Let the Healing Begin

The controversy over the Eddie Long case is not going away just because of a reported multi-million dollar settlement with four young men who accused him of using his religious authority to obtain sexual favors from them. While the lawsuit from the four men was pretty specific, the settlement is even more frustrating for those who sought the truth and hoped to find it in court. Three days after the settlement was announced, one of the Church elders, Rev. Bernice King, announced that she was leaving Long’s Mega- Church New Birth Missionary Baptist Church. The youngest daughter of Martin Luther King Jr did not say her departure is because of the lawsuit and the settlement. But she spoke with her feet and the timing speaks for itself.

There are those who continue to support Pastor Long and say that it’s time to move on. Others outside of his flock are laughing and mocking him because he didn’t step up and try to prove his innocence. Part of that attitude on both sides comes from what Long said in the very beginning, “I’ve got five smooth stones”, he said as he walked away from the pulpit in dramatic fashion, “And I haven’t thrown one of them yet!” That reference is to the Biblical story of David and Goliath and how the tiny young David, used a sling to defeat the mountain of a man called Goliath. As we know now, Pastor Long chose not to throw any of those stones, perhaps because of one ironic fact: If anyone was Goliath in this battle, it was Eddie Long.

Long is the leader of a 25,000 member congregation and is wildly loved and admired by his throng. His four accusers are former church members, who claim that Long used his position as their trusted minister to have his way with them. They were powerless and alone before they found a respected attorney to represent them and craft a lawsuit. Perhaps the most damming evidence against the Pastor, are those strange and provocative pictures of him in his underwear that he allegedly emailed or sent by phone to at least one of the young men. He could say the accusers were all lying to make him look bad and to get money from him. But nothing made him look worse than those images of him, standing in front of a mirror in his undies, and showing off his physique while holding a cell phone camera. What kind of a heterosexual man would send pictures like that to another man; especially someone who has led at least one anti march and spoken out against gay marriage? What kind of “Spiritual Leader”, who send those kinds of images to anyone, male or female. Those pictures remain the lingering images from this case and they may haunt Eddie Long for the rest of his life, because they will live on the internet forever.

After the settlement, when Long appeared in the pulpit this past Sunday he made no mention of the settlement, deciding instead to focus on the future and moving forward. The only real statement came from the church in a press release released last week.

"This decision was made to bring closure to this matter and to allow us to move forward with the plans God has for this ministry," the statement read.

That is the tone that many of his supporters on Facebook have continued to press. They say he did not admit to any guilt; that he merely decided to settle to keep the nightmare case out of the media headlines. They press on that if you’re truly a Christian, you believe in forgiveness and redemption. Now they say, is not the time for mocking, but for healing and rebuilding a powerful ministry.

Those are powerful arguments, if you believe that the case shouldn’t be discussed any further. Personally I don’t care about the sordid details of the allegations, nor did I want to see this dirty laundry become front page news every day in an ongoing media circus that would have embarrassed the entire church community. But there’s a teaching moment here that makes continuing the discussion worthwhile for the congregations of all churches. A powerful preacher can deliver a strong message that makes all of us feel better about ourselves and make us want to work harder to be part of God’s plan. But too often church congregations seem to credit that message to their local messenger, the preacher.

The congregation channels their love of God through their preacher in an unhealthy way that resembles worship. But why should any Pastor be given the means to live in huge mansions, wear expensive tailored suits, drive expensive cars and travel the world in his own private jet? What preacher needs this kind of materialistic and lavish lifestyle to be an effective “Spiritual Leader”?

The Bible shows us that Jesus the Christ walked in sandals and lived among the people that he ministered to. Jesus abhorred materialism and was angered when he saw the Synagogues of his time being abused by the heretics and money changers who used the religion to get rich. But somehow that lesson isn’t preached today by many ministers who see the church as a source for their personal wealth. But it wasn’t Eddie Long who placed himself on this pedestal of prosperity. His congregation did this; because they wanted him to live large and somehow believed that they would follow him to this promised land on earth. Even to this day, he has followers who will tell you, “The Bishop needs his own jet, because he has a very tight schedule and needs to be able to come and go at a moment’s notice”! When I first heard that logic from a friend of mine, I could only look in her eyes and shake my head. Those are not the words of a Christian; those are the words of a member of a cult. No man or woman NEEDS that kind of power, no matter how big the church. There’s an old saying that applies here for New Birth Church and all others who think bigger is better or worship. Absolute Power corrupts Absolutely! If you place a fallible and mistaken prone human being in that kind of position, with no checks and balances, bad things will happen.

Yes I am willing to forgive because as a sinner, I am in constant need of forgiveness. But like most of us, I have never sent pictures of myself in my underwear to anyone, male or female, let alone to people that I am supervising, mentoring or advising. Those are not the actions of a responsible adult—PERIOD!

