Struggle, People, Hope

This has been a difficult year. I know I lost a significant amount of funds from my investments, I've struggled with my D.J. business and my Real Estate business, I've struggled with decisions regarding returning to College, I've struggled with fidelity (and have been victorious) as I've been presented with so many tempting opportunities, struggled with not wanting to go to Church on Sunday mornings, struggled to force myself to maintain a calendar, struggled with a year-end's loss of income as many of my dependable year-end D.J. clients have cancelled or have not had their events, struggled with maintaining a consistent work-out schedule as I'm struggling to get my sexy back, and most of all I've struggled with trying to rearrange my schedule to include more time with my family. "Where there is no struggle there is no progress." - Frederick Douglass

During our annual Umoja dinner celebrating the first night of Kwanzaa the family (Wifey & Kiddies) and I were enjoying a great meal prepared by the Wifey. Being lazy and knowing that I'd be involved in two public Kwanzaa celebrations that would require a lot of work and decided not to venture into the garage to search for the Kwanzaa Shrine. I began saying Habri-Gani and the Ninos both shouted out "Umoja !" It was on ! I then asked the kids the annual "What do you know about Kwanzaa?" and the son and daughter both shared much more that my Wife and I thought that they could remember. The son then described the process of the candle-lighting in the manner that I've taught them: Red candle, Green candle....(repeat).......ending with the Black candle. The daughter then stated "First the struggle (Red), then the hope (Green), for the people of God." The son quickly blurted "You know, people who struggle have to have hope." The wife and I stared at each other for about 10 seconds shaking our heads. The Lil' man did it again. Every once in a while he will naively say something so thought provoking and revealing that you would expect it to come from an elder. I then considered the struggles I've handled this year, and the struggles our country has handled this year. 2008 was a difficult year for the United States. One great thing about our country is our ability to struggle the struggle and to struggle to have hope for our people. I began smiling in wonderment until noticing that the children have been looking at me with that look as if they were saying "Dad.......Are you here ?" We finished our meal and held our Candle lighting ceremony without the candles doing it all in our heads. As I left the table I remained stuck on the words from my son. "People who struggle have to have hope." Feeling warm I realized that once again the Almighty has spoken to me through my children..........Parenthood is such a wonderful struggle.

Seko

Quando, Quando, Quando

Daddy's in a relaxed mood...... So I put on Michael Buble's cover of "Quando, Quando, Quando" and then I begin to hear Lil' Mama (The daughter girl) dancing the vocal falsetto all over the room. The she picks up a book and begins singing the words of the book "Woodrow for President" in tune and on tempo with Mr. Buble. Michael has a great voice, but I tend to love listening to my Angel singing about Woodrow for President. Today the living room, tomorrow American Idol. Watch out world !

Seko

Daddy doesn't take points.

The wifey' has developed a point system to address the sun-son's third grade transition. Whenever he makes a 'bad choice' he looses points. At the beginning of the week he begins with 100 points. I've smiled and been very supportive of the process and have reminded him to make sure his behavior doesn't result in a loss of points from his mother. I didn't realize that he had noticed that I hadn't used the point system in my guiding interactions with lil' man. He shared with my wifey "Daddy doesn't take points. Maybe you should teach him how..."

One morning I reminded him of his morning duties prior to taking my shower. As I finished getting dressed I checked-in on the lil' ones to ensure progress. I didn't hear the lil' ones upstairs so I traveled downstairs meeting my son at the bottom of the stairs with a surprised look on his face. "Did you clean your floor and make your bed son ?" He said "Uh....No Dad." I asked "Didn't I ask you to do your morning duties ?". He took one step up the stairs and turned around looking at me and returned "You really need to learn how to take away points Dad." I looked up responding "I don't take points, I give spankings."

He ran up the stairs, did his duties, did his sister's duties, and turned off the lights in my room.

Red, Black, Light, and White

This school year has entered a new dimension into the lives of a father................ Race.

Soulful of terms regarding Black complexion:

Light Skin/Red-bone: (Mariah Carey, Alicia Keys too Halle Berry)
Red/Caramel: (Halle Berry, Queen Latifah, too Oprah)
Black/Dark Skin: (Oprah too Wesley Snipes & beyond)

Today while eating lunch with my daughter she laughed with a peer sitting nearby saying She's red. She then looked at me and said "You and me are Red, Mommy is Black." I looked puzzled until a light-skinned boy who sat across from us said "I'm Red too !" The daughter looked at the peer smiling and said to me "Yep Daddy ! He's Red like Bebe (my light-skinned mother). My lil' mama is now race-conscious.

It's been interesting with lil' mama in public school as my son takes in everything but shares very little. Lil' man will tell you only the most interesting things that he experiences, while lil' mama' gives a full narrative. In example: The son: "Lunch was cool, I didn't get in trouble, I ate my veggies (Political talk: He ate a few of his veggies)." The daughter: "Ohh Daddy. We had hot-dogs, beans, and broccoli. I ate everything except for the fruit. I didn't have time to eat Daddy. So-and-so kept talking and our table moved from Green to Yellow. I told her to stop and she stuck her tongue out at me. I loved the hot dog. I added ketchup to it and ate it while the rest of the class was sitting down since I was at the front of the line".........and so on, and so on, and so on. So now the Wifey and I have a chance to really find out what's happening at their school.

Lil' man really didn't speak about racial differences when he was a first grade. Lil' mama, our current first grader, speaks about race in a very cavalier manner. This year's campaign of Senator Obama has made race a very interesting topic lately. Lil' man became intrigued with Obama towards the end of last year. "There has never been a Black President Dad?", "Why were people mean to Blacks and Dr. King Dad?", "If Barack has a White mother why does he look like he is Black ?" Now Lil' mama is asking about a lot of people. "What is she daddy ? Is he Chinese ? Are they Indian, do they live in Tee-Pees ?"

