August 12th is my Family Reunion . For me it will be more a gathering of strangers.I really am not that familiar with my mothers side of the family except for my immediate aunts and uncles and their children.
Im sure I will have the time of my life but there will also be those awkward moments.When my Aunt introduces me to my 3rd cousin I shared a bed with once as a toddler. Im sure we will both act as though we remember, clumsily hug and and go back to our ribs and cole slaw.Ill shake hands and trade stories with the cousin who I only call "Marquis de Sade" for he tortured me relentlessly.Chest Punches.Indian burns.Purple nurples.Etc.Etc.. Ill hug my cousin who I uncomfortably remember getting a little to frisky with as a child and shake hands with her boyfriend/ fiance/ husband. Ill drink beers with my uncles who I remember as lions amongst men and realize that today they are men amongst lions. As one day I will be.
Except for one relative who will be unmentioned at the family reunion.Because he did the umentionable.Ironically we will see his face among generations of his children although he will not be there.Or even welcome.
But the truth is always stranger than fiction.When I first went to prison in 2003 those 1st days were the darkest.When I thought I couldnt make it I heard a voice across the tier. It was him. At that time I was unaware what he was in there for. I never asked ,was just to happy to see my Blood. But he gave me a pack of ciggies and the tools I needed to make it in there.I probably would have had a much harder time inside without his guidance.I came home feeling like he was my guardian angel only to find out his unmentionable deeds that put him in there with me were unforgivable.Damn.
Honestly I cant wait. Although it will be hard to look my Aunt Lavon in the face ( Ive avoided her for years) because it will be like looking at my mother. Her expressions. Her hands. I miss her cigarette and brandy tinged laugh although she indulges in neither now and is quite the blue ribbon grandmother today.And uncle JB, the coolest uncle possible..ive never seen him run,yell or sweat.He worked and watched sports 24/7. I remember most him helping me catch my 1st catfish at my mothers cabin. Ill never forget that.
My Uncle Jake...He was funny although I didnt get his jokes as a kid. But I got his laugh.I thought it was the funniest thing ever.So whenever he laughed I laughed. And he laughed a lot. I cant wait to laugh with him come August. Maybe I might understand the jokes this time around.
And Lolo.who literally could beat me up until pre-teen years.Whom I share a bond with that transcends states and years. And although she probably should have been a single mother statistic has grinded her way to success and has raised 3 boys no less to adulthood.One a world champion boxer for Kronk (Domonique forgive me for all the times I pinned you down and tickled you til you cried, kicked down your pillow fort or other things I may not remember). I love you cuz!
As a matter of fact I love all of my family.I love all of my "blood strangers".Despite I have friends I know better than a lot of you. I have had relationships with deeper ties than I have had with some of you. My fiance knows me better than most of you. But we have Blood. Something that cant be washed away, discarded or even denied. Its the one constant throughout life.The one thing that cant be taken away. And in spite of what I have been or become I got my invite to the reunion! So come August 12th those no place that Id rather be than amongst strangers that I share blood with. But maybe we should wear nametags. Imjussayin'.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Tupac Shakur vs. The People of Sierra Leone
Im sure everyone is aware of Blood Diamonds(conflict diamonds) which are diamonds mined and sold to fund a war.,specifically in Sierra Leone or Uganda .Yes its become the the celebrity charity of the moment. Kanye made a song about it that was very deep and poignant. Leonardo DeCaprio made a movie about it. But few people are aware of the role Tupac played in the conflict.
During the conflict ,which went on from 3/25/1991 to 1/8/2002, members of the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council recruited child soldiers some as young as 8 to fight the war for them.These kids went from Arithmetic and school lunches to propaganda and a diet of cocaine mixed with gunpowder and many were forced to kill theyre own families.Many of these kids (because of a lack of uniforms or anything else to seperate them visually from theyre enemies who often were also child soldiers working for the govt)began wearing 2Pac tshirts to identify themselves mainly because Tupac constantly refered to himself as a rebel and soldier.They also called themselves The West Side Boys aka West Side Niggaz or West Side Junglers .
I know , I know the irony of it all is unbearable.
So it came to be if you saw someone coming to your village in a Tupac shirt you should run or die.If you found someone alone with a Tupac shirt mobs of people would kill them as revenge. So either way Tupac symbolized death in Sierra Leone.
They could not have been aware of the fact that Mr Shakur would have been horrified to know he was being used as a symbol of black on black violence.After all he was named after Tupac Amaru a 70s civil rights leader. His Godmother was Angela Davis. He would turn in his grave to know he had been misunderstood and misconstrued into a martyr for these terror squads.
Or does he even have a right to be? For every "Brenda got a baby" theres a "Definition of a Rida". For every "Dear Mama" theres a "Thug Passion."For everything he said he represented in life..In song it was often a far darker ,more violent 2Pac.He could go from a call for peace between black & brown people to murder of his "enemies" in one song and switch from the degredation of women to the exaltation of his mother in the next .
A very complex man indeed.