If Eddie Long truly wants to move forward, he needs to begin by apologizing to his congregation and the entire faith based community, because of the horrible distractions that were caused by this case. He needs to show his humility for once, instead of acting like he can just get on his jet and fly away from the problem. Forgiveness and redemption are there for the asking, but he needs to ask! Now the members of his congregation and other similar churches have a choice to make. Will you hold your pastors accountable for their actions, and treat them as mere human beings, or will you continue to worship them and allow this kind of behavior to continue? If your answer is no, as it should be, then LET THE HEALING BEGIN!

Three Little Blessings

I was out for a walk after being snowbound for a week; determined to start trying to get in shape and to put off the problems of work, life and the Falcons loss in the playoffs. I’m usually in a pretty good mood when I walk, because I love talking to my neighbors and waving at people. I want folks to know that everyone they see is not a thug, thief, gang banger, or a burglar, despite the propaganda that we read and see on the news about black neighborhoods being so dangerous. My neighbors always respond with a wave and a smile, which returns the love that I’m sending out. It makes me feel good; but this day was an unexpected joy.

It was my usual four mile trek thru the two subdivisions I walk in, when I saw them at the top of the hill. Four children, two girls and two boys, playing in the street and practicing what looked like a line dance as they laughed and teased each other. Being the nosey neighbor I am, I couldn’t resist asking,

“Hey there, what’s that dance you guys are doing?” I said with a smile.

They looked up as they saw me for the first time. At first they were a little shy, but when they saw me smiling they opened up with four big grins.

“It’s the Jerk,” said one of the boys whose name is Jordan.

“See it goes like this,” he said as he showed me some steps that looked somewhat familiar. As he danced, the other three youngsters joined in and tried to give me dancing instructions.

“Come on you can do it, it’s easy. You try it!”

“No, I can’t do it now. I’ll have to watch the video,” I said with a laugh. I enjoyed talking to them but I was concerned that someone might see me and think I was a pervert trying to lure these little kids away. Plus I was just trying to get my workout on.

“No guys, I gotta keep walking guys. I better go,” I said as I patted one of the little girls on the head, “I need to keep doing my workout. So I’ll see you later.”

“Can we walk with you?” It was the little girl whose head I had just patted. She looked at me with a big smile and pleading eyes. In that instant, I realized that we had connected on that very innocent and beautiful human level. All of the kids wanted to follow me and I was shocked. I wasn’t ready for this and I didn’t want the responsibility. I had to escape somehow. After all I was the adult, I could figure out something. (Right)

“No you can’t come with me; I’m going a long way. I’m walking the whole subdivision and that’s too far for you to go.”

“We can go! We walk that far all the time!”

“No you can’t, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“We won’t get in trouble. It’s okay mister, please?”

I tried everything I could think of and they kept trying to follow me as I slowly backed away. But they wouldn’t budge and I was stumped! Finally I thought of a new tactic, one that would emphasize my authority as an adult.

“You can’t go… cause… you can’t catch me!” Then I wheeled on my back heel and started running, planning to catch them by surprise. I figured they would just look at me sprinting away and give up. Boy was I wrong, because they took it as a challenge. Seconds later I heard squeals of laughter as they came running behind me.

“Wait for us, we’re coming too! Hahahahahahahhaha!!! Come on let’s catch him.”
Three of the four kids took off behind me in hot pursuit. We were running downhill which was a big help to me, because I don’t really like to run anymore.

Suddenly I was a child again too, laughing as I ran. It was so funny because I was running away from them and they loved it. They chased me for 5 blocks, all the way down the hill, laughing the whole time. It was almost an out of body experience, especially for someone who is no longer close to childhood. Everytime they got closer, I slowed down a little until they were almost even, and then I “sprinted” away again. They just laughed harder and kept chasing me. I guess I was a tad more interesting than dancing in the street. Finally I decided to start walking again (because I didn’t want them to see me have a heart attack) and they caught up within moments. They were still laughing, although they were out of breath.

“Man, you’re fast! You just kept running away from us,” said the beautiful little girl who I’d patted on the head. She had pretty brown skin, dark piercing eyes and a smile that would melt your heart. I was glad I wasn’t her Dad because I would have spoiled her rotten. Her name was Brittany, 10 years old, in the 5^th grade and she loves math.

Running beside her was little 6 year old Rene who was in the first grade and could run like the wind. She was also a doll, with medium brown skin, long pony tails and a missing front tooth. She wants to be a scientist and she loves dogs.

Then there was little Jordan, an 8 year old who was a ball of fire and all boy. He was dark-skinned with curly hair and beautiful white teeth. He too had a smile that could light up the night sky. Jordan is Brittany’s brother and they were both so proud of each other that you could feel it. He’s still full of the little boy dreams of playing baseball and football, but he loves to talk and is very curious.