Lil' man is now noticing how many Soul-folk (people of color) are in a room as he enters the room. However, it's a little different than when I was younger. He thinks that it's cool to be Black "but it really doesn't matter Dad. Everyone is cool to me." I used to feel somewhat of an outsider as frequently I was raised in situations that were either primarily White frequently or primarily Black infrequently. I remember a friend named Brian who was a next-door neighbor cursing at me saying "It's all your fault Ni##er ! My family gotta' move all because you and the rest of your Coons moved in." I remember crying to a teacher who hugged all of the children in the class except me sobbing and saying "I feel all alone, I'm the only Christian in this Catholic school classroom." Without physically consoling me she said "Are you sure you are worried about that ?......We all love Jesus, and Jesus loves us all. Go back into the classroom and stop crying." I wasn't really worried about the Christian/Catholic thing. She knew it. I knew it. Kids wouldn't get near me saying that I had a special strain of cooties.....Ni##er Cooties. I then began a campaign to get my parents to remove me from the "costly" Catholic school to the "Free" public school so I could meet and matriculate with the Soulful neighbors who began to invade our Columbus Ohio neighborhood. I needed back-up. As a child I always looked for a Black looking face so I wouldn't feel alone, I felt the need for back-up. I was one of the only Black kids in the Columbus Boys Choir, I was the only Black kid in my mother's preferred church and was always in great demand for the Christmas play. They always held a special part in the play....... I was the Black King who visited the Christ-child. The year I tried out for the part of Joseph I caught peer-related hell. It's funny that I caught hell since the part of Mary that year (of one of the years I was the King) was played by a very light skinned girl who later became my best friend. [She now has changed her racial designation from African-American/Black to American Indian (with some African ancestry) and I believe that she has married a guy from Hawaii (He's lucky....Dawn is gorgeous, smart, and a very church-involved trust-worthy-faithful type of woman). Her father was known as one of the first Black Judges in Ohio and her mother has successfully sued that church for discrimination.] I was too dark to be Joseph, she was o.k. to be Mary as maybe no one would know the difference. I can't remove the fact that her mother was a very powerful member of that primarily-white congregation and I was a frequent visitor. She also earned the part as an active member of the youth group, and I may have been seen as a radical. I remember Dawn-Karima telling me in one of our conversations that people always expected me to join the Nation of Islam and how many people related me to Michael from Good Times who was the "radical" in the television show family. He thinks that counting the Soul-folk in a room is a novelty, I felt alone. Times have really changed for the better.

Raising children in today's America is different. I can't and won't give them my anger towards the racism I felt. I temper my statement that involve race to ensure that my scars are not passed on. I do imbue them with a love for their African, Indian, and European ancestry. I do imbue them with a love for African culture, an interest in the struggles and achievements of (so-called) Africans throughout the world, the historic accomplishments of (so-called) Indians and a love for the coolness of being Black. It's a little difficult when we discuss and watch movies such as Ruby Bridges, Dr. King videos, and when we recently saw The Express. Lil' mama has repeatedly asked "Why are they being so mean to them ?" while the Lil' man has heard me say my scripted statement "There was a time in America when unfair things happened to people of African ancestry. That time is over and ended a long time ago" so many times that he can almost say it with me.

This is a new America (USA). This is a new time. My children embrace the Red-Black-& Green as well as the Red-White-& Blue and don't see a problem. This is a good time.

dADDY vARNER hERE. uk sTYLE!

Imagine That

Imagine that........

Since lady-girl has been in school she has been in an environment composed primarily of Blacks (African & Indian & Whatever-else). Some of these Blacks were African-American, some were African, some were French and English speaking Caribbean Blacks, some were Latinos of obvious African descent, some considered themselves to be multi-racial, and so on-and so on-and so on. Since lady-girl was three she was a member of New Light Baptist School of Excellence. As our church home changed over the years our religious experience has been primarily with people of African descent, until recently. About two years ago we began visiting and then attending a church that has transethnicity as a core value. This church has a youth oriented Sunday school program that I found very compelling and exciting, exciting enuf' to get me back into going to church to ensure that my children continued to receive the religious training that they were used to. While the kindergarten teachers in the church school taught the students a lot of great religious material, my Kids had received extremely in-depth instruction in those curricula items in New Light Baptist School so the church school classes were reviews of old materials. My son used to state "We learned that two years ago" after leaving a lot of the Church school classes although he enjoyed the snack and his church-school peers.

My son attended New Light Baptist until he became a first grader. I wanted to ensure that the morals and instruction that he received in New Light was continued, and I thought that New Life (The transethnic church) could provide him with something close to the religious based education that New Light Baptist School provided as he was now in a public school. He is now a third grader and she is a first grader both attending Windsor Oaks Elementary School in Virginia Beach, VA (click here to see their school photos). Interestingly enough, New Light Baptist School is across the street and around the corner from New Life Providence. New Light Baptist describes itself in this manner: "The New Light Baptist School of Excellence opened its doors in August 1989 with a clear purpose: to provide a holistic education to young children with the goal of building and solidifying their foundation. To fulfill our purpose and meet our goal, New Light became the first black Christian school in Virginia Beach, VA, to utilize the Abeka program. Abeka provides an excellent curriculum while giving meaning to the “holistic” approach to education with its significant focus on Praise and Worship. "

I was away in North Carolina on a trip the day that the Wifey' and the kiddies went to meet their new teachers for the 2008-2009 school year. After meeting her new teacher the lady-girl told her granny about the meet-and-greet. "Imagine that... A White woman trying to teach a Black girl something." My Lil' one has had a time in her young six years where every important Woman in her life had been a woman of some type of African descent. Her reverence to these women echoed in this statement. As the story was relayed to me I had to think about her response for a few days. I'm sure there are numerous people who might find that statement as racist or prejudiced, or something along that line, yet I have come to view this in proud manner. My parents' generation, and these before it have all suffered from Black-inferiority complex. My Lil' one is proud of her ancestry and all that comes with it. For now.......

