Spirit Food. Mr. CJ.

My playbrother is like a real brother, but seeing how I only had one biological brother whom was killed in 2003; I never want anyone to mistake either and I'll always keep my brother's memory alive by making mention of him.

There's an inside joke amongst those in my circle. They say, CJ and I are going to end up together. Laughing out loud and within. We know one another quite well, which is why I think it's pretty hilarious, that since we've been friends for so long other's think we should just "hook up" and become a couple. Neither of us would even consider jeopordizing our friendship on any attempt at becoming a couple.

CJ and I are exactly what the LORD wants us to be; friends. We share an honest friendship and a divine kinship. I learn a whole lot from him regarding the male perspective and he learns much about women through my personal insights. He has two younger sisters he grew up with so I take on the big sister role with him, although we're the exact same age; probably hours and minutes apart. We also share the same exact birthdate.

Aside from CJ being one of my most reliable friends, there are some milestones in my life where his presence will forever remain irreplaceable. He has a lifetime freedom pass into my life and he's definitely a VIP. I can't name every time or each occurrence where he's been dependable for not just me, but for my family as well because he's been here for me and my girls through almost everything.

He visited me in the hospital both times I gave birth. My daughters truly value him as their uncle. Every event we've invited him to, he attends. He's even surprised us with tickets to various outtings and performances. I can always count on him for a small loan when neeeded and he doesn't sweat me about the payback. He is listed as an emergency contact at both of my daughters' schools. By every account, he is my bestfriend, but I'm also very fortunate to count on him as my playbrother. He's the little brother I never had growing up and I love him just as he is!

Sidenote: He's a good man. One day he'll make a great husband and father to his own family. He loves the LORD with all of his heart and his daily actions are based upon "this" truth. Only GOD can fill him with the patience and understanding necessary to be categorized as a VIP in my life. I'm thankful, "that" he allows his cup to be filled with the Holy Spirit and for his willingness to deliver whatever/however accordingly.

I'm so blessed having him as a spiritual brother and to count on him as my friend. CJ is star in my world. I will cherish our friendship forever. 

#FACT

My Black History: Day 20.

I'm honoring my lovely, Black-self on this lovely Friday. It's been quite nice reflecting on my own Black History throughout this month. Sure we have our common Black History themes annually and the reminders about who paved the way for so many of us today, which is necessary, but far too often we are persuaded to behave like, appear like, and to lead our lives like others. I have a right to turn inward and to concentrate on my own life without feeling guilty, which is exactly what I do here in "this" blog.

 I'm so glad to be back! 

Welcome to my Black present! 

My Black History: Day 17.

Dysfunctional Family...

Growing up in a family with accepted dysfunction has kind of warped my perception about my place in mine. While I'm in the process of evaluating what my family has been, what they are, and what I hope family for me will become, I've decided, "that" I will not accept dysfunction as the norm any longer.

When I was a little girl, I always knew "it" was wrong for someone to offend me without making some type of amends. Yes, I forgive, but no, I don't forget. I'm a bit slow forgiving, but I do eventually, come around.

I'm thinking heavily about "this" subject matter because the only people whom I've allowed to remain active in my life, who've offended me without taking any kind of action to resolve the issues, are none other than... Yep; family.

My mother was the queen of dysfunction. She would provoke me, push every trigger-button and be completely aware, that she was being offensive. We'd get into "it" quite aggressively then part ways, whether it'd be her hanging up the phone in my face or me walking out of her home vowing to never return. So many countless occasions I am able to recall.

Then out of the blue with no apology and no insinuation towards one, she'd call casually as if nothing ever happened, to discuss something else or ask about something concerning her grandchildren and I'd follow suit. Or, I'd have a need and call for her assistance. No apology from me; just a request and if she obliged, then I was happy and we were cool again.

Just another unresolved issue swept under the rug...

Far too many conversations were never had between my mother and I. To this very day, I cut people out of my life without any explanation for doing so. I just go. Detach and keep "it" moving. "This" behavior had exclusively been shown to acquaintances and friends, but now I also, extend it to family.

I realize, that I allowed my mother to be as she was towards me because simply, she was my mother. I found it very difficult attempting to omit her from my life while she was alive because she raised me and I grew compassion for her once I became a mother. A single mother just like her and when my brother was murdered, I vowed to never leave her regardless of any offense she subjected me and/or my children to.

