Friday, November 25, 2016

About Last Week...

About last week…it was much-needed and appreciated rest.

What else did you expect me to say?

Everyone has seen the pictures I was compelled to share, and if you’re looking for nighttime photos beyond what was found at the Sun King Steakhouse or the super moon from last Monday, you’re out of luck because I didn’t take any. It wasn’t because I had to hide the hedonism – just I was too busy having a freaking blast to stop and take pictures of everyone and everything!

This could easily become a story about a father and his son finally slowing down and getting away for a few days to bond and renew a friendship beyond pop and his firstborn, but there is more – and that began Sunday afternoon once I finally found my way out of the bed post-exhaustion.

I could humor you of the wasted newlyweds who danced all over the deck next to our chairs behind the DJ and ended up in Carnival jail [really, it’s a drunk tank] only to repeat cycle.

I could also tell you of the incredibly attractive woman I met who really stimulated my mind (and heart) for one week and made me appreciate my own marriage more than just being the dude payin’ bills or Daddy Bear to that precocious one-year-old not to mention she helped find my own value/swagger in this thing we call life in the midst of a mundane existence. Although the very thought of spending one more week with her did cross my mind, that pull of coming home was thankfully stronger:  I really missed my wife and daughter.


I could also share the tales of waking up at 2 am to walk across the ship to the 24-hour pizza joint and for a Miller Lite as I engaged an unknown number of fellow travelers in varying conversations and listening to their life stories. Because I’ve evolved into quite the night owl, I also enjoyed the relatively quiet moments during which I could talk with God and be amazed by His creation.

I could mention that with the exception of my dad (great fill-in for Chastity) this was a getaway for some of the leadership team at our church. Just as a reminder, Christian folks aren’t stiff folks, you know.

I could lastly regale the babies about the heavily intoxicated young women in Cozumel who decided to get their feet done at the beach via fish therapy and the ensuing arguments on the bus ride back to the plaza. The free margaritas at the port did not exactly help their cause regardless of how tasty they were.

About last week…let’s say I had a heck of a time.


Fair enough?

Friday, November 11, 2016

Livin’ the Dream

Two years ago, we began the journey of adding one plus two to equal three.

Last year, Baby Bear (my nickname for Caeli – to the rest of y’all, she’s Caeli-bug or Li-Li) began multiple therapies with our now-good friends at Kidsource to catch up and in some cases, get ahead of her testing age.

Today, she’s finding herself into some of everything – digging through boxes on the floor, opening kitchen cabinets that we never baby proofed, climbing on the night stand and ottoman, and otherwise being more adorable every day even when she doesn’t care for bedtime.

It’s pretty safe to say I’m livin’ the dream as Caeli Elise’s daddy.


A few of you may need to come down to the Dub Shack to be witnesses to the family dance-offs every other Saturday afternoon in the kitchen (Hint:  my kid has way more rhythm in her pinky finger than I ever will in my entire stiff body – thank God her mommy has moves) or wait for one of us to share videos of us singing in the cars.

It seemed like a dream when the Lord brought us back to the city of Zion
 Psalms 126:1

When the Lord brought Israel out of bondage in Babylon after a period of around seventy years, the people were exceedingly overjoyed at going back to Jerusalem. Not only were they on their way home, but also King Cyrus financed their return journey by sponsoring and encouraging it! Never had there been a moment like it in history and in all likelihood, it will never repeat itself again. Imagine if the President-elect actually followed through on deporting legally-born and/or naturalized citizens (which I pray he is never that cruel, but the rhetoric is a different story and the nationalists out there are craving blood. Enough of the political thought – this is supposed to be a happy post) and funded their safe travels to their homelands.

Coming home to Bryant whole was a dream come true, let me tell you.
Image result for living the dream
As a NICU dad, those 146 days of having to visit Caeli in her incubator only to leave at the end of each day and once July 20, 2015 rolled around on the calendar, tears streamed down my eyes as my wife and I latched in the car seat for the very first time to complete our family. She has had one hospitalization (croup, double ear infection) since and has been a dream child through it all largely remaining healthy outside of the common cold. Her resolve is legendary at 21 months of age; God gave us a special child to be great in a world that is merely okay with being good. In addition to the climbing and running, Caeli is a good communicator for her age who loves to read and be read to. She’s not just strong:  She is #CAELISTRONG.

Prematurity Awareness Day is November 17 – take a moment to remember all of the little angels who spent their entire short lives in the NICU as well as those who have had complications that eventually brought them back to the PICU.

We rock that purple because of the twins born eleven days apart.

We sport that purple because of Caeli’s first friend Freeman and in his eternal rest, share his legacy in Helena once the playground opens.

We stunt on ‘em in purple because of our little graduates (and bigger ones) have already been amazing in words and feelings beyond our vocabularies.

Thanks to all of the parents we’ve befriended along the journey – Diana and Julio; Misty and Will; Shay’s niece (born two hours after Caeli) and her family in Stuttgart; the Estes family from Vilonia; Nytalya and James; primary nurses Lorrie and Emily; the support groups at both UAMS and Arkansas Children’s Hospital; our church and neighbors in Springhill Manor; and everyone who had a prayer, gift card for food or gas, a kind word, or encouragement via text, message, phone call, read, shared, and commented on the Dad Chronicles or stopping by my office at work to relate their own stories.


Together, we wear purple to observe the day our babies got an early head start on life and the commonalities we share for the rest of our lives by livin’ the dream of parenthood. 

Thursday, November 10, 2016

We Gon’ Be All Right. Just See.



