Inspired by a tweet last week.
I'm not perfect, but can you still love me?
See, I'm not a tall model type
Nor a cute-as-a-button type
I could be a girl-next-door
I could be your love at first sight.
Let me not sell myself short
I'm smarter than your average bear
Wit? Yes, Fit, not so much
I have a good heart
That's a good place to start.
I give good hugs.
I don't know how to do cartwheels
But I'd try and learn if it made you happy.
I'm not perfect, but you could still love me
If you learned to like me first
I'm likable, lovable
Kissable, fuckable
I'm take home to mom-able
Has a job-able
At the end of the day, my love's more than probable, but...
I'm flawed. I have issues.
Not only am I not perfect, neither is my love.
It's jealous. Its plain, its unexcitable. But its true.
My love's still, untapped, full, turnt up.
My love is unapologetic, immature, and a little awkward.
Most of all its bashful because its never been asked to play.
So what do you say?
I'm not perfect, but could you still love me?
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile
Monday, July 12, 2010
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
the Lord and I break down love
I woke up with the phrase "love is patient, love is kind" in my head, and decided to break out ye good book. Well I turned to google, I will not kid you.
*pastor voice* if you turn your bibles to first corinthians, chapter 13... And the lord said:
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
5 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
6 Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth.
7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
Verses 4-5 really resonate with me, because love gets such a bad rap, when its what we do with love that makes it bad, painful, and makes us resentful. "Love is not self-seeking." Wow. Love is in the interest of all. Love isn't a hating ass hater, yall! "Love keeps no record of wrongs." Man, love is the ish-the gift that keeps on giving. Love, unlike Badu, isn't tired of yo shit.
Now verses 7-8 trip me up. I don't know about love never failing. You cocky mf, you. Love can do no wrong because we, simpleton ass laymen, do all the wrong. Maybe love indeed doesn't fail-we do.
"where there are tongues, they will be stilled." Take heed, yall. If you speak ill of love, you will get shut down. The rest of it, I'm not sure what it means, I gotta think it over.
Verse 6 is the best. This chapter is not only letting you know what love is, but how it gets down. More truth, less evil. Love backwards is e-v-o-l. You really want backwards ass love? Not I.
These are good reminders for everyone-in love, out of love, looking for love, ready for love. Essentially, love's a self-assured mf-er who has reached Maslow's self actualization. It would wear a big sign that says "I'm the ish, you just don't see it yet. Yall fronting," except when you are indeed the ish, its pretty obvious.
Which is cool, cause that's kinda how I aspire to live life, love included.
*pastor voice* if you turn your bibles to first corinthians, chapter 13... And the lord said:
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
5 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
6 Love does not delight in evil
but rejoices with the truth.
7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
Verses 4-5 really resonate with me, because love gets such a bad rap, when its what we do with love that makes it bad, painful, and makes us resentful. "Love is not self-seeking." Wow. Love is in the interest of all. Love isn't a hating ass hater, yall! "Love keeps no record of wrongs." Man, love is the ish-the gift that keeps on giving. Love, unlike Badu, isn't tired of yo shit.
Now verses 7-8 trip me up. I don't know about love never failing. You cocky mf, you. Love can do no wrong because we, simpleton ass laymen, do all the wrong. Maybe love indeed doesn't fail-we do.
"where there are tongues, they will be stilled." Take heed, yall. If you speak ill of love, you will get shut down. The rest of it, I'm not sure what it means, I gotta think it over.
Verse 6 is the best. This chapter is not only letting you know what love is, but how it gets down. More truth, less evil. Love backwards is e-v-o-l. You really want backwards ass love? Not I.
These are good reminders for everyone-in love, out of love, looking for love, ready for love. Essentially, love's a self-assured mf-er who has reached Maslow's self actualization. It would wear a big sign that says "I'm the ish, you just don't see it yet. Yall fronting," except when you are indeed the ish, its pretty obvious.
Which is cool, cause that's kinda how I aspire to live life, love included.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Woman in the Mirror
I run a risk in putting these words in black and white, to come back and haunt me, but here goes:
I watched the BET awards. I kinda liked it. It was...thought provoking, through the requisite coonery and such. But seriously, I did like it. You hear me Debra Lee? Its an educated black woman outside of the 18-24 bracket singing your praises, but for *Jennifer Hudson as Effie White voice* one night onlyyy.