I am almost shattered thinking that at some point in her life she will really need to battle with a feeling of self worth. Although she will never hear it from a White person she is going to be trained into thinking that the African tightly curled hair that she has is inferior. She now spends hours pressing her hair in an effort to 'tame' it's African nature. She is now self conscious about getting her hair wet after it's been styled as the natural water will change her "done" hair back to it's African nature. She has to get her hair "Done" since it's "Undone" if it isn't pressed. My Black women are going to be the ones who giver her a complex first, then the male children of these Black women are going to rate her as less than desirable if her hair isn't straight. There are many issues in the African diaspora that demonstrate our shared Black-inferiority complex. Bleaching cream, hair pressing, even the devaluing of the names that have been created in Black communities and calling these names "Ghetto Names" while placing value on names that have been created and developed in Europe. My dad tells me of the times when Black oriented magazines initially used White models since Black women wouldn't buy items promoted using a Black model. I find this paradigm of Black-inferiority throughout the world when studying post Colombian history.

So I hear progress in her comment. Her paradigm was going to shift and she nailed it. She was moving from being solely taught by Women of primarily African descent to a Woman of primarily European decent. Imagine that, her paradigm shift statement showed us how much our lot in America has changed. There was a time when the White teacher would automatically hold greater esteem in the world than a Black teacher. I know elders in our community who still hold their breath as they pass or interact with White peers for fear that the American progress they have witnessed was simply a dream. Decades later I still see my father fight to stop trembling as he nears a police officer as he survived the times of racist Police brutality. The Black Power revolution that occurred during the Civil Rights era was so very necessary to begin fighting this Black-inferiority complex. Our radical embrace of ourselves was so necessary to now move into a natural, non-radical, self accepting place that our American people have come into. This was a new experience for her and her outlook on life is a new outlook for many older Blacks. When sharing this experience with older Black women I've received smiles and words sharing how unbelievable it is for a Black child to hold these Black women in such a regard that she would be surprised by having a White teacher.

Her generation will slowly walk away untethered the germ of Black-inferiority. I thank GOD for New Light Baptist, I thank GOD for her new teacher (whom she loves), I thank GOD for this new outlook. The world will be changed.

Post-script.

Weeks later as the Lil' one was doing her homework the Grandma joked by saying "Imagine that... A Black girl doing homework given to her by a White woman." Without missing a beat Lady-girl retorted "Imagine that....A Black Grandma checking the homework done by a Black girl doing homework given to her by a White woman."........... Imagine that.

Synchronicity

Excerpts from Na'Im Akbar's definition of manhood:



The process of educating our boys requires. . . early work responsibilities, management responsibilities and social responsibilities. . .A man must understand that his decisions are binding and there is real import to decisions

The First Feelings of Fatherhood

Roman calendar June ninth in the Christian year 2000. This was a Friday morning. I'd secretly call him Kofi (male child born on a friday) and he would be known as "Trooper" for the first seven days of his life. The hospital recorded him as Baby Varner.

Weeks prior the staff at the hospital shared with me and the expectant Wifey that a child had to have a name prior to leaving the hospital. I told her than it wasn't the tradition of my culture to name the child upon birth. She asked me what my culture was. I said 'Pan-African' (I had to come up with something, I wasn't prepared for that question). I then asked her if she would have this conversation with me if she thought I was Jewish. She admitted that if she thought I was Jewish she wouldn't have asked for the name prior to birth. Seventeen months later as the Wifey and I had our pre-delivery session at the hospital the hospital staff smiled at me when she omitted the section for the child's name saying "You'll name the child in seven days right...?"

The first time I held my child was marvelous, magnificent, and truthfully ............ I don't remember it. I remember doing the counter-pressure pushing against Wifey's back as she screamed bloody murder providing me with the 'natural' birth that she knew that I wanted our child to have. She was a trooper also. He came out screaming bloody murder as I fell onto my knees to worship but ended up barking like an Omega as the doctor stated "You have a son." The look on the doctors face was priceless. He didn't know what to think of me in earlier sessions and today I'm in the Grand Buba that I wore at my nuptials, and that I plan to be buried in barking loudly. The family was in the room outside the delivery room and they came rushing in after I scared the Doctor and delivery staff excited awaiting the newest VArner child. My brother Daniel videotaped the whole event, he almost fainted when the son came through the delivery canal. On the video that he captured you can see the baby's head pop though and then Daniel says "Oh my God" and the camera lens goes from the delivery scene to the ceiling with the sound of a thud as his head hit the wall.

That day: I remember pouring libation and praying, thanking God for a safe delivery and a son. I remember taking him to the nursery and I remember how he wouldn't stop crying in the hospital room. I don't remember touching my son.

I know I cut his umbilical cord. I know I changed his diaper. I know I fed him. I know I cleaned him. I know I wrapped him in swaddles. I just don't remember holding him.

This became important to me as I was watching "City of Men", the Brazilian film of one of the worst areas in Brazil. During the film a depiction of the nurse encouraging the father to hold the child for the first time. He was afraid. I had held and guided children for over 15 years prior to this day...... I was afraid too. What struck me the most was while watching this movie I realized that I can't remember holding my son for the first time. Seventeen months later I don't remember holding my daughter for the first time. Now the son is eight and the daughter is six and I'm about 50 pounds heavier and I hold them as often as I can. I perform "the blessing of the head ritual" everyday as they prepare to board their bus. I ask God to "bless their head so that they may think of you, bless their face so that they may face you, bless their eyes so that they may seek you, bless their noses so that they may breathe your spirit, bless their mouths so that they may speak of you, bless their ears to that they may hear you, and bless their shoulders to carry your cross." As I finish this the son and I try to punch each other leaving a religious/sentimental moment with a fun filled macho guy touch. The blessing of the daughter's head ends with a big huggie and blown kisses. I may not remember the first touches, but I'm ensuring that they will remember the embraces we shared. Hopefully those embraces will mean as much to them as they mean to me.

