A Letter to My Husband I wrote in my sleep…

(and to all the Black men that I care for).

I had a terrible dream last night. I went to visit you (I don’t know WHY I didn’t live with you in my dream…) But maybe because this was a nightmare. I went by your house and just as I saw your sweet face coming to meet me at the door, you were attacked. Vicious Nazis took you and worked to put you in handcuffs and cart you away. And I tried to run behind and help… bargain… reason with them. But they were the worst kind of criminal. They wanted nothing BUT to hurt you. So nothing I said was going to satisfy them. They shot me in the leg so I wouldn’t follow along and dragged you off kicking and screaming promising to do the most hurtful things to you. And I felt so powerless… so hopeless…

Until I woke up.

And now as I lay here caressing the dark chocolate silk that is your skin and breathing in your cocoa butter essence as you sleep peacefully with dreams of new horizons, I beg of you… take care. In these last few days we’ve been given reason to feel empowered beyond belief, finally respected and revered and almost indestructible. I don’t want to rain on parades but please remember that the most powerful man in the world being a black man does NOT MEAN that the world loves black people now. Actually? this series of happenings have infuriated some people from a position of pissing and moaning to quiet action. Never in the light of day because they know what they do is evil and never overtly because they won’t want to call attention to themselves as they work their malignant plans into motion.

Continue to hold up the light. Be extraordinary. Be proud. Be exemplary.

Be VIGILANT.

I can’t replace you… I don’t want to. You’re all that I have.

I love you.

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… With My Heart In The Middle…

So, I hung out with my friend Nick last Friday. He made me realize after we got comfortable with one another again (which took no time at all) that the last time we REALLY hung out… was 19 years ago. And I had to do a mental double take… have I been ALIVE that long that someone could be “out” of my life for 19 years??? Yeah… if I met them when I was 13. But… still. That puts some weight on the age. We didn’t miss a beat though. I have 3 shoe boxes FULL of letters from Nicky. We used to write each other whenever there wasn’t anything else to do (shows you how different a time we were from… here I go sounding like a gramma). There wasn’t e-mail yet. No texts to send. No twitters to tweet or Facebook statuses to up date. If you were going to communicate back then? It was by letter, phone call or fax if not in person. And so we wrote. We wrote when we were bored in class. We wrote when we got home to stop from running up our parent’s phone bills. We wrote whenever the spirit hit us. For 2 years. And it resulted in 3 shoeboxes worth of memories that I kept. Mind you… I’ve not read them since. I probably wouldn’t understand the humor now. It was children’s humor. LOL But I’m sure if I read them in succession… I’d remember TOO much about myself. Maybe one day… But don’t you TRY to throw those boxes away. They go right up there with my Granny’s photo albums and my mommy’s Madonna pendant. Super Precious and part of me.

While we truncated 19 years of catching up into an evening, he suggested that I rent a few movies that he’s seen that he thought I’d find interesting and I did the same. One that he mentioned was “Waitress”. Now, I’ll be honest in saying I don’t really remember WHY he suggested this movie outside of it being interesting and engaging. I’m not sure if he was asking for me to look for a message of any kind… but tonight when I was flipping through something to fill the silence with a little noise and I noticed that Waitress was playing on HBO. But it was an hour in. I thought to myself… “whatever reason he wanted me to see it will be lost on me… by now in the movie, I’ve missed the point.” Well folks… I can only tell you that the first hour must be amazing because what I saw? GRABBED ME BY THE HEART and I had no choice but to watch. I was poignant and amazing to me on so many levels… I can’t even begin to explain on how.

