Tuesday, November 24, 2015

All That Power

If there ever was a time for black athletes to stand up for justice and a bigger cause than pay dirt, this is it – and it scares the piss out of the traditional power structure.

This is bigger than surrendering a scholarship to a Power Five school or being ripped to shreds on social media for speaking the truth. To help illustrate my arguments, I will sprinkle in some Kanye West lyrics because you love to roast him in spite of how relevant the brother is for our time. It also exposes the twisted hypocrisy the relationship between the black athlete and America fandom, specifically the delusional fan bases. I should know – my home state has one of the nation’s most rabid sports fans, and many of them have no regard for black athletes beyond the field or court, particularly if the baller chooses to attend college away from the flagship university or neatly points out inequality within society.

For many super fans, elite football and basketball players no longer are humanized:  for their supernatural acts on the field or court to help the home team to victory, they are classified as gods and gladiators who are expected to put up thirty points and ten assists nightly as they guide their squads to multiple undefeated seasons and national titles. Their exchange in the deal:  an athletic scholarship that inevitably minimizes the scholar part as an indirect result of countless hours in the gym, weight room, film sessions, on the road for away contests, and in-season appearances to an obsessed fan base. If they are able to graduate in four, five or six years, it would have been a journey few have traveled yet what are the professional prospects thereafter?

If the same recruit takes his talents out of state, does he owe anyone an apology for doing what is best for him?

Arkansas Razorbacks fans are why I no longer support Division I athletics – the top homegrown products are not enslaved to the school on the Hill. Maybe freewill does not apply to black athletes as it does when high-performing students get accepted into Ivy League or prestigious medical or law schools, but that’s none of my business. Besides, what is a scholarship worth if the opportunities are not parlayed into a springboard for success?

I’ve been workin’ this graveshift and I ain’t made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly past the sky
I’ve been workin’ this graveshift and I ain’t made shit
I wish I could buy me a spaceship and fly past the sky
-Kanye West, “Spaceship”

Sidebar:  I graduated thirteen years ago from HSU with virtually no student loan debt thanks to full academic scholarships which averaged $6,000 annually that I was able to keep the full four years. Not everyone was blessed with the intellect or the urgency to study hard and pass exams, but I knew my options were limited otherwise. That fifth and final year of undergrad, I won’t talk about it.

A few weeks ago, the University of Missouri football boycott showed that the athletes are not only also students but also had the moxie to put their scholarships and future livelihoods on the line to pursue full justice. Had it just been a computer science or liberal arts student, then it would have likely blown over – apparently difference-makers come a dime a dozen; but since the football team united to not practice or play in the November 14 contest versus Brigham Young University in Kansas City, the school stood to lose millions of dollars plus the expenses incurred in breaking a contract.

No one man should have all that power
The clock’s tickin’ I just count the hours
Stop trippin’ I’m trippin’ off the power
Til them, fuck that the world’s ours
-Kanye West, “Power”

If nothing scares the head coaches at every major Division I football and basketball school making eight to ten times the salary as the administrators, professors both adjunct and tenured, and chancellors, it is the idea of all that power shifting from them to the players. Those presumably thoughtless athletes are becoming more aware of their power and as a result, they are entering the conversation with interesting insight.

Could the resignations in Columbia have occurred on their own merit? Maybe, but not as quickly once the universal lubricant – money – was taken off the table. For some men, the almighty dollar still is what gets them out of bed day in and day out. As for the fan bases (SEC fans are slow to acknowledge it, but the truth is that black athletes are still paraded around like chattel property), their delusions are built in from Day One of the magic Negro.

I know someone is going to parade a Dr. King quote that all people are created equal, but that also includes intellect and the right to assemble and dissent, both of which are covered by the First Amendment. These are eighteen- to twenty-two-year old young men and women who in addition to maintaining a class load are sacrificing blood, sweat, tears, pulled or torn muscles, and even broken bones to make the universities a profit as coaches dangle playing time in front of them.

