FatherHood Friday (Monday): Father's Day Edition

"Without the guidance of our fathers all we know is how to double clutch revolvers" - MOP "Blood, Sweat, and Tears"




I still haven't gotten used to it. "Happy Father's Day." It's usually directed at my father, from one of my brothers or myself. It's like being the winner to a high-profile race, being the victorious underdog. It's surreal.

Father's Day has all sorts of complexities brought on by the frailties and subtleties of masculinity. Most men who consider themselves moderately to highly masculine don't look for ways to celebrate themselves (except Narcissists - like Kobe, yeah, I said it). So Father's Day bringing attention to one of the most underappreciated, misrepresented and neglected familial positions in contemporary Western culture is nothing short of a perplexing phenomenon. Nevertheless on Sunday we salute all you fathers. Dads. Pops. Papa. Poppy, etc.



People really underestimate the power of fatherhood. But through life experiences on the job (NYC public school system), in personal relationships and through study (antropological and sociological) I'm constantly reminded of what an important responsibility I have that many have neglected. Many women have hard times in relationships when they haven't had a great model of how a man is to treat a lady and vice versa. After all a father is supposed to be the first man that loves her. Likewise many of the fellas get it twisted on what they're suposed to be bringing to the table, and what realistic levels of respect from a women are; in essence a father is the first coach, first mentor, first BOSS. But this post ist about fatherlessness, but rather, fatherhood and those who support it.

I wanna challenge everyone to stop saying happy fathers day strictly to biological dads, but to the positive pioneers who support fatherhood. I can confidently say that without the support of other fathers, positive male colleagues, uncles, siblings, mothers, aunts cousins, pastors, teachers, coahes, counselors. For some it was kind words. You're a great dad. You're kid Is mad cute. Keep up the good work.

For others it's been difficult questions, prodding. Challenges. Encouraging me through tough love to push through the difficult days where the custodial commute or monetary sacrifice seems to get the best of me. For the last group it was lifestyle. People Jo just fathered kids, coached them through life. Gave their kids the iron fist, and the soft caress. Cats who I strive to be like in fatherhood. Prototypes. Thank you all.

In essence fatherhood is a community effort. Will you help support, challenge engage and love a father near you? And if you already do, happy fathers day to you too!


Posted using Blogger from my iPhone (with DJ sleep in my arms!)

Philly Move No. 1: MIceWars and Central Air

J&H.  Anyone who's gone to Temple in the 90s or 2000's know these letters with a sincere familiarity. The hi-rise dorms with no a/c.  11 floors of mayhem.  Faulty elevators, cranky RA's, drunk idiots burning food in the microwave to feed their midmorning cravings that led to fire alarms and subsequent evacuations at ungodly hours of the night! That was my dwelling place freshman year.

My first move was to a newer more sophisticated dorm for summer school. I was never one of the privileged kids with a car that my parents (or anyone else) purchased for me.  Nor was I one of those few kids who worked enough to save for one. Sports was my true commitment after school so any jobs that I did have was make chump change. So, though my move was about six blocks (three city blocks) it was tough because I literally used a hand-truck to lug my stuff down the faulty, rank elevators onto the cracky, stinky streets of N. Philly, to the other side of this well-lit campus. It was tedious, tiresome and draining. I now romantically imagine kicking beggars off the handtruck, mean mugging thugs who plotted to rob me and headnodding the ladies who admired my sheer manly strength as I used my sculpted guns to U(hand)haul my stuff. Of course none of that actually happened.

1300! considering that this was a dorm whose address was 1300 Cecil B. Moore the name is fittingly lame.  Condescension aside the dorm was fly.  Apartment style with kitchens, cheap living room furniture and central air...compared to J&H this was HEAVEN!

Not much exciting happened here...I got second in a hotwing eating contest. The wings weren't that hot to me, I lost to a dude that was 6'5", 245...i'm 5'8" 160 (155 at the time).  My team also lost a game of dorm feud (like family feud). The prize was $50 gift cards to PATHMARK! FREE GROCERIES! Here's how it happened: it was the last round and our fifth player (who was a little slow I will add) went up to the buzzer -- which was a soda bottled that needed to be knocked over (to count as a buzz). Now, by slow I mean intellectually slow not reaction time slow because when the question was posed: "Name a famous mickey..." she knocked the mess outta that bottle, but she blurted out still in an adrenaline rushed, idiotic stupor: Minnie Mouse!

WOW.

Name a famous mickey: Minnie! Needless to say we lost and I never ever spoke to that slow slow again. Ever. Seriously. (If i saw her today I'd act like she didn't exist and tell anyone who was with me -- probably my son or Tica -- this exact story).

The last interesting thing that happened at 1300 was my epic battle with a rodent my first night there.  Ok, the battle wasn't epic but it was pretty amazing.  I was on the phone late-night with my self proclaimed sister from DC.  She's a Jackson too, just not actually related...and in the midst of talking about random nothings I saw a critter run from my room to the refrigerator! GASP! all the karate chopping beggars and mean mugging thugs I forgot to make handtruck roadkill out of leeching mice?! oh no!

I immediately paused my familial conversation and went to the refrigerator and bellowed a manly grunt/yell while lifting the fridge.  Yes, my adrenaline was pumping. The critter (usain)bolted from under the fridge and was running along the perimeter of our living room.  Enraged I (usain)Bolted across the room and began kicking the couches, as if I were to have impeccable timing and smush that sucka onto the wall.