During the conflict ,which went on from 3/25/1991 to 1/8/2002, members of the Armed Forces Revolutionary Council recruited child soldiers some as young as 8 to fight the war for them.These kids went from Arithmetic and school lunches to propaganda and a diet of cocaine mixed with gunpowder and many were forced to kill theyre own families.Many of these kids (because of a lack of uniforms or anything else to seperate them visually from theyre enemies who often were also child soldiers working for the govt)began wearing 2Pac tshirts to identify themselves mainly because Tupac constantly refered to himself as a rebel and soldier.They also called themselves The West Side Boys aka West Side Niggaz or West Side Junglers .
I know , I know the irony of it all is unbearable.
So it came to be if you saw someone coming to your village in a Tupac shirt you should run or die.If you found someone alone with a Tupac shirt mobs of people would kill them as revenge. So either way Tupac symbolized death in Sierra Leone.
They could not have been aware of the fact that Mr Shakur would have been horrified to know he was being used as a symbol of black on black violence.After all he was named after Tupac Amaru a 70s civil rights leader. His Godmother was Angela Davis. He would turn in his grave to know he had been misunderstood and misconstrued into a martyr for these terror squads.
Or does he even have a right to be? For every "Brenda got a baby" theres a "Definition of a Rida". For every "Dear Mama" theres a "Thug Passion."For everything he said he represented in life..In song it was often a far darker ,more violent 2Pac.He could go from a call for peace between black & brown people to murder of his "enemies" in one song and switch from the degredation of women to the exaltation of his mother in the next .
A very complex man indeed.
 |
| Child Soldiers in Sierra Leone(notice the youth in yellow wearing a 50 cent T-Shirt) |
So this brings up my point.How responsible am I for how im percieved? How accurate is my perception of how people percieve me?And if I died today and my face was put on a t-shirt who would wear it as theyre symbol?I dont put my relevance on the world scale in the league of an entertainer but honestly these questions are more relevant to me than anything Tupac had to say. He obviously had more relevance and impact in Africa than he probably ever imagined.Just not how he wished.
So what is my buttefly effect?How have the the things i have said shaped the world around me and what effect have they had on the people close to me?If i wait on my Eulogy im sure it will be beautiful.*cue church organ*
*In deep Voice*"He was troubled but had a big heart.."
*Gently weeping*"He loved his family and never ever......"
*smiling through tears*"Ill never forget the time ...."
Not to say those things arent true but they just arent the whole truth. I want to know how i am percieved in life....But that in itself is a Pandoras box. How many of us are ready to accept an honest account of who we are as seen through the eyes of the people we are closest too since its easy to dismiss the opinions of strangers. Lets face it we all are judges of men . But can you stand to honestly know how you are percieved? God in His infinite wisdom gave everyone the ability to see something good looking everytime they look in the mirror. I know this because not even the make up they applied in the mirror is doing some people any good.In my perception.So it stands to assume he gave us the ability to percieve how we are percieved in a good light. The problem is how close is that to how others percieve us? Because someone is always watching and listening.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Honor Amongst Thieves
Last night somebody stole my excuses.
Sometime 'round midnight somebody snuck in my bed climbed inside the pit of stomach and snatched my fear. When I woke up I got online and started writing...not 1 but 2 different blogs! After that, since the morning was fresh, I filled out an application for that dream job i always wanted. I dont remember why i didnt fill it out before.
Last night somebody stole my excuses.
Im not sure but i think near the witching hour somebody came out of my closet dived in my chest and ripped the fear out my heart.I woke up and told Sabrena why i dont trust her sometimes..Im slightly insecure. I yell sometimes cuz my ego is fragile something akin to movie boulders (big and menacing but actually weightless and made of foamy soft materials) and sometimes its easier to yell than to deal with the real issues. I dont know why i never told her these things before but it feels good to love and be loved.
Last night somebody stole my excuses.
I cant quite pinpoint the exact time but somewhere around sunrise apparently someone slithered in my ear crept around my brain and took my doubts.YES, I can change my future.YES, I can stop smoking ciggies.YES, I can rebuild my relationships with my children.YES, I can have a lasting meaningful relationship with my Fiance. YES, I can be me. For some reason I just realized that light at the end of tunnel. I just realized how close I am to redemption if I stay the course.
Last night someone stole my excuses.
But I wont get caught slipping again. Tonight im leaving milk n cookies,a thank you note and directions to my insecurities.
Sometime 'round midnight somebody snuck in my bed climbed inside the pit of stomach and snatched my fear. When I woke up I got online and started writing...not 1 but 2 different blogs! After that, since the morning was fresh, I filled out an application for that dream job i always wanted. I dont remember why i didnt fill it out before.
Last night somebody stole my excuses.
Im not sure but i think near the witching hour somebody came out of my closet dived in my chest and ripped the fear out my heart.I woke up and told Sabrena why i dont trust her sometimes..Im slightly insecure. I yell sometimes cuz my ego is fragile something akin to movie boulders (big and menacing but actually weightless and made of foamy soft materials) and sometimes its easier to yell than to deal with the real issues. I dont know why i never told her these things before but it feels good to love and be loved.