They walked with me for nearly three miles, up and down steep hills, laughing and asking me questions the whole time. But they kept up with me, even though I was taking long strides because I was trying to keep a brisk pace. With them, I felt like the leader of the pack, on a mission to go to the grocery store and get candy and go play in the park.

I was quickly becoming attached to each of them as they told me about their likes and dislikes, and how they’d enjoyed being out of school because of the snow. As we walked, Jordan noticed that I had a blue tooth in my ear.

“I have a phone,” he said, “Wanna see it? Here it is.” Jordan proudly pulled out his cell phone and handed it to me. It wasn’t fancy, but I was impressed that he had one.

"Wow, you have a phone, that’s great!”

“I have one too,” said Brittany, as she pulled it out of her pocket and showed it to me.

“Me too,” said little Rene. “See here’s mine!”

“Boy you guys are really high tech,” I said as I gave them my approval. They looked at me proudly and smiled. Normally I might have wondered why these little squirts would have cell phones? But then I realized that if they were playing in the neighborhood, their parents could call them and tell them to come home. Plus, the kids weren’t playing with the phones, they were just glad to have them.

A bit later, Jordan stopped to talk to another boy on a bike, as we continued to walk.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll catch up,” he said with a grin. I looked back to keep an eye on him to make sure he was okay. I guess I was responsible after all and I kinda liked it. Moments later Jordan came running down the street to catch up with us and in his excitement, he cut across someone’s front lawn. I was disappointed in that, but I understood that he was a child and he was just excited. Still I had to say something.

“Jordan, you shouldn’t cut across people’s yards. They don’t like it.” Then I turned to his sister Brittany and told her that she should remind him that people work on their yards and they don’t like it when kids run across them. She looked at me and got a serious look on her face.

“I know, one time a lady told me she was going to call the police on me because I was in her yard.”

“Well why were you in her yard?” As I asked the question, I could tell that she saw the disappointment in my face. As a homeowner, kids running through my yard are one of my pet peeves. I wasn’t worried about them ruining the grass. I just think kids today aren’t being taught to respect other people’s property. Brittany looked down and then looked back at me with an explanation.

“I was just trying to get my rubber band back,” she said. “I was doing my hair as I was walking and the rubber band snapped off my pony tail and flew into her yard. I didn’t mean it.”

“Well did you apologize to her and tell her what had happened?”

“Yes I did,” she said, “The lady got quiet and looked at me, but then she said she’d call the police anyway”.

“Well.. did you at least get the rubber band back?”

“Yep, but I was scared”

I thought to myself that I would never threaten to call the cops on a kid for running through my yard. I’d rather talk to them and remind them that they need to respect everyone’s yard.

“Well Brittany, maybe the lady was frustrated because too many kids run through her yard. She probably wouldn’t call the police on you, at least not for that. Just try not to do it again.”

“Don’t worry, I WON’T!” Two seconds later she was smiling again after she saw that I accepted her explanation. Just then we looked back and Jordan had fallen behind again, being the little social butterfly he is. So it was just me and the two little girls, power walking up the hill. They giggled as I worked my arms and legs together and then they imitated me as we pretended to be in a race. About 5 minutes later, Brittany’s phone rang; it was Jordan calling her because he’d lost sight of us. She chatted with him for a second and then hung up.

“That was Jordan”, she said with a big grin. “He always checks on me. He’s very attached to me!”

“Really, well that’s good that y’all are so close!”

“Oh yes! You know one time I was at the eye doctor, and they were squirting those drops in my eyes? And Jordan went to the doctor and said, ‘What are you putting in my sister’s eyes? That’s not poison is it!” We both fell out laughing as she continued to tell the story.

“Then Jordan asked the doctor if he could come in the room with me. He said he wanted to keep an eye on me and the doctor.” She laughed as she told me the story about her relationship with her brother. But you could tell she was proud of him and loved him very much. With each moment, I was more and more fascinated with the kids, especially Brittany. They just blew me away with how bright they were. They were so happy and full of life, and open to learning. As we got close to the end of our walk, I turned down the last street that was a dead end, with a circle.

“Well this is my last street. Let’s go down here and walk this curve and go around the cul- de- sac.” Brittany looked at me with a frown on her face that was really a question mark with a grin.

“A cul de sac, what’s that?”

I realized that then that I was using an older term that people don’t use much anymore. But I was happy that I had one more tiny, teaching moment.

“ A cul de sac is a French term that means dead end. But it’s not really a dead end, because there’s a circle where you can turn around.”

“Hmmm, I never heard of that before.”

