Katrina @ 10

Home is a small yet critically important four-letter word.

Home is also where the heart is.

It’s not always the street address where we lay our heads down at night or in my case, mid-morning just as it has been for the past three years. The strangest thing about calling a place home is finding it – and realizing that one day my daughter will eventually leave the loving nest she is growing up in for a new abode of her own tastes, desires, and liking. For some, home is in suburbia; on a few acres of heir property in the country; or the stoop in the decaying urban jungles unaffected (yet) by gentrification.

Ten years ago Saturday, we knew where we were.

While south Mississippians and the majority of the Greater New Orleans Metro were packing US Highway 49, Interstates 10, 55, and 59 heading out of town to destinations unknown and familiar, most of us stared at news reports on all channels at the utter destruction of homes and lives forever upended by Hurricane Katrina as she walloped a punch not even Floyd Mayweather could take. How could this happen in the US? or How can there be refugees in this land of opportunity? many inquired to themselves. The damage looked like it was from somewhere else, surely not here. This seemed to comes straight from a Hollywood movie, all of the widespread casualties as remaining citizens scrambled to higher ground or the very least, away from the flooding. Many people went to the Superdome deeming it a makeshift home, yet numerous people waved desperately to helicopters for help.

August 29, 2005 was the day the party stopped in New Orleans.

Several years have passed and what have we learned from the experiences? Beyond the obvious misconceptions the news media (all are guilty) portrayed white families trying to survive versus black families looting stores, the Louisiana political network was exposed as the corrupt organization we all believed it to be. It’s hard to say if Governor Bobby Jindal has made real inroads as it seems from my native Arkansas eyes he squandered any capital he may have had five years ago through worshipping at the not the Catholic churches that dot the Pelican State but to Koch Industries as he pledged fealty to Grover Norquist and his plutocratic pledges.

The mishandling of Hurricane Katrina by so many levels, particularly the federal government, stoked by an ever-judgmental right-wing base lacking any human compassion led to my departure from the Republican Party. Playing a zero-sum game with lives of a different class and color reeked of a dirty air of superiority that chokes the life out of chickens headed to the slaughterhouse.

I digress. Let’s go back home.

Fortunately, most people have been able to rebuild their lives on the Coast, in the Crescent City or elsewhere. Those who stayed in New Orleans, Slidell, Bay St. Louis, Pascagoula or any city large or small are now history’s gatekeepers; members who were forced away to locales such as Maumelle, Benton, Jacksonville or Las Vegas for a season get to add their patches to the tapestry of American history.

To Kevan:  thanks for the friendship and introducing me to Barbara. Glad you’re home, brother. Keep coaching the younger generation to be good ball players and better men.

To Barbara:  thank you for taking a few hours from your work day to commute from North Las Vegas to visit with me on my vacation about the schools.

To Wanda:  I don’t know where to start, but thanks for your professional relationship despite the fact I am no longer teaching. Glad you stayed in central Arkansas.

To Sis. Dale, the Hunter-Hampton crew:  thanks for sticking around Saline County for this long and showing the way to acclimate if not assimilate into the community. See y’all one Sunday soon.

To Emmanuel:  It’s been a few years since those fun days in Star Academy AND I know Lafayette is a couple of hours away from NOLA, but you’re still NO. Get somewhere, man; you’re grown now.

To Pleasant’s BBQ:  the best barbecue joint on the Coast bar none, even better than that famous spot three miles up Interstate 10. Keep smoking those soul-sticking ribs! Everyone needs to visit downtown Ocean Springs – it’s where my wife and I plan on moving come retirement day.

Home is where the heart is.

After Katrina, home is also rebuilt into glitzier casinos along US 90 in Biloxi, nicer beach towns, and a different gumbo in New Orleans. The X’s that marked flood-ravished homes are still there as an outward reminder; not so visible are the class and racial friction that linger in policy and laws.

No matter where our travels may take us, there is no place like home. 

Love Is...

Lovin', is what I got, I said remember that Lovin', is what I got, now remember that #NP Sublime - What I've Got #tbt

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 27, 2015

Excuse my need for post-grunge ‘90s rock with the great Sublime classic “What I Got.” Listen to the song at your own convenience and download it to your favorite internet radio station.