My first fatherly feelings: Struggling for cultural continuance, feeling the resistance as the wifey pushed them through, feeling a reason to worship, feeling as reason to express joy, and then fear........... Thanks Almighty, we bless your presence.

Daddy Pride

Two years ago My Sun-son walked across that make-believe stage at his
Kindergarten graduation (from a religious school held in the sanctuary) as one of the highest scoring students in that class. He walked away from the event with a Bicycle as a present from the school. The Wifey is jumping up and down and screaming and all I could do was smile and bark (The Omega that I am) since I was holding the video camera. His test scores indicated that he was reading on a third grade level and mathing' on a second grade level.


This year (06/05/2008) the Lady-Girl graced the stage as the Valedictorian of her class. Her scores showed her reading on a 5th grade level and mathing' on "just under a" second grade level. She waltzed off the stage (make believe once again) with a bicycle and the entire crowd in hand. Her Mum is jumping, the family is jumping, and I keep yelling "That's Number Two !" Everyone on my row is looking at me and thinking "She's number one,
she had the highest scores) but I'm yelling "That's Number Two !" This was our second success story and second free bicycle ! God is good. Parenthood is good. I'm so proud.


I've counseled so many parents who have more to complain about than to be proud about. 14 years in the school system has filled me with so many kid-complaints. My kids have been a great buffer as I've really grown weary of the complaints. It's good to be proud.

The weird thing about this 'kid-pride' is the shared experience factor. I've done so many things incorrectly in my life, it's refreshing for me to see something go well. When my son-sun and lady girl walked the stage I walked with them. As I beam with pride watching their other accomplishments, I feel like I accomplished with them. When they struggle, I struggle. When they win, I win.

While en route to Disney Land a woman and her husband sat behind the family and I. After the plane landed the lady stopped the Wifey and I to share how impressed she was with our children. She noted how well behaved, smart, and articulate they were. She shared how she taught elementary school children for over 30 years and she recognized both bright students and good parents when she saw them. Initially I was a bit offended by her statements. She was an older Caucasian woman with a 'southern proper' personality, I initially thought she was surprised to see two Black (African-Indian descended) children behaving. It kinda' affected me the same way I've observed our White-American family marvel at the "articulate" speaking ability of Barrack Obama. "Why are you surprised people ?"......... As she detailed how she marvelled at the way my daughter read and the vocal inflections of our son I quickly dropped my defenses and began to listen to God speak through this messenger. When she was informed that the lil' girl just graduated from Kindergarten and the lil' man was just promoted to the third grade she was even more ecstatic. Her inviting smile warmed as she showered additional accolades upon "mis ninos" and then reminding me that the Wifey and I are great parents. As she continued to speak I thanked God, thanked Yeshua (Jesus), and thanked the ancestors for this moment. I then prayed quickly and in a non-obvious way that the remainder of my kids lives they will honor our Trinity and Ancestors in their walk-in-life. Jah-Bless !

Parenthood has been difficult. I've made countless mistakes.... The Wifey probably has a running list. However, it's been the best part of my life. When my boss stated "You are a failure.....You are a failure !" the thoughts of my kids' accomplishments kept me calm enough to brush my shoulders off.

A few days ago I was counseling a young man who felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he and his girlfriend are expecting a child. As we talked and processed his problems I shared that over any personal achievement, the achievements of his children will give him the greatest pride. He wants to be the parent that his parents weren't. We discussed how difficult pregnancy is for women and for involved men. As he looked into my face with a sense of struggle I said "It's hard to be involved in a pregnancy. It's not for soft men. The woman will get on your nerves and wanting to truly leave the relationship is natural, but your strength is supernatural and you can overcome those short-lived feelings." He blew a breath of frustration as he shared how difficult dealing with his girlfriend has been and was glad to know that he wasn't a punk for having the feelings he was having. He did know that acting on those short-lived feelings would make him a punk. We then spoke more about parenting and the type of parent he planned to be. As he spoke I could only think of pride that I have with my kids. I'm so glad that I married and had children. Most of the women I dated prior to the Wifey were much older, already had teenagers or adult children, or didn't want children. I remember one woman telling me that our relationship needed to end because I will be a great father someday and she couldn't bear children. I hated her for her position then, I love her for her position now. Our break-up opened the way for me to find the best woman for me, and opened the way for a dude who didn't want children to become a proud father.

Blessings upon fathers.

Who made her boss ?

I'm speaking with the Wifey after seeing a scene in on of those silly reality shows where the groomsmen in a wedding visit the tuxedo store. Wifey mentions that the prices for the tuxes have finally gotten close to what the bridesmaid pay to participate in the bridal party. ........

(Watch as I loose authority over my attire for an event that will happen 15 years or (hopefully) more in the future.)

Seko: "That's why I hope no one else asks me to be in their wedding. I'm not wearing another Tuxedo in a wedding !" (said jokingly as I have to wear a duck suit each weekend since I'm a professional wedding entertainer.
Wifey: "You men are getting a taste of what women go through price-wise."
Seko: "It doesn't matter, I'm not going to wear another tux to a wedding."
The little 6 year old girl: "You're wearing a tuxedo to my wedding !" (spoken firm and loudly !)
Seko: (Brief pause of disbelief)
Seko: "Well....." (Another brief pause of disbelief)
Seko: "That's not going to happen for years lady-girl."
The little 6 year old girl: "You're still going to wear a Tux for my wedding."

Three days later as I'm entertaining for Carla and Travis' 7/12/2008 wedding it hit's me during the Father / Daughter dance....... This little girl told me what I was going to wear in the future in no uncertain non-negotiable terms. Who made her boss ? ("She get it from her Mama....")

"I'm bigger than that."