“Well you should Google it. Its spelled cul-de-sac. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, I’m going to look it up when I get home,” said my new little friend Brittany. You could tell that her mind was like a sponge, just soaking up knowledge. They were all so beautiful and I realized I was enjoying their company a million times more than I expected. As we rounded the last corner, I told them something they didn’t want to hear, that I had to spilt off and head back to my neighborhood.

“Well guys, I gotta go home now. You better head back home before your parents start to worry. I really enjoyed our walk.”

“Okay,” Brittany said slowly, with a sad face. “But wait Mister, you never told us your name?”

“My name is Ray, but you can call me Mr. Ray if you want.” Brittany looked up at me as if she was deep in thought, and then she said with a serious look,

“I don’t like calling adults by their first names,” she said, “I think it’s disrespectful!” I was nearly speechless because she said exactly what I was thinking, almost like she was reading my mind. Yes Brittany, you get it!

They each gave me a big hug and another smile. Then they taught me a new cool handshake that starts off with a fist bump. It reminded me of the handshakes we had back in the day of Afros and Black Student Unions, when I was in college. But I decided to tell them that story the next time we went for a walk, after I let them teach me the “Jerk”.

“Bye Mister Ray, see you later!”

“Yes, I’ll be looking for you the next time I walk”

As I walked on home, I couldn’t help but smile from this amazing experience that warmed my heart and gave me new hope for the next generation. I’ll never walk past another group of kids again, without looking at them in a different way and wondering what they are thinking about. Those three little blessings related to me, because I saw them and they saw me too. Oh, and I promised myself to be more patient the next time a little kid runs through my yard. Because who knows, they might be looking for a very special rubber band.

A Friend in “Need”

The call came at what seemed like a good time. My old friend Skip (not his real name) was in a bind. He was living in North Carolina and he had just lost his job and his rent of $800 was due. He was mad at the landlord and didn’t want to pay it.

“I figure we can help each other out”, he said, “I can give you about $500-600 a month and we’d both be better off”!

The issue for me was giving up my privacy. Skip and I went way back to high school, but we had never lived together. We were and are two very different people; both of us would be struggling for control and I knew that would cause arguments.

“Skip it would have to be 600 a month to make it worth my while, considering the cost of utilities.”

“Oh, OK”, he said, “Well I sure want to get out of here”

“How soon are you taking about moving?” I asked as I looked at the calendar, which read Monday January 12, 2009.

“I would be there Thursday, the 14^th”, he said, “I can drive straight down I-85.”

The suddenness of the move shocked me. I wanted more time to clean up his room area and bathroom. Plus I wanted more time to get used to the idea of not being alone in this house anymore. I was feeling a sense of reluctance coming on. I caulked it up to me just being selfish. Boy I’m going to have to learn how to listen to myself when the alarms go off.

It seemed like he arrived in the blink of an eye and in that instant my quiet existence became a tension filled cohabitation of my home. I showed him his private bedroom and bath area, and let him use part of another vacant bedroom for storage. There was also a bonus room that he could workout and watch TV in. Then I showed him the kitchen, family room and the laundry room with a washer and dryer he could use. There was plenty of space for him to be here and he quickly made himself at home.

Turns out when Skip arrived he had no money, or so he claimed. He was living on food stamps and said he brought a feast with him that we could both share. He had about 20-30 steaks in his cooler, even though he knew that I don’t eat beef or pork anymore. Everytime he went to the store he bought more red meat, even though he was supposed to be buying things we both eat. Meanwhile, I did my regular cooking thing working with chicken, ground turkey and fish, making soups, turkey chili, gumbo, veggie pasta, salads, and so on. He ate everything I cooked and had seconds. In other words, we shared my food but he saw to it that I couldn’t share his.

I also like wine and I would always keep a bottle of Merlot for company. But 6 bottles of wine later, I learned that he believed any open bottle of wine was meant for him. During the Super Bowl, a lady friend of mine and I were sipping the Merlot from wine glasses. When I looked up, Skip came waltzing in the room with a big water glass full of wine, drinking it like grape Kool-aide. He looked over at me and laughed as if to say, “You can’t get me to drink out of that little glass”. That’s when I knew that he thought the whole thing was funny, and right after that I started hiding the wine in my room.

He said had no money, but he always seemed to have enough change to buy gas for his SUV and a 40 ounce can of beer every night. When I emptied the garbage, I heard bottles and cans clinking around in his trash. He sat around all day working out, never looking at the want ads for jobs. If I let him use my laptop, he would surf for news from our hometown, even though he hated the city with a passion.

By March 1^st, , or about 50 days into his “visit”, I told him the rent we discussed was now due. The conversation quickly turned ugly,

“I thought you would understand”, he said, “the job market is tight and I don’t have any money.”

“Well why don’t you call a relative and see if they can help you out, cause we got bills to pay!”