I kept that promise, but now "that" she's an Angel looking over us I'm demonstrating how I will not accept the same dysfunction from anyone else. No one. Not from my children, no best friend, no boyfriend/husband; absolutely no one. Granted, I may be a little dysfunctional myself, but I'm working attentively to improve some of my worst attributes. "It" begins with acknowledgement and trust, I'm very aware.

My extended family hasn't been much more than a holiday family. Hear from them for a holiday gathering invite and that's about "it." There's a class divide and my mama's little family of her own, being my brother, me, and our children seemingly fall low on the totem pole. I've grown to resent "this" and honestly, still do. So guess what?

Darn right! I cut them out of my life and do not fool with them period. Why? The LORD gave us the ability to choose and I choose to allow only those who choose to demonstrate, that they want to to be present in my life and accept me as I am. "This" is my choice and I can live with "it."

I am breaking the chains of dysfunctional acceptance in my family. Come or don't come at all, but if you do come, come correct and honorably, or be dismissed. Pressing forward, keeping "it" moving through "this" journey called life with the family bloodline or with a family-designed.

#MyPerspective

My Black History: Day 9.

I'm flabbergasted, that I still remember the very first house I lived in with my mother and brother. I have vivid memories about living on Fedora Street in Koreatown for my first 6-years of life. I used to play with a little girl named Patricia, but was never allowed in her home. No problem with "that." It's just something I recall. She used to sneak across the street to play with me because she wasn't supposed to leave her front yard. Needless to say, her parents were very strict.

At "this" time of my life I didn't know much about differences in culture or "that" any divide existed between various ethnic groups.

I'm really blessed being alive and having the ability to blog. I reflect back to my childhood and think heavily about a particular incident where nothing, but GOD kept me from becoming an abducted child. Patricia and I, were almost victims of kidnap. On one afternoon, we both snuck around the corner on our Big Wheel tricycles. "This" was also during the era of the "night-stalker" who was a serial killer on the loose in Los Angeles.

We were halfway around the block when an old white man in a station wagon pulled up alongside us. I'm not sure about Patricia, but I don't recall knowing better than to talk to strangers so when he stopped and spoke to us I responded. He pushed his passenger door open and asked me to come closer. I got off of my tricycle and I remember telling Patricia to come, but she stayed put on her tricycle and shook her head no.

As I approached his vehicle, he pulled out his private part and asked me if I wanted to touch "it." I remember being afraid and telling him no as I began to step back. I was actually close enough for him to grab me if he had done so instead of grabbing himself. He asked me if I wanted to go for a ride and I said no. Patricia beckoned me to get back onto my tricycle and we screamed as we peddled away as quickly as we could, returning back around the corner from which we came. The man didn't follow us. He proceeded forward and we never saw him again.

Thank GOD!!!

We told our parents and I remember my family being pretty frantic about the ordeal. They thought the man might have been the "night-stalker." He wasn't him, but still a pedophile. Although, I described him above by skin color and age, based upon my memory. I don't hold his actions towards me against any other old white man. Unfortunately, I've experienced other similar scenarios during my teen year, even some as an adult and guess what? The men involved weren't white.

Individuals should be held accountable for their actions and not be deemed as representatives for their entire ethnic group. "This" kind of grouping is unjust, invalid and ignorant.

"This" experience is one I just haven't forgotten. All the news stories I've heard and read about regarding child abductions takes me back to "that" memory. "It" causes me to be very overprotective with my children.

With so much else going on in the world, it's pretty unbelievable how some people choose to focus on the color of someone's skin and/or their past. My childhood friend Patricia was Korean. I grew aware of "this" fact long after we moved out of "that" neighborhood. "It" was never an issue and still today, "that" isn't what I remember most. I remember her being a wise little girl and perhaps, saving my life by knowing better than to talk to strangers. Had she be in agreeance with me, I may not have ever seen today.

My Black History: Day 2

I am proud to be a strong Black woman. It's taken me years to fully accept where I come from and how I was raised. In fact, I'm still settling into the total person I've grown into.

My mother moved our family all around Los Angeles. We were never homeless, however, we lived in predominantly, all Black and Mexican neighborhoods where we witnessed not only homelessness, but prostitution, heavy gang activity, and all sorts of misfortune. In these same neighborhoods, is where we also observed several miracles and gained roots of incomparable strength to live/thrive among "the survival of the fittest." 

