Hold On: Turbulence Ahead

Sometimes nature gives us the simplest reminders. As I departed for a mid-winter cruise vacation recently, it would be safe to say that with the recent tragic midair collision of American Airlines Flight 5342 and an Army helicopter near Washington D.C.'s Ronald Reagan National Airport on February 3rd--the deadliest U.S. air disaster since 2001--frighteningly followed by a few half a dozen more plane collisions or near misses, my usual love for flying was tempered. Relatively, in always being an anxious take off and landing kinda girl, my already heightened anxiety was elevated by an unexpected rainy, foggy morning. Add to that a late departure thanks to a tardy flight attendant and another delay on the tarmac due to the pilots awaiting a lift off command from the destination airport (never heard of that before) and I was seriously thinking I should’ve packed my Bible and checked the gift shop for Rosary beads beforehand. But armed with morning prayer and, as always, faith, as the rain continued to blanket the cabin windows, I decided to let go and let God. I closed my eyes, inhaled, deep exhaled, and leaned back into the ascension. 

Less than five minutes later I opened my eyes to a clear sky and, dare I say, sunlight?! I’m often tickled by the reminder that when flying at 30,000 feet, you are most likely above storm clouds and any turbulence experienced on the way up quickly becomes a thing of the past. This realization was the perfect reminder for me—and for whoever needs to hear this at this moment in history—in what is shaping up to be one of the most turbulent times citizens of this United States have faced in this century sans the pandemic (ironically under the same "leadership" and a similar administration). Although no virus of the epidemic kind has shutdown the productivity of our country (God forbid not yet) the same uncertainties around job security, food scarcity, and potential stock and housing market crashes abound. The feelings of hopelessness and helplessness have begun to take root. And dreams for any normal tomorrows have been suspended indefinitely. The question that ultimately beckons: So what do we do in this meantime? In the words of my late father, “Hang in and hold on.” 

Photo credit: Erica Kennedy

As if the coincidental nod from nature was not enough of a reinforced reminder, on the last day of the cruise, I took in a session entitled "For Women Only" led by female artists who headlined the cruise from Grammy-winning percussionist Sheila E. to Grammy-nominated R&B/Jazz singer Maysa--a session not about music, the business, or entertainment, but for women to exhale, lay their burdens down, and discuss surviving in these unpredictable times, while also being reminded of the importance of sisterhood and supporting one another but not at the sacrifice of self care. Yet, in the blink of an eye, those words were put to the ultimate test when an audience member underwent a medical emergency forcing the session into a frenzy and then an eerie halt. 

As event and ship staff broke into action administering aid to the woman, a spiritual stillness fell over the room. Without prompting, someone began to pray out loud, and arms were extended outward toward the woman in spiritual solidarity. At the conclusion of the prayer, the proverbial "fellowship baton" was passed and another woman broke into the familiar gospel song, "I Love You (Lord Today)" that everyone quietly yet reverently joined in singing. Empathetic tears began to fall down attendees faces and comforting hugs were shared between attendees who mere minutes before were strangers but who now felt like family. As the woman was stabilized and prepared to be taken to the infirmary for further observation, the purpose of the session took on a new, more tangible meaning as the power of unity was realized in real time, blessing many of us in ways we never expected, and further motivating me to pen this blog post although I had already drafted the first half with clearly no inkling of what was to come. 

So, yes, in these unpredictable times, we will pray. But we will also remember to practice self care. The journey may be long and tiresome, so we must also eliminate dead weight in the form of everything from toxic relationships to unnecessary expenses to literal tangible baggage and clutter that will “weigh down our flight” and crowd clarity of thought. We must remind ourselves to invest in the social capital of those villages that support us and tap into those networks that inform us and speak truth to power. We must turn our face towards whatever “rainbows” we can find be it our favorite book or our favorite song or simply a walk through our favorite park. We must shout like no one’s listening but also take time to dance like no one’s watching. We must create and advocate without abandon. We must turn up the volume as loud as we can on positivity wherever and whenever it emerges to drown out the noise of fear and negativity. And we must also plan as best we can for tomorrow but not at the expense of finding what we can appreciate today. And, as the old folks say, trust that “trouble won’t last always.”