Skip became very angry and said, “I’m not borrowing any money from my family!”

“Oh, but you don’t mind taking money out of my pocket! You didn’t tell me you were coming here penniless; you said you would save money by paying me $600/month.”

“You expect me to pay $600/month to live here?”

“That’s what you said to get in the door” I said, “If you’re gonna stay, it’s time for you to kick in!”

“Well I’ll let you know by Monday”!

I didn’t press it and I let it slide for a couple of weeks. He got a job working at a car repair place, but he didn’t say anything about rent. Finally, I decided to take him to lunch to let him know that he had to leave.

“I’ll give you some money next week,” he said, “That’s when I get my first check.” A week later he gave me $200 dollars from his first check. By now he’d been living here nearly three months and was almost 1800 dollars behind what he promised. As he laid the money down on the counter, this became his mantra.

“That’s the best that I can do”, he said as he walked away. It was like he had worked out a formula in his head and that was what he was going to pay me. Only problem is, he never talked about it with me. Three more paydays came and the money got less and less. $150, $105.00 and $140.00 were the last offerings. He’d just lay the money down and walk away never talking to me about it. I couldn't take it anymore.

“Skip, we need to talk”, I said as I looked upstairs. He came running downstairs like he was ready to fight.

“I see where this is headed”, he said. “You’re trying to say I’ve used more than that in utilities, which is bullshit. I haven’t run up that much of a bill.”

“Dude, why don’t you wait and see what ‘I want to talk about, instead of jumping to conclusions?”

“No, I don’t have to wait. You’re a predictable motherf***er; I can see right thru you!”

This was the problem with Skip. You couldn’t have a rational or calm conversation with him. He was both judgmental and defensive. I guess he figured he could intimidate me by raising his voice. It was then that I realized that I had been avoiding this conversation because I knew the big blow-up was inevitable. I really didn’t want to talk to him about anything; I just wanted him gone.

“Skip, here’s the problem. You’ve worked out some formula in your head for what you think you should pay me. But for some reason you don’t think you have to talk to me about it. You’ve decided what your rent should be without talking to me! All you say is that’s the best that I can do!”

“Well that is the best I can do!”

“Well since you don’t want to talk about it, all I can say is that this ain’t working for me.

“Well I’m outta here,” he said, looking back like he thought I was gonna stop him. But my response stopped him dead in his tracks.

“How soon can you leave?”

“Well, as soon as I can pack”, he said slowly as he tried to size me up to see if I was serious.

“Good! Can can do it today?

"Yeah", he said

"Fine," I said, "then you can keep your $140.00, cause you'll need it"

He was startled into a brief silence as he headed back upstairs. But then he started going on the attack again, by getting personal, calling me being selfish, telling me that all my friends hated me, and that I was jealous of him and his job. He also told me I was a failure and that I was trapped in the past and that no woman would ever want me. That's the short version and I might have missed a few.

“You can call me anything you want Skip, but make it LONG DISTANCE”, I yelled back. “Tell your story walking my brother, and whatever you do, DON’T STOP PACKING!”

Two hours later he was packed up and driving off. He calmed down enough to say thank you and we shook hands and I wished him well. I don’t know where he went, and I really don’t care. He had used up every bit of patience and good will that I had for him. That’s when it became apparent that my best friend really hated me for being who I am. I had opened my doors to someone that had no intention of pitching in and helping me pay the bills. He got there and looked around and decided that I didn’t need any help and he was determined not to provide it. Where did I go wrong?

My friends on Facebook offered a lot of advice, when I asked the question,

“How long would you put up with a deadbeat roommate?”

The answers were humorous and informative. Jennifer said she’d been living with a deadbeat roommate for 8 years; but she was stuck with him because they were married. Others said I should have laid out the rules of the house in writing from the beginning. Another told me that I should have written up a letter of agreement for the rent as it was agreed to and signed, before he moved in. Some told me that they would only let him stay for one month before he had to go, if he didn’t pay rent. But another friend, Adrienne, said she might give a friend up to six months to work things out because in her words, “Friends are the family we choose”!

Adrienne’s words are beautiful and I agreed with her at first. But then I realized that I had been thinking the same way, when I opened my door to Skip. You end up giving friends a break because you love them and trust them, like family. But some of them don’t deserve it and you may not find out until it's too late. The best way to avoid a situation like this is to make it a business transaction from the get go.

1. Agree to a specific rent amount that spells out what they are responsible for
2. Ask for a security deposit, or work it into the rent
3. Spell out in the agreement what the roommates responsibilities are, if they can’t pay the full rent. (i.e. Cutting the grass, vacuuming and cleaning the house, washing the car, doing the laundry.
4. Spell out the rules of the house, like not leaving dirty dishes in the sink, and rinsing your dishes before you put them in the dishwasher; household chores, etc.
5. Also spell out what food staples that you will pool your resources on like dishwashing liquid, laundry detergent, hand soap, paper towels/napkins, butter, ketchup and so on.
   