I recently found a picture with my brother and cousin Roy while rummaging around the other bedroom – the one with stuff piled from here to the ceiling only because I haven’t had the time or recruits to put up the gosh darned storage building. We were younger and thinner – in Roy’s case, it was the end of Texas high school baseball season. Since none of us paternal cousins had a camcorder nearby, we made do with the next best thing:  100 mm film. Don’t act brand new, there was a time when you dropped off camera film at the kiosks within Wal-Mart, Walgreens, or some other pharmacy and waited two weeks for it to come back developed. Eighteen years ago, we were the kids anxious to be grown men without a care, worry (only about girls - I was always a latecomer) or concern in the world. In that picture you could evoke the naiveté!

Wow. Time sure has flown.

I grew up in an era before cell phones became ubitiquous. The “it people” carried pagers of various colors stuffed into Girbaud jean pockets. Social media? Pfft. You passed notes and/or honed in your nonverbal skills. I have photos – the yearbooks are at my parents’ house. Ditto for the letterman jacket and trumpet in the back of the closet of my old bedroom.

As Alan texted me pictures, I was mostly smiling and at one point, I even laughed loudly enough for my wife to look over at me.

No cell phone back then, no more deadlines – for three months – since I had graduated from Conway High the prior Friday. Check out the legendary Afro.

Again, I was smiling.

I didn’t have a care in the world. If you found even earlier pictures of Nacole and me playing on the swing set, you’d see a kid who truly lived in the moment sans distractions.

Little Cedric is everything I’m not today. Even the teenage me is a completely different dude.

Don’t get it twisted; I’ve had quite the blessed life. I’m not complaining about how life has turned out at all – far from it. However, I’d be lying if I didn’t wonder what could have happened on the journey from the pastel yellow crib I slept in from birth to Bryant, Arkansas.

What if I had gone really, really wrong somewhere?

Everything has a process and every movie contains scenes sometimes found in the outtakes or the cutting floor. I grew up, got married, hold a steady job plus pursue a passion I greatly enjoy and a perfect baby girl who loves her Daddy…but I picked up some serious responsibilities. Childhood expired a while back and it is a rite I can no longer live although the memories were generally okay.

But after seeing those pictures, I am wistful.

To have that mindset.

To simply be a kid.

To make that perfect jump from the bike ramp.

To have my grandma pick me and shove candy in my pockets and let me eat chocolate donuts for breakfast. 

To see my mom and dad as superheroes, not just my parents. 

To truly be carefree, with nary a worry. 

I do see one kid in all of the memories. 

My daughter Caeli.

Caeli is six months old, but I see the sheer joy of life every time she discovers something new for the very first time.

A few mornings ago, I had to wake up to feed my little girl. After finishing her bottle, Caeli was wide awake and ready to do some talking and playing with her Daddy. What happened next was for the ages:  After I placed her on the tummy time mat, I picked up my phone. As Caeli scooted, I laid across the floor from her snapping away with the pictures of her conquering the pillow at the end of the mat. One time, she looked up and grinned as to say “Daddy, this is fun! Let’s do it again!” Even at 6 am, she is amazing to be around and call my baby.

I don’t want this to ever end.

With Caeli, love is living in the moment and not thinking too far ahead into the future. Besides, thinking is for when she takes her midmorning nap. I’m also glad for saving all of the memories in the cloud, as Google will synonymous with the encyclopedia of our day and microfiches of earlier times. What will her reactions be? Where will the journey take her and how can we influence her, while letting her find her own way?

Love is what I’ve got. Remember that.

Love is also letting Mommy sleep in so we can have daddy-daughter time.

I love looking into those big brown eyes as I read stories such as Goldilocks and the Three Bears and Night, Night in the rocker chair. She lays there content because her whole world consists of Mommy and Daddy loving and catering to her every whim. She doesn’t have to deal with disappointment yet or come home with a broken heart; she hasn’t had someone tell her a boldfaced lie; she hasn’t been called an ugly name or worse. She’s experienced none of this. Her hope, heart, and spirit are all intact – all of which I want to forever to remain that way.

Love is maintaining that childlike innocence and exuberance.

Love is seeing that authentic smile on her – and keeping it on her. 

Never Piss Off Your Angel Investors. Ever.

