So Full of Dirty Baby Diaper Juice!

The more I read the headline and watch the new I am even more convinced that our government leaders on all levels are aware of the flood of Dirty Baby Diaper Juice that we call the American justice system.  Say whatever you will but this is beyond preposterous!!!! Eric Garner is a modern day Radio Raheem, as featured in Spike Lee's classic racially charged time bomb of truth Do The Right Thing! After reading about four different cases of alleged suicides where Black and Brown men are accused of shooting themselves with handcuffs on locked behind their backs, I'm just sick of it.

These cases are far from suicides. These are just more examples of evidence of a criminal injustice system that consistently commits crimes against poor Black and Brown American citizens with no conscience and no apologies. The depressing reality is that even with cameras exposing the clear evidence of murderous crimes committed by law enforcing criminals, the Oscar Grants and Eric Garners are not vindicated.

Thank you Denzel Washington for using the movie Training Day to expose to the masses of American citizens what us Black men have to face every day. The blatant disregard for humanity and justice are common place in our American history as well as the present day. Rampart Scandals happen every day and  we Black and Brown men are the hunted victims who pay the heaviest penalties. Check into The Rampart Scandals for specific  examples http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/lapd/scandal/cron.html 

          This is why I teach so that I can inform my students of these American Apple pie eating cultural norms. What gives me peace is knowing that God knows and will repay all of these perpetrators and our insidiously sick and twisted system for all of these crimes against humanity. Question what would have happened if Eric Garner was an attractive 24 year old white female college girl illegally selling concert tickets aka "scalping tickets"? What would that public outcry and outrage look like? Oh yeah that would never happen because the cop would be too busy asking for her number.

Bullets Don't Give A Damn!!

I would say pardon my expression but it would not be an honest statement. I honestly do believe that bullets don't really don't give a damn. They don't speak or reason. Bullet have one function and that is to react to extreme pressure and conduct themselves accordingly.

No matter what I do I cannot escape my passion for people but especially for those who are disenfranchised, profiled and discarded. As a black man I feel hunted and it appears that my only advocate is Jesus Christ himself! 

These videos are becoming all too common these days. Beatings and killings are no longer anomalies or isolated incidents. The major difference is clearly the camera phones with video recording capabilities to support the claims of brutality, torture and murder of unarmed Black men and boys from law enforcement officials. We've lost Eric Garner and Michael Brown to the hands of a police officer.  The list goes on and on. This is going to sound a little cold but aren’t we familiar with this already? Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant and Eleanor Bumpurs, Patrick Dorismond and let us not forget about Adolph Grimes in New Orleans who was shot in the back 12 times by plain clothes cops.  It sickens me and I offer my prayers to their loved ones but I am no longer shocked by these incidents anymore. 

I spoke with my big sister Sarah this morning and she challenged me to expand my thoughts on the issue of violence in the Black community. After our conversation I grew even more disgusted with the current state of events than I am with some of the isolated incidents that are trending in the mass media .Why in the hell do we rise up for one child, who definitely deserves to have a voice of advocacy and justice, but our voices are not as loud for the daily casualties of war in our own neighborhoods? Doesn't 5 year-old Payton Benson in Omaha Nebraska deserve our Righteousness Indignation as well? She was killed while eating a bowl of cereal when a stray bullet from a shooting outside of her home entered her body and left her lifeless at her kitchen table as she was eating a bowl of cereal.  

How about we engage in a broader conversation that has absolutely nothing at all to do with Gaza, or police or racial inequality?  My heartfelt prayers go out to all innocent victims worldwide who’s blood is shed daily and their families are left with nothing more than memories . I want to know how we feel about 13 month old Londyn Samuels who was shot and killed one block from my current residence. At this very moment her short lived life is commemorated  by an assortment of soil, rain and tear stained teddy bears and other miscellaneous stuffed animals on a sidewalk littered with blood stains, shell casings  and lost dreams. Screams of loved ones lie trapped beneath the shattered glass and cigarette butt decorated concrete. 

Who will speak up for lost ones  the innocent bystanders who have been eliminated from existence at the hands of assailants who share similar features and even zip codes as the  victims?  Chicago, Philly, Omaha NE,  New Orleans, Flint MI, Birmingham AL, Richmond VA, Washington D.C. are all proof that “There’s a war going on outside, no man is safe from.”  Prodigy of Mobb Deep said it in his lyrics but every day we are out here living it. 