I had a dear friend ask me today how I was able to get past the "kid-resentment". I mentioned to him how at times I had problems with the time that my children take from me and the opportunities that having a family has prevented me from taking. He is a father as well, and is struggling with something that I heard other men speak of privately. I'm sure it sounds like a weakness of the spirit to speak of this in public, so I believe that many fathers keep this to ourselves. Actually, I've only heard a few mothers speak of the Kid-resentment factor.. I'm not sure what to make of that revelation.

My experience in Fatherhood has been based in marriage, in the creation of the foundation of a family. So in many ways this resentment is more of a difficulty of Family than it is with being a Father. When entering my marriage the idea that the two will share each others dreams seems all-inclusive. It's been my experience that our dreams are shared to an extent in the best of situations. For instance: I've always dreamed of living out of the country for a few years, my wife can't imagine being physically away from her family. My dream, her nightmare. There really is no way that the two dreams can be reconciled fully. In my decision to become one with my beloved I had to attempt to kill my dream. Simply visiting or traveling isn't my dream. Having a vacation home out of the country for a few months isn't my dream. The specifics of my particular dream will never come to fruition unless my Wife kills her dream of always being in close proximity with her family. A commitment to a relationship means the killing of some of one's dreams in some way. This situation causes some resentment. I'm sure this resentment is natural and healthy and expected and all that other BS......It's something I have to deal with. I see the commitment I have with my children as having a similar experience.

In becoming a Father I have to let go of some of my agenda-items. I have to make decisions to engage in activities that I'm not fully interested in, not really concerned with. Working for, and knowing that my movements are for the greater good, is not always going to make me feel good and in many instances don't match with my agenda. I can say that the joy and accomplishments I see in my children seem to quell the rise of resentment. The hugs and interest I receive from my kids often dispel the dream/freedom-loss that I experience. I told this friend to hug his kids more, enjoy their experiences, and to spend more time with them and his resentment will fade.

So then my friend wanted to know what he could do when the hugs, the interest, the pride, the love, the sharing, the accomplishments are not enough to wash away the resentment. I shared how I often tell myself "I'm bigger than that." seems to work for me. I use these few words as a mantra almost daily, not out of ritual, but out of necessity......

I've had to kill some of my dreams to be in a relationship. I've had to kill some of my dreams to be a father. Truthfully I have to keep killing these dreams as they seem to arise the next day, next week, next year. I found that these dreams are similar to a Phoenix, rising out of the ashes. It's similar to the "Christian" construct of dying to self daily to allow the Christ to live in you daily (I'm aware that historically the concept of dying to self daily to allow the creator to live more fully is older than my religion.....Back-up off of me you haters). I have to die to self daily to allow the Father and Husband in me live. Being myself and being a Father doesn't always jibe. Being a Father is a more developed position that being myself ever could be. Having a committed relationship is a far more advanced state of existence than simply 'being myself' could ever be. The truth is, being in a relationship makes one bigger.

I ended the conversation with my friend realizing that I really had nothing concrete to help him over the hump except for him to know that I was always here for him to speak too. Upon the close of our conversation I realized that having my friend to bounce ideas, concerns, and worries off of has indeed made me bigger. I just pray that he feels bigger from our call. Bless you my friend, let's grow together ! Daddies til' the day we die !

2 weeks and counting

It's been absolutly amazing watching Carol at the work of creation.

I think Mother's are absolutely beautiful and being pregnant and giving birth are among the most wondrous things on the planet.

Carol Has been more than a trooper. She'd be super active, if I didn't remind her to take it easy.

We're buying a house. (I'm all for it, but it's been her idea from the get go-when most people would say a house and a baby in the same month is more than a bit too much.)

I LOVE my WIFE :-)

Baby-Baby-Baby, Baby-Baby-Baby, Baby-Baby. I got that feeling...

3 weeks and counting.

We've been really busy, doing the one thing that you would never gues.

House Hunting!

We've been loking in Ipswich for the last 3 weeks or so. Found a gem, but by the time we looked for more and offer was put on it, so Carol's a little down. I feel that if it was meant to be for us, God will get it for us.

It's a little calmer than London where we live. And the Pund goes a little farther. It's a little over an hour to commute to LCentral London, so we aren't far from her family. We wouldn't/wont be far from her family.

The best thing is that it is near the water, Ipswich river of something. Really nice

We got a car 3 weeks ago. Carol refuses to be the mom with a stroller being passed by the bus because therre are already two strollers on board.

So we got a 2001 Mazda 323 Auto. The Automatic, means I can drive it. Man She was adamantly againt ?Automatic at the beginning, but after she test drove one, she fell in love with the notion.

So A Brotha can drive.

I was doing 90 on the expressway this weekend.

I scared Carol a little bit. We got Prince the greatest hits going and I was in my groove. The Music was blaring(I had a raging headache that seemed to disappear at around 80MPH.) The speed limit here is 70. I'd been driving at 60 for the last two weeks, and finally was doing 70 comfortably.

Since 70 is the limit, people tend to do at least 80 in the fast lane. I was in the fast lane because there was a 60MPH-er in the slow lane. And there were trucks to pass.


Anyway, After about 10 minutes at 70, I started to do 80. Carol turned the music town, was getting nervous. (I was driving safely and breaking no rules) I was like, Man. I never get to have any fun.
Later, She said, that my transformation from Nervous Ninny to Speed Demon took her aback,

she'd never seen me drive and she agreed that I didn't break any rules and was driving saftely....

The politician amongst us...

As reported by the Wifey as I arrived home from DJing a wedding: "Do you know what your son said ?"

I'm thinking it's the worst, she just removed her motherhood status. This has gotta' be bad. I'm getting ready to remove my belt and find this lil' man who probably upset my wife so much that she will not be in the mood tonight. That boy is gonna' get it !

"We are watching television and this young girl was very disrespectful to an adult. I told him that when he finds a wife she'd better not be that nasty. He asked me "Does she have to be brown ?"

I chuckled. I'm thinking "He's gotta' stop watching that Disney Channel."

