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A Real Friend Is…

there for you when you aren’t even there for yourself never blind to your faults but loves you in spite of them always willing to compromise someone who listens, even when you keep saying the same thing never disposable comfortable to be around a formidable ally when you are in trouble not perfect a person … Continue reading A Real Friend Is…

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Taking Some Wrong Turns

Astronaut-Earth-sign1-300x221Why do I always get lost? I always get cold and clammy any time I see a “Detour” sign, which is ironic since my first novel is called Detours, but that is a metaphor while real detours just freak me out. I guess it’s because I usually only know one way to get anywhere, so when that way is taken away from me I cease to function as well. When I first moved to upstate New York it seemed like I was getting lost every single day, and getting lost here means going deep into cow country and not being able to find a road that leads out of it.

Once, a couple of summers ago, I was in Rome (Rome, NY, people) for a get-together with some teacher colleagues. I had never been in Rome by myself before, but I thought I knew the way back to route 69 that would take me back in the direction of home. The problem was that I ended up on the wrong street and I assumed it was parallel to the route I wanted. But it wasn’t. I kept driving anyway. I figured I would eventually run into an area that I was familiar with, and of course the longer I kept going straight the more likely that wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t going back, though, because that would admit I was so far off the path, so I kept driving.

The later it got, when the shadows began taking over the road in front of me and I had to turn on my headlights, the more I began to worry. When I finally passed a sign for “Ava,” which is an hour away from where I wanted to be, I finally realized it was time to suck it up and admit that I was hopelessly lost. So I stopped the car by the side of the road (I still wasn’t turning around) and I did what I usually do when faced with a dilemma. I called my wife. She directed me to a road I would have missed otherwise, and within minutes I was back on familiar ground. I guess that’s what comes from actually being from around here. Continue reading “Taking Some Wrong Turns”

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Premonitions

“Oh, my life is changing every day, in every possible way. And oh, my dreams. It’s never quite as it seems. Never quite as it seems.” -The Cranberries

_dreams_by_devilish_premonitionI had this dream last night, and in it some people had broken into my car. I don’t remember where it was parked, but something tells me it was at the mall, in one of the outside slots, where the eighteen-wheelers like to park across several spots at the same time. I’m not sure why it had to be there, but of course that made it more appealing for thieves. And I couldn’t recall if I had locked the car or not, if it was a passive break-in or an active one, but I sensed that somehow I had locked it and they had smashed in the back window with a crowbar or some other such implement.

I’m not even sure where I was when this was happening, but I showed up moments after the thieves left. I could even see their own car pulling away, but I didn’t have my keys so I couldn’t follow them. They were driving away but looking back, taunting me because I didn’t have my keys. Then one of them, a sandy-haired youth, tossed the ring of keys out of a back window, and then they were gone. Just disappeared, car and all. I went to grab the keys but they weren’t mine. In fact, they were a set that kids play with, the large plastic multi-colored keys. And I remember feeling stupid that I hadn’t realized I had brought them instead of my actual car keys. Of course they belonged to the baby, but if you had asked me what baby I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

Then I went back to check out the car, to see what other damage they had done besides bashing the back window in. The passenger side doors were wide open, open even wider than they can actually go, and the car looked pretty immaculate inside. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance. They had even brushed the glass off of the back seat and I could see the shards glittering against the pavement. Then I noticed that my iPod was missing, and I broke down in huge, gasping sobs, knowing that my world was over. Continue reading “Premonitions”

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The Art of Empathy

I almost walked past her, this perfect stranger, but I saw something on her face, in the downward cast of her eyes, that spoke volumes. “How are you doing today?” I stopped and asked. She had obviously been lost in her own world but I brought her back to a murky present. But she smiled … Continue reading The Art of Empathy

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The ‘N’ Word

n word nieema fosterAs a parent I want to protect my children from anything and everything that could hurt them, but realistically that’s not possible. The best I can do is prepare them as well as I can for dealing with and overcoming those issues as they come up. Of course some of the biggest issues that could hurt them come from factors they have absolutely no control over, a fact that hurts even more because, even though I wouldn’t want them to change to fit someone else’s standard, at least it is a flexible thing. When someone hurts either of my children, for whatever reason, though, I am like a papa bear who wants to rip down the entire forest to get justice.

I knew from a young age that if I ever brought children into the world they would be judged, not merely on their mental capacity, or on their empathetic scale, or even on the style of dress they fancied, but also on the color of their skin. Even when I grew older and married a woman who just happened to be white, I knew that skin color would still be an issue, because our children would never be “just” white, so they would be different, especially around here. Yes, we’ve made some great gains in race relations and issues surrounding the tension therein, but prejudice still abounds, even if it is done more subtly now than ever before.

In the class photos you can see the differences, in the abundance of curly, kinky hair, in the fullness of the lips, in the curve of the nose. These characteristics she inherited from me, and I’m proud of that, that I can see some of myself, and of my heritage, in her, even just physically. She gets so much from her mother too, but the one thing that stands out most, especially when looking at the class photos, is her skin color. There is a bit of a Mariah Carey light mocha coloring she has that is so beautiful to me, but I know when others see it they have their own ideas. I will honestly never know why, but some people can’t stand what they don’t understand.

When we are out and about without my wife, it’s interesting to see how differently people treat us, and how they treat me in particular. We are a black family when I am with my children on my own. It’s plain to see when older black women smile at the kids, as if they were their own grandchildren, or when we pass older white couples who look at us like we’re a completely new species. These same older black women, and these same older white couples, treat us differently when we are all together. In fact, they tend to ignore us and go about their business. They don’t “get” us. They can’t wrap their brains around an interracial couple, a mixed race family, even now, in this day and age.

The first time I heard someone use the ‘N’ word I was probably about 8 years old and it was on my block, a place comprised of all black folk, and the term was meant to be endearing. Continue reading “The ‘N’ Word”