To be blunt about "it" I was raised in the ghetto.

I had the best childhood outside of my home. My childhood friends also agree that we experienced some of our best memories growing up in the ghetto or what's commonly now referred to as, the hood. Now, when I was a little girl growing up in these highly disadvantaged neighborhoods, I didn't know there was an identifier-label placed upon our communities by outsiders and insiders who moved out, then chose to forget where they originally came from. 

Not all, but many insiders are ashamed of their upbringing and sugar-coat or flat-out lie about how/where they were raised. Outsiders usually speak from ignorance and fear when making derogatory statements about Black people from the hood or the hood, itself. 

I had an insider experience during my middle-school years. For the second half of my 7th grade year, my mother got a permit to transfer from the school district because she worked at the Veteran's Administration Memorial Center (VAMC) in West Los Angeles, which enabled my way out of the hood (for at least 8 hours during the week), while I was fighting often and being threatened daily at my home school. My brother experienced something similar during his middle-school years and when my mother didn't take action; he did, by joining a gang in order to have a support group when he was being threatened and jumped on by other gang members. I may have followed suit had I been forced to remain in my home school without any other options.

Thank GOD for His Holy intervention!!!

The new school was so different from my home school. The campus was clean. It was a diverse group of students. Here, is where I first remember interacting with kids whom were born in several different countries and spoke various languages. The competition between our egos was more about intellect than appearance.

Truth be told, I probably appeared like I lived in and came from the hood based upon my demeanor. I recall feeling embarrassed sometimes about where I lived versus my classmates. Some of my friends rode the school bus home to their neighborhoods on the westside. Back then, I so badly wanted to be a "westside-girl." A westside Black girl. Why?

Well, most of them were bourgeoisie. They lived in cleaner neighborhoods and had bigger homes with their own bedrooms; some had their own bathrooms. Their parents were married or divorced and many had relationships with their fathers. They were involved in extracurricular/social activities outside of school and home. I thought they had "it" made and "that" caused me to experience some moments of envy. 

Self-criticism and unfair comparisons about my family and others began to creep into my thoughts.

I wasn't totally honest about where I really came from with everyone who asked. Shamefully, I'm able to say now, I behaved like the insider who wished she could rewrite her history. "It" is more than satisfying accepting all that contributes towards who I am right now, today.

Gladly, I remember me.

America probably wishes too, that she could go back in time and approach uniting the states and we, as a people, differently.

...To be continued on Day 3.

And So. I Thought.

I had what I was going to blog about all planned out. I mean, I've been thinking about "it" all day and even over the weekend, but oh! How a single moment can change anything. My mood this evening went from a happy yellow to a raging red.

Why?

I'm still sorting through my thoughts about "it." On my way home from work I stopped at the grocery store to get a few "things." When I finished paying for my groceries, I felt my cellphone vibrating in my pocket. My first thought was, that it must be my eldest daughter calling to ask me to pick her up so I made every effort to grab my phone and answer her call, but I couldn't.

Why not?

Well, when I looked at my phone as it vibrated continuously, the screen was dark. As if my battery had died or something. I know that I should've upgraded my phone within the past two-years at least, but I made the decision that I was going to use it until it became unuseable. Whatever the problem was causing my phone to vibrate was so persistent (extremely annoying), that it just vibrated all the way home, as I walked into the house (gladly, my daughter was there already), and kept on as began to try to get situated after coming in from a full work day. "This" was so distracting to say the least, but I'll share more...

I lost my cool. I wanted to destroy my phone because I was so frustrated with the vibrating noise and the fact, that I couldn't gain access into "it." Before I went off on my iPhone 4 (yes, it's 5-years old), I attempted to fix it by plugging it into the charger; that didn't work. I then asked my daughter how to remove the sim card, which she showed me and I got it out, but the bleepity-bleep phone was still vibrating. At "this" point I wanted to fight "it."

Why?

Ok, I'll admit "it." I've got some unchecked anger rooted in my upbringing, some personal setbacks, my status as a "babymama" (double-time), my economic struggle, not having control of my own time, lack of passion for the "things" that used to contribute towards my daily cheerfulness, feeling overwhelmed about all my responsibilities, and not being able to say exactly how I feel to some people for the sake of "saving face and keeping the peace."

