The Urban Dictionary defines clap back as “returning an insult as such as to retaliate in kind because it may be justified.”
I’ve done it.
You’ve done it.
Even Jesus clapped back on those fools and hypocrites in Matthew 23.
When you read the word fool in the Old Testament, consider how harsh of a slander it was to be labeled as such back then. For example, Proverbs 26:4-5 reads in the Contemporary English Version like this:
Don’t make a fool of yourself by answering a fool.
But if you do answer any fools, show them how foolish they are, so they won’t feel smart.
In other words, don’t feed the trolls. You and I know people [supervisors, in-laws, social media lurkers, etc.] who thrive on getting under your skin because apparently they have so little going on within their own lives that paying attention to yours in anathema to their existence.
But, it’s so easy! Why should I ask for forgiveness for clapping back?
Simple: there are people watching us. As black people in Trumplandia [that space of conservative white America with some liberal pockets and the occasional black person such as Uncle Ruckus from the Boondocks proclaiming #AllLivesMatter or pretending to be colorblind], they expect us to act up so we eventually become permanent memes or WSHH stars – or worse – land a recurring role on the Real Housewives of Atlanta. Even beyond that moment of witticism, what does clapping back teach the babies? That responding to name-calling and bullying is a crime and they should take barbs lying down? Riiggghhhht.
More Biblical examples of the clap back: In 1 Samuel 20:30, King Saul effectively calls his some Jonathan a SOB and a MF [In the context of stereotypical Christian speech, I am not going to spell out the acronyms for you already know what they are]. Over in the New Testament, Paul’s clap back skills are on display in Galatians 5:12 when he writes about his theological opponents who were pushing for his circumcision, writing “I wish the people who are bothering you would castrate themselves.” In other words, he hoped the knife would slip and take out their members.
Again, Paul was saved and delivered into this role. It didn’t mean he was meek and mild overnight; the man was still a certified G and he let everyone know it.
There will be a time when I don’t have any more cheeks to turn and the second I take a swing at you, I’m going to jail for assault or worse, manslaughter. I am forgiven, but I am also a work in progress. Don’t let the chambray shirt, bow tie, and clean suit fool you into thinking otherwise; I’m still a product of Friendship Road despite being away from the ‘hood for the better part of the last twenty years. I’m going to ask for forgiveness after I clap back – just in the meantime, understand that the words coming out of my mouth are timely and deserved.
As I realized toward the end of the last time I had to clap back on a certain thirsty politician, Matthew 10:14 explains what I should have done instead: upon departure, shake off the dust from your feet at them.
Lord, forgive me for not controlling my tongue as I should and letting anger get the best of me. I know that in times of conflict and disagreement, my tongue can be the spark that sets off a forest fire that leaves ashes behind of the hell caused by one slip. Encourage me to speak more praises than curses and as we praise You, we were created to be more like You and less of ourselves. In Jesus’s name I pray,
Amen.
I was home for two nights this week.
Caeli went to bed whenever she felt like it – if you haven’t heard the grievances aired out, let’s call it somewhere between midnight and 2 am. Just like most nights when I’m home with her, we watched some combination of Finding Dory or Trolls on Netflix for the fiddy-leventh time to the extent I can sing songs and quote lines from the latter film at the drop of a hat verbatim. When that isn’t enough, our evening walks through the neighborhood usually end in bath time and Bubble Guppies with a cookie.
That should explain why I haven’t written much this year. I can also chalk that up to a general apathy of clever wordplay and the use of metaphors/similes/my own tweets to relate to a story’s content. Then, there is the political climate in which we live in as well as ministry forcing me to wear multiple hats around the church because stuff has to get done and a number of people lack the faith to know that God’s Work is progressing with or without my physical body in the building. Those folks will never understand I work nights and have to really manage my time to the second for that is the only thing guaranteed. To them: Deal with it, or help me find a corporate role that pays what I need to pay bills, save for retirement, and occasionally have a little fun with plus provides the same autonomy I have become so accustomed to over the past five years.
I am a father. I am also black.
Both of these sometimes seem scary due to the news cycles and media savaging the characters of perfectly good brothers in addition to the pressures that come with being THAT GUY. Even as a man with a solid job, mustard-seed faith, and a little bit of change put back, being THAT GUY periodically is nerve-wracking: She and my wife have to eat healthy meals every day, the lights and water (and internet – for you know, work) must remain paid up, and more importantly, the house and car payments have to be made on time. Plus, having a little girl obviously turned my world upside down to the extent of watching what I say, where my eyes travel, and a host of other things. I wasn’t anywhere near a mack/pimp/player/ladies’ man type in my younger years, so thankfully I don’t have to lie to a little boy about how I was pulling the ladies. As for my daughter, she sees the inherent goodness of most people, and she is freaking adorable! I’d better start heading to the gun range for target practice at the BULLSEYE, not another human being since some gun ranges do give target sheets of brothers who look like me without the glasses. It still doesn’t make this job any easier.
I’ve become a better man because Caeli made me a father.
I see the world a little bit clearer because of my daughter.
I am a better employee for Heritage (more on that later) now that I am a father.
I have also discovered PAW Patrol has absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever – and this is after we’ve bought the bed sheets, outfits, slippers, plush figures, DVDs, and the night light next to her bed.
Although every day is a work in progress, I love better and more deeply each day thanks to Little Miss Sunshine and her mommy.
In this sin-sick world, being the blessed father to her has made me a better Christian and more attentive Baptist deacon to my own family’s desires as well as the congregation’s wants.
You better believe I’m a better pitmaster because of Caeli!
Thanks to my daughter, the pink man bag is just a necessary bag that carries two outfits, wipes, Pullups, a few packets of Thick-It Too, and occasionally, my phone. My ancient tablet rarely leaves the house, and neither of us has broached the other about that upgrade - yet.
In short, Black fatherhood is some empowering stuff and you wouldn’t believe how quickly you pick up on the nonverbal cues from one brother to another!
I’m still afraid of braiding Caeli’s hair due to not knowing how, and am finally learning what to do with newly pierced ears regarding upkeep and protecting the cartilage from infection, I will admit.
Everyone who has ever read the Dad Chronicles or visited us during those 146 days in the NICU will recall that I read to Caeli at every chance possible. It’s not just because I want her to elevate to levels of success neither I nor my wife were able to accomplish (so far), but also to open her imagination to a world that exists far, far away from the suburban burg of Bryant, Arkansas where she can be the hero and create the narrative of her life story. I am just a curator for the first eighteen or so years she’s underneath our roof.
I consider it to be an honor to be your Daddy, big girl.