I’m beyond sick of it so I refuse to be silent about it. It’s time for the “Revolutionary Spirit” to rise up for the rest of the victims! We can’t keep on giving these indigenous ethnically similar terrorist to get a pass while we stand idle and only hold the police accountable for their actions. Where are these cameras when we are witnessing all of these other tragedies and murders? We cannot stand indolent and symbolize silent cowards. Daily we are dying as we live so we may as well die for something honorable like truth, justice and peace for our families, protections for our babies as well as some safety for ourselves. 

I'm publicly condemning all of the CRIMINALS who have been looting and vandalizing  in Missouri. This is beyond shameful! You pack of mob mentality  cowards and incestual  opportunist  are raping your own community and foolishly calling it a revolution. NO! You are pornographic pirates who prey on others and you are using the blood of a college bound martyr to justify your self-indulgent   crime spree.  For the record you bring shame to all of our fallen freedom fighters  and your have assaulted our unborn by unleashing pure evil in our communities. I am praying for you all but especially to the families of Michael Brown, Eric Garner and countless others. God sees your tears and He feels your pain. 

There was a time when I would go on a rampage generalizing all law enforcement officials and aggressively articulating an assassination of their collective character. Now  I stand in solidarity with all of the victims. Despite the color or career field of your killer I’m here as your voice as well as your advocate of prayer.  I’m sure that some reads are going to misunderstand me so let me make myself perfectly clear,  I still believe that sworn law enforcement officials should be held to a higher standard. “To whom much is given. Much is required.”  They should be adequately trained and as a result of that training they should be severely  penalized in the event that they veer away from their obligation of “protecting and serving “.  On the other hand I will not stand idle and give countless killers who share my complexion and community a pass. 

All killers and other criminals must be held accountable for their actions! I’m sure that that mothers, fathers, siblings, husbands, wives, relatives and friends don’t care if the killer holds a badge or not. They just long to have their loved one back or at a bare minimum have the perpetrator held responsible for their crime.  I will make sure that all of my students know that what’s taking place in Missouri  right now is the opposite of the Civil Rights Movement. This is an example of a fractured community with invisible identity  saturated with emotional sickness combined with a callus over internal convictions. I’m going to fight this thing from the inside out…from inside of my classroom!

 I do believe that God will hold all guilty parties accountable for their actions but it’s up to us to take responsibility for our community and it starts with our home, city block, neighborhood, community, school, church, job and all parts surrounding. How will you be a part of this Revolution?

Charter vs. Chattel: Digits, Dollars and Data

From Charter to Chattle...you figure it out!!! Disclaimer--this is not a generalization to demonize ALL charter schools. This is my professional opinion as a 12 year veteran teacher who has witnessed  what takes place when charter schools are abused and used as an antidote to a holistically failing American education system that has intentionally refused to properly fund our schools, ignored the misappropriation of funds intended for our schools, allowed for-profit testing companies to override adequately educating our babies, avoided all accountability for ensuring that ALL schools have and effectively utilize resources intended for our students,    disassembled the teacher's unions so that educators are left vulnerable and disposable and deliberately utilized location and socio-economic status to continue the Jim Crow Era segregation in our schools!

Please be mindful that this is not a detailed examination of the negative issues regarding education. If it were I would have to include the preexisting conditions of parental and student involvement in this academic avalanche.
Right now I'm taking on the physicians perspective as I examine our infected educational institutions and offer a diagnosis of the illness bases on the symptoms. Once the patient/student is in the hospital/school I am commissioned to focus on the present condition and I am faced with the challenge of immediately coming up with a plan of action which will initiate the educational rehabilitation process!

Okay Cousin Cathy Applegate Scurlock you asked for this. Going all charter is an EPIC fail. I currently teach in New Orleans and from what I have experienced the schools have been hijacked by for profit pimps. Seemingly, charter schools should open up new doors of academic opportunity to replace schools that had previously failed the students, parents and the communities.  

Unfortunately in the present condition, New Orleans students are being reduced to digits, dollars and data. What I mean by that is the cultural, psychological, emotional and social well-being of the children are being ignored so that they can be forced into a learning method with the sole purpose of test preparation. The digits are the number of students who fill seats and take the high stakes test. The dollars are how much money the school earns for each student who enrolls, how many grants the school receives, donations and the total amount of money that the board can raise for the school. The data represents the standardized test scores, attendance, suspensions, expulsions and levels of academic growth as revealed by assessments.

