I'll Eat It if It Smells Good

 My memoir has arrived! If you'd like to purchase a copy, click the "Books" link to be routed to the Amazon site. Thank y'all!

Spike Lee - Igloodagloo remix

My 2nd single! If you need to dance, this'll do it. Enjoy!

Spike Lee (my debut single!)

Letter to my biological father

Dear Y:

     I know your name, but I will grant you anonymity and call you Y. Why? Well, you have been a chromosome in my life. One that was extracted from a batch of semen that flooded my mother’s womb on June Something, 1976. Literally, it wasn’t until recently that I thought about the moment I was conceived. Despite only having been in your presence about 10 times, I know you and love you. Time and contemplation have guided me toward forgiveness. Still, I must be honest and acknowledge your pattern of carelessness. No one could sire and abandon children as you have without having been abandoned. I understand.

     Now, this is not going to be an Eminem-esque letter. I am not cleaning out my closet and reading (i.e. verbally eviscerating) you for filth. I don’t hate you. To hate you would be pathological. I look into the mirror and see you. My mother has remarked on several occasions that we share similar interests, such as listening to jazz music and running. Personally, I am a distance man; I can’t sprint to save my life. I can be very cerebral and introspective. I’m stubborn and impatient. The standards I set for myself are nearly unattainable. I am a self-professed recovering perfectionist.

      Have you been a better father to your younger children? My first recollection of you is when we (my mother, sister, and myself) encountered you at Winthrop Hospital in ’84. Without any coaching from my mother, I INSTINCTIVELY knew you were my biological father. Years would pass before we would meet again.

     Do you remember when my neighbor coordinated our first official…introduction? Out of the blue, Ms. So-and-So asked me if I wanted to meet you. It’s funny that a stranger had easier access to you than I did. See, y’all worked together at a nursing home. True to her word, she arranged (with my mother’s consent) for you to pick me up from my grandmother’s house, where we lived at the time. The only problem is that my aunt’s husband had never met you and told you I didn’t live there when you arrived. A few minutes later, you came back, briefly chatted with my mother (not my dad, for obvious reasons), and took me to Carvel. The one of Jerusalem Avenue. As cold as it was, I got an ice cream cone and you got a milkshake. What I remember most vividly is the question you asked while we stood on my grandmother’s porch: “Do you know who I am?” I did.

     As the years progressed, we’d see each other infrequently. I did spend a few Christmases with you (just for breakfast and gift exchanges). Hearing other children affectionately call you “daddy” was strange. I’ve never called you…anything. No “dad” or “pop.” Nothing. Our conversations were always goal directed and short. Business-like. You never physically disciplined me. Do you recollect chastising me when my mother – frustrated with my recalcitrant behaviors – called you during my adolescent years? Pure comedy. Your query was “So, you’re smellin’ your drawers?” No, I was not. I was, however, overwhelmed by a myriad of circumstances over which I had no control. Soon, the mother-son bond was restored and your intervention was never again needed.

     One of the last times I saw you was in ’98 or ’99. See, you were thoughtful and carried me on your insurance until I graduated from undergrad. On that particular day, you needed my social security number and other protected health information. As usual, you never entered the house; all business was handled on the porch. Thereafter, you left, advising me to “keep in touch.” Few people had cell phones back then, so keeping in touch meant enduring the un-pleasantries of your then-wife. Suffice it to say, I rarely called you.

     I know you’re alive. Every now and then, someone from New York will tell me they saw you. Remember when you ran into my sister at the Walmart in Uniondale? She was a cashier at the time and immediately recognized you. When she recited your government name, you fled. I guess you must’ve thought “Is she my child, too?” No such a-thing. You returned, and she was able to properly identify herself. You were completely unaware that my family had relocated to Georgia. See, Y, if you maintained contact with your…never mind.

     What do you need to know about me? I love music and writing. I’ve written songs and will likely have at least one placement before the end of the year. I’m a self-published author. I don’t have any children, but I’m an amazing uncle. I have two degrees. I’m working on a few business ventures, but I won’t tell you about ‘em…yet. See, I make ballerina moves: quiet and graceful. I’ve learned to be reticent about my plans, since success speaks volumes.

     Y, despite my struggles, I am living a wonderful life. Most importantly, I doubt anyone had a better childhood than I did. I was always surrounded by aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, grandparents, extended family, and my loving, resilient, generous mother. There were family cookouts (planned and impromptu), trips to the beach or park, and caravans to North Carolina. I was nurtured, protected, mentored, whopped, and encouraged to thrive. I was going to be the first doctor in the family. Thanks, MCAT!

     I’ll never say you didn’t or don’t love me. You were, however, deliberately absent from my life. The seed you planted bore fruit that was harvested by a man who I’ve been rocking with for 37 years. Edward is so special to me. Rarely does he call me John. Instead, he calls me son. He’s always claimed me and corrected anyone who tried to delegitimize our father-son relationship. Imperfect as he is, he will always be my father.

     Well, Y, I’ve written more than I intended to and less that I could have. This definitely has been a cathartic process. I’ve never yearned or longed for you. I’ve never felt incomplete or less-than as a result of your purposeful invisibility. My life has been full of amazing experiences, and I have yet to maximize my full potential. Maybe we’ll meet one day, man to man. We could talk about your love of women and my love of men. Maybe you could share your narrative with me. Did you have a pleasurable childhood? What were some of your life goals? Can you cook? Yeah. We could talk about basic stuff. The thing I’m most curious about is the identity of your role models. Who raised you and – consciously or unconsciously – conditioned you to be apparently indifferent to and unconcerned with the lives you helped create? Maybe you developed those traits through hardships and difficult life circumstances. Who knows? My hope is that you have the desire to figure it out, do your work (as Iyanla Vanzant says), and make better decisions. For all I know, you may have already metamorphosed in Father of the Year. Nah. See. News travels fast, and I likely would have heard about your transformation. Anyway, I’ve got to cook dinner and watch a little Netflix before I retire for the evening. Be well.

