Baby's Gun

Whenever a parent fails to lynch their child in public or caves to their demands there is always that person who says something along the lines of, "You act like you're afraid of that child. You're the parent." That irks me because some of these people fail to realize that...well this is better explained with an analogy.

Kids are like guns. I'm not afraid of a gun, rather I fear the bullet that comes out of it. I'm not afraid of my daughter, I'm afraid of what comes out of her. There's an invisible force called stress that erupts from her on a daily basis disrupting the natural order of things. I was alive 28 years before she was born. That's a long time to get used to things and set in one's ways. I had this false notion that I'd always have some impact on the daily flow of events as they pertained to my life. Then came the baby.

Suddenly simple tasks like going to the mall became advanced level routines that required military grade preparation.Do I have enough food for the trip, did I pack a bottle, is there a snack in the stroller, do I have her toys, is there an extra set of clothes, can the stroller fit through that aisle, what's the backup plan in case the elevator takes too long, do we chance it on the escalator, is it almost her nap time, don't let her fall asleep in the car because she'll be up all night, how am I gonna carry all the stuff in the house along with her and so on.

My brain is like a computer and right now I have too many programs open at once. Over time you get used to thinking like this and things become second nature, but you first have to survive initiation. You're stressed out over all of this stuff and the child is still in a good mood. Imagine what happens when the child has a Jack-Jack moment and turns into a hell spawn in the middle of a crowded store.

You go through the motions of trying to remember your training. The authors of all of those parenting books are secretly off somewhere laughing their asses off as you try to remain calm and "subvert your child's tantrum." The kid wants the Elmo doll that costs too much and you try to hand em an Elmo Graham Cracker outta your bag. They don't tell you that subversion only pisses the kid off more. The five-point harnesses installed in most strollers was not designed with the child's safety in mind. It's to stop the kid from climbing out the stroller, breaking that graham cracker into a shiv and repeatedly stabbing your lifeless body with it.

Then to make things worse, the kid will ask for stuff that it doesn't want. For some reason their brains operate like time-lock safes. If you miss that window to give them a nap, they lose grasp on all cognitive functions of logic. They ask for a toy then cry when you hand it to them. The kid asks for water. I pull an ice cold bottle of water out of the little travel freeze bag. She takes a sip and throws it on the ground screaming in protest. I don't know if she's doing her Mister impression from The Color Purple (Ain't cold enough) or what, but she just doesn't know how close she is to being safe dropped at the police station.

Over time you not only get used to it, but you start to recognize the signs. There will be moments when you can avoid it. You see the nap time counter winding down and you get em to sleep just in the nick of time. Maybe you just say the hell with it and leave the mall early. Other times you have no choice. You're in a restaurant, you already ordered and the food just came out. The kid's eyes roll up in her head and you realize that Regan is gone. You're now "speaking to the person inside of Regan." The kid wants to play with your $700 iPhone so to have just one meal in peace you give it to em and pray they don't levitate away still strapped to the highchair. Someone somewhere will look at you and judge you. "They're scared of that child." No I'm not, I'm scared of what will happen if all these programs inside my head crash at one time under the weight of the stress.

Matinee

No spoilers, I promise.

I went to see The Cabin In The Woods over the weekend and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Somehow I missed every trailer and article about the film so I had zero clue what it was about. I only looked it up because Parris and Jay on the Remember When podcast suggested it. My enjoyment is the synergy that resulted from two factors: It was a decent B-movie and (most importantly) I only paid $6 to see it.

I didn't even know they still did matinees in DC under ten bucks. Of course you have to go before noon to get that price and most theaters try to be slick and show the first film at 12:05. Since I can't have my way and return to the glory days when a movie ticket and a McDonald's Extra Value Meal cost the same price, I'm gonna try and overthrow the system by going completely left field with something.