"I told him I hope so. He responded, "Oh, I do too."

That lil' boy has got game already ! He spun his Mama off his back in four words. I see a great political career ahead of him.

Talking about REcharge.

Talking about REcharge. I just came back to London from spending two weeks home with the Fams.Carol and I spent a week with friends and a week in a nice resort.

While I was just thinking to have a party, Quiana had the great Idea to have a baby shower.
It was the best baby shower I'd been to. (The only one.)

Carol was cherished, gifted and adored by my Blood and she Truly appreciates it.

I think the experience was a transforming one for her.
Personally. I could cry for having come home to my folks.

People came from up the coast and down the coast, just to see us and celebrate the baby. (We're having a girl, by the way.)

Carol was very touched by the outpouring of Love and affection.

Coming home and being around Family was very heart warming.

I miss you guys.

I Love my Wife

The other day, my lovely wife comes up to me. She stands behind and just to my left and curls her arms around mine. She says:"..like your on vacation with your best friend. do you feel like that?"

"Yes." is say as I'm playing it back in my head. "You know what I realized. I feel like we're best friends on vacation."is what she said in full.

Her voice was so soft and sweet, I wasn't going to say anything other than 'Yes, Dear.'

Carol says, "But this is better because I feel like I'm on vacation with my best friend and everything we do together is soo much fun and when we get home, you are still there. It's like going home with my best friend."

Stunned by the simple beauty and peace of her words, I could only say:"Yeah, Sweety. I feel just like that."

I love my Wife.

Suburban-Hood....Easter is gonna' be good !

His hair is nappy, his front tooth is missing, my lil' man is looking so 'hood' these days. He looks like one of the old men I see in Lincoln Park (P-Town VA) who can't help but smile since the Lord gave them another day of life, but really shouldn't smile since life took a tooth or so from them at some point. God gives, God taketh away. God give my sun-son a replacement tooth ASAP ! Amen....... Amen-Ra......... Amen-what-ever-it-takes to get this boy a denture, a tic-tac, or something.
It's wild how a missing tooth and an afro can alter one's look so drastically. Come this Easter (2 weeks from now) he will finally be able to cut his hair and leave his O.H.(Original-Hebrew) look and return to his clean cut N.O.I. (I won't even explain) look. I always thought he looked like the Honorable Elijah Muhammad with his hair cropped short.
Easter is gonna' be interesting this year. This year he gave-up Sodas during Lent (like the wifey and I really allow the kids to drink the liquid-death in an aluminum can frequently), and the lil' girl gave up watching Blues Clues for Lent. I gave up sugary-sweets, the wifey gave up nothing...as usual. So Easter Sunday she and the kids will be dressed in new clothes while I wear old clothes as I have never understood the connection between buying new clothes and celebrating the day our ancient Roman-Catholic Church leaders choose for Yeshua's (Jesus) resurrection. I've heard the "Christ gave his best, you should wear your best !" junk............but I'm out of second grade now and that just doesn't fly with a brotha'. So Wifey and the kids will wear their "New Suits for the Newly Risen Savior" (another line a Sunday-school teacher tried to force-feed me) and the Sun-son will be drinking sodas if he can find them (I poured them down the sink) and I'll be in a corner office somewhere eating as many gummy bears as I can hide from the kids.
Sun-son will be 'rockin' a fresh Ceasar' (wearing a closely cut hairstyle) and hopefully his tooth will have arrived just in time for the Sodas to ruin his teeth. Until then my lil' honor-roll earning, "Can I have an allowance ?" asking, "Here's my X-mass list" in March providing, "Watch me crank dat' Soulja Boy" dancing, Suburban-hood child will be nappy and one-toothless. Power to the people yall'.

Can you hear me now ?

Received a call from my honor-roll student (my neice). She described a situation faced in school that was difficult for her to handle. As she shared her experience and I moved the telephone around attempting to obtain a good signal I realized how similar we are to these cellies. Neice-girl is going through that phase when you have to really move around to find that signal that will keep you connected. When we are out of range we often feel inoperable. It's great to have our batteries recharged and our signal stregnth on full, yet a lot of time we need to plug back in because we have been operating on low signals and batteries leading to difficult situations. Receiving this call from her charged my batteries. I'm needed. My family needs me around as well as my family. My extanded family values me as well as my kids do. Listening to her problems solved my problems of inadequate feelings. Plugging into one's family recharges and renews. Plug in and be renewed.

I wanna' hear O'Bama

(Photo - 6 year old R. VArner draws her room)

It's after 8:15 PM and I'm supposed to send the kiddies to beddy-bye.....but I thought I'd add to their political acumen. The Democratic debate was on and I'm trying to decide if the Democratic ticket will get my vote this time around. I'm leaning towards McCain, but Obama is becoming hard for me to decide against. I've kinda' realized that I'm more of a conservative independent than anything else........ I asked the kids to come in the bedroom and watch a few minutes of the debate. I shared with them that Obama would be the first American (United States of America) president of obvious and prominent Afrikan descent and Clinton would be the nation's first Woman President if elected. We discussed how the Caribbean, Africa, South American and Latin America has had men who have showed African features, we discussed how there have been Women presidents in Africa and other countries. I allowed them to watch a little and then I sent them to their rooms. A moment later I saw some shaking beads at the door. I directed the little girl to go to her room. She placed her hand over her face preparing to cry and sobbed "I just wanted to hear Obama. I heard Hillary speak, I just wanted to hear his voice and hear what he has to say." While directing her to choose between following my directions or earning a spanking as well as leaving those cry-on-demand tears in their sockets I thought about the position I'm in. Here she is wanting to listen to a Presidential debate at six years of age and I feel the need to enforce a parental limit. Good parenting has often placed me into a position where I have to decide what's best between good options. Some parents have to decide the lesser between two evils such as being kicked out of their apartment or allowing their son/daughter to profit from the drug trade. I know many of these parents and while I've enjoyed friendship of these parents I do not wish to join their ranks. My daughter choose the bed over the beating - good choice. When daughter-girl awoke the next morning she asked me "What did Obama say Daddy ?" I then discussed his statements and she smiled. "Daddy can I hear him the next time he's on t.v. ?" she asked. I can't remember if I answered or not. I do remember the smile that warmed my heart, and feeling secure in my decision to remain a firm parent. I'm sure Obama, Hillary, and McCain would all vote in my favor. American needs more better parents more than we need any of these candidates or political groups.
Side note: The next day daughter-girl shared with her mommy-grandmother how she attempted to sneak another peek at Obama. She ended her description of the event by saying "Grammy, they're both trying to become President......but we already have an American president !"

