Skeletons in my closet

The silent running dialogue that I often have with myself.

Friday, November 04, 2005


My life changes.

Okay, I do stuff to effect these changes. Ya know, having babies, getting married, graduating from school, buying a home, general stuff like that kinda puts you on roads of no return. I have been pulled into adulthood kicking a screaming.

One day I was setten back blowing one with my boys, next thing ya know, I am getting ready to pay for some eleven year olds private school education.

I never thought I would do the private school thing. I went to private school myself for a few years, but I spent my highschool days at a top of the line public school Scotlandvile Magnet High(represent). We were smarter, more integrated, more exposed, and more prepared for college than any private school in my city. So back in my highschool days there was no need necessarily for private school education. Well, times have changed, people change, and public schools, well they appear to go to hell.

Why did I pickup the paper this morning and read about every school in my Parish failing. I mean every public school in my parish received a bad report. All save 3-4 schools that received excellent ratings.

How in the hell does every school fail except 4. Please!!!
Lets analyze this.
Who is in charge? Mr. Buck-buck.
Who goes to the public school? Blacks, and poor whites.
Which schools still have success? The schools in white districts.
Which schools fail the most? The schools in Black districts.

I am so glad that racism and its effects are gone. I am so happy to live in a intergrated society free from racial bias and stereo types. Where is Jessie when you need him (serious facetiousness)
Back to the point of this topic. Because I was not intending to rant. I just lost it little on that point.

I am slowly rolling up on middle age. I can see my stomach, but not my belt, unless I suck it in. I am not graying…but before you congratulate me please note that I am balding. I pay a house note. I pay a car note, which will soon be worth more than the car. I care for a daughter, a son, and a wife, who all look to me without fear of failure. And I worry every day about letting these cats down. I do yard work and honey do’s. I cook dinner and drink a beer and watch a movie.

No swinging from chandeliers, no rotating door with women of all and any ilk. No late night drinking, no blowen trees.

I guess what I am saying is…I would not have it any other way.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

A Night in Compton

I have got to tell you about this.

I saw a movie last night; you know the 1:30am, homemade, black movie. The movies that for some reason always star Tiny Lister, two of the comedians from BET Comic View, and a chic you recognize from the local university (down here we call it the Yard).

The movie was ridiculous. It ran the gambit of black storyline characters;
The drunk guy,
The player,
The good girl,
The over protective Dad “that don’t take no shyte”,
The weed smoking homeboys,
The crack-head,
The hardcore gansta,
The drunk girl,
The lesbian.

The only thing it was missing was the black fag…(oops sorry, homosexual).

My wife thinks I have a problem. She believes that I will watch any crazy movie that comes on if it has black people. Now She has a point. I won’t watch Titanic, but I have seen Black College Spring Break 2. I know that I don’t have a Neilson Box, I don’t affect ratings or anything, but I just think that these movies should be supported. Would I buy it on DVD, probably not! Would I suggest that somebody rent it, hell yeah, specially if you still smoke.

Now the premise of the movie was typical: Black guy trying to get some from his girl before she leaves town. Antagonist include girls father (remember he don’t take no shyte), homeboys who cockblock and just want to drink and smoke, angry pregnant sister serves as a hater, and girl friends who just block.

I wouldn’t even comment on this movie under normal circumstances. The acting was poor, the cinematography was wanting, the directing, well it suffered. But somewhere through this 1hr 45min farce, this movie got really funny. Not only that it started hitting on real issues. I was like damn.

Teen pregnancy, abortions, adoptions, drinking, homosexuality, trust, love, forgiveness. It really tried to bring a point home at the end. Or maybe I was just sleepy.

I would like to start a black movie library. I don’t want the mainstream hits. I want the laughable, low budget, underground surprises. Not the really sorry ones, but the ones that do offer some entertainment. Any suggestions!

Monday, October 31, 2005

My brother.

My brother made his 26th birthday this past weekend.
We celebrated.

Truth is my family isn’t really big on Birthday celebrations. But we tend to do a little extra for my brother.

It is a funny thing having siblings, older or younger you realize that they are the best friends that you will ever have in your life. They really will be there till the end.

So what’s bothering me is this! I feel like I am not being a good a brother as I should or could be. I go through he motions and facts be believed I am busy. I don’t hang out, I don’t go anywhere. My main responsibility was my daughter, wife...nix that now it is the new baby. But nevertheless I don’t have the type of quality time that I should to spend with my brother.

Maybe more of a back ground will properly put this problem in prospective.
In 1989 my sister, my brother, and I were in a serious motor vehicle accident. My sister was not injured physically. I escaped with severe lacerations to my face, 3rd stage concussion, and amnesia.. My brother was injured the worst. He had severe brain trauma.
The brain is an awsome piece of machinery. If to much goes on the brain will shut down. Small stage is called shock. Large severe brain injury shut down is called coma.

My brother was in a coma for 6 months. The miracle practitioners of modern science suggested that my parents give up and release his organs for transplant. Going so far as to suggest that my brother would not survive, and if he did, it would be in a vegetative state.
Talk about bed side manner, hmm, well the big man had a different plan. So my parents resisted the doctors attempts to "help others" and requested that the Doctors help my brother.

Houston was the scene of many grueling days for my family. My mother moved to Houston Tear Center to be near my brother. My Dad left every weekend to be with my mother. My sister left for college, and I was left alone.
Still have big issues with that till this day. But that is another story.

It just so happened that I was the person whom recognized that his reflex response behavior was an actual attempt to communicate. It just so happened that God chose to answer my prays on that day, six months and several hundred miles from the scene of the accident. That was the first day of the rest of my family’s life.
Things happen to everyone. Usually dramas end, and everything returns to normal. Or should I say normal with a loss, or addition. This drama started with the addition of loss. My brother was still here but his life, would never be the same.

His struggle to be normal, his therapy, his hard work, his acceptance of unyielding eyes, and obvious whispers, only he can pen. But I can tell you this, never in my life have I met a tougher SOB. Pardon my crudeness but this would be organ donar, future vegetable, is now a college graduate. He has bested a bleak future.

My brother is unable to walk. He talks with slurred speech, and he has severe permanent scarring to his head. He gets stares. Points. Ignorant inquires. He is so much more than I will ever be. He wakes up every day and meets life’s challenges, he sleeps every night, knowing that they will have to be faced again tomorrow.
My stories point falls to this. I am not a good brother. I obsess over my life. I am selfish with my time. I spend but a marginal guilt laden moment with him. Each day I know that I must do better. But everyday I find it harder to face the future he will have to deal with.
I am not a good brother.
I resolve to change, but often my resolutions fall hollow as if it were already the 1st of February. Simply put, I allow my life to consume me.

I am not a good brother. But I do strive to be better, do more, give more.
I write this for him. Maybe one day he will come across it, and know that I don’t offer excuses. I know were I fall short.
But please know that I am trying... to be a better brother.