The highlight of the night, if you've been living under a rock was the Michael Jackson tribute. We network naysayers only hoped BET would be better than the year before (in their defense, they had 3 days to get it together) and that the King would get his proper homage. What we actually got-on top of a slightly better than mediocre dance imitation-was another performance by Sir Fistopher Brown. Entertainment turned to drama as we were to fall hook, line and sinker for the Tebow tears shed for his sins.
Don't call it a comeback just yet. Either you're team "he needs to let it all out, he's suffered enough, he made a mistake" or team "I hope he paid good money for that PR agent who concocted this stunt." Which do you think I'm on?
Breezy is Rrah is that dude that blacked your girl Trina's eye last month but didn't mean it, and its cool cause he bought her the new air max's plus threw in diaper money. Or your uncle who's been his kids for years...everyone knows and not only has everyone forgiven, they've accepted it as the norm. You just know not to bring YOUR kids around during the family cookout.
Similarly. Riri is your girl Trina, and while no woman ever deserves to be beaten, you leave a little room for doubt, because while that dude is fucked up for blacking her eye, she CAN be trifling and maybe she called him a "no good n*gga" one time too many.
The woman NEVER bounces back in the way the man does. He can easily lay low for a minute, get his weight up (a new outfit, a legit story) hit the street, and be the man once again. She, on the other hand, learns that even when she did nothing wrong, she suffers. She can tell her story to whoever will listen, but were good about making excuses for him--things she could've done differently, ways for her to avoid or get out of the situation, reasons why he does what he does. Nothing to the effect of "here's how you deal, here's how you come up," aside from a kanye shrug and a casual "f*ck that n*gga." Well, she DID f*ck that n*gga and look where it got her.
All this to say, iont really care for either of their careers but its a shame that Breezy's been able to bounce back and Riri hasn't--and probably can't--in similar fashion. When will she get to perform in such a hi-profile manner like yesterday? Is she too much damaged goods? Does she need better PR? When does she get her public breakdown performance, where her fans come running back and can restore their faith in her career and celebrity?
She needs her release using the same platform and talent he was given. CB can have "Man in the Mirror," maybe Riri can do "My Life?"
I watched the BET awards. I kinda liked it. It was...thought provoking, through the requisite coonery and such. But seriously, I did like it. You hear me Debra Lee? Its an educated black woman outside of the 18-24 bracket singing your praises, but for *Jennifer Hudson as Effie White voice* one night onlyyy.
The highlight of the night, if you've been living under a rock was the Michael Jackson tribute. We network naysayers only hoped BET would be better than the year before (in their defense, they had 3 days to get it together) and that the King would get his proper homage. What we actually got-on top of a slightly better than mediocre dance imitation-was another performance by Sir Fistopher Brown. Entertainment turned to drama as we were to fall hook, line and sinker for the Tebow tears shed for his sins.
Don't call it a comeback just yet. Either you're team "he needs to let it all out, he's suffered enough, he made a mistake" or team "I hope he paid good money for that PR agent who concocted this stunt." Which do you think I'm on?
Breezy is Rrah is that dude that blacked your girl Trina's eye last month but didn't mean it, and its cool cause he bought her the new air max's plus threw in diaper money. Or your uncle who's been his kids for years...everyone knows and not only has everyone forgiven, they've accepted it as the norm. You just know not to bring YOUR kids around during the family cookout.
Similarly. Riri is your girl Trina, and while no woman ever deserves to be beaten, you leave a little room for doubt, because while that dude is fucked up for blacking her eye, she CAN be trifling and maybe she called him a "no good n*gga" one time too many.
The woman NEVER bounces back in the way the man does. He can easily lay low for a minute, get his weight up (a new outfit, a legit story) hit the street, and be the man once again. She, on the other hand, learns that even when she did nothing wrong, she suffers. She can tell her story to whoever will listen, but were good about making excuses for him--things she could've done differently, ways for her to avoid or get out of the situation, reasons why he does what he does. Nothing to the effect of "here's how you deal, here's how you come up," aside from a kanye shrug and a casual "f*ck that n*gga." Well, she DID f*ck that n*gga and look where it got her.
