The parenting sea saw

I love my daughter to the death - she is my princess for sure. She's quite the independent little heiffer too. She just goes on and does her own thing. This part may not surprise you: JACK is a pretty strict daddy. I mean, I refuse to repeat myself. I say what you need to do and if you don't do it - the warning is in the form of me in your face asking, "Did you not hear what I said?" That's when the fear-of-God face happens. We're getting there.

My daughter has always been bright - just brilliant. Her thought processes amaze me. But lately, I've had to adjust to her growing up - learning new things at school. And I am impressed that I've held it together as well as I have. Consider:

• I pick her up from daycare, having not seen the kids for 9 days. It's great when I see them after being out of town that long. Anyway, when we get outside, she says, "Daddy, Gregory gets on my nerves." I say, "well, boys can be like that." She responds, "but he gets on my friggin' nerves!"

Now, the old JACK would've lunged at her and popped her in the mouth. Seriously, that's a little too close to the real thing. No can do. But the new JACK looks at her sternly and asks, "excuse me?!?"

• My daughter tells me, "oh, I can say that now."

The new JACK says, "oh no you can't." And then she comes WIT it. "Daddy, I'm six years old now. I'm in first grade. I can say anything I want."

I am so proud of myself; she was not hospitalized. but *sigh* I have a lot of work to do with this little one.

.. and don't get me started on her TV addiction and her not understanding that now that it's the school year, the TV off limits. and especially don't get me started on the time she was on punishment and there was no TV for her at her moms house, but she went and turned the TV on anyway and balled her eyes out when she got caught because, as she told her mom, "I didn't think you would know!" Don't get me started on those things.

For now - let me just tell you what was going on ON THE INSIDE, where the old JACK was: hell the mother-fuck no, you can't say shit around this here mother fucker! The only bitch around here can say anything they want is ME, carajo! Now go do your god damn homework before I beat the shit out you.

****

Parenting has its ups and downs. That up there happened yesterday. This morning, she bestills my heart with the most interesting question I've gotten this week (and let me tell you, these mother fuckers at work are ALWAYS calling to ask me questions! - ugh!)

The mind of a child amazes me. How children process information is ingenuity at its finest and I sometimes wonder what the hell happens to us that we begin to process information like cave rats when we're adults. Like, trickle down theory ... or hearing a President say, "that's the man who tried to kill my daddy!" and then raising your fists to agree to fight a war against a country that had nothing to do with why you're mad. SMH

Anyway, I digress. My daughter knows she's bi-racial. As a matter of fact, according to her, I have White skin and she has Brown skin. Culture isn't quite an issue to her yet, but this morning she wants to know which half of her is Puerto Rican and which half of her is Bajan. She's in the back seat waving her hands across her lap, mimicing a splitting of her body in two. "Is THIS from Puerto Rico," she asks pointing to her lap. "Or is it THIS way?" she asks, waving her fingers towards her body, seemingly cutting it in half the long way.

I promise you I wanted to pull over the car, jump back there and squoosh her, and squeeze her, and kiss her and love on her and give her all the sugars she could stand while tickling her, both of us laughing up to the fabric ceiling. Just the cutest thing.

So, I explain to her that she is both Puerto Rican and Bajan mixed together. Like, you have white and you have red. And then you mix them together and then everything is pink.

"Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes, daddy," she responds.

Wow - that really is my little princess. Even if she's trying to grow up. *mumbles about her growing up*

Folks, I was BORN to be a parent. I absolutely love being a daddy. A DADDY, you hear me? Not a father, not a sperm donor, not the giver of a child support check every pay day - but a DADDY. I love the ups, like when my girl wants to figure out which part of her body is from Barbados ... and I even love the downs, like when she wants to tell me that at 6 years old she can say anything she wants.

But all the downs are overshadowed by the inquisitive minds they possess. Tomorrow, it's all about my son. It's his birthday. *sigh* Fortunately, when I asked him to please stay 5 for the rest of his life he said. "well, I'll TRY ..."

So we'll see.

The Evolution of Indifference (3)

Chapter 1


Chapter 2


Chapter 3: The Beginning

I was four. I was four young years old. It seems surreal to me that I was conscious of my own sexual identity at four years old, but Iwas. It probably would not have been such a big issue to me then if Iknew that all the sexual issues that intrigued me were *supposed* to intrigue me. But while I was developing an attraction to anyone and everyone who my four year old eyes found attractive, I was aware that I could only give and accept affection from girls.

One day I was at my aunt's house and she was baby-sitting some girl. So, naturally we ran around the apartment making noise like the freaks kids are. At one point, this girl started strutin' like she was doing her THANG on some runway. So, naturally, I did the same.