When integrity is omitted from this process and accountability is compromised you end up with bootleg educational institutions where academic standings are more relative than realistic. When new grading scales are put into place schools can justify  academic growth by simply lowering the bar. The D's and F's that used to stand for below average and failing are morphed into an all inclusive I for incomplete. Students are sold a dream that they are "almost there" when they are actually further behind than they could possibly phantom. Parents are manipulated into believing that their child is missing assignments and assessments when the reality is that they are failing to comprehend the content and they genuinely need more help beyond the instruction provided during the regular class period. Consequently the student ends up missing the mark altogether and the ship headed towards scholastic achievement sails right bye them. Special Education Departments transform into cash cows and the resources are funneled into everything except accommodations for individuals with disabilities and their educational needs. Grossly inexperienced school leader's salaries rise while their experience in the field of education and child development evaporates like steam because it is that vanishing vapor.   Highly qualified veteran school leaders are replaced with ambitious comrades who lack the professional, academic and cultural foundation necessary for our children to succeed on a grand scale.

School leaders become opportunist who utilize stock market ingenuity in an environment where sacrifice and intestinal fortitude are supposed to collide with classroom management and content knowledge. What we are witnessing now is an academic interstate with an expresses off ramp that leads to sub par educational experiences, poverty and mass incarceration. It with take collective voices of opposition to regain control of our tax subsidized schools. In the words of Tom Cruise in the movie Jerry McGuire, "All I wanna know is whose coming with me?"

"You Are Not The Father!" Ummm Yes I Am!

“You are not the father!” This has to be the crown jewel of the Maury Povich one liners. But even if Maury would tell me that one of my three children was not biologically connected to me according to the DNA test results I would call him a liar! At this point my fatherhood tenure genetic make-up means very little in the grand scheme of things. I am a daddy determined not to repeat the practices of far too many guys who generously donate 23 chromosomes then take flight like the iconic Jumpman logo on Michael Jordan’s sneakers. I feel privileged that God has given me gifts beyond the furthest reaches of my imagination in the physical form of my children. 

I’d like to challenge every man who is dealing with custody issues, relationship woes or other miscellaneous drama that prevents you from seeing and spending time with your children. You can spend your time, energy and emotion pissed off about your situation or you can chose to relentlessly pursue a relationship with your child/children despite the time, energy and effort it will take to accomplish your goal which I’m guessing is to have the opportunity to participate in the rearing of your child/children. I’m in no way suggesting that this is any easy feat. There are definitely obstacles which create barricades, blocking and blinding some men from their children. I know far too well what those  experiences are like. 

My pilgrimage to paternal parenthood has definitely been a twisted trail of trivia and emotional trauma. On one hand I am the epitome of one of the lines in a poem I wrote, “He’s the personified portrait of a stereotype. Three babies from three different ladies and no wife. These aint boasting and bragging rights about slanging pipe. Just an example of how he didn’t make wrongs right.” On the other hand I’m the recipient of wealth beyond reason and mercy that minimizes any amount of monetary value. My children are my fortune and my future. God truly uses them to lead me in the right direction and remind me that He gives His precious gifts not based on my merit but out of His love. 

I’m almost 40 and I’m finally experiencing what it feels like to be a fulltime father. It is painful as hell to be a long distance dad. At any given moment I could cross paths with a father and his child and I would get a little choked up.  There’s nothing more heart wrenching than hearing your child cry for you but you are geographically separated and financially incapable of positioning yourself to save the day and come to your child’s rescue. The toughest times for me were the goodbyes after I would spend time with my babies. As soon as those tears would well up in my son or daughter’s eyes a lump the size of the planet Jupiter would jam itself in my throat and the only thing I could swallow was the residue of recycled regret. 

 I had to involuntarily savor the disgusting flavor of internal turmoil and I would remind myself that, “This is all your fault for scattering your seed on waves instead of allowing roots to grow deep in fertile soil.”  The glassy haze from my children’s cloudy eyes would always foreshadow the approaching saltwater shower that was about to spring from my own eyes.

One of my greatest fears was not dying. Abandonment was my ultimate inflictor of pain but not for me though. My fear was that my children would feel as though I deserted them didn’t care.  