All this to say, iont really care for either of their careers but its a shame that Breezy's been able to bounce back and Riri hasn't--and probably can't--in similar fashion. When will she get to perform in such a hi-profile manner like yesterday? Is she too much damaged goods? Does she need better PR? When does she get her public breakdown performance, where her fans come running back and can restore their faith in her career and celebrity?
She needs her release using the same platform and talent he was given. CB can have "Man in the Mirror," maybe Riri can do "My Life?"
Monday, June 28, 2010
Dear Leticia Part 2
A couple posts back, I wrote a letter to a woman who I call Leticia. Because I think that's her actual name. If it isn't, well, we will call her "Leticia." This is part two, in case you were dying to know what happened to one of Harlem's finest citizens. The first one is here but it won't be hard to catch up. There's a 3rd and final installment that I'll post in a couple of days. Unless she gives me more banter to share, which is very feasible.
Dear Leticia,
So remember the other day when Simone said we had a building meeting coming up? Said it was "very important?"
You turned your face at me-maybe you meant it, or not, cause I do it too-when I asked about it. Like I should know what the fuck is up.
Whatever, as long as yall don't fuck up my shit.
Now that I think about it, does this meeting have to do with you goin on the landlord the other night? From what I heard, the kids were playing on the stoop and making noise, whatever they were doing, caused him to come upstairs. He wanted you to control them, and generally keep it down. Because it was a Sunday night, and he (and his wife) had a job to get to in the morning.
Instead of doing the respectable thing, and complying, because you're a tenant and own nothing, because our leases specifically say "no hanging on the stoop," because its not the first time you've been called out, you decide that being disrespectful makes more sense. That you'd set the example for your kids (oh but wait, imma come back to the kids), that a grown woman, a mother, handles business by yelling twice as loud, coming twice as hard, because your opinion meant more than his and you weren't going no damn where from that stoop.
That you would call him out his name because, maybe he cares about the building, about the environment that we live in. You accuse him of "snitching on 3C" because "everytime something happens bad in this bulding, everyone wanna blame 3C."
"It's not fair! It's not fuckin fair!" You grab your children, ready to go upstairs. They're accustomed to your behavior. You're right, its not fair. All you doing is sitting outside trying to catch a breeze and a break.. Its so much work to be a single mother, and when all you (and the kids) know is the block, that's where you stay--for business, pleasure, war, peace, in mind, in spirit. The conditions under which you mother aren't fair. These are not fair conditions which we live in. Middle of the road, mediocre. Not good, not bad.
Fair would probably be a step up, had you been read to as a child, raised with the norms of success, that doing well was more than getting your GED whenever you got around to it, that teenage pregnancy would be the norm, and that believing you were the shit while being told you weren't shit was the foreword of your self-esteem. That your children deserved the same fair conditions you had. Twenty someodd years ago, you were playing on these same steps, on these same streets. Was it unfair then?
Yes, for many more reasons, its not fucking fair. You right.
Xoxo, tdixonspeaks
P.s. Those "kids" of yours...why they call you grandma? Is that a nickname or something? How old ARE you anyway? Lemme find out you have daughter MY age. I know black don't crack, but damn. You got that "I'm young but the hood has aged me" look but seriously, I bet you're almost twice the age you look.
Dear Leticia,
So remember the other day when Simone said we had a building meeting coming up? Said it was "very important?"
You turned your face at me-maybe you meant it, or not, cause I do it too-when I asked about it. Like I should know what the fuck is up.
Whatever, as long as yall don't fuck up my shit.
Now that I think about it, does this meeting have to do with you goin on the landlord the other night? From what I heard, the kids were playing on the stoop and making noise, whatever they were doing, caused him to come upstairs. He wanted you to control them, and generally keep it down. Because it was a Sunday night, and he (and his wife) had a job to get to in the morning.
Instead of doing the respectable thing, and complying, because you're a tenant and own nothing, because our leases specifically say "no hanging on the stoop," because its not the first time you've been called out, you decide that being disrespectful makes more sense. That you'd set the example for your kids (oh but wait, imma come back to the kids), that a grown woman, a mother, handles business by yelling twice as loud, coming twice as hard, because your opinion meant more than his and you weren't going no damn where from that stoop.
That you would call him out his name because, maybe he cares about the building, about the environment that we live in. You accuse him of "snitching on 3C" because "everytime something happens bad in this bulding, everyone wanna blame 3C."