As author Robert Fulghum once said, "Peace is not something you wish for, it is something you make, something you are, [and] something you do.... ” Yes, we are a resilient people. It is the gift of our ancestors and the torch that lights our tomorrow. And, yes, it’s going to be a bumpy ride, but we must remain steadfast in protecting our peace in the meantime as we wait to ascend to a familiar place once again where the sun shines ever so brightly just above the clouds. Stay strong, everyone.

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Happy 50th to Hip Hop (and Me) – A Deferred Requiem

At first glance, one might think I’m out of touch with hip hop in giving it its 50^th birthday props a year late and on the eve of its 51^st. But fret not music historians: I am fully aware of its inception especially since hip hop and I came into the world in the same year, same month, a mere 17 days apart. However, I approached the recognition of both milestones similarly: with no over-the-top celebrations or blowout events, much to the surprise of family and friends. Now don’t get me wrong: I did use an annual gala headlined by hip-hop legends a few days before my birthday to “turn up” if you will, which was actually perfect as it embodied the two things that best define me: having a good time and giving back. But, for reasons I’m not able to fully articulate, some things just seem too big to possibly ruin with an all-encompassing celebration that might not meet the magnitude of the moment and diminish the beauty of prolonged reflection of all that’s been gained. Which is exactly how I feel about hip hop….

Like life, the long, layered, complex history of hip hop is made of so many milestones—super highs and devastating lows—that defined and catapulted its existence from its August 11th inception in the Bronx to the universal main stage. From its first recognition by the Grammys in 1989 (with DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince’s win for Best Rap Performance for their hit single, "Parents Just Don't Understand) to Jordan 'Juicy J' Houston’s Oscar win for Best Original Song in 2006 (with "It's Hard out Here for a Pimp" from 'Hustle & Flow) to it first induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2007 (with Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five), hip hop has always poised itself to “shake the table.”

And then there would be those milestones we might take for granted but that were equally as pivotal in bringing hip hop to the masses starting with 1983’s Wild Style—regarded as hip hop’s’ first motion picture—, 1984’s Breakin’ and Beat Street, and 1985’s Krush Groove, all laying the eventual profitable groundwork for hip hop on the big screen, as reflected in recent years with 2015’s Straight Outta Compton that amassed $60.2 million dollars at the box office its opening weekend. And it’s no doubting that hip hop’s charm on the big screen ushered in its presence on the small screen as well with the emergence of Smith headlining the iconic Fresh Prince of Bel Air sitcom in 1990 thus opening the door for Queen Latifah’s Living Single in 1993 and LL Cool J ‘s In The House in 1995. 

And if we’re continuing to talk firsts, we can’t forget the ladies who birthed a new kind of life into hip hop from pioneers like rapping trio The Sequence fronted by rapper-turned-singer Angie Stone to Roxanne Shante, credited with spittin’ the first diss track with “Roxanne’s Revenge” in response to UTFOs “Roxanne Roxanne,” to again the Queen herself (Latifah) as the first hip hop artist to own a production company, host a talk show, and be nominated for an Academy Award. Mic drop literally. However, like the oft painful unpredictability of life, there also would be those loses along the way toward building a legacy that felt personal and that changed the course of its history forever from the murders of Pac and Big to the untimely passings of Heavy D and Dilla and Phife and Prodigy and Left Eye and so many of our countless hip hop Kings and Queens in between. 

Yet, if there were ever any doubt of the influence that hip hop has on the world, look no further than this year’s 2024 Summer Olympics, where breaking (breakdancing) officially debuted as a competitive sport and whose global impact is so wide the final battle would see an African dancer representing France battling an Asian dancer representing Canada, with the latter taking it all for the win. 