6. Put everything in writing, stipulating when the rent is due, and get it signed and notarized.

These tips might not cover everything, but it’s a good start. In these tough economic times, more of us are considering opening our doors to roommates to share expenses. Simple rules and steps like these can keep you from going through the 4 month nightmare that I just experienced. But it also might save a friendship, because any true friend in need should have no problem signing a rental agreement. It’s better to make your expectations clear, instead of assuming that you’re on the same page, because people who owe you money often get amnesia about the promises they made.

As for me and Skip, we could be friends again in the future and maybe we could be neighbors. I feel somewhat guilty that we couldn't work things out, but I keep thinking of the saying at the nightclub when it's closing time,

"You ain't gotta go home, but you gotta get the hell outta here!"

Hug Your Mom For Me!

Each year at Mother’s Day, I realize once again that my mother is gone and I don’t think about her enough. Lois Brown Metoyer, a beautiful courageous woman, lost her battle with brain cancer in June of 1972, just as I was finishing my junior year in college. She was 43 years old when she died and I had no idea then how young she was. She’s been gone now for almost 37 years, actually dead much longer then she was alive in my world. It still doesn’t seem possible because she was once so full of life.

I think of how Mom and I had clashed throughout my high school years. My parents had insisted that I go to an all-white, all boys’ school and we had also moved to a white neighborhood. It wasn’t that we sought the company of white folks. It was that my parents fought to integrate areas that had always been segregated and they had the courage to be pioneers. What’s the point of fighting racism if you’re unwilling to meet it face to face? But being a pioneer had its’ issues and for me it was girls; there were none at school or in my neighborhood.

Mom didn’t want me to date until I was a junior in high school and had a fit if she ever caught me talking to girls on the phone. So I would sneak to the phone booth at the mall or to a service station to call the only black girls I knew. There were white girls living in my neighborhood, but my Mom would have murdered me in my sleep if she ever caught me looking at one. She didn’t hate white women; in fact she had many white friends. But she hated the thought of a black man dating anyone outside his race. If she had met Sammy Davis Jr. in 1960, he would have lost his other eye, after he got married to white, Swedish born actress May Britt.

There’s no doubt that Mom wanted the best for me and I knew that. But it was a time when I felt smothered. She had no brothers, so she had no idea how to raise boys. There were four kids in our family and I was the oldest boy. So I guess I was the test case for her and her two younger sisters. One of my last high school memories was about my hair and graduation. She wanted it short and close cropped, while I wanted an Afro.

“I can’t stand that AFRO mess”, she said, “Your hair doesn’t fit under the cap”.

Dad took me to the barber shop that night and supervised the hair cut. He tried to compromise, because he understood how I felt.When I came back home, she still wasn’t happy, but Dad calmed her down. Later he gave me these words of advice,

“Son, no matter what, don’t upset your mother!”

Later that night I walked the stage and got my diploma as my parents looked on. My Dad shook my hand and said congratulations. But all Mom saw was my hair,

“I can’t believe you had that AFRO mess”! So much for the joy of graduation night.

Three months later, I went away to college at the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. Mom and Dad drove me down there and helped me move into the room. They looked at each other and Dad said,

“Well son, we better go so you can get settled in.”

For the first time I could remember, my mom was speechless. She just looked at me from behind her shades and I realize now that she was crying.

“I’ll walk you to the car”, I said, as I suddenly realized I was about to be alone.

“No son, you stay here, we’re ok!”

We said our goodbyes and I watched them walk down that long hallway, with my Dad’s arm around her. I thought she’d be glad to see me go. But it wasn’t until then that I realized that she loved me very much, even though we always seemed at odds.

My college years were a blur spent focusing on my own selfish ideas of what it meant to be grown. I never called home and never came back. I wanted to prove that I could live on my own and support myself. But my world and the world of my family was rocked when we learned that Mom had a brain tumor that required surgery, radiation and chemotherapy. The doctors said they got it all and there was hope.

I came home for the summer and could tell she was suffering. But we found a way to communicate through music. We both loved jazz and rhythm and blues. When I came home from work, I discovered that she was stealing my records and playing them on her stereo.

“How did that get up here?” she would say, “You must have left that on my record player”! We both laughed, knowing that she was the one with sticky fingers.

But a few months later we learned that the cancer was back and that it had spread through her body. There was nothing else the doctors could do. I came back home from school to visit and could see the change in her face and I knew that she was dying. She searched my face when I came in the hospital room and she could read me like a book. Tears started rolling down her eyes as she looked at me, knowing what I was thinking. By now she couldn’t speak because the cancer had taken her motor skills away. So we just looked at each other in a long glance, reading each others thoughts.