e'ry now and then I get more than the big piece of chicken

I helped the wifey make breakfast for Eva this morning. I sliced up some strawberries for her and got the inspiration to make a smiley face outta strawberries and grapes - strawberry eyes and a grapes smile.

My darling daughter came back upstairs and, with a simultaneous blend of happy, shy and giggle/blush said something like "I saw you made a face out of my grapes". I'm sure Sherrice put her up to it. . . but I still felt 10 feet tall.

Getting a nut...

It's been a while since our first pregnancy. My brotha' Dan (who still hasn't posted on this blog) recently found out that he and his wifey were expecting, my cuz'n Sean and his wifey Carol are expecting on Juneteenth 2008. My cuz'n-via-marriage J.J. is expecting. Must be somethin' in the kool-aid. I remember feeling so elated and so scared. All the dudes I've spoken to share similar feelings. So either I'm hanging with wimps, or this mix of feelings must be a truly shared experieince. Pregnancy truly seemed like something I wanted to avoid. Condoms prevented knock-ups, celibacy prevented knock-ups (right), I've heard so much "Don't get that girl pregnant !" talk when I was younger that it seemed to be the biggest thing-to-avoid on earth. I never wanted kids. I used to date very much older women who had adult children, didn't want children, or couldn't have children. The creator's plan involved me marrying a woman who wanted kids............ I couldn't find any way to get this woman out of my mind/life/future. I had to accept that I'd be a father at some point. My father has been a great pops (visit http://www.drivingmrdaddy.blogspot.com/) yet I felt the same demon-questions that many a man has faced. "Am I in the best position to have this kid ?", "Do I really want to be committied the rest of my life ?", "Am I ready to be a good dad ?", "Is this chic ever gonna' get her sexy-back after having this kid ?", "Have I done everything I've wanted to do ?", "Am I gonn'a turn into one of those fat slobby men after kids ?"..... I must admit, I really can't even post some of the questions we face, but we face them. I know smile warmly everytime I see a fellow-father. Without a concern for their level of involvement we all have something in common which is truly many things in common. I'm probably gonna' smack the next trick that asks me "Are you Dad or a sperm donor ?" It's one of the most rude questions I've ever heard but I'm starting to hear it more often as I speak publically about my kids. I have friends who have formed kids with chics who were probably good for a screw-ball, but are truly screwed up in the head. I feel for them. Nothing they do will be good enough for their baby-mama-drama or the families of the baby-mama-dramas and the kids are the ones loosing out. Some dudes are straight triffling...yet some of these baby-mama-dramas are the type of person I would never want to be involved with, and you have to have a relationship with the baby-mama-drama to have a relationship with the kids. I'm so glad I'm not in this situation. I have a prepared retort for the next male-basher who asks me politely or impolitely if I'm a respinsbile parent...."Did you become a mother to begin a family or to get a nut ?" Speaking of getting a nut, I got two of them. My kids are nuts...... They keep me laughing. My son recently earned his Karate yellow belt and duly informed me that he was a "Highly trained yellow belt."

Buh-Rock

Short but sweet political conversation:
The son: Daddy, you should vote for Barack O'Mama (Obama).
The pop: I'm more conservative son, I might vote for someone else. I don't know yet.
The son: If I were a grown-up I'd vote for Barack O'Mama.
The pop; Why son ?
The son: I don't know !!!! I just think you should vote for him.
The pop: What about Hillary ?
The son: Who ? ......... I just wish I could vote.
The pop: (Smiling....thinking: "I know the ancestors are smiling too."

(Photo - The Sun-son on his fifth born-day 2 years ago)

Afro-Dee-She-Act

When I was a youth Pops would comb/pick my hair every morning in the downstairs bathroom before taking me to school (circa 1978 - 1981). I not-so-fondly remember trying not to be a lil' punk as the popping-peas in my hair would call the tears behind my eyes accompanied by shrieks and pleading. The brother's hair was knappy and at that time in my life I wasn't happy (bout' my knaps). I told Pops one day "When I have a son he won't have to go through this." Dad just smiled. Normally I'd get a swat or so to keep me from hunching my shoulders and performing like he was killing me. It was worth it to have the Afro. Black Power yall'.
It's 2008 and my sun in late 2007 stated that he wanted his hair to be like Pop-T's hair. I think he also caught sight of a few of the BET videos and the normal t.v. stations that have commercials that depict people of African descent. We don't allow the kids to watch B.E.T. as we prefer Black Improvement over Black Entertainment. I have noticed that many times the youth of African descent on the boob-tube have fros'. My son's uncle (hermano-mio) has great photos with a Jackson-Five meets Angela Davis type of Afro. My wife decided that if he decided to grow an Afro he would have to grow an Afro and not punk out in the process. Son decided to grow his fro' until the spring time. I personally love his head with a very light Cesar (almost bald).
Every morning I'm combing son-suns head. Every morning he's screamin' bloody murder. We have tried grease, comb-in conditioner, and this brown stuff the wife found. He's still crying and jumping and dancing every time one of his peasy-peas opens up. 10 minutes later he's back to smiles singing "Knappy Boy.....& Pretty Boy" quoting Chris Brown and T-Pain's song entitled 'Kiss, Kiss'. He's so proud of his hair and it's humbling. As Pro-Black as I am I still wrestle with finding some African features as attractive as Euro' features. I once had my hair permed and straightened while I had an Afro (circa 1991). All these Mexican chicks I worked with would say "Oh...... You look Dominican !" Flattered was I, didn't know what a Dominican looked like was I also. During this time I was dating a woman named Chris who coaxed me into perming my hair. She loved running her fingers through my hair and I loved all the attention other women were showing me. One day Chris mentioned Malcolm X and I re-read the Autobiography of Malcolm X. I read it in High School mildly forced by my father and found new insight. About a week into the book I cut all of my hair off and grew back my normal knappy hair feeling proud to be African. My new found pride in what GOD gave me began the road to the end of Chris's presence in my life. I also found out that the Spanish speaking brothers I was cool with included Dominicans. I never realized that were we different other than their family's spoke Spanish. They looked like most of my American-born (African-Indian) family. Some of us were light, some were darker, some had straight to loose curly hair while others of us had knapps. To me they were Blacks who had Spanish forced upon their early family as English and Portugeese were forced upon my early fam'. It came down to this... Some of us expressed our African genes prominently while others of us showed our Indian or Euro' genes a little more prominently. Shouts out to Danny Rodriguez, one of my Amazulu-brethern who is from a Dominican family that migrated to the shores of the USA; he is my blogin' inspiration.

