AFRICAN AMERICAN DAD

At one point having a car made sense. I live in the boondocks as compared to some of my friends, and I have a child. With gas prices through the roof and summer road tripping a far of dream I’m not sure I should own a car. This is New York after all, the home of the world’s greatest subway system (in my humble opinion), so why drive when you don’t have to? What’s more, Dev is older now and the days of diaper bags and emergency snacks are in the rear view mirror, which makes mass transit a breeze. Last week my wife paid $75 bucks for gas to get her to and from work. I paid $81 for a monthly Metrocard.

The reality is that we love our car and are not giving it up. And mass transit kind of sucks. On a good day I only get coughed on once. Plus the NYC transit system is too intimate. Everyone’s ass seems to be touching whether in the seats or standing up, and when they aren’t touching you’re forced to do all you can to protect it and in doing so you may end up sacrificing your feet or your arms to unintentional molestation. On the other hand my wife drives to work in a climate controlled vehicle with Bleeding Love blasting through the factory speakers, and of course cell phone access. The only issue she has is parking and after 10 am that isn’t much of an issue. Kind of worth it for the $75 in gas, at least to her.

There was talk of a summer gas holiday, mostly trumpeted by the premeditated Democratic Party killer, Hillary Clinton. Obama’s wisdom was evident when he didn’t support it. (John Edwards’ wisdom is evident because as I write this he is making a passionate endorsement of Barack Obama and the Democratic Party that must be united this fall.) I do hope we see a $3 gallon again, though I’m really longing for a the days of $2 gas, but not in place of a permanent solution.

With Dev’s school for the fall decided, and it being a little out of the way, we will be paying more for gas than we’d like. Luckily the congestion pricing plan that the NYC mayor proposed not too long ago was DOA when the state senate declined to vote on it. It could have potentially cost my family an extra $16 a day, and my we don’t have it like that.

When it’s all said and done our gas crisis and credit issues are not so bad. Earthquakes and cyclones have killed thousands of people on the other side of the world. Darfur has fallen out of most print media (TV won’t touch it), but it’s still pretty much as bad as ever. Human beings, people like you and me, are still eating dirt cookies in Haiti just so they can fill their empty bellies. The food crisis around the world grows as corn is flipped into fuel instead of food. In every instance I mentioned families are being devastated and children are dying. I would pay twice as much for gas if it meant that we would have the money to alleviate some of the suffering of the world. Problem is that the money is going where it’s always gone and those who have always suffered are still in pain.

My perspective changes every day, and my blessings become more apparent. Do yours?

Dev’s birthday was a great success - turning five is a big deal especially when you wake up relieved to find that you have “the same voice, same body, same feet, and no beard.” While we were partying at his school he whispered excitedly to me “this is the best birthday ever!” That kind of declaration makes it all worth it. The only annoying thing is that he’s been playing with his Power Ranger cake decorations over the last few days even though we bought him tons of actual toys for the big day. Kids have a way of doing things like that. At least he wasn’t playing with the box the cake came in…

With Mother’s Day less than a week away you had better get to planning a day of pampering. I’m going to do something with seafood, a grill and perhaps shopping but that’s because I know the way to my wife’s heart is through her stomach, and retail therapy is a close second. I can disclose this freely because my wife doesn’t read this blog. She feels that since she lives it she shouldn’t have to read it. (Terry if you are reading this, don’t tell her what I’m doing for Mother’s Day.) But for those of you who still need some inspiration check out this site. I particularly like the idea of making a composter as a gift because it gives us Dads an excuse to play in dirt and garbage. I also like the Chocolate Bananas recipe…

Finally, while I was barbecuing I noticed this (below) growing on the tree in our yard. It looks like a nest and there is what appears to be larvae moving around inside. Can anyone say arachnophobia?