John

Happy Birthday, John!

Grateful does not fully describe how I feel about turning 41. I promise y'all, time is not waiting on any of us. It literally seems like I turned 21 yesterday. As I age, I am becoming clearer about my life purposes and LESS tolerant of BS. I recall being told by a friend about 10 years ago that I don't deal with foolishness. At the time, her man was running her ragged, and her health was suffering. In some strange way, she believed there was a lesson to be learned from experiencing emotional distress. I love her dearly, but that is the biggest crock of [insert expletive] that I've EVER HEARD.

Here's a little self-disclosure: I used to be a complete sucker. A punk. A softie. I was bullied mercilessly throughout middle and high school. My mother, bless her heart, raised me to be courteous and empathetic. What she didn't tell me is that many of my peers would abandon their home training (for various reasons) and become monsters. People would say the meanest [insert expletive] to me...and I would say nothing back.

Then something happened. It was during my junior year. I stopped giving [insert expletive] about how I was perceived and found MY VOICE. Indeed, my silence was not serving me well. I went on to curse a few people out and respond to nearly EVERY insult. What I feared would happen never did; no one EVER touched me. Nothing but empty threats. I definitely would have spared myself a lot of agony had I spoken up for myself sooner.

Fast-forward to today. I am a very forgiving, nurturing, empathetic, compassionate person. Still, I do NOT accommodate disrespect well. At all. Correction: I do NOT accommodate PATTERNS of disrespect well. I'm not one to lay hands upon anyone, but my tongue is sharp. Really SHARP. When it becomes evident that my petition for civility is falling on deaf ears, I up the ante and go for the jugular. Rarely do I miss. I'm working on it. See, when I do bark on someone, God deals with me by not allowing me to rest; my sleep pattern goes out the window until I apologize (even when I was only defending  myself). It's not fair, but God holds me to a higher standard. That's just the way it is.

I am so excited about the direction my life is going in. Musically, I've connected with one of my favorite artists and may have a few songs recorded this year. Of course, I'm still designing shirts. What I'ma hit y'all with next is MAJOR.

In closing, I want to encourage anyone who follows my blog to forgive often, cry when needed, seek the counsel of trusted individuals, apologize when you are wrong, and love those who hurt/challenge you the most. Still, protect your heart, mind, and soul...don't take NO [insert expletive]. 😙

Ass for Sale

Hello, my lovelies! It's been a minute since I've posted anything. After having appeared in The Shade Room and having one of my shirts modeled by Kim Fields, I am feeling pretty awesome. It's been a gradual process, but I'm grateful and anticipating continued growth.

In an effort to be more consistent, I'll be posting about notable experiences I've had during my lifetime. Some stories will be a little on the graphic side, but I'll do my best to not be too offensive. At the end of the day, the truth isn't always pretty or polite. To get things started, I'll tell y'all about the time a prostitute propositioned little ol' me.

This must've taken place at least a good 8, 9 years ago. I had driven to Birmingham with a friend of mine (we'll call him "K") to celebrate my sister's securing an internship (i.e. "matching"). See, she was finishing her doctoral program at the University of Alabama at Birmingham and would soon be moving to Virginia (or was it North Carolina?) for a year. The gathering was nice, and I was able to  meet a few of her classmates. After dancing, eating, and drinking, we went back to her loft and called it a night.

The next day, we hit the road and headed back to ATL. K was asleep, so I drove until I needed to get gas. Now, I am partial to Chevron gas, and we stopped at a station on Fulton Industrial Boulevard. Now, I am not from Georgia and did NOT know that the area was frequented by prostitutes...in BROAD DAYLIGHT. Real talk. Anyway, I was pumping the gas and playing with my phone (I think). All of a sudden, this white woman approaches me. I'm thinking she wants a few dollars or something. Nope. As we make eye contact, she casually asks "You want some company?" So that's what they're calling it these days. I'm not the most streetwise person in the world, but I knew that "company" meant "poontang." Y'all, I politely declined, got into my car, and watched as she walked in the direction of a nearby hotel.

I thought about her for a while. Thankfully, I'm a lot LESS judgmental than I used to be. Still, I wonder what it's like to surrender your body to strangers, day after day, for cash. It's definitely a desperate act. I pray to never have to make such a choice.

My Offering

Well, here goes EVERYTHING. As shared in my previous post, I've stepped out on faith and made a significant investment into myself. Tomorrow (12/6/17) will be one of the most AMAZING days of my life. As a visionary and designer, I am so looking forward to seeing the reaction to my one-of-a-kind shirts. See, I'm advertising on...The Shade Room's Instagram page! Yes, indeed. This is HUGE. To make the buying process seamless, I am posting pictures of each shirt separately, as well as instructions on how you (NOT including family/friends) can win up to $300.

I've given all I have. I've prayed, cried, been frustrated, faithful, and doubtful. Now, it is in God's hands. I anticipate greatness and for my expectations to be EXCEEDED. Winners will be announced on 3/3/18. The shirts are available in various sizes, styles, and colors. To place an order, see the appropriate link under the MERCHANDISE link. Thank y'all for being a part of the journey.

Letter to God 2

Sexiness Knows no Size

Over it dot Everything

Breathe and Believe

Don't Hate: Create!

Laugh at the Haters