But even with such milestones under its gold-plated name belt, hip hop has continued to evolve and expand, rise and fall, be celebrated and criticized, but throughout it all continue to grow as we make space for newer artists who—although some of us Golden Age of Hip Hop heads have not fully embraced them, just like at a family reunion—we welcome them to bring something to the table and we’ll just figure out where it belongs when it gets there. 

And just like at any family reunion where the love of community and fellowship is enhanced through the exploration of shared experiences is why the question “When did you fall in love with hip hop?” will always be an ample conversation starter, debate generator, and instant accelerator for a welcomed trip down memory lane. And so, before I conclude, I’ll answer it myself…. 

Being a Washington, D.C. native, go-go music is a part of our heartbeats from cradle to grave; a sound most of us 70s DMV babies actually can’t remember life without and, indeed, our first loves. So when this new “rap” sound with its rhymes and TR-808 percussions blasted out of our stereos, it felt intoxicatingly rebellious, which made us pre-teens all the more curious, including yours truly. Enter Stetsasonic’s 1986 “On Fire” album and its explicit B-side feature “Faye.” 

For reasons I’ll never know, D.C.’s WOL radio station latched on to the sleeper track and would play it regularly—late night—after spinning all of the current R&B and go-go jams of the day. With nothing more than playful rhymes from group members Daddy-O and Wise over beat boxing and with no instrumentation until their final bars when a campy Caribbean melody drops in, it could easily be one of the most simply produced hip hop songs to date notwithstanding Doug E. Fresh and Slick Rick’s “La Di Da Di” that dropped a year prior. And yet word about it in our pre-teen circles traveled fast, prompting me like many of my counterparts to sit patiently by our boom boxes (at minimum volume and out of earshot of our parents, of course) with our fingers hovered over the play and record buttons, waiting to capture it as our very own forbidden keepsake. 

Til this day, I can rap the entire song without missing a beat (don’t ask me to. I had no business being able to do so then; I definitely don’t now. LOL). But everything about it opened the portal that hooked me to hip hop from its colorful storytelling to its genius recreation of classics (now known as “samples”) that rebirthed and gave new life to classic hits and unknown gems. Yet while Stetasonic opened the door, it should be no surprise from a D.C. native that Salt-N-Pepa’s 1987 “My Mic Sounds Nice”—one of the first hip hop songs to pay homage to go-go—solidified my relationship with the genre that would become the soundtrack to a lifetime of magical moments that shaped who I am today. And I don’t see us breaking up anytime soon….

So, again, with so much to behold in hip hop, I asked myself, how does one even begin to celebrate it? I did so exactly how I acknowledged my birthday: in deep, year-long reverence and gratitude for all of the many milestones and accomplishments achieved on the road to 50 with a toast to the next semicentennial being even greater than the last. 

Mega producer Pharrell once said, “Don’t wait for the stars to align, reach up and arrange them the way you want [and] create your own constellation.” Not only does that sum up how I’ve curated my first five decades on earth, but it perfectly defines hip hop’s mark on the world: a 50-year constellation; illuminated through music, art, and dance; shaping and redefining culture; bold; daring; dimming its light for no one; every bright, ever shining, and whose impact and reach cannot be measured in one lifetime let alone on one day. Just like life. But for the one-time—from 1520 Sedgwick Avenue to Norway; from the Sugar Hill Gang to EarthGang; and from boom boxes to digital platforms, Happy Birthday Hip Hop! Don’t you dare stop.

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Love in Silence – A Father’s Day Tribute

There’s no denying how incredibly noisy the world—and thus our lives—have become. With more means of communication from cell phones to podcast platforms to Instagram lives, never in history have we all had so much to say yet be so greatly divided, disconnected, and misunderstood. It was evident I was not alone in my observations when on the first Sunday in June the interim pastor at my church shared that the topic of his sermon would be “Sheer Silence” supported by 1 Kings 19:1-13. Although the passage focuses on Elijah’s flee from Ahab and Jezebel to the wilderness to keep from being murdered, and God providing him protection to rest and to more clearly hear from Him, the greater message was that sometimes we simply need to slow down and quiet our lives enough to listen to our Father’s voice.