One scene, the main character gives birth to her little baby girl. And in one fell swoop, the presence of that baby gives her the strength to do all the things that she was afraid to do or thought that the presence of that baby would have prohibited. And it made me think about this one time. One single time in my whole life, I heard my mom talk about bringing me home from the hospital. Had to be about 3 years ago. And I don’t know what the topic of discussion was. But she was going over the parts of the story I already knew and had heard for years – I didn’t give her one craving. Didn’t make her crazy at all the whole time. Never made her sick in comparison to Dominic who had her going nuts at every opportunity. Then in the evening on September 30th, I started making it known that I was ready to come out. And by 10:54 AM on October 1st i “flew” out (in her words). And here is the part that I’d never heard till that day (and would never hear again)… She said it in Creole and there’s no direct translation for the real sentiment, but I’ll do the best I can. “She was so full of energy… so awake and aware… I’d never seen a baby so ready to LIVE, God DAMMIT…. she was going to take this world and wrestle it down!!” And her excitement… 33 years later… wasn’t dimmed by the passing of time. And it made me SO HAPPY to be alive… right then and right there.

Looking at that movie, I hope I gave my mom the slightest glimmer of hope in all my excitement to live… I don’t think I ever got too much less energetic. Even when I’m sad – I stay in this life, trying to stay in the stream and a part of the life force. Just like the main character of the movie was empowered by the presence of her daughter. I look forward to being renewed one day in a similar manner. Find my second wind…

Thanks, Nicky!

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Dream On…

… A dream that will need all the love you can give
Every day of your life, for as long as you live….

-Climb Every Mountain
Rodgers and Hammerstein

I know we’ve seen it a MILLION times… Heard excerpts of the speech throughout our lives. And I can’t help but remember that all the times I’ve watched and heard and read the speech have NEVER moved me so much as it did today. Now, we can chalk it up to me crying at a shiny can of soda lately… but before, I would watch the speech and think… “Sorry for what we’ve done with your dream, Martin…” Thinking about our world, environment, lifestyle and stagnancy (in my opinion). I watched the Boondocks rendition of what they think Martin would say to us today and couldn’t help but agree.

But today… 5 days away from the inauguration of our 44th president… an African-American Man… Well, damnit, I’m all choked up. What undeniable prospect of possibility it’s brought to my heart for our future… What a renewed outlook it’s given me for what’s to come. I’ve never felt so much pride. I’ve never willingly given in to this feeling of HOPE before. It feels amazing. I’m just overwhelmed.

I wanted to share that feeling with you today.

Happy Birthday, Martin.

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In Crowd

I’m suffering through some strange amnesia lately… I think I’ve written posts that I seem to have not written. Could have SWORN I put my thoughts down on paper / post at some point… remember structuring it… but as I search through my archives of the last 8 years – not a mention of the post I’m looking for. Must be my dream persona that’s blogging. I can’t access her archives from here.

Growing up was an interesting experience for me. Elementary school was decidedly a defining time for me. In a school where I was one of maybe 8 or 10 black kids… and everyone else was of Latino descent or Italian, the situations were perfect for me being sort of on my own no matter what I did. The fact that I got bottle bottom glasses in the 1st grade and then developed some unsightly acne under my lips and on my chin and the scarring that it left behind on other parts of my face (particularly the long scar down the center of my nose) didn’t help as the awkward years progressed. I was most certainly NOT one of the popular girls. As a matter of fact – I was one of THE nerdier kids in the lot. My lunch hours in the play street were either spent alone, or with the one or two kids that didn’t mind being seen talking with me. All the cool girls… the Janines and Maribels and Raquels of the world all sat around talking about this boy and that outfit and how they were all going to the mall after school to hang out with said boys or how they were all invited to So&So’s party this weekend and what they’d wear and who they’d go with. But even if I got the invitation, I wasn’t able to attend. My parent’s just wouldn’t let me. So more reason for the invitations to never really come my way. As communal as I wanted to be… as many friends as I would have liked to have had… I was alone.