What if all movies fell under a fee schedule? I mean think about it, there is no reason that I have to pay the same $16 bucks to see Mission Impossible 4 and Chronicle. One cost $145 million to make while the other had a scant $12 million budget. I wouldn't pay the same for a stuffed chicken breast from Ruth's Chris Steakhouse as I would a spicy chicken breast from Popeyes. I think the cost of the ticket should be proportional to the budget. The Cabin In The Woods cost $30 million so $6 seems about right.

Like I said, I enjoyed the movie. I got my six bucks worth and then some, so they should have a tip jar near the exit. I'd drop an extra two bucks in there. That could go to the gaffers, key grips, foley artists and all of the other random technicians who don't get any recognition until the bottom of the credits when everyone is walking out. Maybe ticket sales wouldn't be declining so badly if they had a realistic grip on demand side economics.

That will never happen, so until then I'll just wait for everything to go to Redbox. Every movie is good when it only costs $1.59.

The Onyx Child

This random memory just popped in my head.

Back in high school I went on a ski trip to Killington, Vermont. I'm proud to say that I'm one of the Snowy Seventeen. That's the name I just made up for the me and the other sixteen Black people in America that can ski. So anyway, our bus stopped at Walmart one night on our way back to the lodge.

I was excited, I'd never been to a Walmart before. DC didn't have one yet so I wanted to see if the store lived up to the hype from all those whistling smiley face commercials. "Wow, they have a seven hundred ounce box of Froot Loops for three dollars. This place is amazing." I started making my way back to the front with my wheelbarrow of cereal when I had a horror movie moment. There before me at the end of the aisle was this little six year old White girl in a ballerina outfit.

I don't know where she came from, she kinda just appeared out of thin air like an apparition or something. She was standing completely still and staring at me, like the possessed kids in horror movies always do. There was no one else on the aisle, just me and her. I walked by her, said in my nice nonthreatening voice, "Hello" and kept it moving. She got really wide eyed and took off running to the next aisle. As I was walking I heard her yell, "Mommy, mommy! Guess what, a BLACK man spoke to me!"

The mother saw me walking by and said, "Be quiet Emily!" "No mommy, I saw one for real. He spoke to me. A BLACK MAN spoke to me! What language do they speak?" The mother looked totally embarrassed and even though I tried to look upset like a racism PSA, I was actually laughing inside. I thought it was funny. I couldn't blame that little girl. I was in Killington, Vermont. There weren't any other Black people there…or so I thought.

The next day we went to the movies after the slopes closed. A couple of us hit up the bathroom first and while I was washing my hands, I heard a toilet flush in one of the stalls and I looked up in the mirror just as the stall door was opening. You know how people freeze when they see a loose dog or a bear or something in the woods? This Black dude came out the stall and just froze when he saw us. He didn't say anything for a good five seconds. The next thing I know he just got excited as hell.

"Oh my God! Where are y'all from? Where y'all live at? My girl is not gonna believe this! I haven't seen any other Black people since I moved up here man! Y'all trying to hang out or something?" I got all of that in about ten seconds. He was so excited to see us you would've thought we'd rescued him off an island or something. His excitement was equally matched by his disappointment when we told him we were just visiting. He said he'd been there for six months and wished he'd seen us sooner as we could've all hung out. I've never seen someone that desperate before. It wasn't even creepy. I could tell he generally felt out of place.

Tears of A Clown

Some things should just remain a memory in your head.

All week I've been forcing myself to go outside after my wife gets home to "take advantage of living in the city." When we lived in NC I used to complain that there was nothing to do so this week I dedicated my life to finding "man stuff" to do after she gets off. Yesterday the mentally challenged idea popped into my head that I should go back down memory lane and hit up the carnival over at Capital Plaza. What the hell was I thinking?

Even as a teenager I stayed away from DC carnivals at night unless I was just looking to play the Matrix. (You're telling me I can dodge bullets? No, when you're ready... you won't have to.) It was fifty degrees last night and, like roaches, I figured that was about ten degrees colder than most of these bad ass kids are willing to tolerate. I was right. The place was deserted. I felt bad for the carnival people though.

