thanks Chris, for informing me, I sending you another application without fax. Fill it and send to the bank. Anthony Kossi.

MC: Claudius just snuck up behind me, snatched the bank application and read it. He said I could get in trouble for saying I am Mr. Billings' cousin. I told him that you said it was alright and explained the situation, but then he said that you were lying. I think Claudius is just being his usual bone-head jerkity-jerk self. He’s just mad because people have moved on from beanie-babies back to the munchie-chies….which were never cool in the first place. Personally I’ve always like the Smurfs. Anyway, it got me thinking….in case the bank does start to ask questions that I should be prepared to answer them. Like what was Mr. Billing’s favorite food? Does he have any distinguishing moles or birthmarks? What are his views on Gay marriage and should Gay couples be allowed to adopt. After sex does he like to snuggle or does he just curl up in the fetal position and cry? As I’ve stated I’d very much like to help, but this is such a large sum of money I think we should be prepared for the unexpected. So if you could provide me with a little personal info about Mr. Billings I will happily send the application to the bank. The first thing I’m going to do with my share of the money is hire someone to kill Claudius.

Mr. Kossi: I am sorry i have to leave for now, I got an urgent call, I have to attend to some people. I will login later. Do let me know as soon as you send the application ok. Anthony Kossi.

MC: Ok, Mr. Kossi. I understand. Hey, if it's the bank calling about the money tell them that I have the application ready to send out. So when you do log back in tell me Mr. Billing's personal information and I will send it. How long will it be before we start to see some of the money? I am planning on hiring a witch doctor to turn Claudius into my zombie slave after I have him killed and the witch doctor said he'd need fifty dollars upfront. Hey, I just figured out another way I can help you...

Mr. Kossi: Forget it!! And how do you think you can help me??? Just do send application ok, and let me know. Anthony Kossi.

MC: Well, first I can help you come up with a much better story than this. I’m a storyteller….and you sir, are not.

Side...

...note.

A little known fact.

When I have problems sleeping I imagine that my bed is a makeshift wooden raft floating in the middle of the ocean. There has always been something about the motion of waves, a warm sea breeze and limbs that dangle slightly off the edge that I’ve found soothing. While watching you sleep on my chest I realized that this feeling that I conjure up simulates what it was like to fall asleep on top of your grandfather. It’s just a version that a grown mind finds acceptable.

The art of the straight face.

----- Original note -----
Date: Aug.16.2005 10:48
From: tundara
To: MisterChris

tundara: cute pic

MC: Thanks. In the original picture I was standing next to Brandy, but her laywers contacted me and made me crop her out of it.

tundara: WOW.....That’s messed up!!!

MC: Yeah it is, considering that right after the picture was taken one of her body guards tackled me. I don't even know where he came from, but the next thing I knew I'm on the ground with some huge guy kicking me in the chest. I ended up with a few broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Plus, I managed to bite the hell out of my tongue and when I started to seize. I think at least they could have let me put the picture on my page or have given me a stick to bite on.

tundara: Oh my GOD!!!! That is not cool!!! Well ....did Brandy even apologize for them?

MC: Apologize? Honestly, I feel like she set me up. When I saw her I first asked if I could take a picture with her and she said it was cool as long as I put a shirt on. Then the next thing you know she started screaming "Get your hand off my @ss!" and then her goons smothered me. I've always heard she was a diva, but her personality just totally switched up on me in a matter of seconds. It was like she enjoyed seeing me getting beat down; because I think if a person felt like they were in danger they would leave the area. But she didn't, she stood there the whole time telling her "staff" what to do.

tundara: I never did like Brandy!!