A few months ago, a local rapper messaged my wife a song from his playlist to give a listen to since we are both locavores. For the uninformed, the missus does not mince words about anything, so she told him the truth about the track:  it was horrible. The rhyme scheme sounded like it came from a lower elementary school book at best; he spent too much time hiding behind the producer’s beats (which I may add, were solid); and the content was overly generic. Naturally, he was none too pleased. Instead of taking the constructive criticism to improve his craft, he takes the easy way out and trolls her Facebook account and calls me a “Goof-Troop lookin’-ass nigga” – whatever that means. Where do I fall in his petulant rant? Here with a seven word response:  Never piss off your angel investors. Ever.

Why did I leave it at that?

For one, I’m a grown man. I do not waste time with internet thugs or anyone who cannot bring anything tangible to the table. Insulting potential connections and present ones is no way to build credibility, and certainly a way for all funding and professional assistance to dry up faster than oil wells dotted throughout south Arkansas. I (and those of significant wealth/influence/contact base) want a positive return of investment. Biting the hands that feed you is one of the fastest ways to shrivel up what groundswell of support you may have; if your product or service is not up to par, revise your strategy and hone in on areas that need more improvement instead of taking your toys away and crying home to mommy. These days, some of our younger millennia may try to shoot up the place in response to accepting constructive criticism because they are not cognizant of their actions begetting other actions. In addition to that, many people have taken to hiding behind keystrokes and damaging reputations just because of something so small.

Don’t be small minded. Think before pressing Send.

Who are angel investors?

We are the people who believe in ideas, small businesses, causes and dreams, and are willing to see it through fruition. I personally have no problem lending my endorsement or dough ONLY IF the service being rendered is legitimate and with minimal risk, but it is a larger indictment of you the provider. I want to see you do well, but there has to be a plan. The days of handing out blank checks are long gone if they were ever the case. Unfortunately for the individual I described earlier, entertainment is an oversaturated industry and is not a candidate for angel investments. The reality is that hip-hop requires a large number of hands and years of self-promotion not limited to free shows and more grunt work to make an “overnight celebrity” status. In essence, having fun rarely pays the bills.

It is encouraging to see people fulfill their wildest dreams. The sobering reality is that Plan B is a prerequisite.

As a behind-the-scenes angel investor, I’ve learned the hard way the value of the 80/20 Principle:  You spend 80% of your time dealing with 20% of the pertinent matters. In other words, the majority of tasks we engage in are truly not pressing rather time wasters; the 20% is where things happen. Arkansas football head coach Bret Bielema is known for telling his players and recruits to be uncommon; what is stopping you from being uncommon in the face of adversity? How you get through the rough times determines my ROI as I know the neither the almighty dollar nor the “I made it!” B-boy stance is not the end-all solution. By employing this strategy, I have been able to cull away fallacies and direct bad ideas into a more progressive direction. I haven’t always been right, yet it works for me. Few things are worse than committing to ventures that are contrary to your moral code regardless of the money.

HAPPINESS > PROFIT

None of us have gotten to where we are by ourselves. Those angel investors – givers of time, energy, and yes, money – are here for a season. Never piss us off. Ever.

PSA:  If you haven’t learned to read a P&L (profit/loss) statement yet, make it an urgent priority to know where the money comes and goes!

Come As You Are Sundays Aren't What We Think. They're More.

Years ago, I anticipated the Sunday when our pastor would make the Come As You Are announcement because I wouldn’t have to keep up appearances. Typically, he chose a late July/early August date shortly before the school year began, giving the young people (specifically, teens) the convenient reason to rock our back-to-school apparel. Not surprisingly, several boys obsessed over “killin’ these boys” in new Nikes, starched-up Silver Tab or Guess? jeans, and the prerequisite Tommy Hilfiger or Nautica polo shirt scored from the Moonlight Madness sale that Ed Camp’s – and the rest of downtown Conway – held every summer to clear out inventory and restock for the upcoming season. (There was also a Moonlight Madness in late January, but we by then we were usually broke). For us, Come As You Are was a welcome respite from the stuffy shirts and tie, cramped yet easily scuffed black wing tips, and extra-baggy slacks. In other words, it became a semiannual fashion show.

Let me be clear:  There is no specific reference in the Bible to Come As You Are regarding our appearance.

Ask me about the traveling gray Nautica polo shirt with the solitary blue stripe front and back. Among myself (the original owner), my brother, college roommate, his brother, and another friend, I think that shirt saw eight years and probably ten school yearbooks before Terrance (RIL) finally retired it toward the end of my first year of teaching. Below is the flag Nautica shirt I wore with a greater frequency:

Not quite the shirt I was looking for, but you get the era - and point. From left to right:  yours truly, my brother Alan, and cousin Roy. This one comes from 1997 - yeah, it's my Way Back Wednesday picture. 