"It's not fair! It's not fuckin fair!" You grab your children, ready to go upstairs. They're accustomed to your behavior. You're right, its not fair. All you doing is sitting outside trying to catch a breeze and a break.. Its so much work to be a single mother, and when all you (and the kids) know is the block, that's where you stay--for business, pleasure, war, peace, in mind, in spirit. The conditions under which you mother aren't fair. These are not fair conditions which we live in. Middle of the road, mediocre. Not good, not bad.
Fair would probably be a step up, had you been read to as a child, raised with the norms of success, that doing well was more than getting your GED whenever you got around to it, that teenage pregnancy would be the norm, and that believing you were the shit while being told you weren't shit was the foreword of your self-esteem. That your children deserved the same fair conditions you had. Twenty someodd years ago, you were playing on these same steps, on these same streets. Was it unfair then?
Yes, for many more reasons, its not fucking fair. You right.
Xoxo, tdixonspeaks
P.s. Those "kids" of yours...why they call you grandma? Is that a nickname or something? How old ARE you anyway? Lemme find out you have daughter MY age. I know black don't crack, but damn. You got that "I'm young but the hood has aged me" look but seriously, I bet you're almost twice the age you look.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
for us, by us: Happy Black Girl Day!
I'm bringing my blog back from its mini-hibernation with Happy Black Girl Day, brought to you by @sistertoldja, and other HBGs around the universe. I was so upset that I'd missed the last one, but with it every 2nd Wednesday now (because when you create your own holidays, you can do what the f*ck you want), I get 12 days to...be happy. And black. And a girl. Half of black history month but so much more! Joy!
I'm not sure if the day is set aside to be a black girl (tm), and just that, without the bullshit statistics and what not looming over over my head, or if the day is "black girl day" and the salutation is "happy black girl day!" Hmm.
Anyway, I like lists, and I'm going to commemorate each HBGD with a short list of related black-girl things. Unless I'm compelled to do something different.
List: Black girls who make me happy to be a black girl.
1. My momma. A given right? I couldn't stand this broad for a minute (you know, that rough patch between 12 until... well...) But I've gained a new appreciation for her as an adult. I can relate to her a little better, and all the things that didn't make sense then just click now. I'm also inspired by her life, and granted she's not that old, but I wanna go back in time and chronicle her early/mid 20s and compare it to mine. Our lives so different (my 25 is not hers, to say the least) yet our conversations are the same. On a completely different note, she's a much happier black girl than she used to be, attributed to ... meeting another black girl that makes her happy (shoutout to other mom, as I call her). Plus, having all your kids moved out the house helps a little.
2. black girl bloggers. To the girls who are just *wendy williams voice* doin it! Yes, we have opinions. Sometimes we have them with hands on hips and with a roll in our neck. But we can also have them while using big words, talking bigger concepts and under the biggest headlines.
I have a hard enough time keeping up with my own blog, but, imma shout out a list of my favorite black girl bloggers by their twitter, because that's how I found them(and imma give them benefit of the doubt and say they're happy):
@516jap: educational disparities(kinda like a big sister, definitely a very happy black girl)
@funkybrownchick: sex/dating (I actually met her in person before I read the blog, good times)
@abelleinbk: dubbed the "black carrie bradshaw" by some (and if so, I will watch every episode as long as the hypothetical show actually takes place in bk and doesn't end in cinematic catastrophe)
@0_omzjoy: my e-twin, who reflects on life and stuff, and really gets it spot on.
@inetespionage: health/fitness/eating (I was a bit of a hater at first, but I like this girl. She's putting in the legwork that none of us are putting in, regardless of size, color or gender)
And obviously @sistertoldja. Admittedly, I haven't read her blog much, but I'm working on that. I'm not a religious reader of any of these blogs (though I'm pretty up to speed on Belle's formspring, that kills time on the subway, plus I'm nosy like that) but I'd hope that my blog would evolve to bits and pieces of these ladies. Their work makes me happy. Happy me makes for better writing and more blog posts.
3. Janelle Monae: Where has this chick been hiding my whole life? Her sound is awesomesauce through and through. "Tightrope" has replaced "Touch the Sky" as my "I'm feeling awesome today" iPod song. I should actually buy some of her music, but the last CD I bought was AKeys' 2nd CD. No, Sade "Lovers Rock." Yeah.