When you think about it, these are recent high school graduates (or in Bentonville High forward Malik Monk’s case, student) who possess enough power to make or break a legacy. Whether or not they wield it is up to them, yet it is always there.

You see it’s leaders and there’s followers
But I’d rather be a dick than a swallower
-Kanye West, “New Slaves”

In the same dynamic I rip into Razorbacks super fans via the mélange of power, access, ownership, and racial context. Just because they like and support a black athlete doesn’t mean they own him. Clearly that is not the case although they can waddle their fat asses into Wal-Mart to get a Darren McFadden or Bobby Portis jersey of which neither player would have received royalties from their names, likenesses, or numbers as all of the profits went directly to the University of Arkansas. However, the belief that they can regulate a player’s thoughts and behaviors is racist in itself. If you do not believe me, wait and read the comments on social media after an arrest “they’re all thugs!” or upon scoring a touchdown “chest puffs and pelvic thrusts” as the Tennessee woman wrote in her ill-conceived letter to Carolina Panthers quarterback Cam Newton.

Remember how Cleveland Cavaliers reacted five years ago when LeBron James took his talents to South Beach and joined the Miami Heat? That employed the same mindset – and the most laughable letter in recent history. Comic Sans? Buh-bye.

Growing up, we were taught to be able to clearly articulate complete sentences in public as well as in private. While I am fortunate enough to stay away from the limelight beyond the blog, I also am aware that not everyone has the experiences to communicate effectively beyond “My team played good” or whatever catchphrase Rasheed Wallace used during his NBA days in Portland, Detroit, Atlanta, and any of his other stops. To some fans, anything beyond that simple line before a microphone causes the dog whistles to be blown, effectively saying, “I have given you this power that you possess through my patronage. I own you. Don’t ever forget it!”

For an evolving society, those who still send the hateful tweets or nasty letters concerning the players and coaches are still in the minority albeit a very vocal minority. I still cringe every time I hear the phrase “the prisoners are running the asylum” because it is code for “we need to get them back in their place”.

Brothers and sisters, we have all that power. How we use it determines not only legacies but also the more immediate impacts to social, business, legal, educational, and other policies.




  
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Dapmaster

Because everyone wants to be a part of something epic.

 For the purposes of this post, let’s call dapmaster the dude that makes everyone feel better about being at work or anywhere that involves interactions with a group of people. Every group has one – and if you do not, then you are missing out on a bond and you need to find a dapmaster!

What is dap? Dap is the form of handshake and friendly gestures that is sometimes explained as dignity and pride introduced to and popularly used by African-American soldiers in Vietnam. It is best known as a complicated routine of shakes, slaps, snaps, and other forms of contact that both parties involved must know completely – including the pound hug. Examples include pregame rituals performed before NBA games and on college campuses where a large group of brothers congregate between classes on the Quad during the semester.

 At my current job, I sometimes (by default) fulfill the role of dapmaster as I have in at least one position in the past decade. Yes, it’s a soft skill that takes time to develop as do relationships with your coworkers – and sadly, I won’t add it to my LinkedIn profile since we still live in a day and age where giving dap is still met with scowls and sometimes confusion: In those times, I’ll just go traditional and simply shake your hand. The real reason why I dap is because not everyone washes his or hands when they exit the restroom. Am I a germaphobe? To an extent, yes; yet I don’t keep a bottle of Germ-X in my pockets at all times.

What do you do when the dapmaster comes around?

 Give ‘em dap.



He’s no threat to your organization and career pursuits, but everyone still needs one. The dapmaster is still a vital member of the team albeit a low-rank member. For professional reasons, upper management does not engage in dap. Otherwise, you look perpetually pissed-off like today’s GOP anytime President Obama uses precedence to justify a legal action [see: the Commerce Act for PPACA or the Refugee Act of 1980] or the average delusional Arkansas Razorbacks fan [read Relax from earlier this year or check social media for how Archie Goodwin and Malik Monk were castigated after choosing to play college basketball for the University of Kentucky.]