Last night somebody stole my excuses.
I cant quite pinpoint the exact time but somewhere around sunrise apparently someone slithered in my ear crept around my brain and took my doubts.YES, I can change my future.YES, I can stop smoking ciggies.YES, I can rebuild my relationships with my children.YES, I can have a lasting meaningful relationship with my Fiance. YES, I can be me. For some reason I just realized that light at the end of tunnel. I just realized how close I am to redemption if I stay the course.
Last night someone stole my excuses.
But I wont get caught slipping again. Tonight im leaving milk n cookies,a thank you note and directions to my insecurities.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Baby Step #1
1.This is my 1st blog ever.....Im writing because it is in my blood.My mother was a Journalist/Correspondent/Editor(90% of the reason it took me so long to write at all is I never thought I could live up to her name..The other 10% was just general laziness and a propensity to self destruct before i even start.)Ergo the title "Libations for Ayo",this is my dedication to her memory and everything she instilled in me.
2.Although this blog is named in memory of my mother Andrea Lavette "Ayo" Ford (Google her..its amazing she can be Googled but passed years before Google even existed) its not about her per se but about me and my thoughts,my world and my experiences which my mother spent her lifetime preparing me to digest to the fullest so I will blog as the cameraman to my thoughts.A biographer of my failures.An Archivist of my experiences and a critic of my own opinions,values and morals.
3.I hate numerated columns so im going to just move on ok?
The hardest part about writing about my experiences is being honest with myself. I
like to think of myself as a wise charismatic man cut from the same branch as my father and my brother Chinua.In actuality I have scientifically been able to pinpoint it to somewhere between St. Peter and and Gargamel from the Smurfs.I have been a student,a brother,a father, son,lover,a muslim, christian,a rastafarian,hooligan, gangster, drug dealer, convict, drug addict, thief, liar etc.etc..But...everytime I looked in the mirror I saw a dressed up garbage can.The happy recepticle of trash.The thing you only notice when its time to get rid of something.
But i also see a library of sights and sounds,places and people.
I have had deep conversation with Maulena Karega(?) The creator of Kwanzaa.I ate Thanksgiving dinner with Aretha Franklin,hung with stars when i lived in California,smoked pot with reggae artists in Jamaica,smoked dope with prostitutes,plotted with thieves,answered to judges,stole from family,and burned innumerable bridges ,some which can never be rebuilt.And i still cant wash all the blood from my hands. I have lived life to the fullest and cheated death over and over again.But i have never had an honest conversation with myself much less the world.Idont know why im here or what my purpose in life is but one word pops up again and again.WRITE. And so i will until i find My peace,My place.My voice.I hope you follow me....
This 1st post is dedicated to obviously my Mother,for teaching me that no matter what knowledge and facts trump opinions.My Father for being the wisest most understanding person i know.My brothers and Chinua in particular for never judging me and showing me what a man is.And to my cousin Derrick..who through a lifetime has never wavered in his love for me and commitment to my well being.One Love.
2.Although this blog is named in memory of my mother Andrea Lavette "Ayo" Ford (Google her..its amazing she can be Googled but passed years before Google even existed) its not about her per se but about me and my thoughts,my world and my experiences which my mother spent her lifetime preparing me to digest to the fullest so I will blog as the cameraman to my thoughts.A biographer of my failures.An Archivist of my experiences and a critic of my own opinions,values and morals.
3.I hate numerated columns so im going to just move on ok?
The hardest part about writing about my experiences is being honest with myself. I
like to think of myself as a wise charismatic man cut from the same branch as my father and my brother Chinua.In actuality I have scientifically been able to pinpoint it to somewhere between St. Peter and and Gargamel from the Smurfs.I have been a student,a brother,a father, son,lover,a muslim, christian,a rastafarian,hooligan, gangster, drug dealer, convict, drug addict, thief, liar etc.etc..But...everytime I looked in the mirror I saw a dressed up garbage can.The happy recepticle of trash.The thing you only notice when its time to get rid of something.
But i also see a library of sights and sounds,places and people.
I have had deep conversation with Maulena Karega(?) The creator of Kwanzaa.I ate Thanksgiving dinner with Aretha Franklin,hung with stars when i lived in California,smoked pot with reggae artists in Jamaica,smoked dope with prostitutes,plotted with thieves,answered to judges,stole from family,and burned innumerable bridges ,some which can never be rebuilt.And i still cant wash all the blood from my hands. I have lived life to the fullest and cheated death over and over again.But i have never had an honest conversation with myself much less the world.Idont know why im here or what my purpose in life is but one word pops up again and again.WRITE. And so i will until i find My peace,My place.My voice.I hope you follow me....
This 1st post is dedicated to obviously my Mother,for teaching me that no matter what knowledge and facts trump opinions.My Father for being the wisest most understanding person i know.My brothers and Chinua in particular for never judging me and showing me what a man is.And to my cousin Derrick..who through a lifetime has never wavered in his love for me and commitment to my well being.One Love.
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