Tuesday night, the United States of America decided that Donald Trump would be a better President than Hillary Clinton so they came out in droves and voted for him. Although he lost the popular vote, his brand of populism was enough to lay the smack down on the Electoral College; who would have thought the Rust Belt would have been the difference?

You know the South would be the first to vote against everything the sitting black POTUS has represented over the last eight years, so don’t come for me with “I thought you were the peace and unity guy. Stick with writing or your ministry.” You’ve sent monkey memes, slandered President Obama from Day One, and you are now asking me to pray for Trump?


Black Christians have always been the conscience of America. Obviously, not enough people listened to their spirit of discernment in the voting booths as I can tell.

I also don’t want white evangelicals to ever come to me again with voting their values when they so strongly chose both their outwardly secular skin folk over their spiritual folk, dismiss #BlackLivesMatter at every corner, and otherwise have no intention of being much more than religious sitting in your cushy pews and getting to the local buffet after a 70 minute service than doing God’s Will away from the church’s four walls. You Pharisees deserve this America.


So praying for Brother Barack to fail is what you wanted? That didn’t happen.  
Thanks, racists – even if you never said it, your actions clearly have implied it.


Martin got angry. Malcolm was furious. The Black Panthers DID something about it – and the FBI got involved because law enforcement cannot stand African-Americans with textbook knowledge of the law when we have had to defend ourselves against the wiles of prejudice, principalities, and a spiritual wickedness in high places all in one. Don’t let the media fool you into thinking the Panthers were only militant brothers with big afros and guns when they were the birthers of WIC. Read the Ten Points to understand the true intentions of the BPP.

We’re gonna be all right. Just wait and see.

Why do I say we’re gonna be all right? Keep reading.

We survived Dubya. My parents outlasted Reagan. My grandparents endured through Coolidge and Harding. My great-grandparents made it through Wilson and his public viewing of Birth of a Nation at the White House. My older ancestors got through the raw deal Hayes gave us post-Reconstruction which led to Jim Crow segregation.

If no one else knows how to survive in a place where we do not belong, it is the black family.
My family 

After I dropped my daughter off at her grandparents’ house yesterday morning, I listened to a few videos and thought about what a few friends have said:  Shay reminded me that I had made myself vulnerable when I took off my armor in anger; Charlie (college buddy from the tribe) was legitimately hurt by my comment about my fellow Arkansans; and so forth. One huge takeaway from this is that despite my pro-black furor [which I do not apologize for, only the foul language] I still have a pretty freaking large platform that people look up to and respect because of how I live my life and lead my little family. I got to thinking:  Real change happens first at home – the ultimate ground level – and expands with likeminded people who are genuinely interested in the come-up. That means separating ourselves who are more interested in the short-term gains and playing Sambo even if they are our closest friends/relatives/associates.

You know who’s not invited to the cookout? Omarosa.

We have to be better at building up our own communities than we have been as in revising our strategies so we are no longer dismissed and/or taken for granted like the 2016 election season has showed us. The Republicans clearly don’t give a rat’s ass about us, and the Democrats think patronizing still works. The old ways of currying favor and leadership are out of fashion, just like your bleached out Guess jeans in the back of your closets.


How do we become better at building our communities?

Simple:  by investing our time, energy, education, and yes, dollars into our people.

In a global economy, we must teach the Millennials and ensuing generations that we no longer have to compete with Jim Bob or Becky Sue alone for opportunities but also Taj, Vicente, and Yi are coming for our spots:  Nothing is guaranteed anymore, not even NBA draft slots. Having the foresight to do more will serve them better than being able to step flawlessly or spit sixteen hot bars. More importantly, those of us who have made a move or two have a responsibility to duplicate our strengths as leaders instead of hoarding all of the wealth between the ears.

The world needs engineers and scientists but it also requires teachers and writers to balance out the equilibrium.

We’re gonna be all right. Just wait and see.

The whitelash is real – and for the first time in a generation or two, we’re witnesses to the pain black America suffers through. Most of my white conservative friends tend to say “let bygones be bygones” or “that was a long time ago” yet they benefit from things that happened A LONG TIME AGO. Case in point:  redlining; tax-free inheritances from multiple generations; schools resegregating themselves to the extent that white flight did and does happen; lending practices; business and political relationships; medical treatment; and hiring. Let’s not forget that as neighborhoods and cities die, the remaining taxpayers already burdened by a heavy load must shoulder the load thanks to underemployment and the powers that be escaping to a lower tax rate yet they leave one thing.

Despair.

When despair begets crime, and with crime comes a broken legal system hell bent on making examples of black and brown offenders while offering white lawbreakers counseling, rehab or a work-release program instead of the same prisons the state normally would have sent away inmates. Instead of Angola, some people get Club Fed for the same crimes. 


Where I am hurt with whitelash is finding out some of my so-called friends betrayed me by choosing a leader who represents nothing about America’s promise rather than her sordid reality. I am not leaving this country that MY ancestors built on their backs and gave their blood, sweat, tears, and their very own lives for free .99 – they’ve got to deal with me. However, I do see those true colors.


We’ve been through this before:  We’re gonna be all right. Just wait and see.

What this recalibration means is that we need to tighten up the areas where we are deficient, and for the rest of us, it is a reminder that we still have a long way to overcome. I don’t have all of the answers, but I do know that by sticking together we can come out of the new reality stronger and a bigger force to be reckoned with. Sure, we’re probably going to lose friends and perhaps a job or two but…standing up for the right thing requires a sacrifice, right?


If Jesus is for us, then who is against us?

We’re gonna be all right. Just wait and see.