I ran for class president once when I was in the 6th grade (a very creative and productive time for me). And I made about 100 construction “buttons” (very Tracy Flick style) that I’d hang around the class room that said “Vote for Vicky” (yeah – once upon a time, I liked being called anything BUT Victoria. Try calling me Vicky now… you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry). The were blue and red and white and had complementing writing on them. I was very proud of my campaign efforts. I made small pamphlets to hand out to folks touting the reasons I should be class president. (mind you – this is really before anyone had like… their own computers and their own printers – that crap was relegated to the more well off people, so I had to hand write each one). I felt my campaign was going great – at least… day one… Day two I walked into the classroom and someone had taken upon themselves to deface my buttons writing a different “-icky” adjective before my name. Vote for Sticky Vicky. Vote for Picky Vicky. Vote for Tricky Vicky. Vote for Yicky Vicky… intensely juvenile and pretty hurtful, considering I knew I didn’t have any “friends” but… I certainly didn’t think I had ENEMIES. Needless to say, I didn’t win the election because that ultimately pulled all the wind out of my sails. But I made a very important realization through that process. No matter who I am or what I do… everyone’s going to create their own opinions of me. And there is NOTHING I can do about them. Quite honestly… there’s nothing I SHOULD do about it. Because the only opinion that really matters… is my own. Bump what people think about me or feel about me.

From that point forward I took a very “doesn’t matter what other’s think” attitude about my life. I attended elementary school graduation completely apathetic. While everyone else cried and signed each other’s year book all sad that they were leaving, I couldn’t contain my glee for being set free. GOOD RIDDANCE I thought to myself. This chapter is over… time to start anew. And I never really looked back. As anyone who knows me well can tell you, High school was so far one of the very best experiences of my life. and mostly because I didn’t care what anyone thought or felt or judged for or about me. I was just having fun – whatever that meant for me.

Being outcast in that way for those formative years has given me a solid “whatever” attitude when it comes to weighing what everyone else will think. I truly don’t care. My feelings on the issue matter FIRST and it feels like some of the best armor I’ve ever worn.

Strangely and in contrast to all this wonderful bravado… I was clicking through facebook yesterday and stumbled upon some pictures from a reunion that was had with some former coworkers. The reunion was held a number of years ago, but I didn’t get an invite. The staff wasn’t THAT big that folks could have / should have been left out, really. I was with the staff when it was 13 people… and I left when it was about 50 (of my own volition). But if anything was ever like elementary school… working THERE was. It was the fashionistas and … well… everyone else. The un-cool. And I got shoved into the uncool sector for them, which I found laughable because I’d probably be THE coolest person they’d ever know *giggles*. And for ONE SECOND as I looked through these pictures… I felt the rejection. I felt the lack of want… the me standing at the corner of the playstreet… looking at everyone else being friends. And I HATED that I felt it at all; any hurt at all.

Then I remembered – those people don’t count. Where have they been for the last 8 years of my life? No where. Could they care less what’s been going on in my world? Nope. Do I care what’s happening in theirs? Hardly. And I have no need for their care. When I have a cast of characters in my life that are UNDENIABLE. Best friends a person could have in the WORLD… who truly love, care and appreciate me. For who I was once, who I am now and help me grow to my next levels. Who have been there to hold my hand in my deepest sorrows as well as to high five me in my life’s triumphs. Who listen (or read) to me ramble on an on about nothing or are contented to sit in silence with me. The people who in spite of what I think of myself find me unshakably cool. So to the Earls and Maxs and Shugs and Jerrys and Kimmys and Vickys and Tishelles and Icys and Robins and Donyshias and Jameses and Haydens and Vernies and Jennys and Nancys and NayNays and Tiffs and Lisas and Joeys and Feesas and Ronnies and Jeffreys and many names that I’m sure I didn’t include (I know I take a risk when doing a list like this – charge it to my head; I’ve been doing memory exercises though – please don’t think there’s no love for you)…

Just a word to say thank you so much. I know I don’t always call you out by name on my blog. But I want you to know that you’ve made a real difference in my world and my life and I’m a much better person for knowing you.

Love y’all.

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