Tears.

It came so naturally to me to walk that runway walk but my aunt, who saw me, fucked me the fuck up for it. Through tears of complete and utter confusion I explained to her that the girl had just done the same fucking thing. Her response made me cry even harder: apparently, she could do it cuz she was a girl, but i wasn't allowed to sink my hip into my walk because *I* was a BOY.

I didn't get it. Sure, my cousins would all point little girls out to me and such, but I was only half interested, interested enough to look, but never intrigued enough to approach -- so I never did.

They pinned me as shy, my entire family did. And I learned to be the epitome of everything they thought I *should* be. Well, fuck, I got smacked around less often, and they all found the timid little blonde Puerto Rican kid endearing.

But deep down inside, I was conscious of what I was stifling -- an extrovert, a care-free spirit, and all sorts of good things to say. I so LONGED to be all those things, I knew I *was* all those things (even at four) but I gave in to some sort of family expectation of me. It was just easier.

I got away with staring at grown men simply because I was pinned as the shy one. So, staring without saying a word became a sort of trademark of mine. When I stared at women, the adults would rant and rave about the new crush I had. My silence even when questioned proved to convince them I was shy.

I wasn't shy. I was a confused little boy who when he saw an attractive heterosexual couple walk along the street couldn't decide whether to admire the man or ogle the woman. No idea. Confused, not shy.

When I stared at a woman I had a crush on, I would feel all sorts of smiley when my family caught me staring and brought my crush to light. I felt like they understood me, and since I to this very day don't really know what that feels like I would flush red. When the issue wasn't a crush and they thought it was, it pissed me off and I'd catch major attitudes with people. Yeah, sure, family, I'm shy.

When I stared at a man I had a crush on, I would get all sorts of upset that I would get reprimanded for just staring when I should have something to say instead. The issue was always about timidity, not about the crush. God, I hated that. Can't someone just bring it to light and make me flush red? Can't someone understand? Why does everyone think that what I feel is so wrong? Why does my family refuse to understand? Why is it that ...

I figured it out one day. I was in grade school by this point, and had a serious crush on a boy in my class. A stupid crush. I was always careful not to let anyone know that I stared at him, so I usually did the deed during recess. No one ever knew. And what I learned was that the answer to all those questions was all the same --people don't love you if you have crush on boys.

And I so needed love.

It was destroying me, stunting my growth as a gay man because the identity that was at the very core of me made me need to feel loved so much more often than the average kid because I was entrenched in the machismo culture. It was destroying me, stunting my maturing process because the identity that was at the very core of me wanted to be let loose, and ached for the entire world to know.

But if they knew -- they wouldn't love me.

So, I needed people to know so I could be me and feel at ease with who I was -- because who I was brought me so much joy.

But I needed not to tell because I wanted family and friends to love me.

By the time I was in fourth grade, I had already decided that I could not feel that joy that would come with coming to terms with what made me different from everyone I knew. I opted, instead, to have people like me. That was my reality - be liked or be happy.

By the time I was in fifth grade, the chamber that was where my adam's apple now is was jammed suitcase-tight with unrealeased tension. I had by the age of ten decided that I could not come to terms with who I really was. I opted to feel a love from people for who I wasn't, rather than to feel the joy that comes with telling all.

I told nothing.

I was always miserable.

And I never REALLY smiled when I smiled.

But I always really cried when I cried.

Have you seen this blog?

How about I'm tired if the religious right making a big fucking deal of this shit.

If you're so on the right that you're looking at this man and his family like they're from the depths of hell, then get right with God. Take your stupid, tired, greezy asses to church, hide in fear and shut the FUCK up. Pray a lot, blog less.

I've heard a retarded comparison of the 666 mark of the beast and the number of letters in Barak's full name. Aye dios, really? 6+6+6 = 18. Barak Hussein Obama has 18 letters.

Christians = Silly Fucks : same number of letters. We can play this fucking game all day, carajo.

Lee Harvey Oswald = John Wilkes Booth: same number of letters. Apparently, assassins all have 15 letters in their names. (You see how this works?)

In the end, look - if your Christianity is telling you to be this judgmental and outspoken, if you are willing to risk being wrong and offending the man in front of God and everyone ... you are likely not right with God yourself.

That's really all I'm saying. You can't be right with God and preach this nonsense.