Five years ago today my boy barged into our lives and decided to stay. I am thrilled and blessed by his decision. I never really saw myself as a parent, but he was able to change that swiftly and decisively. At first glance, covered in goop and slime, I knew he was mine - the boy looked like family. I was glad for that because if he resembled the mailman in any way my wife would have had some splainin’ to do!

Him growing up is a joy to behold, and every single day is like a Forest Gump box of chocolates. The Dev went through phases where he cursed like he was the captain of the USS F.U., where he made up stories about his parents saying horrible things, and where he intimidated adults (or so I was told) to get his point across. All of these phases were short lived and today he is the happiest I have ever seen him. Ever since he started being able to communicate like a big boy, and started at his new school he has been so pleasant. Scary pleasant in fact. His new teachers adore him, and he them. And my wife and I adore the whole lot of them!

Had you told me that I would be semi-sane five years after Dev’s birth I would have told you that you were a lying sack of poo. And I would have been wrong. I’m as close to sane as I am likely to get. Nothing has worked out as I planned, but somehow everything has worked out. I owe a good deal to this blog, I must admit. In my effort to help others I have also helped myself. And everyone that has left a comment, or even lurked silently, has helped me to see the world a little differently. But I owe the bulk of my sanity to Dev and my wife. They have made me want to be the strong dad that I always prayed I could be.

Yeah Dev makes fun of our car , my boring job, our inability to come up with a good jokes, my belly, and countless other things. However he tells his mother and me on a regular basis that he loves us, and I believe him. He probably couldn’t define love any better than the rest of us but I know love when I feel it and he loves his parents as much as we love him. And that, my friends, is a truck load of love.

Happy Birthday Dev! And may you have a thousand more!

I have a new post up on The Blogfathers. Check it out if you get a chance. We’ve decided to step it up a notch over there and showcase what a collaborative blog can really do. Stay tuned…

Also, check out this clip (I refuse to embed it on my site) and let me know if you are as appalled as I am. I’m so done with Damon Wayans that it isn’t even funny. I hope his brothers do an intervention, but I’m sure that’s too much to ask far.

I’m not sure if Dev is turning five or 25 next week. The kid really thinks he’s grown. He’s also kind of funny and cute. I think I’ll keep him. Here are three things that fly off the top of my head that he’s said over the last three weeks. I’m not sure why they have stuck with me over the other crazy stuff that he says but it did.

“Daddy! Can you close the door, please? I don’t want anyone to smell the dooky in here! I think I’m going to be dookying until midnight!” Nice, kid. Real nice.

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Before bed one night he looks at his mother “I want to give Daddy a kiss first.” I was gloating privately as any Dad would after being chosen over mommy, and awaited my love. Then he walks over to me, hops in my lap, and sets up to give me a kiss on the cheek. As he goes in he can’t help but notice a surprisingly enormous pimple growing out of my face like a second head (hey these things even happen to grown men). “Um,” he cracks a half amused, half appalled smile, “I think I’ll kiss the other cheek, ok?”

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With hands on hips, lowered eyebrows, and minus two top front teeth he told a thick-accented grown who man instructing him on how to pose for his class pictures “You are not speaking properly. Please speak in a normal voice.” (Yes, I know, we have to work on that with tour son. If he were 20 years older he’d be called “intolerant.”)

The other day an institution that shall remain nameless contacted me via form letter to notify me that my social security number was “accidentally” published on their public website along with thousands of others. They basically said “our bad” and suggested that I do something to make sure that I don’t become the victim of identity theft. Great. After over a decade of building a pretty decent credit record it can all be potentially taken away because of a frickin’ accident. (The only reason I don’t want to mention the institution by name is because their security protocol obviously has serious holes in it and some overzealous hacker may opt to infiltrate and jack others.)

When you think about it us regular Joes and Janes are at the mercy of a flawed credit system. Our ability to get credit, which allows the working class to buy houses and cars, is tied directly to our social security numbers. These are the same social security numbers that every doctor we’ve ever seen keeps on file, that every job we’ve ever had keeps in a dusty archived file in some random storage unit that no one monitors, that every tax preparer we’ve ever hired keeps in a file, that every insurance company we ever applied for a policy with has on file… you get the picture.