Anyway, the new album goes hard, but so does Metropolis. I want more of her. Preferably live, this summer.
4. My founders: ah yes, those 7 young ladies who paved the way for what would be thee greatest sorority ever, Sigma Gamma Rho. I can't imagine that being a mid20s black girl in the mid20s was happy times, which made their unity so much more important and special. Sigma makes me happy to be part of something bigger than myself, and I learn as much about her as I do about myself, as I come up on 5 years.
5. Diahann Billings-Burford: Little did I know how much working under this woman (well, not directly) would affect my ideals of being a professional black woman. She holds the Chief Service Officer spot for the city, and from the bits and pieces I know abt her (degrees from top schools, owns a BK brownstone, married with children, used to run some charter schools, is also greek) I kinda stan for her. And I will go one step further and say she's my real-life Claire Huxtable. I'd like to think I can come up like her.
Ok this was way longer than I wanted. But, until next HBGD, imma try to stay a HBG by getting back into yoga. I fell off after 4 days and need to make that happen.
Stay happy black girls!
I'm not sure if the day is set aside to be a black girl (tm), and just that, without the bullshit statistics and what not looming over over my head, or if the day is "black girl day" and the salutation is "happy black girl day!" Hmm.
Anyway, I like lists, and I'm going to commemorate each HBGD with a short list of related black-girl things. Unless I'm compelled to do something different.
List: Black girls who make me happy to be a black girl.
1. My momma. A given right? I couldn't stand this broad for a minute (you know, that rough patch between 12 until... well...) But I've gained a new appreciation for her as an adult. I can relate to her a little better, and all the things that didn't make sense then just click now. I'm also inspired by her life, and granted she's not that old, but I wanna go back in time and chronicle her early/mid 20s and compare it to mine. Our lives so different (my 25 is not hers, to say the least) yet our conversations are the same. On a completely different note, she's a much happier black girl than she used to be, attributed to ... meeting another black girl that makes her happy (shoutout to other mom, as I call her). Plus, having all your kids moved out the house helps a little.
2. black girl bloggers. To the girls who are just *wendy williams voice* doin it! Yes, we have opinions. Sometimes we have them with hands on hips and with a roll in our neck. But we can also have them while using big words, talking bigger concepts and under the biggest headlines.
I have a hard enough time keeping up with my own blog, but, imma shout out a list of my favorite black girl bloggers by their twitter, because that's how I found them(and imma give them benefit of the doubt and say they're happy):
@516jap: educational disparities(kinda like a big sister, definitely a very happy black girl)
@funkybrownchick: sex/dating (I actually met her in person before I read the blog, good times)
@abelleinbk: dubbed the "black carrie bradshaw" by some (and if so, I will watch every episode as long as the hypothetical show actually takes place in bk and doesn't end in cinematic catastrophe)
@0_omzjoy: my e-twin, who reflects on life and stuff, and really gets it spot on.
@inetespionage: health/fitness/eating (I was a bit of a hater at first, but I like this girl. She's putting in the legwork that none of us are putting in, regardless of size, color or gender)
And obviously @sistertoldja. Admittedly, I haven't read her blog much, but I'm working on that. I'm not a religious reader of any of these blogs (though I'm pretty up to speed on Belle's formspring, that kills time on the subway, plus I'm nosy like that) but I'd hope that my blog would evolve to bits and pieces of these ladies. Their work makes me happy. Happy me makes for better writing and more blog posts.
3. Janelle Monae: Where has this chick been hiding my whole life? Her sound is awesomesauce through and through. "Tightrope" has replaced "Touch the Sky" as my "I'm feeling awesome today" iPod song. I should actually buy some of her music, but the last CD I bought was AKeys' 2nd CD. No, Sade "Lovers Rock." Yeah.
Anyway, the new album goes hard, but so does Metropolis. I want more of her. Preferably live, this summer.
4. My founders: ah yes, those 7 young ladies who paved the way for what would be thee greatest sorority ever, Sigma Gamma Rho. I can't imagine that being a mid20s black girl in the mid20s was happy times, which made their unity so much more important and special. Sigma makes me happy to be part of something bigger than myself, and I learn as much about her as I do about myself, as I come up on 5 years.