Obama's speech at the DNC proved several things to me:

• It's true that being a minority automatically means that you have to work two, three and four times as hard to get the same things as a White. And, would you look at what we can do when we actually step up to that challenge!
• Michelle absolutely adores that man. As soon as he came up on stage her eyes lit up and I saw love in its purest form. You hear me? That woman LOVE that man.
• Obama ain't no punk. He ain't just ready to have debates - he sayin to the Republicans, BRING IT, BITCHEZ
• Bipartisan seems to be the metaphor for race. That is, when he said it's not about Red and Blue, I could plainly hear him saying it's not about Black and White.

I could go on and on - but those are my highlights.

Crosswind Landings

I can't tell you how many miles I've flown. I've used frequent flyer tickets about half a dozen times and have over 100,000K in various accounts. Work keeps me busy - and I've seen so many beautiful parts of the country. Of course, work being what it is - I usually only see the airports and the hotels, but I try to get out as much as I can. This is especially true when I go to Las Vegas - where I saw Toni Braxton's Revealed concert (I totally love her), and wasted hundreds and hundred of dollars in slot machines, and rode the Big Shot on top of the Stratosphere (never again!). Maui was just plain beautiful too, although I only had one day to really enjoy it personally. The sunset was just so beautiful.

Not so beautiful are the damn flights. And one of the things that still unnerves me is landing - because the nose is never completely in front of the tail on any landing. It's the sky's answer to yaw, and I fucking hate it. I have to regulate my breathing and sit upright in my seat and not look out the window. My sense of direction is keen, and I can tell you that I have never been on a flight that landed in a position completely parallel to the runway.

So, I've done some research on youtube (crack for internet junkies) on crosswind landings, because of that one time I landed in Indianapolis and almost got whiplash as the plane drifted sideways before it touched down. Needless to say, hitting the runway to careen at 80 mph while drifting in a direction perpendicular tot he runway is jarring. But prais God, I've not dealth with the likes of this ... yet.



Or this



(thought I rarely fly in airliners that big)

or even this!



I would totally find another way home.

Latinos and their superstitions

If there's one thing I have to SMH at concerning my own people is our tendency to lean toward the ridiculous. I mean, there's an underlying spiritual energy behind EVERYTHING and if you ask any first generation American Latino, several things are always true:

1) There may not be a tooth fairy, but there's a ghost that watches everything you do and if you disobey your mother, the ghost is gonna get you. Sometimes, he's known as "El Cuco"

2) The face of the virgin Mary appears supernaturally on anything from a rose petal to the face of mount rushmore

3) God always hates the neighbors for doing bad things and will "get" them - but no one discusses that we do the same bad things because we're safe. Unless you disboey your parents (see number 1)

4) Bi-polar disorder is a sexually transmitted disease akin to the clap or crabs, except with the latter two there isn't the benefit of having been fucked silly

5) If you balance a stack of pennies on your forehead, it will cure your hiccups

6) If titi dreams about it, someone in this family is about to get pregnant. And she can really foretell it. If she says she had THAT dream and no one confesses ... all the women pee on a stick the next morning.

7) If you cross your eyes, they will really, for real stay that way

8) Gay, like bi-polar disorder, is catchy. Except it's communicable like the common cold. And gay is a sure-fire way of catching bi-polar disorder

Feel free to add to the list ... because, it's truly endless.

OBAMA for President!

I promise you I would make a better candidate for President than McCain. But, Barak got me beat by a long shot. Why? Hmmmmm ...

Top ten reasons JACK can’t be President

10. Except for the completely deranged, I’d clear out all the jails and start over
09. I’d declare January White History month and mandate that no one leave the house unless it snows
08. If something is just plain stupid, JACK cannot refrain from raising an eyebrow and staring at you like that until you fix it
07. I’d charge Bush as a War Criminal
06. I’d repaint the white house some pretty shades of pastel
05. Jaded would be named head of the FBI
04. The new National Anthem would be “Lift Every Voice and Sing”
03. Alaska’s state motto would change to ‘IN YOUR FACE, RUSSIA!’
02. It would become legal for any citizen to beat the fuck out of any child molester. In fact, I think I would put them on display on the National Mall, naked and invite tourists to do with them as they please (did you hear about the couple that tried to sell sex with their 5 year old for free rent? I'd want just FIVE minutes in the oval office with them bitches)

And the number one reason JACK can’t be President?

01. You can’t really be both President and the first lady, can you?

We interrupt our regularly scheduled program ...

I don't usually post more than once a day. In fact, when the creativity fancies me, I set up a blog and post-date it just so that I don't post every hour (because LAWD knows I'd have a lot to say).

BUT I AM MAKING AN EXCEPTION

Ladies and gentlemen: from 00:1:30 to 00:01:52, you will begin to see evidence that YES INDEED, crack is whack.






and for those of you who get the reference would agree - K-Ci ain't got no more mo jo jo jo