This takes on a somewhat different and earthlier meaning for me around this May-June commemoration of my late father’s birthday, Alzheimer's & Brain Awareness Month, and the celebration of Father’s Day. For those who knew my father, one thing they could all agree on: he was anything but quiet. The literal personification of a “mover and shaker,” my father’s 88 years on earth started on a quiet country road in New Zion, South Carolina but would expand to include military service that took him from Korea to Germany to Alaska; into the field of law enforcement as a captain in the DC Department of Corrections; and into politics as Mayor overseeing city council meetings to shaking hands with presidents in the White House.

And in between, he would wear the hat of husband; father to six children; community activist (creating programs for youth and seniors, and initiating scholarship funds for high schoolers); little league coach; and chairman of the church’s deacon board. And this was just a FEW of his accomplishments. Which is why when dementia turned Alzheimer’s robbed my father largely of his mobility and his communication in the last three years of his life, it was beyond comprehension for all who knew and loved him. Especially his children. In particular me, who shared a special bond with my father as his youngest child and who many joked was most like him (at family reunions, some cousins would refer to me as “Lil Eugene.”)

For those who’ve dealt with the evils of the disease, the most difficult by far is no longer being familiar to your loved ones. In the worst-case scenarios, being forgotten altogether. Your loved ones as you know them are no longer a part of your world. And you must quickly learn not to push back against this harsh reality but to surrender completely to their world wherever that takes the two of you. For me, at times, those moments could be gut-wrenching; at others, downright comical, such as my dad’s responses to doctors when they checked his cognitive skills through a series of questions. For example, when a doctor once asked him who the current president was, my dad replied without hesitation, “I am.” But you had to also know my dad’s confidence, humor, and—at times—arrogance to understand how I and the doctor were left baffled as we couldn’t tell if he was being serious or if the jokester we knew him to be was at play (we still don’t know. LOL). 

Me and Pops

And then there would be those quiet times when I’d be mistaken in resemblance for my mom—his wife of 51 years—and without words his face would light up when I entered the room, which was more than enough for me. There would also be those times when recalling the contents of breakfast was impossible but recanting memories from his childhood would roll off his lips effortlessly. But for the most part, there was quiet. Quiet bookmarked by a cheery “hello” when I would arrive to spend time with him and punctuated by a whispered “bye; love you” when I would leave. Yet it was that silence that lingered in between us that was filled with an abundance of love. It was a peace that can’t be explained. A comfort of just being in the same space together without words while the nightly news or Wheel of Fortune played in the distant background. A stillness that would envelop us until he’d drift off to sleep, and I’d depart for home that meant so much.

It is these profound memories that are constant reminders to me of how much power and love there can be in silence. That when words aren’t available, we are still connected by our hearts and an intangible thread that binds us even after we transition and leave this earth. And, for that, I’m eternally grateful. I often tell folks that as much as I would have loved to have had one more funny exchange with my dad; one more wisdom-filled conversation; one more random shadow-boxing session in the kitchen; one more request for me to write a campaign speech or edit a report before he left this earth on that chilly day in January 2019, the memories I carry and the lesson I gained about the power of love in silence was and remains invaluable. Just as God provided Elijah a moment of silence and stillness to reflect, connect, regroup, and proceed, let us be reminded to seek refuge from the cacophony of noise around us to more clearly hear those things and from those people who truly deserve our undivided attention and unconditional love the most. 

Thank you for the lessons and the memories, Dad. And Happy Father’s Day to all of those dads in physical form and in spiritual essence who were and continue to be the backbones of our families and our communities.

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Don't Be the A$$ in the Assumption

It’s my favorite time of year! No, not (just) the dawning of spring but gala season! From personally participating in several in support of the organizations and charities that are near and dear to my heart or front and center for the “fashion shows” on Hollywood’s red carpets that lead to every arts & entertainment celebration imaginable from the Grammy’s to the NAACP Image Awards, it’s a time for seeing and being seen. And the largest “runway”—in the form of the 96^th Academy Awards stage—comes alive this weekend. That’s why in addition to being a gala lover, I’m also a self-proclaimed cinephile, which means I try to see the most buzzed about Oscar-nominated films before their big day. Enters Oppenheimer.