 For years my thoughts were tormented by mental missiles and subliminal skyrockets that would explode unexpectedly and leave me with injurious imagery of myself as the ULTIMATE failure of a father. I could hear voices in my head collectively criticizing and condemning me and I believed every word. “Look at you! You’re pathetic. You’re still in college and your babies need money. You aint no man. You another dead beat down.”  “So what’s your excuse now? You’re not married and now you’re on your third baby. You are better off dead. At least the kids would get your life insurance.” 

As a result of my self-imposed internal Mortal Combat, I was left to look like a raggedy retriever doggy paddling in a reservoir of regret instead of enjoying each opportunity I had to spend with my children. Enduring almost a dozen unsolicited abortions didn’t help either.  Based on my reputation, women considered it a curse to entertain the thought of having my child. Each one of those nameless, faceless babies followed me in my heart as well as my nightmares and I saw myself as the scum of the earth.  I couldn’t self-medicate with enough weed or liquor to get over all of that pain. 

All of that has changed now. I see my past as nothing more than a previous path that I traveled for a season until I changed the calibrations of my personal navigations so I could go in a different direction. Now I use all of my failures from yesterday to help me stay focused as a father right now.  My oldest son’s lives with me and my youngest son lives with me three days a week. Despite the dirty diapers  and occasional temper tantrums, I thoroughly appreciate the mornings I wake up to my smiling face one year old and the scowl of a grumpy teenager.  I look forward to every escapade I take to see my adolescent daughter in Jackson, Mississippi. I don’t know what’s better my youngest son’s smile or my daughter’s hugs, my oldest son’s jokes or my daughters grades, my youngest son going to the potty and then giving me a standing ovations when he sees me going potty or my daughter calling just to check on me.  I’m torn and I love it. 

I have learned to appreciate life beyond my own unrealistic expectations of myself. I finally realize that it matters not how low I was in the pitiful pit that I dug for myself. It doesn’t even matter what obstacles other people placed in my path to prevent me from seeing my babies.  What matters most is that I not only climbed out of the pitfalls of my past but I continue to dream in Hi-Definition. Now I’m writing down my dreams in vivid detail so that I can stick to the script in order to turn my burning desires into bond fires blazing with accomplishment! 

I am now comfortable with my failures and imperfections and my 12 and 16 year old help me with that tremendously. If it’s not my daughter poking my tummy and complaining about my gut it’s my oldest boy complaining about my cooking. I cooked some tilapia the other night and his response was, “Wow this is…[awkward silence leading into his usual  animated antics] terrible dad!” All I could do was laugh as I corrected him with suggestions on how to rephrase his disdain for what I considered a dinner delicacy. His honesty was disgusting yet refreshing all at the same time. Those two help keep me humble. I’m just living the simple life of a proud father and it just don’t stop.

Fathers of all walks of life know that your love and your presence are the wings of assurance that your babies desire and need in order to take flight with confidence and soar over clouds that obstruct the clear view of their futures!

No matter what obstacles are preventing your from embracing your child/children and enjoying the benefits of fatherhood, I implore you to search out your little ones and  chase after them with reckless abandon so that actions of love speak louder than any sentimental three word phrase! Just know that despite the cause of your separation from your little ones or older ones, I feel you and God hears you.

Yikes It's Tyrone Biggums! No It's Not That's My Brotha.

Broken glass everywhere. People pissin’ on the stairs you know they just don’t care. I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise. Got  no money to move out.  I guess I got no choice. ~Grand Master Flash and The Furious Five, The Message. 

I used that except from one of the most powerful and prolific songs of all time to help me illustrate how the ignorance of yesterdays ‘ past  still emits  toxic fumes that pollute our communities and choke out some of the inhabitants.  

I was at work last Thursday running my P.E. class which consisted of a slew of 8^th graders when a modern day Tyrone Biggums opted to expose my kids to some sodium rich shrimp fried shenanigans.  The only difference between this random man and Dave Chappelle’s dope fiend character was that his vice of choice was alcohol instead of crack cocaine.  And now the story begins. 

 I stood outside of my school in New Orleans East just off of Read Blvd near the levee conducting class as usual.  I was teaching my 8^th graders the fundamentals of middle distance running, keeping a good pace,  endurance and circular breathing when out of nowhere  the vocal stench of 5000 flatulent feta cheese eating fugitives erupted out of the open oral orifice of an aged alcohol sponge of a man.  I stood on the corner with my stop watch as my students pushed themselves to levels of endurance they never dreamed of when  the resurgence of the unknown elder man’s voice echoed  off the front of the school and bounces off my ear drums. My students where so exhausted they were unintentionally tuning him out but I had to work my mental muscles tirelessly in order to ignore his liquor linguistics of lunacy. 