I returned to my conversation which now turned into a three way conference call with my actual twin and my friend while I eyed the couches intently, waiting for that rodent to come peeking at what i was doing...mice are so nosey!  He didn't (no, there are no female mice in my head, only males, it makes the violence against them appropriate). After 40 minutes of wait time i decided to be the aggressor so I went to move the first couch that I Kicked and much to my pleasant surprise the impeccable timing i thought I had, I DID.  There was the putrid remains of the rodent who thought he could (usain)bolt faster than me! I won! He lost. He's dead. I'm alive.  But the was merely a foreshadow of things to come in my next place...on 29th and Diamond Street...

Insomniac Post: Sleep Deprived brain disorder

Not a real disease.  Just made it up.  I am awake.  Yes it's 1:53am on a saturday night/morn. Yes, technically, if I had more of a social life I should be up anyway. The truth is I wanted to be sleep four hours ago. But of all the things I can be bad at, of all the things to say, I suck at _____! my blank is SLEEP!!

I'm always up.  And when I'm sleep, i'm kind of up. I dream of good dreams so vividly that I never truly dream. I'm constantly concocting schemes to be better at everything in my life, or to rationalize, justify or challenge many things that may be going wrong as I lay on the bed, couch and sometimes floor, of places I choose to rest.  But I envy people who can lay down and be knocked out.  It's a blessing and sometime i fear that my sleep deprivation will corrupt my life and disrupt my longevity.  I don't wanna be diagnosed with this SPBD and have to take Cymbalta (or any other TV advertised prescription drug that has side effects worse than the condition itself like internal bleeding, shortness of breath, dry mouth, cotton mouth, trouble swallowing...lol...nor do I wanna contact my doctor if the pill gives me thoughts of suicide or paranoia)... somebody, helP!!+

Beach body...

I'm blessed to have good genes to enhance some good jeans (and T-shirts).  Part of my physique is genetic, my torso was always shaped in a way that would make toning and definition not much of an issue.  Add that to my high metabolism and my occassional hyperactivity (I do sometimes have a hard time sitting still...even when I sleep) and you have a recipe for physiological success, I'm ready to be casted for 300. SIKE!

Ok, so as the years wear on, and the date of my last Track & field competition gets further away the reality of regular life seems to settle in and the battle against the bulge begins to take center stage.  Along with the genetics of my torso comes the reality of the preacher belly (My pops doesn't drink beer, but he does preach, hence the name) that my Pops has, and his brothers, and his fellow clergymen.  I'm no preacher, and I'm no beer drinker,  AND I'm still in my 20s, so needless to say I'm not ready to part with my six pack in place of a keg. Work schedules, fast food, social life, and my culinary adventures in the kitchen all seem to work against the maintenance of my midsection, biceps, triceps, glutes, pectoralis majoris, latissimus dorsi, etc (i think you get the picture).

So, what does a real man do in the face of a battle? He becomes proactive, reads, plans and executes.  I picked up two books recently at an intellectual splurge at the famed bookstore Strand in Union Square. Both books were a dollar (I know hardly a splurge but I purchased more than these two).  One teaches about Core strength and the other is a book about exercise and diet by T.O. (yes Terrell Owens).


The Core Connection by Chris Robinson is an explanation of how your core can be strengthened using pilates workouts and a healthy diet of moderation and smart eating to activate your powerhouse.  The core (abdominals, lower back, buttocks) are an integral part of all major sports and will improve your posture while helping prevent injury.  I suggest this book for anyone who has been curious about Pilates and who may be looking for ways to sculpt your midsection from subpar to sexy.

Finding Fitness by Terrell Owens (with Buddy Primm & Courtney Parker) is both a motivational book and a sort of reflective book from the troubled, talented football star.  Due to numerous magazine cover cameos as well as a reality show most know that TO has an incredible physique. He uses resistance bands that you can find on Bodylastics website.

You don't have to purchase the whole set. I haven't yet.  But I'm not trying to spend 100/mo for a gym membership or 400 for someones hyped up infomercial. So, I got some resistance bands (not TO's) and I started reactivating my good genes...just in time for the beach...

FatherHood Friday: ComPadre

I'm a new parent.  I have a daughter now.  My daughter is not someone I met on the first day she was born.  I met her when she was like 1 month old.  I didn't know she was mine. I treated her as I treat all new babies I meet: With LOVE AND ATTENTION.

But yes, after careful consideration, I am the father!

Sounds like something straight off the Maury show, I know but seriously I am a new father.  To a beautiful baby girl named Summer. I was asked to be a Godfather.  A ComPadre (as my co-worker of Dominican descent calls them) is a job that I take very seriously. Much like my true fatherhood to my son.  I'm honored to have been asked.  It shows that someone noticed my attention to detail (with most things), my intellect, leadership qualities, and fatherhood capabilities.  Not only this but technically in the event of some sort of catastrophe (God-forbid) and the next of kin can't care for Dear SumSum, We would be next in line (Ms. Tica is also the Godmother) for being her caretakers.

There are thousands of Godparents in the United States, but few who take such a charge seriously. I wonder, though, if this is something that's inevitable, like waning contact with someone you meet who you think is a good fit for friendship, but time, and energy and schedule conflicts work against it.  I don't know how many of my son's 10 Godparents (don't ask, i had nothing to do with that one...long story and I'm not telling).

So wish me luck (though I prefer prayers) as I embark on another Fatherhood journey, a ComPadre (co-parent).  Sharing the responsibilities, triumphs, frustrations, joys and realities of parenting with Summer's biological parents.  And you can read some dope posts by the Tica as she Chronicles our journey from her own perspective.  Happy Friday.