MC: You know, I never really liked her either. Before the "incident" I think I only knew one of her songs. But ever since I got released from the intensive care unit I can't seem to get her off my mind. It's weird, I bought all of her albums, DVDs, posters and what not. I've even submitted paperwork into the courts to request a DNA test to see if I was the father of her child. It's a long shot, but wouldn't it be a trip if I was her baby daddy?

tundara: LOL You have issues!!! LOL

MC: Why, because I have dreams of settling down and raising a family? I don't get you women! I thought that's what you wanted. When a guy is sleeping around with several different women he's a dog...but when he wants to do the right thing he has issues and his dreams are laughed at? Well let me tell you something Miss Quick-to-Judge-and-Laugh-at-Everybody....I have the right to have real happiness in my life. Not just the kind of happiness that comes in a prescription! I don't care what you, my mother, or my high school guidance counselor says! According to the DNA test there could be a 99% chance that I'm NOT the father....but that's ok...because in my heart all I need is 1% to know the truth. So well just wait and see...then I'll show you. I'll show you all! You know, you sound alot like Brandy's legal representation. Are you screwing with me? Because if you are…it’s NOT cool.

tundara: LOL.....OOOOOOO.......K!

I called Agent B…

...and said, “Hey, there’s been a couple of things I’ve been meaning to ask you. Have you been down 93 lately and when was the last time you saw T.eaze?”

In the short period in-between me asking and him answering the question I pictured myself back on Mission Hill, in an apartment that was thick with heads and smoke, while working on what could have been my second major in college. T.eaze walked in with a small crew of jeans, boots, spraypaint and backpacks. They still had a smell and crispness to them that reminded me of the first day of school or picture day. I reached out and silently gave him the peace offering. He nodded once and accepted it. By the time the offering had come back my way I had made up my mind about T.eaze. I liked him. He was humble, eager to learn and more importantly…he had heart. So, I told him to look in the cooler on the back porch. There he’d find a few Heinekens submerged in the ice. And maybe a few women along the way that were not as cold.

After that night T.eaze and I talked occasionally, sometimes about art, sometimes about music, but always about life. To minimize the chances of people mistaking him for a toy he was determined to reach the status of an all-city king and have his name become a landmark like the two buildings that formerly graced the New York City skyline. One time I pulled him away from his crew and over a few bottles told him a story about the different roads and life paths people traveled. My story had four main points. One, getting up, getting seen, and getting fame is an incredible feeling, but ultimately that feeling, inherited hardships and wasted years are the end of the road. Two, he should start thinking about what his next step will be and exactly how he can wake up everyday doing what he loves and get paid for it. Three, if you are blinded by fame there are unseen hazards such as toy envy, the pressure from crew loyalty, and the sentinels on the Vandal Squad who are also looking for fame in the Area B precinct. And lastly, I left him with this thought, “A person’s life path is determined by the small decisions they make on a daily basis.”

At the end of our talk, he gave me a pound to signify that he had heard and respected what I had to say…but in the end I don’t think he heard me. Over the next several years I would continue to see the markings he left along his life path. Some times they would be in very lonely places where I wouldn’t expect the most mentally disturbed homeless person to go and other times in places that were distant like RI, CT, and NY…where I wouldn’t expect a mentally disturbed White boy to be. But each time I stumbled upon his trail of breadcrumbs I could tell he had been working on his craft, in his way, and in his own style. And when I last saw him at the Hip Hop Convention displaying his artwork it was apparent that although he had not gained the worldwide recognition of the Twin Towers, he did in fact tower over the Boston Metro like the Prudential Building. I was happy to see him and meet his new girlfriend that was more on the cute side than crazy. He looked good and extremely focused, especially for someone who suffered from extreme ADD among other things. Reaching in his denim pocket he revealed the same peace offering I had extended to him and his crew several years back and asked if I wanted to go outside. I declined, but stayed long enough to crush several plastic cups and talk with him about his art’s newly framed and hung direction. It was a good night….and I was glad that we had crossed paths once again.

Agent B brought me back to the present day by replying, “Oh man, T.eaze is dead, dog.” Then he spent the next few minutes giving me details of his last days. I told him that when I was driving down route 93 I saw a gra.ffiti tag that said, “RIP T.eaze” and that I was hoping it was a mistake. But after I hung up the phone I found out that ultimately it wasn’t the paint that brought his life path to an end. It was the oxycotin.

RIP T.eaze

*********

“This is for new jacks trying to decide where they fit...get busy!
Destroy city walls when you spit.

For writers with a Krylon image brain print...translate it!
Leave your name dripping from bricks.

For cats who come for fame with my name on their lips...re-think it!
You're sucking poison milk from fake t*ts.

This is for kids worried about the apocalypse...do something!
Prepare yourself and stop talking sh*t.”