A few weeks later, Mom was gone, freed from the suffering of being trapped inside a body that didn’t work anymore. To this day I am filled with regret, that we didn’t have more time to get past those teen age friction years. I wish that I could have shown her that I was going to do something with my life, but we ran out of time. Two years after she died, I was a successful TV anchor in our hometown, but my Mom never got to see it once. Fortunately my Dad was still there, and we became great friends as adults. But you know how it is; we want to make our Moms proud first; that’s why everyone says “Hi Mom” on TV. Of course there’s no telling what she would have said, because I did the news with a BIG AFRO!

So please do me this favor. Hug your Mom for me, and let her know how much you love her.Hug her like you know that she won’t be there one day; celebrate her life, her wisdom, her grace and beauty. Hug her like you don’t ever want to let go, even though one day you’ll have to. Prepare for the day you have to say goodbye, by making sure that you didn’t miss a “reasonable” chance to make her happy. And remember my dad’s advice,

“No matter what, don’t upset your mother!”

Happy Mother’s Day Mom, I love you always!

"Will That Be Seniors?"

I didn’t expect those words to hit me so hard. It’s something I guess we all go through, but I wasn’t really ready for this. We had just arrived at one of those big lunch buffets at a restaurant chain. I was treating my friend Bill to a meal and it was a good choice because Bill is a red meat eater and I like chicken and fish. I told him the place was decent and reasonable, (meaning cheap but filling). I opened the door and we both walked in, laughing and talking about a pretty young lady we had just flirted with in the parking lot. Yeah we still had "IT"!

“Good afternoon,” said Trish the lady at the cash register, “Will that be two for lunch?”

“Yes”, I said with a hungry smile as I surveyed the room looking for a booth,“Two for lunch.”

“Very good sir”, said Trish and that’s when she laid them on me, those four little words that make you realize that some people see you differently then you see yourself,

“WILL THAT BE SENIORS?” she said, with an innocent smile on her face.

Suddenly everything slowed down to a Matrix crawl, like time was standing still as my mind raced back and forth. I could feel myself blink while I was shouting inside my head,

“Did this little Heffa just ask ME if I’m a SENIOR?

“Me, a S-E-N-I-O-R? HAH!”

I wanted to tell her, “Look here Trish, I’m 6’5” and in pretty good shape at 225 pounds. I don’t have a big belly hanging over my belt and I didn’t come limping in the door on a cane and or a walking stick. I walk at least 4 miles 3-4 times a week and I ride a mountain bike. No I can’t dunk a basketball anymore, but I still have a mean 3-pointer from the top of the key. I can cut my grass in 45 minutes with a walking mower and that includes edging the front and back and cleaning up the clippings from the street with my gas blower". What’s even funnier is that Bill is better shape then me.

I was ready to pull out my ID and show Trish that I’m too young for senior status. But suddenly the irony hit me, reminding me of the days back in college, when we were too young to buy beer. My white roommates and I would ride to the liquor store and try to look older. We were too cheap to invest in false ID's so we had to fake it and I always got the job, because I had a BIG Afro and a goatee. I was scurred as hell the first time, when the dude at the register looked at me slowly and said,

“Two six packs of Schlitz Malt liquor, anything else fella?”

“Uh No,” I mumbled in my deepest voice, “That’s all, just the beer, RIGHT ON!”

I couldn’t believe it; I had actually looked old enough to buy the beer and I was so happy that I didn’t have to pretend I'd lost my ID, or run out the door in a COLD SWEAT. I could buy the beer by just looking the part! Yeah baby I looked grown!

I also had fond memories of being a SENIOR in high school, when we were the bad asses that the freshmen were scared of. I’d walk down the hall, wearing my letter sweater with that menacing “Senior Swagger”, sometimes snarling at the freshmen just to make them jump in fear. Those were the days when Seniors ruled!

All of these memories flooded my mind as poor innocent Trish remained frozen in time, smiling at me and waiting for my answer. Then I flashed back again, to the other weekend when I stopped at a liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine. A young brother was in line in front of me, paying for a bottle of vodka. But the sister at the register told him he needed to show some id because NOW, it’s the LAW.

He groaned for a minute and then reached in his pocket for his wallet. That’s when I threw in my two cents,

“Cheer up brother," I said with a grin, "Be glad she asked you for ID, It means you still look young”!

He smiled and looked over at me and started laughing, and then I added,

“And just so you know, they don’t ever ask me for ID anymore”!

Now he was almost on the floor rolling, after he looked over at my gray hair.

“Hold on now”, I said, “It wasn’t that damn funny!” We all fell out laughing again.

Yeah it was funny, but that’s only because I was making the jokes.