Our information is out there in many random hands. Our livelihoods depend upon incompetent people not being incompetent and not accidentally posting our social security numbers on the internet. It also depends on the hiring practices of companies. If companies that handle sensitive personal data are hiring crooks then we’re in a heap of trouble.

The dirty rich don’t have anything to worry about. You can try to steal Jay Z’s identity all you want. Even if you get way with some fraud when he wants to buy a new house he can write a check and no one will ever run his credit report. Then, when he’s good and ready, he can get an army of attorneys to crush whoever did it and restore his name without even breaking a sweat. You steal a regular working guy’s identity and when he goes to take out a loan for his dream home his whole world will come crashing down around him. His dreams go up in flames and there are no million dollar lawyers to come to the rescue. All he can do is fight to reclaim his name the best way he knows how.

I have taken all the necessary precautions to protect myself and my family (yes the Dev too). No apparent fraud currently exists on any of my accounts or credit reports. I’m not out of the woods yet, though I am confident that I have done all I can. Now I watch and wait. What galls me is the fact that I’m at the mercy of a screwed up credit granting system. The same system that that is currently reeling from its own glut and bad home loans. Social security numbers written on little blue cards was a good idea in 1936 as part of the New Deal, when the first numbers were issued. But in 2008 they are just another thing to be worried about in a world already fraught with overwhelming concerns.

Nameless institution with sloppy, feckless staff - consider yourself Black [Dad] Listed. I sincerely hope you get your shit together.

There was a long moment in my life when I was certain I was going to run for City Council in my district here in New York. I decided against it once I realized that I like straight talk and transparency, and therefore could never be a politician. Nowadays I try to fight for strengthening families and father involvement. That said, part of being a good dad, a good parent, is having a voice in the political process and voting for the candidate who you feel will be best for your family and for your country.

John McCain, the Republican nominee is like a hurricane - he’s a natural disaster. He seems to have no problem with war and all that comes with it, which surprises me since he is a war hero and POW, and knows first hand what our troops are going through. He has hinted at the possibility of going into Iran. Unfortunately his war stance isn’t the only questionable thing about him. Years ago he also voted against Martin Luther King’s birthday becoming a national holiday, is prepared to overturn Roe vs. Wade, voted against last year’s children’s health care bill, thinks that the housing crisis is the fault of the people chasing the American Dream and not the lenders that swindled them, and he has a notorious temper. In a nutshell McCain is not my candidate because he’s polarizing and scary.

This leads me to my next point. There are some Democrats out there claiming they would vote for McCain if their first choice doesn’t get the nomination. In other words some Obama supporters may vote for McCain if Clinton gets the nod, and vice versa. They would rather divide the party, maintain the Washington status quo and kill U.S. chances at repairing our international image. That is some twisted logic that I cannot get behind. I have even heard people that have been voting for decades say that they will sit out this election if their first choice Democrat doesn’t get in. Not voting, especially if you are black and a descendant of people who died so that we can vote in this country, is worse than voting for McCain.

Even young people who aren’t yet old enough to vote are getting caught up in the best-Democrat-for-the-job rhetoric. I was on the bus the other day reading a magazine featuring Obama on the cover. There were a couple of high school kids chatting near me but my attention was on the article. Then, after noticing Obama’s image, the kid sitting directly across from me shifted the conversation and asked his buddy who he’s “going for” in the upcoming election. I started listening. The friend responded “Obama, of course. It’s time for change and to bring everyone together.” To that the kid responded “Well, I’m going for Hillary Clinton. She’s more experienced and things were good when her husband was president. My friends are calling me a racist because I’m not with Obama, but I don’t care.” These were two young black men talking politics, which is great (I can set aside the fact that it’s likely neither of them were born when Bill Clinton took the oath pf office). But the fact that reverse racism is being brought into the youth discourse is disturbing. We have to resolve that.