- El-P

I’ve been told...

...that I have a great radio voice. It’s been described as very deep and tranquil. The type of voice you’d expect to hear late Saturday night on an obscure FM number far down the dial announcing a forgotten ballad from an era that only exists over the airwaves. And if I "whiten" up my voice a little youmight even be able to hear it on your local NPR station, giving everyone the play-by-play of the traffic and weather. It’s comforting to know that if this corporate thing doesn’t work out I can always fall back on whispering sweet nothing’s into a certain demographics ear and get paid for it. Either that or go back to telemarketing.

The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away as well.

I can’t sing. In fact, I s*ck. The sound of my singing voice has caused birds, squirrels and other woodland creatures to flock from the trees in search of higher ground, had people mistake me for being a throat cancer survivor, and caused newlyweds to have their very first argument over why I was invited to their wedding, allowed to drink so much and get a hold of the microphone. The real kick in the teeth is…I love to sing. I do it all the time. I’m just responsible enough to do it where it won’t cause anyone permanent nerve damage. So, when my pregnant co-worker introduced the concept of choosing a song that could be repeated throughout your childhood and would eventually become “your song” I was naturally intrigued for my love of music, but hesitant for my lack of vocal talent. But, I decided that having a song that would soothe you when you are uncomfortable or in distress, tell you that although times may get rough….they will get better, and would speak to you when I am unable, was more important than my insecurities. So, I extensively searched my mental musical library and after a few months of, “No, that’s not it. Too depressing.” I came up with your song. It’s funny, it was right under my nose.

Now your mother has spent the last month laughing at me because I do not have the same put-you-to-bed skills as she has. After all that work I did to find your song, when it was bedtime and I sang it to you, you decided that all you wanted to do was scream, kick, and scratch the hell out of me. For up to an hour at times...all while your mother snickered in the other room and got her jollies on. And I have to admit I was getting frustrated for a minute….with you, your mother and the whole damn “your song” idea. But I kept at it, night after night, until you didn’t fight as much. And the next few nights proved that it wasn’t a fluke. Then I could count the number of times you’d need to hear the song before falling asleep.

Finally!

Now when I cradle you and start singing your song I have the confidence of a World Wide Wrestling Federation Superstar who has just locked his opponent in a tight sleeper-hold. I know that it won’t be long before you are down for the count.

(And now I get to snicker at your mother trying to light the grill. She’s going to set herself on fire one of these days...with all that screaming and running around the house she does.)

The art of…

…the straight face. As it was taught to me, I hope to pass it on to you. Simply, feel free to take a risk and go where your story takes you. A little laughter is better than crying.

In these on-line exercises the name of the “unsuspecting player” has been slightly changed to protect their identity.

----- Original note -----
Date: Jul.13.2005 08:43
From: AsReal_AsYou
To: MisterChris
Subject: No subject

AsReal_AsYou: good morning, how are you?

MC: I can't complain. How are you?

AsReal_AsYou: Im good too I work third shift so im just happy to be home

MC: Yeah, that's a whole other world. What do you do?

AsReal_AsYou: I work for Bank of America doing data entry and whatever else they force us to do lol, we have alot of work and a little bit of people because of the layoffs so they have us all doing too much, what do you do?

MC: I'm a designer/art director/last-minute-go-to-guy for a local university. I also freelance as a superhero by the name of the Chocolate Thunder Boy Wonder. However, that is part of my dark disturbing side that I don't want to get into right now.

AsReal_AsYou: Super Hero wow sounds interesting

MC: It's really not. It’s a lot of lonely nights just sitting around checking the gadgets on my utility belt waiting for something to happen. Sometimes I wonder if I chose the right line of work. Maybe I'd like to be something like a carpenter, or loan officer. Then at least I'd just have a single identity. And that means I'd just have to do my taxes only once.

AsReal_AsYou: Sounds like hard work, do you save lives?

MC: Well of course I do. I wouldn't be much of a superhero if I just showed up to a burning building and barely managed to turn the hydrant on and calm people down until 911 arrived. But with all the lives I've saved it seems the only life I can't save is my own. I can't even remember the last time I went to a movie or even had someone over for dinner.