When it comes to giving dap, everyone does it differently. There are many variants of the gestures including:

• The “lock and fly” used in the West Indies and Caribbean Islands popularized by the Rasta community. It consists of two movements: a full flat-palm grasping of a partner’s hand followed by sliding of the palms in a forward motion finally finishing with a flexion and extension of the fingers.
 • The “exploding dap” is recognizable by the opening of the fist and fist’s departure from its original location with the intent to mimic an explosion. • The simple “fist bump” in which their closed fists gently yet swiftly impact. It is also the most common form of dap.
 • One popular variant involves slapping one’s hand with the other’s hand, each sliding their hand toward themselves and culminating to the impact of their closed fists.

 
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#DearBlackPeople

Preface:  Black people are the most beautiful people in the world - and I don't say this lightly. However, we still have to tend to family business in a manner that while the bruises will hurt temporarily, we control our messaging and destiny alike to remain chosen people. This life is nowhere near easy, so let's not do anything that makes it more difficult. Will people disagree with me? Of course, but I expect that. 

 Similarly to when I wrote #DearWhitePeople earlier this year, I will air out my own grievances in list format to prevent you from sending snide comments that we all know are real within the family.

A) I'm not one of those "respectable Negroes" that has a rusty spoon in his mouth pretending that it is a silver one. Whatever I may have to lose (trust me, it ain't much) will not come at the expense of not living my truth. I came into this world with nothing and I expect to leave with nothing. However, my wife and daughter will be taken care of from the moment I step forward into eternity.
B) None of us like seeing blue lights pop up behind us on the road. We must be vigilant of our surroundings at all times and if we feel unsafe (ie. dark road at night), turn on the flashers and get to a well-lit location for your safety. For the tech savvy among us, setting up your cell phone cameras a la Go Pro would be a good idea anytime when interacting with law enforcement. Keep in mind that they aren't all out to get us, not even the Haskell PD.

C) Doing the right thing is not a sign of being a lame - whatever that means. Whoever said that needs his or her head examined. It seems like we are the only people who put the dope boys ahead of the legit businessmen, prioritize thug life over providing a safe, comfortable existence, and wanting more with selling out. Why black people glorify hood culture is beyond me, but I've never lived in the 'hood - just rapped over beats in the car, that's all. Contrary to what BET or Worldstar Hip Hop tell you, you are worth more than that.

D) Hoop dreams at 30? C'mon son. Unless you're coaching or training future athletes, let that part of life go. The NBA is not looking for thirty-year-old rookies regardless of how compelling a life story you may have had; keep your fandom to watching your favorite teams at home, on apparel, or en route to the arenas.

E) Somewhere, you know a 35-year-old man (or older) from your hometown still trying to rap. Reread that to see how absurd that sounds and all of the wasted years (and studio dollars) invested in a pipe dream. The music industry is already hard enough on its own, and if you haven't broken through yet, then maybe this isn't the dream.

F) Our vanity is going to kill us one day. Why be the grown-ass man standing in line at Foot Locker for the newest Jordans when you make ten dollars an hour and living in your mom's house? Or driving a base model 2005 Tahoe on 24s, more speakers than the auto section in Best Buy, and Cadillac grill with $3 worth of gas? Ladies, you aren't exempt from this:  some women lug around $300 purses and barely have $30 in them, much less their checking and savings accounts. Living for today if we're not careful can lead us to dying for today.
G) What happened to uplifting shows on TV? Why did we let the media hijack our values and make caricatures of them? Yes, I'm talking about Family Matters, the Cosby Show, A Different World, Roc, Living Single, and yes, even the Fresh Prince of Bel Air - all of which have devolved to Real Housewives of Atlanta, Love and Hip Hop, Empire, and its predecessor Good Times. I'm not Hotep, just conscious of where the idiot box has taken us. Let us not forget about our musical tastes from 2Pac (who indeed has a message despite the coarse language) to Lil' Wayne, Yung Thug, and the trap rappers who seem like they spent their formulative years in special education. 