The best thing I’ve heard in months in regards to this presidential race is when during the last debate Clinton said she was going to do everything she can to make sure a Democrat is in office in January 2009. That’s reassuring because squandering this historic election shouldn’t be an option, not even for potentially disgruntled Obama/Clinton supporters.

Today it was something like 80 degrees in NYC. The high school kids were waiting for a day like this so they could pull out the shorts and tanks. The adults were waiting for a day like this so they could walk from the gym to their homes without changing into coats an pants. On the other hand I was dreading this day and what it sets the stage for.

Don’t get me wrong, I actually love the spring. The weather is warm, the humidity is low, the barbecuing is great, and there are opportunities to play with the Dev outside in the world instead of being cooped up in the apartment. My problem is that spring in NYC is short and the summer is long. I know that once it starts getting warm we are only moments away from oppressing humidity, an unforgiving sun, relentless mosquitoes, and sweat dripping from places that you didn’t know could sweat. The comfortable, welcoming spring is a prelude to unbearable sleepless summer nights where you stew in your own juices (unless you buy an AC that raises your electric bill from $70 a month to $200 a month instantly) and long for the relief of the fall.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I understand that I shouldn’t blame the spring for the blight that is the summer, but I can’t help it. I can’t enjoy the warmth of today knowing that this is the beginning of the hot season. I should be able to take today for the beautiful gift that it was, but all I can think of is the nights ahead where we eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because it’s too darn hot to turn on the stove.

The other day even Dev said “what’s with all this sun?” as he squinted from the glare of our cockiest, closest star. I do plan on purchasing a new AC (or two) this year. But all that means is that you should all prepare for a post about the cost of electricity and keeping cool during the typically ridiculous NYC summer. I can’t win. 

My wife and I have been chilling out tonight listening to the radio, dancing and joking. Just relaxing. Friday nights on the radio are kind of entertaining because the high-paid DJs are spinning the current hits and the classics. But what happens after three hours of listening is that you realize there is a ton of stupid music out there.

Everyone who reads this blog knows that I am a fan of the 80s. What you may not know is that I also have an affinity for the decade that spawned Biggie, Snoop Dogg, Tupac, Wu Tang, Nas, Jay Z, The Fugees, SWV, R Kelly, Mariah Carey, Lil’ Kim, Foxy Brown, Mary J. Blige, Faith Evans, Donell Jones, Aaliyah, Brandy, Monica, Mase, Puff Daddy… I can go on and on. Most of those 20 years represented a time of fun, and in some instances gritty and emotionally charged street music, plain and simple.

My issue is that the new music out there is not so good. Sure there’s some tolerable pop/dance/party music out there like Chris Brown and Jordin Sparks, Red Cafe, The Dream, Usher, and my very guilty pleasure Ray J. That stuff is good as long as you take it for what it is. Of course it’s no Heather Headley, Luther, Angie Stone, Bilal, or Herbie Hancock, etc. Unfortunately, most of the heavy-rotation stuff is uninspired dreck.

My simple question is: Does this mean I’m getting old?

At the end of the day does longing for “the good ol’ days” put you a four-minute 50 Cent song away from applying for Medicare?

So I’m walking around the house sans shirt yesterday after a midday shower. The Dev stops me in my tracks and starts staring at my belly. Without a word he commences to poking. and squeezing, and pinching my blubber. He is not smiling. His facial expression is reminiscent of a doctor performing a checkup and finding something he’s become fascinated by, or perhaps concerned with. Then he drops the bomb:

“You have a fat belly.” He was deadpan in his diagnosis.

“What?“ I chuckled.

Squeeze, squeeze. Pinch, pinch.

“Way too fat.”

Then, as if his work were done, he walked away.

He shouldn’t talk. He doesn’t exactly have a six pack. Good thing I’m working out again (I’m calling it “getting back to basics”). I can’t deal with such candor from a four year old.