AsReal_AsYou: oh poor baby but im sure that the fact that you do good deeds should be rewarding to you

MC: It was until my job switched my health insurance to an HMO. Now every time I go to the emergency room I have to shell out $150 out of my own pocket. It's to the point I'm afraid of taking a bullet. Sometimes I really have to think, ok....leap off this building and risk getting hurt or take the stairs and use the money you would have paid in the emergency room on groceries or the gas bill.

AsReal_AsYou: lol you are too funny, so has anyone ever figured out your secret identity?

MC: Ummm, yeah. My dog. But he can't talk, so my secret is safe with him. But, just to be on the safe side I made him my sidekick. If I go down…that loose-lipped little bastard goes down with me.

AsReal_AsYou: is your dogs name duke like in the beans commercial? do you have a super hero suit

MC: Beans commercial? What the in the name of holy hot dogs are you talking about? I’m sorry but it’s kinda hard to watch primetime TV while punching out super villains. I suppose that I could install a mini-console in my power glove, but with no cable connection what in the hell am I going to watch? PBS? Fox? Come on I’m a superhero…I don’t have time for the boob-tube. And my dog’s name is simply “dog”. Animals that are won in poker games in the middle of the Mexican badlands shouldn’t expect much. Plus, I’m so broke right now he’s lucky I don’t call him dinner.

AsReal_AsYou: do you have a super hero suit?

MC: Yeah, I HAD a nice superhero suit. But things like gamma death rays, below-freezing temperatures, and razor-sharp bites and scratches from the Evil Women of the Jaded Black Widow Clan tend to wear on a fabric. And as I’ve already established, my budget doesn’t exactly allow for a weekly dry cleaning anymore. So instead of replacing worn out equipment I am forced to patch it up and recycle. Plus, I have to limit my shopping to WalMart or Building 19. I mean, being able to withstand the intense heat of reentering the Earth’s atmosphere used to be my minimum requirement for a garment…now, I’m happy just to find something within my budget that will color coordinate. *Sigh* I’m getting depressed.

AsReal_AsYou: Oh, i see so what does it look like.

MC: Like this.*

AsReal_AsYou: whats this?

MC: Nothing to be scared of young citizen.

AsReal_AsYou: that didnt answer the question, what is it?

MC: If I tell you it kinda defeats the purpose of the joke. But if you must know before visiting the link, you asked what the Chocolate Thunder's suit looked like...so it is simply a link to an image of a pathetic costume. As I said, nothing to be scared of. *sound of a balloon deflating*