Then again, maybe I'm getting old.

H) On a worldwide level, our dollars can instantly shut down the American economy. Why haven't we taken advantage of that yet? We may make less than our white counterparts (discrimination for decades, if not longer), but the get paid on Friday, broke on Saturday mentality is because we've been conditioned for far too long to not save for a rainy day. I love you, but I cannot help anyone who is unwilling to help himself financially or chooses to ball out with a little bit of change.
I) We have to start being on time! I know it's my biggest pet peeve, but it's true. If your job pays you on Friday, we expect that check to hit our accounts on time, right? Get to work at the time you're supposed to be there. Ditto for church:  the bulletin says Sunday school is at 9 and morning worship at 11, don't lackidaiscially march down the center aisle at noon when the pastor is up preaching.

K) Proper English is not white folks' English:  it's called being understood. Get that foolish notion out of your heads once and for all.

L) It's okay to be yourselves and find your own truth. Not all of us vote Democratic, sag our jeans, or have a mistress, girlfriend, side chick, and some hoes along with a wife or slap dominoes with the best of 'em; at nearly 15 percent (and expanding) of the total American population, we're all entitled to be different. Now if you like chickpeas...

M) We are the only people who seem to discount education. Our kids look like stars on the first and second days of school but their report cards are mostly Ds and Fs because we're too concerned for their appearance or athletic ability instead of academic performance. Why are we raising generations of dumbasses to toil in low-paying gigs? The NBA, NFL, and entertainment industries are over saturated in pie-in-the-sky ambitions, yet I am not discouraging any child from his or her dream:  Just don't forget a Plan B. The other grievance regarding education is our parents fail to see that students do need to be competitive with the rest of the world; smacking them on the bum and solely praying for them is not enough. Make some sacrifices, particularly if he or she is traveling the STEM path.

N) Fuck what other people say about you. Live your truth and don't conform to the stereotypes. You know someone is always going to hate on you - the tweet below illustrates how white America has called us lazy and shiftless since slavery despite the actual truth showing otherwise. 

All in all, #DearBlackPeople is just some good ol' housekeeping matters. I'm not Cosby, Carson, Don Lemon or any of the black Fox News staff; this is not meant to denigrate the home team. I love the HELL out of being black - there is nothing else I would rather be - this is a set of quick thoughts that the most beautiful people around can look at and maybe see ourselves. I do see myself in a number of the lettering, so I know I am not being judgmental in this post.

Like the church folks say, when you know better, you do better.
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Thursday, November 19, 2015

Unfounded Fears Are Not New In America. It's Almost Routine.



Fear is not a new condition:  Americans have been scared of almost everything beyond the familiar for its four hundred-plus years of existence.

If you cannot make it past the first sentence, then you have been a part of the problem for far too long, and nothing I can say can persuade you to think otherwise.

I am not saying that we are a nation of fear mongers (well, one political party and its likeminded ilk have a monopoly on the reactionary tactic of scaring the populace, but it’s not solely about them as the other one is equally complicit) as much as I am explicitly stating the obvious. My heart indeed goes out to those who lost family members in Paris, but let’s not discount those who lose loved ones anywhere else through terrorism internationally or on our own shores. In the words of several people who have tried to downplay Black Lives Matter by #AllLivesMatter, we know all lives matter not just those who look like us. However, this is not the blog, time, or place to engage in that discussion as I will not entertain it since that lends credence to that argument aimed to deflect the larger issue today.