Just as I prepared to give myself credit for exemplifying maturity by ignoring this ignorant man and resisting the temptation to burst in to stomach somersaulting laughter, he elevated his levels of ridiculousness to pure DJANGO Unchained  status.  This Side Show Bob stunt double was determined to get all of our attention and he did when he embarked on a mission to offend everyone within ears reach as well as unborn children in different zip codes.  Three junior high school girls were rounding the corner closest to the elder alcoholic when he looked directly into my eyes and verbally broadcasted buffoonery in the following statement:

“I see you looking at me Nigga! I see you. You aint real Nigga! You want to be real you need to get like me Nigga! Smoke a moutha fucking rock Nigga! Yeah Nigga I smoke crack! You aint real moutha fucka! Ole Bitch ass Nigga! You aint smoking no CRACK Nigga! You aint ready for this.”

At that point I had heard enough and I was forced to address this misguided man who appeared to be marinating in malt liquor or moon shine.  I cut him off in mid-sentence as I shouted, “Sir I want you to stop using all of this profanity in front of my students right now! Brother you are wrong! You are a terrible example to these kids and you are too damn old for this.  Just stop it right now! Please!

I was not at all prepared for the next series of events. In a matter of seconds he stood up from the milk crate he was sitting on and started to make his way across the street towards me.  I immediately yelled to my students, “Go inside now! Just go!” I didn’t want to hurt this old man and expose my students to violence but at the same time I had to protect them and  myself from the potential , unpredictable disaster that was approaching. 

  I put down my clip board and my cell phone, knuckled up and prepared to knock this old man back into the Civil Right Movement and pray about it later. He was not about to overcome a tail whooping that day if he succeeded in crossing that street to assault me. I pleaded with the elder alcoholic, “Sir don’t come over here! I’m telling you don’t do it man!” He ignored my pleas for his own safety and made his way to my sidewalk. I would have  walked away but I was still waiting on four of my students to finish the run. They were out of ears reach when I gave the command to go inside.  As he continued to walk closer towards me I prepared myself and scoped out just where I was about to hit this old cat so he could take and involuntary nap and avoid an all-out Molly Whop.

  The elder alcoholic successfully crossed the street and cried out, “Nigga I’m sorry! I aint shit. I aint never gonna be like you. Look at me! Just look at me!”  I interrupted him in mid-sentence and read him the riot act, “Sir, I accept your apology! You didn’t have to come over here.  I just wanted you to stop all that cursing and yelling  in front of my students. No matter what you think about yourself you are still God’s child. It’s not over for you big brother. You’re still alive.  Hey we gotta go brother. I gotta take these kids back in the building. God bless you man.” 

 

I shook his hand and turned around to leave with my students as he continued to offer his apologies. Initially I had to hold in my laughter at the pure Rick James(ish) antics that he expressed. As  I entered the school building I had to hold back tears. I wondered to myself how did he end up like this. I'm sure he never in a million years envisioned his adulthood would turn out like this. He wasn't a child who dreamed of being that drunk old dude sitting outside of a school building cursing crazily in front of children. What series of events in his life had caused him to drink himself silly and sloshed? 

Student after student kept on asking me, “Why were you talking to that crazy man?” All I could say was, “That man was sick and he needed help that’s all. I just tried to help.” 

This random man wasn’t so random after all. This man was my stepfather. He was all of the guys who stood in front of the liquor store when I was a little boy harassing customers as we walked bye. He was countless hurting men and women who were and still do self-medicate with alcohol. Honestly he was me when I’ve had way too much to drink in the past and couldn’t  recall what happened for the remainder of the evening. How could I look at him in any way aside from being my injured alcohol abusing brother? 

 

I'm not hear to tell anyone to stop drinking. Drinking alcohol is not a sin and alcohol is not a problem. Abusing alcohol is a problem. My heartfelt prayers go out to all who have been and are being affected by alcoholism (victims, codependents and loved ones). There is no peace in that poisonous liquid prescription. Problems must be identified and solved through paradigm shifts, intentional  actions and spiritual conviction not liquid antidotes.  Love blessings, grace and peace.