In that instant I blinked again, and previous the question was still hanging in the air,

“Will that be Seniors?”, said Trish as she waited to ring up my order. So I set aside my indignation to ask this important follow-up question,

“Is there a Senior Discount?”

“Why yes sir,” said Trish, “For the two of you it will be twelve dollars for the buffet and that includes your drink!”

“Yes Trish, We’re both Seniors”, I said with a sneaky grin.

“Do you have a Seniors card? No? Well you’ll both have to fill one out.”

“No problem Trish”, I said as I started writing down my name, trying not to fake a quivering hand. OK my hand was shaking, but it was from the laughter as I said to myself,

“I been looking older all my life! Finally it’s gonna pay off. Pass the peas!”

So I’m trusting all you “Whippersnappers” not to turn me in and call the “Senior police”. Hell, nobody would believe you anyway!!!

What was I Thinking?

Ladies and Gentlemen, "President-Elect Barack Obama"!!!!!
I sat there speechless in my chair, witnessing this incredible moment by myself. I had tried to go to a watch party that night, but it was just too noisy, so I rushed back home. Yet as I sat alone in front of my TV, I shared the moment with e-mails and instant messages to my friends in Atlanta, my family back home in Omaha, and my extended family on Facebook. As we saw him walk up and speak to that excited throng at Grant Park in Chicago, I had to admit that I never believed this miracle would happen; at least not in '08.

I couldn't help thinking back to a moment almost one year ago, at the airport in Las Vegas, Nevada where I had just finished a business trip. But my flight back to LA was late and I had some time to kill. I noticed a sharp looking young brother who was supposed to be on the same flight. I always try to speak to young black men, just to let them know that I see them, like the village elder. I guess it's one of the privileges of gray hair. It also keeps me connected with what they are thinking about, since I'm from a different generation.

This young brother was eager to talk to me as he put down his iPod and Blackberry. He told me that he was also on business in Vegas and he had just signed up to work on Barack Obama's presidential campaign. He was very excited about the possibilities of Obama's candidacy and he wanted to know what I thought. I weighed my words carefully, trying to find a balance in my troubled thoughts that wouldn't discourage his enthusiasm. Being the voice of reason, I told him that I applauded his effort and I was envious of his ability to commit to such a goal. But there was a "but" lingering in my thoughts,
"But I really wonder if he can get elected?” I told him, "I just don't know if I believe that America is ready for him! I know he's ready for America, but will they let him run?"
The young man looked at me and listened intently. He told me he believed in Barack and was convinced he was backing the right candidate, not to mention he was building an incredible organization. I looked back at him and said,
"I know he's GOOD, I heard him speak at the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston. I believe he will be President eventually. But I don't think he'll get past Hillary!"

The young brother looked at me like he felt sorry for me, and he seemed to be thinking,
"This old dude don't understand nothing. Doesn't he know the 60's are over?"

I thought I knew what I was talking about. Everything I told him was the truth, at least as I saw it. I had faith in Obama, but not in the America I have been living in. We've been too blinded by race in this country; trapped in a mindset bogged down by the history of slavery. Blacks/Africans had to be dehumanized in this slavery system to justify the horrors of putting people in chains, and buying and selling them like cattle. That vision of inferiority is firmly planted in the American psyche and we haven't been able to shake it.

I went to all-white schools in high school and college and I met white men and women that had never been in the same room with a black person before. They were surprised when I was "articulate", and amazed when I could answer a question, proving my intelligence.
But they were never shocked that I wanted to play basketball or football because that fit the profile of their expectations for me. it's a scenario that I've seen repeated time and time again in my adult life on almost every job I've had.

But as President-Elect Obama gave his acceptance speech, I had to accept the fact that America had fooled me! This Time America Stood UP and Got it right! This election was about the need for symbolism, the need to have a President that we could believe in again. You could see it in the eyes of the people who came out that night to hear Obama speak. His words lifted them up and brought them to a new level of confidence. They/We adored him; and his beautiful family. It's was like a beautiful fairy tale that came true. They could actually see through his skin.

Perhaps one of the most eloquent statements that night came from a middle aged white man who was there to witness firsthand the Obama acceptance speech in Grant Park,
"I feel like a nightmare is finally over", he said through his tears, "I think we have a future now, I think we really have a future!"
When he said that, I realized that Black people had not suffering alone all these years with this pain and shame of racism. This election for many of us was like a cleansing of all the hate!

But to that young brother I met on the plane last year, I can only say,
"Thank God you didn't listen to me! Thank God you believed it was possible NOW. Thank God you were NOT prepared to be patient and wait for Obama to have his turn. You knew 13 months ago that Obama's time IS NOW and that later would have been TOO LATE!
Yes, I was wrong, and I am SO HAPPY ABOUT IT!