Thou art become cruel to me:  with thy strong hand thou oppose thyself against me. – Job 30:21

Fear of the other has been around as long as we have been if not longer. If you need proof, then take a good look in the Bible and history books if they haven’t already been whitewashed to suit an agenda. For example, let’s take a good look at the Book of Exodus. I’ll start after the Israelites escaped Pharaoh’s clutches and ended up in the wilderness. Once they made it over, they began to complain about the living conditions “we don’t have anything to eat” or “where are we going to stay?” (Exodus 16) Some even wanted to go back to Egypt in bondage! Can you believe that some of us would rather surrender new freedoms in favor of a slavery which we already have experienced? While Moses was away doing God’s business, the assembly had the audacity to mess around and build a golden calf to worship like the other tribes! (Exodus 32) Their fear led to a larger result:  they walked around in a circle for forty years and were barred from the “land of milk and honey” beyond the Jordan River. Eventually, the Israelites were able to cross over, but had it not been for their fear of the unknown and ensuing sins, it could have happened in Moses’s lifetime. We also know that even he didn’t make it as a result of his killing of another man back in Egypt.

And he said unto them, Why are ye so fearful? How is it that ye have no faith? –Mark 4:40

Fear of the unknown is what drives men to do irrational things in perilous times.

Two more examples of fearmongering dominating rational thoughts come from American history:  the Emancipation Proclamation freeing the slaves, and McCarthyism from the 1950s.

BlackFact:  the Arkansas Legislature required free blacks to choose either exile or enslavement in 1859. Once exiled, they were not allowed to return under any circumstance. The Black Codes came the following year, banning free blacks from employment on ships and boats navigating the state. In addition, it was also illegal for black men to possess guns after the Civil War. Was retribution for stolen labor and broken families something lawmaking white men feared even then?

I won’t go too deep into the former as we all know the results of Reconstruction and the rise of Jim Crow, the Klan, and separate but equal legislation passed not only in statehouses but also in Congress, but the latter is a more recent reminder of how fear can grapple a nation. If you wonder where President George W. Bush got his ideology of “you’re with us, or you’re against us”, look no further to the 1950s when Senator Joseph McCarthy (R-WI) was the mastermind of the Second Red Scare.

 “McCarthyism” is the term/practice of making accusations of subversion or treason without proper regard for evidence. It also is used now more generally to describe reckless, unsubstantiated accusations, as well as demagogic attacks on the character or patriotism of political adversaries.



For the unaware, being a Communist back then was akin to today’s socialists or Muslims in one regard:  their ideals threaten (falsely) our way of life. With help from the US government, a number of citizens were labeled as Communists, most notably Nobel-prize winning mathematician Albert Einstein; actress Lucille Ball; civil rights activist and author W.E.B. DuBois; playwright Arthur Miller; singer Lena Horne; writer Langston Hughes; CBS newscaster and analyst Edward Murrow; and screenwriter Dalton Trumbo. If you think the rhetoric has eased up, consider the Twitter accounts of certain politicians and the way they bandy around the code words liberal, conservative, freedom-loving, thug, and so forth. Similarly, can anyone tell me what happened to the Dixie Chicks once their lead singer spoke out against the most recent war in Iraq?

Being popular isn’t always being right, and being right certainly is not being about following the crowd to gain popularity.
Image result for map of states accepting and refusing refugees

Which brings us to today:  a number of governors (twenty-four, at this posting) are barring Syrian refugees from their states. Two notes that are not entirely a shock are all of the governors are Republicans; and while I respect their efforts to protect the citizenry of each state, they conveniently forget that not only the United States of America is a nation of immigrants but also each stands to violate the Refugee Act of 1980 signed by President Carter providing plenary power to resettle refugees anywhere in the country. While states can make it difficult by not participating and cutting their own funding in the area, the screening process for would-be refugees is significant taking an average of eighteen to twenty four months up to a decade. Furthermore, the rhetoric only elevates the hysteria which we all live in. To limit their travel is reminiscent of those sundown towns that minimized if not outright banned African-Americans from moving around from one location to the next as they have the freedom of movement. I am not saying that we should live as cowards, yet falling for the okie-doke ISIS and other extremist groups presents means we are already losing the battle to live freely.

