Thinking out load…

There is nothing more beautiful than a mature African-American woman.  Diahann Carroll, Vanessa Williams, Phylicia Rashad, Pam Grier…have maintained a level of glamour that is unmatched.  It is the richness of their skin and the wisdom in their eyes that make them sexy beyond measure.  They have obtained a swagger that their younger counterparts seek but will never grasp.  Our younger generation think that sexiness is wearing the least amount of clothing legally possible or the ability to make one half of  their booty cheeks bounce in unison with the most popular urban noise disguised as music.  Now don’t get me wrong, there are a bunch of dudes like myself who appreciate a young lady who can effortlessly delve into their darker sides but…I wouldn’t wife it.  It would just be unfair to her to make her throw an apron over her thong or replace those clear 12 inch heels with a conservative pair of Enzo’s when that’s really not her calling.   I never dated anyone who was not connected to the African Diaspora…not because I’m an overt radical I just never had that much contact…I mean Chicago ain’t exactly a cultural friendly melting pot. This is the same city where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. caught a brick to the head during a march he held through Marquette Park in ‘66.  The few women I have met in my journey of the “lighter persuasion” just never appealed to me.  Either they looked like Holly Hobby or they tried to convince me that they were “down with cause”.  A white woman trying to portray themselves as a black woman dipped in egg shell is hideous and comical at the same time.  “Guuuurl, thas what I’m talkin’ bout”….what?  There was one young lady that I half heartedly tried to mack to but she told me upfront that her father hated n*ggers so after that I pretty much kept it “colored”.   Black women just have the ability to overcome so much because they’ve been through so much.  Society wants to limit them to simple physical specimens and neglect their intellect.  They can be your video vixen at night or your home gurl kickin’ it with you watching the game on Sunday.  They can nurture you when you come home after a night of too much drinking then scold your ass while they make you breakfast in the morning.  If you peer into their souls you can see the same scars that burden you.  The same dreams and fears, wants and needs.  
 
Where is my key to the city?
 
My son takes swimming lessons at CSU.  This is his second term and he simply loves it.  The class is for beginners and the syllabus ask for parents or guardians to join there chirrun in the pool.  I was “johnnie on the spot” because the only person I trust being with my son in a body of water is ME (momma got no swim skills whatsoever) so I didn’t have an issue with it….hell, I welcomed it.  Mid-way through the first session the instructors kicked the parents out of the pool and made us sit in the bleachers.   I usually would pace back in forth especially when they get to that part of the class where they throw….um coerce the kiddies off of the diving board into the diving pool which happens to be 14 feet deep.   Anyhoo, during class a few weeks ago (I was doing my regular pacing) the children where instructed to go to the far end of the pool, jump in and swim down to the other end.  I came out to the pool area because Dougie’s mischievous ass was running down the side of the pool and I wanted to give him some “gentle guidance”.  After our “talk” Dougie got in line and jumped in and was kicking furiously towards the other end looking like a chocolate pint sized Michael Phelps…I was so proud to say the least.  As Dougie made it to mid-pool a young girl prepared for her leap of faith.  She wretched back and went airborne into the pool with a huge splash.  Suddenly my phone rang, it was my frat brother Harrick… and then I heard what sounded to be voices of concern coming from the bleachers, “help, help, she needs help”.  I’m looking around like WTF….The first thing  I did was to see where Dougie was….I gots to protect mine…priorities damn it.  After I located Dougie and made sure he was fine I turned my attention to the end of the pool and there she was….the little girl that had just jumped in the pool was beating the water like a drum trying to stay afloat.  I dropped my phone, ran to the side of the pool reached in as far as I could trying to not get wet (it didn’t help, my left side got baptized) and grabbed the little girl by her arm and pulled her to safety.  I sat on the side of the pool and comforted her while she caught her breathe and then… she earled on me.  The f*cked up part about all of this was that at the time the little girl was fighting for her life their was this fat mufucka in a way to snug bathing suit sitting on the side of the pool trying to holla at some broad in the bleachers.   I should’ve kicked his fat ass in the back of his throat.  And….not a parent or cousin or baby mama or baby daddy or big ma came down to check on this girl.  Not a family member or schoolmate or best friend…f*ckin nobody!  Man, I was livid and scared to death in unison.  I got my Dougie and headed home wet smelling like hot cheetos, toe nails, and open ass.    
 
Miniature Me
 
Dougie had a doctors appointment last night…so some sort of “Asthma Action Plan” is what the doctor called it.  We’ve been pretty lucky…during the last visit the doctor  scaled down some of Doug’s medication.  He previously was taking Cingular and FloVent which he took daily and of course his inhaler.  He no longer has to take the FloVent but as a side effect of the removal of the treatment he gets congested at night.  The nurse put him on the scale…this dude weighs 88 pounds at 7 ½ years old…I felt like I was looking in a mirror of myself at that age.
Dougie has inherited his father’s good likes as well as my body type.  I was a husky young fella with a big but…I got teased a lot but I was good with the “hand to hand combat” so the teasing was kept to a minimum or they whispered sh*t under their breathe.  I recall my Fourth Grade year….I had just transferred to St. John De La Salle (my fourth school) from Wendell Smith.  By this time I had the “new kid” lingo down pat, kind of had a chip on my shoulder.  There was this cutey named Stephanie that caught my eye (fourth grade pimpin, what?).  She sat a few rows from me and she was primarily the first friend I had.  We exchanged numbers and would talk on the phone when we got home from school…unbeknownst to me she already had a suitor.  Not knowing the dynamics of who was with who and all that I stepped on somebody’s toes…his name was Robert and he was the biggest dude in the class.  He claimed to be “folks” but he didn’t know I was plugged in…my sister at the time was dating this cat that was up and coming bad ass in the “organization” …straight of the ten trey.  He had a little brother named Thomas who was my age but was in the 3rd Grade and we where tied at the hip.  We spent out weekends following his brother around so we got to know all the GD’s in the neighborhood and I ain’t ever seen Robert at any of the functions.  Plus dude lived on the other side of Cottage Grove which was strictly Stone territory…his ol’ lyin ass.  Of course he caught wind that I was macking to his philly and stepped to me.  Here I am…the new kid been in school for about 3 months and already got trouble.  He told me to leave Stephanie alone or else.  Of course I refused…hell, I had too…I couldn’t be labeled a punk I would’ve never been able to live it down.    So now it’s about 1:30 and we’re in Religion class.  The teacher steps out for a moment and this dude decides to stand up and tell the whole class that he was going to kick my ass after school…y’all know the rest.  A bunch of “ooooos” and “ahhhhs” filled the classroom and everyone was watching the clock. 
It was your typical wintry Chicago afternoon and a cluster of kids gathered on the parking lot.  Robert was already waiting for me when I arrived so I put my books down and approached the inner circle.  I know everyone has seen those fights when the two participants walk around in a circle shoulder to shoulder chanting “you swing, no you swing, no swing” for about an hour. Then they get tired and head home…my approach was different.    I’m sure that’s what Robert was expecting because most of the dudes were scared to fight him but not I.  I ran right up to him…he was startled, took a step back and slipped on some ice.  I punched in the eye as he fell….Steve 1 Rob 0.  I know I won by default but hell a win is a win.  I was the king of the 4th grade until the next day when Mrs. Arthur summoned us to the office.  One day your king of the world the next day your on garbage detail….oh well it was good while it lasted.