AsReal_AsYou: ok im sorry i ruined it

~~~~~~~~~~~~

* Side note: I always knew that I’d get busted one day. It’s no secret that I like to incorporate a little imagery into my stories. However, a brother doesn’t own any web space, so it’s always been someone else's picture on someone else’s dime. (I know, for shame MC.....for shame.) Well, someone called me out and I have to tip my hat off to them for allowing me to go on with my bootleg blog. With that said show some respect to theresistancearmy.com.

Personally, if I found out someone was leeching off of me I’d be heated. I’d quietly switch the image to something else but keep the name the same. Then I’d just sit back and watch the offender explain to his readers why he chose to display an an.imal/hu.man in.ter.cour.se pic or something tasteful like that on their blog. But everybody already knows, besides being a newly convicted image bandit...I'm a petty bastard.

I had...

absolutely no idea that my digital camera had video capabilities.

Yeah, sometimes your Pops isn't that bright.

I consider myself to be...

...a responsible parent.

I mean, you won’t find me trying to ignore a smell that could only be coming from an expired pamper….or leaving you unattended in the car while I leisurely carouse the liquor store in search of a magical excape potion for the night. And you won't see an officer on an episode of Cops dipping his head into the squad car to ask me if there is a relative or family friend they can leave you with. Hell, I’ve even abstained from doing the-best-damn-feeling-thing-in-the-world while you’re asleep in the same room. So, I didn’t think twice about leaving you on the other side of the room to play with your toys while I turned my attention elsewhere. In fact, I just turned to look in the mirror. I can’t remember exactly what for, but I know I was staring at myself for a long time. I think I was comparing my reflection to the image of the man I thought I would look like as a child. (Yeah. It confused me, too.) Either way, I was absorbed in my own world, when I stepped backwards…and my heel felt something soft.

Oh man, I hope that’s a pillow.

I looked down to see that you were now on my side of the room, underfoot, and staring up at me with a rattled look that said, “Hey man, did you just step on me?!”

And I responded with a look that couldn’t be confused with saying anything but “Ohhhhhh, sh*ttttttttttt…”

Having the confirmation you needed, you proceeded to let me and everyone within a 100 mile radius know what a terrible parent I was. And you refused to stop until I picked you up and replaced my inattention with a miscellaneous googety-goo game. And when the last googety dried the remaining tear you spotted your abandoned toys on the other side of the room then proceeded to make the trek back over to the spot where I had originally set you down.

Anyway, this is how I learned that you had started crawl.

So, recently I really wasn’t surprised when I saw you take your first steps. Your eyes were all filled with the excitement that the first man to walk on the moon must have felt, while your movements would have won you the lead role in the movie “The Floor meets Baby Frankenstein”. But still, after step number four was complete and you fell back on your well-cushioned bottom I still wasn’t surprised.

This time what surprised me was a figure I saw in the mirror. It was me...sporting a jubilant smile. And it was the type of cheese-grin that I’ve only seen in pictures from my very early childhood. Pictures that were taken somewhere around Christmas time.

If I ruled the world...

Cell phones would only have one ringtone option...vibrate. Maybe it’s because I’m a no frills kinda guy that I just don’t feel the need to have my phone start rappin’ every time I get a call.

While all of the other children...

...in your class screamed, kicked, and cried in protest of the school's idea of celebrating St. Patrick's day, you were the only one who just sat there and laughed along with everyone else. It was almost as if you were performing for your audience.

This is why I call you Willy Smiles.

I hope that sense of humor, and more importantly, the ability to laugh at yourself stays as you grow older. It will get you through some tough times.

When your mother and I…

...first started dating I would always ask her to translate the various Latin love songs she listened to so I could appreciate her love for the music. In turn, she could be found on a Friday asking if she could come with me to see whatever Hip Hop artist was in town that weekend.

But honeymoons only last for so long. Then you start to see things for what they are.

Because even though she’s stood by my side at countless shows, had beer spilled on her newly purchased shoes, and dealt with over-aggressive dudes hitting on her anytime I went to visit the bartender or bathroom she cannot hide the fact that she doesn’t really like Hip Hop. I realized this when we were in the car and “Supersonic” came on.

And even though I sat for hours in my car, having tales of love and loss translated, and said things like, “Oh, that’s deep.” or “Man, he really must love her” I cannot hide the fact the only song I ever catch myself singing is Feliz Naviad and I’d rather listen to financial talk radio than listen to that Donnie Sanchez Suavo cd again.

It makes for interesting road trips.

So, this past Easter Sunday I went to drop you and your mother off at the church before I went to work. She takes the holiday seriously as she entered the car looking like we were going on our first date all over again. In fact it made me think, “Oh, yeah…I forgot about that.” And you were wearing a little blue buttoned shirt with jeans that she had purchased for you specifically for this day. You looked like a little intern who was trying to make a good impression on his first day at a law firm. I couldn’t help but chuckle as your mother buckled you in your car seat and asked, “What are you listening to?”

"Guess", I said as the singer proclaimed his faith.

“I don’t know. Is that reggae?”

“Kinda, it was a little before reggae.”

“Is that Bob Marley?”

“Yup, very early Bob Marley. This was before his reggae movement. He did everything from Do-Wop to gospel. You should’ve seen these young pictures of him in a 50’s suit without dreds. I think he was on American Bandstand or something. He could have passed for Little Richard.”

“Why are you listening to it now?”

“Well, it’s early and seeing how it’s Easter and all I didn’t want to roll up on the church blasting G Rap or something like that. I happened to just have it in my CD case and thought I hadn’t heard it in a while.”

“Oh, I see.”, she replied and wrapped her arm around mine as I pulled away from her building.

A week later I get a call at work. It was your mother. She wanted to remind me to bring the Bob Marley cd that night. I was a little surprised, but I agreed, then hung up the phone.

There just might be hope for us yet.

"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.