I personally do not condone the violence and the hypocrisy of the media (the latter is for a different day), but if a man is so desperate in his own life that strapping a bomb around his body in the name of religion to end his and as many lives as possible in the name of jihad, there is something gravelly wrong that cannot be fixed overnight. Consider the living situations beyond those of our first world standards for a moment:  how would you react to people who have nary a care about their lives and to what point can they receive necessary help before blowing themselves and countless others to smithereens? I don’t have the answers; I honestly do not know. As Americans, we are more than fortunate to not have endured guerilla terrorism beyond 9/11 and our resiliency shall NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.

American, Flag, 3D, National, July, 4Th
It’s okay to be wary of the world’s events – I worry daily about what my daughter will inherit after I am dead and gone. What is not acceptable is living afraid of everything and instantly becoming xenophobic because someone has a different surname or practices a religion we do not agree with; keep in mind Christianity was used as a defense for a litany of sins [see: the Crusades, slavery, Jim Crow, the internment camps Asian-Americans suffered through during World War II, etc.]. Using one to trump the other simply falls into the hands of our moral if not always physical enemies. In Ephesians 6:10-17, we all put on the WHOLE armor of God in our daily battles not only against flesh and blood we encounter but also in the fight evil principalities in high places.

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. – Ephesians 6:12


Fear is not a new condition – the world has operated on the things we are most afraid of for centuries. Sadly, someone will find a way to capitalize on our angst as a means of intimidation to disrupt us from our typical lifestyles. If we are paralyzed by what could happen, then we stop living – and that is the largest tragedy. 
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Tuesday, November 10, 2015

Why I Wear Purple

Hint:  I wear purple not just because it looks good on me, but for a cause near and extremely dear to me – Prematurity Awareness Month. #CaeliStrong
Image result for prematurity awareness month
Prematurity Awareness Month is held each November to raise awareness of preterm birth and the concerns of preterm babies and their families worldwide. Approximately 15 million babies are born preterm each year, accounting for one in every ten babies born worldwide. While premature births cannot always be prevented, this day is observed with media campaigns, local events, and other activities conducted on local, regional, national or international levels to raise awareness to the public.

Understand that preemies are as much of a gift as full-term babies; they have a little bit of a head start on life outside the womb. Prematurity is also not a disease – it can happen to any one of us, as no pregnancy is fully guaranteed to go the distance. Class, race, social status, hometowns, employee titles or ages – none of that matters when we are fighting daily for our babies.

I wear purple on this day because Caeli has had a magnificent nine-month journey so far and God has ordained her to be great in a world that is sick from being merely good. After 146 days in the NICU, you’d wholeheartedly agree with me.


I'm growing!

I wear purple because of the babies who did not make it due to brain bleeds, hyperthermia, or their little beating hearts were so overworked they stopped and their families who do not get to bring their bundles of joy home. My empathetic heart goes out to them, as God could have brought any of our babies back Home with Him.

I wear purple for the twins born eleven days apart, the other moms and dads in antepartum and their angels, and for all of the expensive doctors’ visits our little ones must endure for the next few years.

I wear purple – and a smile – because I know everything is going to be all right.  Even in those days and nights I’ve cried myself to sleep or in my car, I held on to a mustard seed of faith because my Father in Heaven can (and does) the impossible. To see where my daughter has come from is proof enough that God is a healer!
Look at me now! Praise God!

I wear purple for the incredible people who were born premature and have done great things like Stevie Wonder (born at 34 weeks gestation, blind because of ROP), Mark Twain (born at seven months weighing five pounds), Sir Isaac Newton (born Christmas Day 1642 at three pounds), and Sir Winston Churchill, born six weeks premature in 1874.

Take a look at my profile pictures on social media and you’ll see the #prematurityawarenessday ribbons along with a playful little girl who makes her daddy’s heart melt with that grin and the reason why I wear purple today.