Sometimes, we break ("things"). Tonight, I broke my phone. I am somehow, now able to write peacefully about "it," but my children were puzzled about witnessing my tantrum and asked if I'd "be ok." I assured them I would be, but I needed to get through "that" personal moment of despair. I wallowed in "it" for about 45 minutes, fussing about how upset I was at the phone and how "it" was messing up my night.

How did I give that piece of junk so much power over my mood?

I'm not sure, but I do know, that I was very immature with how I handled my frustration over a device. Needless to say, I'm not so into my phone "that" I can't live without "it." However, I'm a mother, I have a job, and folks that are concerned and care enough about me to call and/or text me.

How can they now?

They can still leave a voicemail message, but I won't know until I check. I'll no longer be alerted instantly. I'll miss texting.Yes, I'll replace the phone probably very soon, but I didn't have to make it an urgent matter.

Did I?

No, now "that" I'm thinking (instead of feeling so mad) it probably would've vibrated itself completely out of charge. Then maybe, just maybe, but I guess I'll never know now (silly-foolish me... not laughing, but smirking at myself). I could've recharged "it" and perhaps, it would've been fine. Now, I'm hoping, just hoping, that AT&T has magical powers to retrieve my data, which is now hammered into the deepest inside parts of the device, literally. Wouldn't believe, that I formerly kept "that" phone in tip-top condition and it still appeared new outside of the protective case.

What to do?

Admit my error: Done. Reckon with myself and move on: Currently in effect.

I'm no longer afraid to share my failures as my willingness "to do" so, helps me to better accept and consider my choices moving forward. I completely failed myself in the department of self-control tonight, but I also recovered. Totally, right here in "this" sacred space in time for me. Thank GOD!!!

How am I now? 

Still blessed and highly favored. Next!

One moment, each day at a time is the best way for me to find balance within myself and others.

Two Days. Bye Nine.

"This" is the last Thursday, that my youngest daughter will be 9-years old. I remember when I found out that I was pregnant with her. I had just completed my Broadcast Journalism and Radio Production certification courses at Pasadena City College. Another unplanned pregnancy and I had no interest in becoming more serious with her father.

Why not? Don't be nosey!

Out of respect for my children, I will not publish anything negative about their fathers. Yes, "that's" plural. I have two children by two different men, that I never married. So what. I'm not the first mother with this background and I won't be the last.

Judge me, not. Only GOD!!!

My eldest was beyond excited to become a big sister. She yearned for a little sister and blessedly, her wishes came true. My little family of two grew to three on January 23, 2006. I must admit, their relationship is nothing like I imagined it'd be.

Each share my personality, but to the extreme in some areas with one not speaking out enough and the other talks a lot... Very much. One is quite stingy and the other is a bit too generous. They're both beautiful, intelligent and talented. Like me. ;)

With a 7 1/2-year age gap, we've faced our share of challenges, even though we've been a household full of estrogen. It's been difficult scheduling family outings and deciding where to go, because my daughter's preferences and levels of understanding, land on separate moons. I know, that they love one another, but they don't regularly exercise much patience towards each other and too often, I find myself playing referee between them.

One wants to do "this" and the other wants to do "that." One is too mature for "this" and the other too young for "that." One wants to bring a friend along because her sister brought a friend the last time. Oh, it goes on and on... Let's just be reminded, that girl's are really something else; never satisfied. 

So now, that my eldest will soon be an adult and on her way to college, my youngest will have the opportunity to have me totally at home. She yearns for more one on one time with me and when it's just the two of us, I'm more attentive to her needs. As one could expect.

My youngest has been eyeing her first double-digit birthday since she was 5-years old. She's only grown more anxious about it over the passing years because I told her the next birthday party she'd have, would be when she reached ten. So here we are, finally. 

"This" year, beyond her birthday a big change will come. Still, a family of three we'll remain, however, it'll be just she and I in our household when she begins the 5th grade once summer's over. "Things" will become quite different. I'm looking forward to it because as a single parent with two children, it's challenging balancing fairly between them.

The little one will soon get to experience what it feels like to be an only child within our household. I know that I shouldn't, but I've felt guilty about not being able to provide them both with everything they want and deserve. I've done my best thus far acting as a fair parent, but I haven't been in the position financially, to do a lot of the "things" my eldest experienced having me one on one for the first 7 years of her life.

So... On behalf of my youngest daughter, goodbye 9. Welcome 10. It's time for the little one to get her's in!

Mind Full.

Taking some time to examine my thoughts...