Let me say, I’d heard the 2023 epic biographical thriller film—written, directed, and produced by Christopher Nolan and starring Cillian Murphy as the American theoretical physicist credited with being the "father of the atomic bomb" and his role in the Manhattan Project—was worth its hype. No, not just from critics whose opinions I rarely let influence my own movie-going desires but from family whose opinions I highly trust as many of our interests are similar.  But I also knew at 180 minutes, I would need to set aside time for this viewing. And that time would be Thursday night when I finally turned down the lights, curled up under a blanket on my couch, and settled in for this cinematic experience of anxiety-inducing highs and melancholic lows, all crescendo’ing into an ending that unfolded in a “The Usual Suspects” style of storytelling. It ended, the credits rolled to the backdrop of an ominous orchestral score and I watched. Sat—shook. I woke up the next day still shook. And the irony is that what shook me had nothing to do with the major themes of the blockbuster: the perils of war; living with the consequences of your decisions; being surrounded by wolves in sheep clothing; or even the danger of succumbing to self-aggrandizing behavior. No, what left me in deep perseveration was a scene so subtle, yet so profound, that in my opinion the entire movie hinged on its existence and, in the end, was what truly threatened the course of history: an assumption. No, not of the mathematical variety rooted in theory and calculations but a simple assumption rooted in basic human insecurity and pride.

I won’t provide any spoilers, but I’ll just say that the reveal not only stopped me in proverbial tracks and caused me to take inventory in ways I may have let such behavior impact my decision making, but also led to a re-commitment  to do a better job in allowing myself to be, well, wrong. Now, let me say this can be more difficult than you think for some of us for one very important reason: intuition. For while often unexplainable, it is God-given, real, and we all inhabit some modicum of it. But it is not a perfect science, and it is subject to error. Yet, some of ours may be much stronger than others, which is why leaving that margin for error is indeed something I struggle with primarily because I am my grandmother Sallie’s grandchild (IYKYK :-). For if you’re a person whose intuition has proven accurate way more often than not, it can lead to, dare I say, an arrogance that can block both growth and meaningful understanding that not only makes us better communicators but, ultimately, better human beings. 

And it is in that inability to hold space for such where disagreements, broken relationships, and failed opportunities to learn may emerge. There are no absolutes in anything but the truth and, often, the easiest way to dismantle an assumption is just to ask those questions that need to be asked that removes all doubt and subsequently sets us and our counterparts free. Yes, sometimes we fear what the answer will be for what it may reveal about others or ourselves, but that truth will always outweigh living suspended in doubt. For if one of the principal characters in the movie had asked one simple question instead of assuming that he knew instead, the legacy of J. Robert Oppenheimer would have unfolded in a much different way. Dare I say, history may have unfolded in a much different way.

For this (and sheer excellent storytelling, directing, and acting), I say give Oppenheimer its flowers. But, as multi-hyphenated entertainer Issa Rae once said, I’m still rooting for everyone (and everything) black (shoutout to “American Fiction,” which I loved). However, if we don’t emerge victorious in some Academy categories because we’ve been defeated by this powerhouse, I won’t be (too) disappointed. I’ve seen it and it was worth its weight in, well, plutonium 😉 But don’t get it twisted: I'll keep my proverbial Oscars-protest-picket sign in my closet dusted off and ready to go for next year because Hollywood is always gonna Hollywood, if you will. This year, however, I’m trusting they’ll at least get it right in the Best Picture category.