Words cannot express how grateful I am for your fervent uplifting prayers for my family’s health and well-being as 2015 has been the greatest – and most trying – year yet. 
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It's In The Truck

“It’s in the truck.”
I’ve owned two small SUVs in the past eleven years, and while neither trucklet had a live rear axle, abysmal gas mileage or an open bed, both have been referred to as trucks primarily because of stance and utility. To some, both of mine were members of the “cute ute” craze from the early 2000s:  small, easy to live with, and not as brute as the larger vehicles in the category. They looked like world beaters that could go anywhere although reality limited them to the parking lots and muddy driveways of the world. Muddin’ was fun, but I’m pretty sure Hyundai did not intend for that when the Santa Fe debuted in 2001, and despite the picture of one Escape rock climbing in the brochure, Ford did not recommend that type of fun in the woods for most owners.
I guess the looks trumped the utility although I’ve gotten a boatload of use from my pair of crossovers.

I’ve also kept a ton of knick-knacks hidden in secret cubbyholes and flat-folding areas without compromising space for my backseat passengers along the way with some longer exceptions, such as two-by-fours and end table sets. Maybe I should let practicality trump my ego and stick with these vehicles instead of having pickup dreams, but I don’t want to lose my man card over a Subaru Outback wagon.

Among said knick-knacks:  a pair of first-aid kits, jumper cables, toothbrush and toothpaste, a blanket, and an engagement ring.

Today’s story is about the engagement ring and a little bit of trickery.
Diamond, Engagement, Love, Marriage
Several years ago, I was burning the candle from morning to night and sleeping on Saturday afternoons with only an alarm at 9 pm reminding me to wake up to sling dog food for eight hours at my night job. I had been saving for my then-girlfriend’s engagement ring for months and otherwise working myself into oblivion when I had discovered I had paid it off early and needed to store it somewhere safe.

Where can I hide this big-ass rock?

At the nearest Bank of America branch if I paid for a locker? Nope, I didn’t want to pay for a locker.

What about leaving it with the jeweler? That wouldn’t work; she didn’t have room to sit on a purchase that was already paid in full in her inventory.

At Mom and Dad's house? There is that forty-five minute commute, so that negated itself with $3.50/gallon gas prices. 

Well, there’s one other place…

The truck.

How long could I hide it in there?

What if she decides she needs to drive it one day? Chastity has her own vehicle, so why would she drive mine for any reason beyond the fact it had a full tank of gas?
I thought long and hard until I remembered I had a false floor in the cargo area that aside from my jumper cables lay mostly dormant. The glove compartment would have been too obvious and so would have the console between the front seats; besides, I had CDs, No-Doz, and Advil in droves underneath a slew of receipts. The first-aid still had a toothbrush, but I desperately needed to replenish it with newer Band-Aids. That box would’ve certainly been seen from a country mile had she decided to open the tailgate and look at the blue bulge sticking out on the right.

I immediately put in the center shelf of the false floor. Hey, if I left my frat blanket and the cargo net spread out, maybe she wouldn’t think anything of it.

Days went by and as they extended themselves into months, I was trying to maintain the story AND keep her out of the truck:  only one of the two did work out for me. 

Guess.

I did have one scare when she said that she would tear apart the truck and fortunately, that was just a threat. Nevertheless, I needed to think quickly.

“Uh…you can’t look in there.”
“Why?”
“You may find something that you don’t need to see.”
“Like?”
“Uh…man, I dunno. Christmas presents, 22s, beer, a new computer, I don’t know. What’s the big deal?”
“You have something in there. That’s why you’re still holding the keys!”
“You’re not going to find out because the answer is no. Like hell you are going through my truck! You must be some kind of crazy!”
“I got your crazy right here.”
“OK. Do it. See what happens.”

I had supreme confidence in my abilities to hide stuff yet I was spooked when Chastity called my bluff. I just hope she completely misses the ring.

I was right!

Christmas morning, I did go to the truck to retrieve the ring. It was still there and once she accepted my proposal of marriage, I told her where I had it hidden for the past few months. Shocked, she kept on grinning and taking pictures of her left hand in what seemed to be infinite angles.

Eight months later, we married and you know how the story ends. I still keep certain objects in the truck albeit not as pricey these days, but anytime I need to hide something, I still live by four simple words:

“It’s in the truck.”



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