It's that time of year...for the Chocolate Family Reunion.
Summer time. Cookouts. Dancing contests. Good music. Spades Games. Trash talking playing dominoes. Some of your uncles and cousins are out back shooting craps along side Big Mama's house. You know she ain't playing that and is going to bless them out, yet again, if she catches them this year.
The same cousin seems to have a baby every other year. Bringing a different dude to the reunion each time.
You have to remind that one distant uncle or uncle-in-law that you are his family member when he says "My, you sure have grown into a woman." Bless his heart with his high-on-some-narcotic self.
Then there is the family who has come up a little bit. Raised in the old days on a country farm slopping hogs and milking cows. Today, they drive a luxury vehicle, nose in the air, and pronouncing every syllable of the King's language to the "T." Don't get me wrong. I an avid supporter of higher learning, receiving as much education as your heart desires, and moving on up to the deluxe apartment in the sky. Be able to let your hair down around your folk and leave the "corporate" persona at the office. That's all I am saying.
Uncle Pete is at the grill flipping burgers, cooking chicken, and throwing down on the best steaks you can ever imagine. Sure you may have to hide your purse and act like you don't have any cash on you when he randomly asks you to "hold some" with the promise of paying you back. Although you don't support his drug habit, the family may give him a few 6 packs of brew to keep him going while he sweats profusely at the grill to make the meat just right for the BBQ. Never the less, you love Uncle Pete all the same.
Oh, and don't you just love it when the family still thinks of you as a kid and can't believe how much you have grown??? Yes, you are knocking on 30...but they still see you as the little one who would put on a 1 man talent show in your mom and dad's living room. It used to be annoying, but now you find it to be endearing as you get older. to
You dance with the other aunts who appreciate your growth and try to recruit you in their click. The same click they unofficially formed amongst the younger siblings who are desperately hanging onto the good ole days. They try to school you on men and life as they pour countless glasses of wine to elevate their wisdom. When you refuse the second glass they offer, they straigthen up with serious facial expressions as they compliment you for not being an alcoholic. The slurs indicate you may need to sign them up for AA. But, you decide to send up a prayer for your aunts and laugh with them at their unbelievable, yet hilarious stories of the past.
And how can I forget your favorite uncle who plays the role of your daddy when necessary? The one whom women swoon over...including your aunts. They worship the ground this man walks on and will clinch a fist if you talk badly about their brother. He's a womanizer, invented swag before these hip hop dudes were potty trained, dresses straight out of Brooks Brothers, and is the hero to the family. Please believe he is going to arrive later than everyone else. His ego has to show up fashionably late to receive the red carpet treatment from his sisters, nieces, and nephews. This man is something else. But, I gotta give him credit. He is the bomb diggity and has taught you a lot of the things about the dating game. Most of your skills you have came straight from his teachings. He taught you how to play, how to recognize a player, how to get what you want, and how to make a relationship last...if you choose to take it there. He is the reason you refused to have relationships for years. He urged you to play the field, date, make mistakes, and call your own shots before you settle down. He always said you won't appreciate the good unless you know what's out there. This uncle opened up to you about the game so you wouldn't end up like the women of his past...and possible present. Thanks Unk....I love you for that.
As the sun sets, everyone is full from chicken, beef, fish, pork (some still can't kick the hog habit), sides, home cooked desserts, adult beverages, laughter, dancing, singing, and story telling. It's about that time for the family members to gather their to-go-plates to feast off of for the next few days. But, before this goes down, one of the eldest aunts takes a survey of the room and begins to publicly thank God for keeping the family this long. She gives thanks for legacy, longevity, unity, and for love. As she speaks with love in a gentle and warm tone, the family looks to her for guidance at that very moment. We all hang on to her every word. She reminds us of our family roots and how every day we should beam with pride based on where we come from. She boasts of her grandmother and grandfather's work ethic and the foundation they built to bring us to this point. She urges us all to cherish this moment before we go our separate ways and to always love each other no matter what. Tears silently pound the pavement as the fam feels the spirits of ancestry at this very moment. This is what it is all about....and you love every moment of it.
I look forward to engaging in and soaking up every bit of love and craziness this weekend....ahhh...gotta love Chocolate Family Reunion time.
Blessings to you and yours...
Buttafly
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Humanity
In 1996, my teenage world was shaken by the sudden death of Tupac Amaru Shakur. Pac was often misunderstood, surrounded by the wrong crowd, gangsta...yet had a human side that spoke through his lyrics. Back then I was totally into his lyrics, although I didn't live the hard knock he spoke on. I didn't know any Brenda's, I wasn't surrounded by thugs (although I went through my thug love stage), and none of my friends had ever been shot. But his eyes were deep. His enormous swag and ego overshadowed his petite frame. Pac was the man back in my day who seemed to have 9 lives. So, when he was pronounced dead on Friday the 13th in September, I didn't believe it. I was on my way to a high school football game to kick it with the crew. Sure, Pac had been shot multiple times. But, no one thought for one moment that he wouldn't rebound. I mourned his death. I cried. I prayed for his family. I even got into all the hype that Pac might be chilling on an island waiting to make his comeback in a few years. I thought no one could ever shake me like this again.