Come As You Are has evolved from a semiannual event to any Sunday. Thank God fashion (within taste) is no longer an obstacle for my generation!

If you are tired from carrying heavy burdens, come to me and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 7, 2015

Nearly two millennia ago, Jesus and the disciples (later Apostles) ventured throughout the Roman Empire establishing the roots of Christianity. Even back then, the Jews in Jerusalem held their old ways of living as the be-all standard, which we know today as the Torah. (Christians refer to this time as the Old Testament). For example, you had to dress a certain way to gain access to the doors of the Temple. Compare that with some of our mainline houses of worship today and the rite of public shaming if you run counter to the trends of the day. While we were being (unfairly) judged for sporting Nike Cortez instead of black-and-white Reeboks the in-crowd gravitated toward or Sister So-and-so is wearing the same form-fitting dress she left the nightclub in smelling like booty and Hennessey, Gentiles had more on the line:  their very lives. In fact, being a Christian was a capital crime! Would you be willing to die for the faith? Many did, and throughout the world, people still perish for their spiritual stands.

In a way, Come As You Are Sundays have become an obstacle to authentic worship and sharing the real relationship of kingdom building. Instead of looking like church folks, it would help that we actually live up to our end of the bargain and be the church Jesus Christ is coming back for. Have we become so comfortable with today’s mores that the original mission has fallen by the wayside?

If you are thirsty, come & drink water! If you don't have any money, come, eat what you want! Drink wine & milk wo paying a cent Isaiah 55:1

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 7, 2015

In the midst of it all, Come As You Are still serves a purpose:  to present a more relaxed environment for praise and uplift in spiritual worship and truth. In other words, you do not have to look a certain way to reach God and cultivate said relationship. The inward change is the one that matters most, not the Stacy Adams look from head to toe. Keep in mind some of the nastiest people are the best-looking ones in the building, so never let the cottons, polyesters, silks, etc. distract us from fulfilling our mission. The early Christians laid it all on the line; beyond a few stares, what are we really doing with Come As You Are? Instead of judging by looks, try real deal worship in our daily lives.

Judge not, that ye be not judged. Matthew 7:1

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 7, 2015

Don’t just look like the church. Be the church.

Metamorphosis To Thought Leader, Part III

This is the final post from my metamorphosis to becoming a thought leader. 

Now that you have read Parts I and II of becoming a thought leader, you may still wonder “what’s in it for me?” To answer that question, I shall remind you that your brand matters. Let’s say you are offered the chance to work for a prestigious firm and are slated to bank six figures but the organization is morally bankrupt. Do you suck it up and get the money, or pass up the big bucks to make a larger impact for a much smaller salary and the chance to be valued as more than just a Social Security Number and work ID badge? Think about it.

If I am contemplating hitching my proverbial wagon to an idea, it had better be damn good and the buy-in must connect both the authority and the brand. Otherwise, neither is authentic. It’s why Levi’s jeans and Ford pickup trucks have been American mainstays for so long along with the excitement (as kids in the ‘80s) of getting the JC Penney Christmas catalog in early August.

To drive results beyond your wildest dreams, keep the five tenets in mind:

A)    Identify the questions your constituents are asking.  IDENTIFY THEM ALL, then prioritize them.

B)    Answer those questions in a variety of ways that bring value to the audience by starting with the most important and working your way down the list. You don’t have to be a know-it-all to have credibility, just answer the basic questions clearly, concisely, and truthfully.

C)    Give to Get. This is not the time for self-promotion or registration hurdles. You’re a thought leader, not a pen-pushing bureaucrat stick in a dead end role.

D)    Make it interesting. A thought leader’s true ROI comes when people remember not what was said but HOW your points were expressed. While it is mandatory to educate, make yourself memorable by entertaining your audience – telling stories, using examples, providing finger foods, and so forth.

E)     Participation. The greatest way to earn capital is to engage your audience. By doing so, everyone has skin in the idea and you can also finesse your own perspective.

You don’t have to be the smartest guy in the room or the most charismatic to become a thought leader. What you are doing is beginning a relationship where none exists and enhancing existing ones through cultivating inspiration, challenges, and intrigue akin to going on a first date with a new person. 