The saddest sight in the world is an empty carnival. It was like watching the tears of a clown with all those people sitting on their own rides and games staring at me like "play me!" I would've if that place didn't look so damned dirty. I didn't even trust the canned sodas. Then I felt old as hell because I couldn't bring myself to get on a ride. Tickets were a $1.25 a piece and the cheapest ride was the swings for four tickets. I'm not paying $5 to let a giant centrifuge fling me to my death. Those raggedy ass chains holding that thing up looked like a bike lock chain and the fact that it looked like it was made out Lego and Duplo blocks didn't help sway my opinion either.

There were two guys working on one of the ferris wheel gondolas with a crowbar. They saw me and said, "We're open buddy!" Umm, no the hell you aren't. I decided to leave after one time around but in order to get out I had to walk past all the games. That's the most desperate part of the carnival. They're like washed up hookers trying to solicit a john. "Look man, I'm thirty years old. I don't wanna play no damn duck game. Get away from me." For a brief (and I do mean brief) moment I considered winning something to take home to my daughter, but every prize looked like something you'd buy in a crack house garage sale. Nothing was completely inflated, everything was dirty and they had this balloon hammer that, because it wasn't inflated all the way, looked like a crack pipe.

I left and went to the Walmart a few feet away. 75 angry black people standing in five open lines while the "team leader" was telling two of them to shut down their registers and clock out...now that was an adventure.

[caption id="attachment_2116" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Promise me Simba, you must never go there."][/caption]

Al Sharpton Is GI Joe

I don't think Al Sharpton gets a fair trial in the court of public opinion. I'll be the first to admit that my knee-jerk reaction whenever I saw him on television was to change the channel. I didn't know anything about the man and had never actually listened to him talk, at least not for more than thirty seconds. He just always seemed to be on TV talking about this or that is racist and I thought he was a glory hog. Now…Al Sharpton is GI Joe to me.

"Al Sharp-tonnnn! An Afro-American hero. Al Sharpton is there, fighting for freedom wherever there's struggle over land and sea and air. Al Sharp-ton is there!"

Seriously though, the first time I actually listened to what he had to say was at Michael Jackson's funeral. He said something along the lines of, "Your daddy wasn't crazy. It was crazy what your daddy had to put up with." He said it so matter-of-factly and had the same "no bullshit" look that an uncle or grandparent who's been around the block has when they speak. He was telling the truth and I took notice.

Then I saw him on HBO's The Black List. He admitted that he knew he didn't have a chance in hell of winning the presidential election, "Even if every other candidate died, I knew they'd find a way to make someone else president." He said he ran just to include us in the debate. By being a candidate they had to respond to the issues he raised. I can't fault him for that.

After that, Reverend Al was A-okay in my book. So yesterday when he spoke after the charges against George Zimmerman were announced, I turned up the television to hear what he had to say. He didn't disappoint. "I don't want anybody high-fiving today. These people lost their son. He's not coming back. This isn't a time for gloating or celebrating. We didn't win anything today." He also reminded people that the original statement from the Sanford chief of police was that no charges would be filed.

So I repeat my original statement, Al Sharpton is GI Joe. He goes wherever he thinks he's needed and he brings the fight to injustice. Say what you will about him, but you have to admit that his celebrity brings at least one camera or one news network to wherever it is he chooses to go. This time around it was Trayvon Martin. I think Martin's family was right to thank Rev Al for coming in and turning it from a local issue to a national one. A few years ago it was Jena Six.

I'm not saying he's a saint. If it comes out in the future that he killed the Easter Bunny or something, don't come back pointing the finger at me. I'm just saying that for all the negative things I hear that attempt to belittle him as just a spectacle, I think there should be more positive things said about him. From what I can see, he's given more than he's taken from the world and it never seems to be done in a selfish or self-serving way. If he were to die today, I can't say there's anybody waiting in the wings to step up and take his place. That worries me.

844

Okay, so I didn't win that Mega Millions jackpot. I was holding out hope that maybe I was suffering from a case of temporary amnesia and had forgotten that I went to Baltimore or Kansas and bought the winning ticket. It's cool though. It's not like I haven't won the lottery before.