13 years later, Michael Jackson who I absolutely loved as a child but didn't particularly like much as an adult took his last breath. I went into complete shock. I was sitting at a gospel convention when it was announced by Tyler Perry to the crowd. I knew Mike was admitted to the hospital that day. But, I didn't think MJ would die. Not this soon.
I didn't cry. I prayed for the family. I listended to his music over and over. I watched his music videos repeatedly. I watched all the media stories on E and BET and VH-1. The more I watched, the more I felt guilty for all the negative remarks I made about MJ. The more I learned, the more I understood that it was impossible to understand his world if I wasn't living it. As days went by, I focused on his music, his positive influence on this globe, his humanity, his love for children and for people who were in need. I began to appreciate the way he created unity through his lyrics, his dancing, through his smile, his dress, even with the jheri curl perm he had going on.
Yesterday made it official for us all who found his death to be surreal. Those who watched from their homes, listened through streams at work, sat in theaters or on street walks with other fans to watch on huge screens...the world stopped for MJ's memorial. I didn't know what to expect. But, I do know after listening to his close friends, singing along to the spiritual tunes and those MJ penned or adored through the years, it all came down like a ton of bricks. My heart ached for the kids. For his mother. For his brothers and sisters. His nieces and nephews. His cousins. His friends.
13 years later I mourn for another man who was releveant to this world. But this time it's different. This time I cry because I realized I judged someone for the life the media portrayed. I judged a man I didn't even know but formed opinions on. I cried because I realized how beautiful his spirit was and how deeply he reached inside his heart to help those in need. I cried as I thought back on my own personal memories of MJs affect on my love for music. I cried for the 3 children he leaves behind who love him as a child should. I prayed that the media doesn't try to strip them of their soul as it did MJ. It opened my eyes to the powers of the media and fame. But, it also opened my eyes to the purity of humanity.
No matter what Michael's faith was he was a giver from his soul. For that, he was blessed and was a blessing. Beautifully human. Peculiar to the average human. Peculiar enough to be the best entertainer who ever lived. Just crazy enough to give of his time, his finances, his thanks, his talents, his gifts, his heart to this world.
Beautifully human.
13 years later, Michael Jackson who I absolutely loved as a child but didn't particularly like much as an adult took his last breath. I went into complete shock. I was sitting at a gospel convention when it was announced by Tyler Perry to the crowd. I knew Mike was admitted to the hospital that day. But, I didn't think MJ would die. Not this soon.
I didn't cry. I prayed for the family. I listended to his music over and over. I watched his music videos repeatedly. I watched all the media stories on E and BET and VH-1. The more I watched, the more I felt guilty for all the negative remarks I made about MJ. The more I learned, the more I understood that it was impossible to understand his world if I wasn't living it. As days went by, I focused on his music, his positive influence on this globe, his humanity, his love for children and for people who were in need. I began to appreciate the way he created unity through his lyrics, his dancing, through his smile, his dress, even with the jheri curl perm he had going on.
Yesterday made it official for us all who found his death to be surreal. Those who watched from their homes, listened through streams at work, sat in theaters or on street walks with other fans to watch on huge screens...the world stopped for MJ's memorial. I didn't know what to expect. But, I do know after listening to his close friends, singing along to the spiritual tunes and those MJ penned or adored through the years, it all came down like a ton of bricks. My heart ached for the kids. For his mother. For his brothers and sisters. His nieces and nephews. His cousins. His friends.
13 years later I mourn for another man who was releveant to this world. But this time it's different. This time I cry because I realized I judged someone for the life the media portrayed. I judged a man I didn't even know but formed opinions on. I cried because I realized how beautiful his spirit was and how deeply he reached inside his heart to help those in need. I cried as I thought back on my own personal memories of MJs affect on my love for music. I cried for the 3 children he leaves behind who love him as a child should. I prayed that the media doesn't try to strip them of their soul as it did MJ. It opened my eyes to the powers of the media and fame. But, it also opened my eyes to the purity of humanity.
No matter what Michael's faith was he was a giver from his soul. For that, he was blessed and was a blessing. Beautifully human. Peculiar to the average human. Peculiar enough to be the best entertainer who ever lived. Just crazy enough to give of his time, his finances, his thanks, his talents, his gifts, his heart to this world.
Beautifully human.
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