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The Recipe for the Restart

For all of its criticisms, one thing social media has always done is entertain. In between the rantings (about societal ills) and the ravings (usually about one’s own achievements) there’s the entertainment factor in the form of skits, monologues, and wildly accurate observations that make you feel humorlessly less weird about your own revelations. However, as a lifelong learner, what I’ve always appreciated most are the posts that bring about pause, reflection, and invaluable “aha” moments even if that wasn’t the intended goal, which is why one recent Instagram post in particular sparked the inspiration for this end-of-year post as we prepare to close out the old and ring in the new.

The Instagram reel of note finds a grandmother doting on her young grandchild in ways the child’s father simply can not believe in contrast to his own experience growing up with his mom. As the grandmother purchases and lets the grandson do whatever he wants, the adult son interjects, “I could barely get a hug [growing up.]” Her reply, “Well barely get da hell out of my face.” After a series of scenarios play out where the son continues to express disbelief at her “new and improved” style of parenting, the video ends with the mom telling her son ,”It’s a different type of vibe over here; you can’t compete where you don’t compare.” Now although their banter was intended to be humorous and may even be relatable to many who have marveled at parents' ability to transform into Grandparents 2.0 once the next generation arrives, there was an undercurrent of hurt in the son’s voice, not necessarily because of how his grandmother was showing up for his son but in not acknowledging the ways in which she had not showed up for him. 

Let me say, this is not an experience I've witnessed personally. My parents were of the "we-love-our-grandchildren-but-take-them-home-because-we’ve-already-raised-our-six-kids" variety. However, this experience of “do-over” parenting was the experience of a close friend and, let me just say, those memories for him were both painful to process and conflicting. After all, who wouldn't want their children to be lavished with an abundance of unconditional grandparent love; however, in contrast to the love he did not receive, it tore open a never fully healed wound; a wound he sought to get acknowledged at times but for which, much like reflected in the reel, would always be dismissed or responded to with excuses that didn’t quite land. 

I’ve also been on the opposite end of this experience, if you will, with an ex-boyfriend-turned-friend who, out of the blue one evening over dinner, suggested we have a baby. Pause for reaction. Exactly. However, me being me, I had to inquire as to what was underneath this unforeseen and, dare I say, audacious request. After some deliberation, he stated because he hadn’t showed up how he should have for his child after his divorce, he wanted a chance to “do it over right.” In other words, instead of acknowledging, apologizing, and then investing in correcting where he fell short in his past, he preferred to leave it all behind and hit the restart button—with me (FYI, it’s important to note I did not accept the offer. Smile). 

And ironically, I’m currently in a group chat where this dynamic is playing out in a similar manner as well, i.e., someone has committed an infraction, everyone knows it, but the perpetrator has “moved on” to sending funny memes, gifs, and Tik Tok videos in hopes the infraction will somehow resolve itself and the vibe will be restored. Let me tell you: I’ve never been in a quieter group chat as, thankfully, no one is interested in playing a part in such dismissive behavior until the right thing—or the right conversation—is had. Ignoring, burying, and sweeping the past under the rug doesn’t make it disappear; it just makes a lumpy rug that’s all the more obvious to anyone who cares to see it.

So what does this have to do with the new year? Everything. When the ball drops and we belt out the familiar words of Auld Lang Syne, we’ll also drop the lists, make the proclamations, and re-share those inspirational posts that speak to how we will do and be better. We announce all the new adventures we’ll embark on and boast about the self-exploration we’ll begin. But if our starting anew means ignoring those things in our past that need to be acknowledged and reconciled, our rebirths will be in vain. Yes, age should bring wisdom and when we know better we should do better but our acknowledgment need not be at the expense of our grand transformations. We may choose to forget the things we’ve done that caused others pain but, rest assured, our victims do not. As poet Maya Angelou would once say, at the end of the day people may not remember exactly what you said or did, but they will remember how you made them feel. So as the new year dawns, let’s commit to “making those crooked places straight”; finally having those conversations we’ve ignored; and acknowledging our transgressions instead of dismissing their occurrences. As writer William Faulkner famously reminded us, “The past is never dead. It's not even past….”

Wishing everyone a blessed and prosperous 2024! Happy New Year!

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