I started playing the lottery when I was about five. My grandmother used to go around the corner to the liquor store everyday to play the Pick 3. I knew what "box 50 cent, 50/50 one dollar and straight 50 cent" meant by the time I was five years old. So one day I was in the store and told her to play a number. She didn't listen, even though I told her that it was going to win. A few days later we were back in the store and a man walked up to her and told her that he overheard me talking to her a few days ago and he put a dollar on my number both straight and boxed. He won a good amount of money. He gave me five dollars for being good luck…then he asked me to give him another number to play.

After that, I was the Black Buddha of the family giving out lottery numbers. One day I told my grandmother to play 844. She played it and we waited until the numbers were drawn that night. Sure as hell, 844. She won $80 and we split it. My mother still owes me that $40 because she borrowed it to put towards her car note. That was 1990, so the interest on that is about $7,000 (I don't have my calculator handy. That's strictly off the top of my head) So if you're reading this mother, I accept cash or pre-paid Visa.

Anyway, I retired from Lotterizing (Lottery+Prophesying) after that. Then I dusted off the old crystal ball in '93. My school was going on a ski trip and my mother said she didn't have the $50 for me to go. On the night before the last day to pay, I asked to borrow a dollar and asked her to buy me a lottery ticket. I played good old 844 and two hours later I sat in front of the TV and watched them pull 4-4-8. I yelled, "I won $80, I won $80! I can go on my trip." My mother responded, "You won $40. You borrowed a dollar from me remember. We split it. I'll loan you the other ten so you can go on your trip."

Accounting skills, like gambling, run deep in my family. I conceded her demands for half my winnings since I knew I couldn't claim the money anyway because I was only ten and once again I retired from lotterizing…that is unless I sleepwalked to Kansas or Baltimore and bought a Mega Millions ticket two weeks ago.

This Message Will Self Destruct

By the time someone reads this it'll be the morning. The sun will have risen and reset the day. Despite this fact, I'm writing this anyway. It's currently 10:18PM. My child is bouncing around with her hair out in a fro. Normal kids would be asleep right now but this model comes with a backup generator. She could possibly go another two or three hours.

All I want to do is play some NBA 2K12, eat some Cheez Its and have a Coke and a smile. I don't wanna look at Super Why. The mechanism inside of me that pretends to be entertained by the Let's Rock Elmo doll is broken. I'm this close to taking out the batteries and telling her that Elmo has been put on the heart transplant list and one (or six) AA hearts should become available tomorrow.

After 10 is mommy and daddy time or at the very least daddy and Xbox/PS3/DVR/Netflix time. I blame my wife. My daughter was on her way to sleep. The eyes were closing. I saw the lids about to touch and then my wife messed it up. She smiled or maybe she had a happy thought. I don't know what exactly, but she did something that my daughter's telepathy picked up on that translated into "they're gonna have fun without me" and my daughter woke back up. I know the drill. She goes to sleep, I removed all glimpses of hope from my face. I pretend to be having a bad day. I pretend that I'm sleepy too. Then, when she's actually in her bed asleep, I army crawl back into the living room. I mute the TV, turn on the closed captions and "read" some TV. Reading is fundamental, you know.

It's moments like these that I'm tempted to start a child support task force. I want to be like Tom Cruise and the rest of the Mission Impossible team. Imma go hunt down all of these deadbeat, no good fathers who miss out on moments like these. I'm gonna drag them back to their respective families and they're gonna put in the time. If you won't do it because it's the right thing for your child then you're gonna do it because I have to do it and I'm way more important than you.

The Department of Social Services can disavow all knowledge of our existence in the unlikely even that we fail, but c'mon, I'm motivated by the shame that I know way too many episodes of Sesame Street by heart. I want justice.

[caption id="attachment_1537" align="alignnone" width="300" caption="Even if I have to scale a 200 story glass crack house, I WILL find you."][/caption]