Metamorphosis To Thought Leader, Part II

This is Part II of three posts. Continue reading and do not forget to read Part III.

In Part I, I discussed the metamorphosis to thought leader and being able to monetize it. We do have to eat and provide for our families, yet the almighty dollar is not the zero-sum of our true worth. What matters more is the legacy lain after we leave. Are our fingerprints all over the organization? Are people blessed with the ability to grow and develop their voices, or are disagreements quickly stamped out a la dictatorship?

Part II returns us to our collective thoughts and three ways of managing them.

A)    Identify what comes out of your mouth. Positive thoughts beget fruitful seeds as easily as negative thoughts stifle our goals. If you find yourself saying “That will never happen” or “This isn’t going to work”, you’ve already destroyed the bridge to accomplishment. Even if you utter these words when alone, the damage is done. Change your thinking to using positive statements that also align with your goals and values.

B)    Replace the root. As a former English teacher, I subconsciously pinpoint root words and phrases that can delay or derail our pursuit of perfection. For the rest of us, the root words are the passive (may, could, should, would, etc.) and the “nots” (cannot, will not, do not, etc.) in compound or contraction format. They are reflections of our limiting thoughts and emotions. When we take ownership of our language, we also fine-tune our thought processes and in effect become better thought leaders because we are more confident in our abilities.

C)    Focus on the solutions, not the problems. We all have problems. How do we deal with them? Do we tackle them head-on, or scurry for the hills because it is too hard? The choice made determines how we take action, build habits, and shape character when the challenges seem too great to overcome or come out of the woodwork faster than internet trolls. Instead of dwelling on those minor annoyances, focus on how to solve the problem. After all, you have the necessary resources and experiences to arrive to a solution, and before you know it, you have already made progress.

Being a thought leader induces our way of thinking to become greater even when we fail. Our thoughts are the roots of words, which produce actions, which beget habits, which spawn character. On that level, understand why the things we think about indeed control us. Grab your own life by the horns and pursue your goals and successes by reigning supreme over negativity!

Metamorphosis To Thought Leader, Part I

This is Part I of three posts, released concurrently.

“Watch your thoughts. They become words. Watch your words. They become deeds. Watch your deeds. They become habits. Watch your habits. They become character. Character is everything.”

I remember hearing this well-worn saying and having to journal it as I sat in my eighth-grade Pre-AP class twenty-two (and ticking) years ago. Someone please tell Linda Hargis that I was paying attention in class that year.

Everything begins with a single thought and that single thought can do one of three things:  advance a cause; raise doubts and lead to regression; or remain dead in the water like mallard ducks during the heart of Arkansas hunting season. Of course, dead thoughts are worthless for they never take on a life of their own beyond the gray matter in our heads.

That Android or iPhone you enjoy using daily? The product of a thought.

Ditto for backup cameras on most 2013 and later vehicles and the rise of Wal-Mart from a small five-and-dime vision Sam Walton had over fifty years ago in Newport (the family moved to Bentonville not long after) to the conglomerate the retail magnate is today.

What exactly is a thought leader? Why am I trying to become one?

Thought Leader (noun) – 1. An individual or firm that prospects, clients, referral sources, intermediaries, and even competitors recognize as one of the foremost authorities in selected areas of specialization, resulting in its being the go-to individual or organization for said expertise. 2. An individual or firm that significantly profits from being recognized as such.

Forbes magazine and I have similar yet differing meanings. To me, a thought leader is someone who harnesses the ideas in his or her head and frees them to control the conversation as an influencer. Not necessarily the smartest guy in the room, but the one whose expertise shines so brightly that others gravitate toward him hoping to obtain a sample of pixie dust.

 In other words, not only do you have to be exceptional, but the dollars must follow. Being very good just won’t suffice here.

Remember...God called us to be great. Being very good is a sin.

— A. Cedric Armstrong (@cedteaches) August 2, 2015

To be considered a thought leader takes more than hitching your wagon to your supervisor and his or her standard operating procedure (SOP) for the reason that those practices may be unethical. You also have to find a way to present your brilliance beyond the vacuums of your minds and fellow associates to a function of acclaim created when others recognize and publicly acknowledge the accolades. Moreover, your successes must make money. No one knows the true value of your untapped ideas if they are not being monetized. Being a thought leader means you are making both money and history.