5. Diahann Billings-Burford: Little did I know how much working under this woman (well, not directly) would affect my ideals of being a professional black woman. She holds the Chief Service Officer spot for the city, and from the bits and pieces I know abt her (degrees from top schools, owns a BK brownstone, married with children, used to run some charter schools, is also greek) I kinda stan for her. And I will go one step further and say she's my real-life Claire Huxtable. I'd like to think I can come up like her.
Ok this was way longer than I wanted. But, until next HBGD, imma try to stay a HBG by getting back into yoga. I fell off after 4 days and need to make that happen.
Stay happy black girls!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Dear Leticia
I wrote this eariler today, a compilation of dialogues I have with a neighbor who, to put it lightly, makes her presence known in my building. Never to her face of course.
Dear Leticia:
We live in the same building. I think were worlds apart. I'd guess were around the same age, but you're 3 kids ahead of me. Well 4, as I congratulated you on the front step last night. I judge you, but I'd be judging my mother, who accidentally found herself swollen with the love of my father 4 times by that age. Hmm.
I ask you "where did this come from?" facetiously jabbing your belly, a desperate attempt to converse and connect. I don't know much about the people in my building. With one foot dabbled in the gentrification of Harlem, many of the residents are future relics, in 5-10 years, they will be forced north to Washington Heights, east towards the Bronx, or scattered across Harlem like ashes over the death of what this neighborhood once was. They will be the ones realtors refer to in selling newlywed couples overpriced studios, "this area used to be a rough part of town, but now this area is booming! We just moved a young family upstairs in 3C. Their daughter is probably the same age as your Timmy. I think you'll do just fine here."
Yes, just like that leticia. Building management, just like the rest of new york real estate, want you gone. 3C is where you be, but not for long.
My other foot is planted in this place, this "the hood is where I'm from" place. My rent is publicly subsizied, like yours. We are rent-controlled, every day is the first of the month. We eat the same dirty bodega sandwiches on food stamps. I bet you have a hard time paying your bills on time. Me too, girl, me too. Do you wonder if you will find love? Love that keeps you warm at night and stays through the morning, let alone season.
I do, Leticia, and all these things ring true. I know, I don't know your struggle, and mine may barely scratch the surface of yours. Ill be honest, when you laugh, reasoning "I aint had nothing to do all winter anyway," it hurts. Those were your options? Were those always your options?
I could preach to you better solutions: get a GED, get your degree. Read to your kids more so they're set up for success. Spend less time on the front step and more on the front line. Defend your right to be the baddest bitch-for your hood, for your kids, for your mama Marilyn. Who I saw in the laundromat the other day.
For yourself, which should be enough.
For I took this route, a similiar and am here, in the same building. We probably have regrets, Leticia. Some things we mightve done differently, but wouldn't change them. Shit, I could be making this all up. Maybe you are content with life. You love to grace our front steps with your presence, enhancing the decor with cigarette stench, loud belching, kids running amok (to think of it, I don't exactly know how many kids you have. They could be baby sisters, cousins, kids of friends) and other loud and foul-mouthed banter.
Lemme back up. I'm not prudish. I enjoy a good fuck, shit, motherfucker and can indulge in cocksucker, pussy and nigga. Okay, I'd be hard pressed to use the latter, but I'm not knocking your choice of words. I'm knocking where you choose to use them-specifically outside my window, where if I close them I'm too hot, and well, I'd still hear you anyway.
Yeah. So you probably love your fuckin life, whatever it is you do all damn day. You owe me nothing, but I want to be wrong abt you. Say you're married to a good man. Or that this unborn child has a father, and you cool with him. That you are a team leader at Target. Not that you're good at raising your voice and goin in on the good folks at T-Mobile, or our landlord for asking you to keep it down because he and his wife are tryna enjoy the early summer evening. Or that your vocabulary and range of conversation is limited to Facebook, the hottest phone, who's blowing who, and shit.
If that's good enough for you, then I'm the one with the problem, for you've achieved self-realization. Congratulations.
--me
Dear Leticia:
We live in the same building. I think were worlds apart. I'd guess were around the same age, but you're 3 kids ahead of me. Well 4, as I congratulated you on the front step last night. I judge you, but I'd be judging my mother, who accidentally found herself swollen with the love of my father 4 times by that age. Hmm.
