Daddy Dearest…

This has been on my frontal lobe for the past couple of days, so I better jot this down before I forget it. So Father’s Day is coming up this Sunday, and it seems like almost everyone I know is doing something special for their pops on that day. This has been a holiday that I have never been really jazzed to celebrate: a.) because I kinda think that buying power tools, Old Spice, and a booger-green tie is not the best reflections of showing how much you care for someone that helped give you life; b.) some of the Daddy Day cards seem kinda bootsy (i.e corny, played out, lame); c.) I have and probably never will have anyone to celebrate on this day. I have and never will have a father. Please don’t take this post as my giving a jaded view of my life as a fatherless child, because my intentions are not to make this a bitch and moan session… I’m just being real as usual. I remember when Phil Donahue, Geraldo Rivera (before the whole Capone’s vault mystery finds), and Sally Jesse Rafael (before the “send the punks to boot camp” shows), used to have these episodes in which they would help someone reconnect with loved ones. They would always have some father or mother seeking a long lost child, but unbeknownst to them, the producers located their kid and they were secretly waiting in the audience. At the opportune time, the kid, posing as an audience member would ask the mom or dad in a tear-jerking, frog in the throat voice, “If you had the chance, what would you say to them?”, followed by a “Mom/Dad, I’m your son/daughter!” They embrace, as their muffled microphones capture their shrieks and sobs of joy, finality, happiness, and resolution. I wanted that to happen for a long time. I stopped hoping for that when I was 13. It’s funny how through your life time, a lack of caring can develop. Over time, my thoughts have ranged from wonder, mystery, excitement, hopefulness, anger, apathy, and more recently, to not really giving a shit. I’m 27 years old, I don’t know if it’s possible to make up for all the missed birthdays, the tough days at school, cleaned up knee scrapes, dried eyes, etc.
I am truly thankful that there were folks around to pick up the slack. My mom, grandma, aunts, uncles, third cousins twice removed, and whatnot. But if anything, my bro picked up a lot of the slack. The funny thing is that he is only 5 years older than me, but he managed and had to grow up pretty damn quick. Aside from trying to transform me into the lil bro he never had by making me permanent quarter back in the street football games on the block, or teaching me how to read baseball stats without a glimmer of confusion; my bro had to assume the role of what I figured a father to be – the disciplinarian, the comforter, and the protector. Sometimes I don’t think I thank him enough for getting us through all the rough times. He deserves a lot more credit than we can ever give him.
Sometimes, I wonder how it will be to have a father in my children’s lives. How I will react to seeing the interactions that they have with one another. Albeit it’s from a totally different perspective, but then again, will it be?
Anyway, I hope those that are doing sometime special for their papas are able to have a fun and safe day. But more importantly, I hope that you remember to let them know how much you care about them throughout the year, instead of waiting to the third Sunday in June.

Rich. Bitch.

If you ever wonder what our future will be like, take a gander at MTV and VH1 programming. I think I lost a few brain cells by watching that shit. Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty entertaining, but after a while you begin to absorb all the harsh reality of it all… that eventually bubble head and talentless individuals will rule our planet… oh wait, that shit already occurs, so never mind. One of my fav/worst TV shows to watch is “Sweet 16”. This is where some mogul’s kid gets some lavish sweet 16 party thrown in their honor. There was one chick that literally boohooed at the dinner table like 2 year old because she didn’t get the car that her folks promised her… I mean she was pouring on the fake waterworks big time. Dayum. Oh, and when her moms cancelled her credit cards, she promptly called her mom a bitch. Such a darling eh? Then there was one girl who straight up told her invitees that if they didn’t bring her a gift, they weren’t getting in. Such a cherub of joy. The parts that made me laugh out loud were when their folks would say that they gave them all that phat shit because they “deserved it.” Huh? For doing what??? Being a bitch 24/7? Spending all of their folk’s money and patience? Wow.
I wonder if my kids will turn out that way come day. When I make my way into the lap of luxury from all of my hard work and dedication in the non-profit/grassroots public health arena (ok, if you don’t get that joke, I think you’ve lost more brain cells than I have), will by kids become bratty little bitch machines that pout and gripe because they can’t get their way? I often joke with my mom and say, “ I should start acting that way.” Or “What if I did that when I was younger?” Only to get my mom’s patented “What the hell did you just say??” look, and her saying “Yeah, try it.” Or “I’d have liked to have seen that happen too.”
When I was a kid, we didn’t haven’t nearly as easy. My grandma and great aunt had a quarter acre of land that had a well underneath, and every weekend, bro and I had to go work there. When I say work, I’m not talking about that foo-foo stuff, I mean WORK. Pulling weeds, trimming hedges, planting and picking fruits and vegetables, tilling, hacking, etc. Backbreaking stuff man… from when I was about 5 years old, all the way up until now I still have to do that stuff… not at the quarter acre place, but around our house and whatnot. Free landscaping at my expense. Or how when me and siblings did or said something stupid, how we had to work as punishment… wash walls, do laundry, mow the lawn, do dishes, etc. And if my grandma didn’t like the quality of what you were doing, it was nothing for her to make you do it all over again… “Oh no… you gotta lick that dog over.” You gotta love Southern lingo. Or her fav line “I tired child is no trouble.” Indeed.
So I have come to this conclusion: my children are gonna have it rough. Their gonna have to wear the hand-me-downs that their dad and I wore when we were kids. Let’s see how much fun they have rockin’ Boys II Men and TLC era digs to school. And ever day, chores galore… and if they don’t finish or do them to my liking, I’ll wake them up at 2am so that they can finish it. Oh, and they better kick ass in school too. And what will they deserve for sweet 16? A two-toned 1989 bucket Honda Prelude, with mixed matched wheels, and a trip to Mickey D’s. I guess they can have an apple pie, but don’t expect extra cheese… that’s pushing it.My kids will be begging to go to their God-parents, aunts and uncles, grandparents, next door neighbors houses. It’ll be a blast! Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit. Or maybe I’m bitter because I didn’t get my Range Rover when I turned 16… Boohoo.
Speaking of my bro, today is his b-day... happy b-day old fart!