I ask you "where did this come from?" facetiously jabbing your belly, a desperate attempt to converse and connect. I don't know much about the people in my building. With one foot dabbled in the gentrification of Harlem, many of the residents are future relics, in 5-10 years, they will be forced north to Washington Heights, east towards the Bronx, or scattered across Harlem like ashes over the death of what this neighborhood once was. They will be the ones realtors refer to in selling newlywed couples overpriced studios, "this area used to be a rough part of town, but now this area is booming! We just moved a young family upstairs in 3C. Their daughter is probably the same age as your Timmy. I think you'll do just fine here."
Yes, just like that leticia. Building management, just like the rest of new york real estate, want you gone. 3C is where you be, but not for long.
My other foot is planted in this place, this "the hood is where I'm from" place. My rent is publicly subsizied, like yours. We are rent-controlled, every day is the first of the month. We eat the same dirty bodega sandwiches on food stamps. I bet you have a hard time paying your bills on time. Me too, girl, me too. Do you wonder if you will find love? Love that keeps you warm at night and stays through the morning, let alone season.
I do, Leticia, and all these things ring true. I know, I don't know your struggle, and mine may barely scratch the surface of yours. Ill be honest, when you laugh, reasoning "I aint had nothing to do all winter anyway," it hurts. Those were your options? Were those always your options?
I could preach to you better solutions: get a GED, get your degree. Read to your kids more so they're set up for success. Spend less time on the front step and more on the front line. Defend your right to be the baddest bitch-for your hood, for your kids, for your mama Marilyn. Who I saw in the laundromat the other day.
For yourself, which should be enough.
For I took this route, a similiar and am here, in the same building. We probably have regrets, Leticia. Some things we mightve done differently, but wouldn't change them. Shit, I could be making this all up. Maybe you are content with life. You love to grace our front steps with your presence, enhancing the decor with cigarette stench, loud belching, kids running amok (to think of it, I don't exactly know how many kids you have. They could be baby sisters, cousins, kids of friends) and other loud and foul-mouthed banter.
Lemme back up. I'm not prudish. I enjoy a good fuck, shit, motherfucker and can indulge in cocksucker, pussy and nigga. Okay, I'd be hard pressed to use the latter, but I'm not knocking your choice of words. I'm knocking where you choose to use them-specifically outside my window, where if I close them I'm too hot, and well, I'd still hear you anyway.
Yeah. So you probably love your fuckin life, whatever it is you do all damn day. You owe me nothing, but I want to be wrong abt you. Say you're married to a good man. Or that this unborn child has a father, and you cool with him. That you are a team leader at Target. Not that you're good at raising your voice and goin in on the good folks at T-Mobile, or our landlord for asking you to keep it down because he and his wife are tryna enjoy the early summer evening. Or that your vocabulary and range of conversation is limited to Facebook, the hottest phone, who's blowing who, and shit.
If that's good enough for you, then I'm the one with the problem, for you've achieved self-realization. Congratulations.
--me
Monday, April 26, 2010
Early (morning) childhood education
On the 3 downtown to work, a boy, I'd guess between 4-6 years old, is working through a math workbook with his mom.
"Cuando cuestas?" Says mom.
"Tu sabes?" Asks her son.
"No I don't know let's count together..."
In unison they count "one, two, three..." As the boy speaks aloud he counts on his fingers to keep up.
By now he's completed 3 pages of work, counting different colored kitties, balls of yarn and connecting the dots to create stop signs and fire hydrants. As they pack up to exit the train at 96th st, the mother hugs and kisses her son, tells his they'll do more on the way home. he reluctantly hands over the workbook but eagerly grabs his mom's hand onto the next leg of their journey.
I actually wanted to take this post in a different direction, but ill leave this story as is. It's just a nice way to start the day.
"Cuando cuestas?" Says mom.
"Tu sabes?" Asks her son.
"No I don't know let's count together..."
In unison they count "one, two, three..." As the boy speaks aloud he counts on his fingers to keep up.
By now he's completed 3 pages of work, counting different colored kitties, balls of yarn and connecting the dots to create stop signs and fire hydrants. As they pack up to exit the train at 96th st, the mother hugs and kisses her son, tells his they'll do more on the way home. he reluctantly hands over the workbook but eagerly grabs his mom's hand onto the next leg of their journey.
I actually wanted to take this post in a different direction, but ill leave this story as is. It's just a nice way to start the day.
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