Seeing the pride my son displayed in his hair, even after the tears, is uplifting. He doesn't want to have his hair cut. He was reluctant to have it trimmed. The normal trip to a 7-11 after the cut didn't even have the same enticement it used to.
I told my son about the cry-quote I told my Pops as he was raking the rake through my head-jungle. He wouldn't stop laughing for about 10 minutes. When he stopped he told me "Dad you lied..........You make me go through the same thing every day.....You comb my hair too hard."
I grew up with a photo of a woman combing her daughters hair who was combing her daughter's hair. I think it's called 'Generations.' I was always a-wondering "Where is the man's version ?" Looking at my hands today I realized that GOD had already painted that picture. My hands were grooming the next generation. My pains became my son's pains through a grooming ritual. I'm able to easily run a comb through my thinning African hair now (circa 2008) and I'm noticing a patch where my hair won't grow. As I bald my son-sun is Afro'ing. During dinner son-sun told his grandpa about the conversation we had regarding the pains I endured combing my hair as a youth. As they giggled I felt warm. My fatherhood ability is growing, my family is growing together, and I'm going bald. While enjoying an adult beverage during a party this weekend I saw an old man picking his Afro while looking in the mirror. I raised my glass-bottle and toasted the Afro. A toast to the love of my past and present, all through a grooming ritual.

Hating on Santa Claus

Now I don't dig this St. Nick thing....... If it wasn't for my wifey our home wouldn't have the big heavy dude. Mywife complained one year "You're taking away the Joy in Christmas !" I replied "Isn't the Joy in Christmas the celebration of the birth of Christ ?" ........ With that carefully prepared retort I thought I'd won this one, she being the supa-Christian............................ I still lost.....

Seven years later....... I shared with the sun-son "I want to get your mum a 'Wii' (the video gaming system). So I looked and looked, everywhere was sold out. No worries, the back-up gift King was en-la-casa ! Her 19th (ha-ha) born-day was coming in mid. January and I'd get the console for that date...............

Jan. was not good to a brotha'. I couldn't find it. Target was out of stock. The Wal-Mart staff kept laughing at me. GameStop advised "Wait until 1/20. We'll have some then." No love.

Jan. 3rd - Sun-son asks "Why didn't you write it on the Christmas list. I got everything I asked for on my list (I know, I paid), my sister got almost everything she wanted from her list and a whole lot more. Santa would have gotten' it for you."

Jan. 5th "Dad, I told you should have written Santa."

Jan. 9th "Dad, you really should listen to me sometimes."

Jan. 11th "Dad, did you find it yet ? I bet Santa could find one."

Jan. 12th "I'm really mad Dad, I was looking forward to that Wii. Mum would have loved playing with me. You should have...." (His mouth now covered by my your-on-my-last-nerve-hand).

Jan. 15th (After the Wifey's bornday). "Dad, can I have a Wii for my birthday since you missed Mommy's birthday ? You could put it on an early Christmas list.....Dad.....Are you listening to me Dad ?......Dad !

I hate Santa.

Cannon in the Hole ! ! !

Overheard by the wifey.....

During dinner our sun-son needed to relieve some additional rectal gas..... Being a southern raised gentleman-in-training he excused himself from the table and began racing to the hallway yelling

(loosing his decorum)

"Canon in the Hole !"

Looking Fab !

Lady-girl (Yea, I have some strange names for folk) loves dressing up. Yesterday her Mother-Grandma brought over some clothes that little one received during the holy-days/holidays. Rukiya put them on and stated in her sing-songly voice "Some Body's Looking Fabulous ! I need to be a model for these clothes." Little does she know that she is my model. I now judge women by my daughter. I meet someone and think "Is this the type of woman I'd want my lil'-girl to be ?" "Is this woman going to be someone my daughter will look up too ?" "Should Rukiya dress like her when she gets older ?" "How will I protect my girl from women who act like this ?"
I have friends who share photos of hot-chics and I can't enjoy the photos/videos anymore as I keep thinking "This is someones daughter...... I'd have-ta kill a muther..... if they tried to take this photo of Rukiya." (Of course Angela Bassett, Jada Pinkett-Smith, Rosario Dawson, Rosie Perez, Lucy Lu, and the hot-wife on the Bernie Mack Show all get the exception to the rule pass) The funny thing is... this experience is not a kill-joy, it's more of a feel-joy. I'm joyful when I walk into the house and she runs full speed toward me screaming "Daddy's Home !"

Watching fools get caught on "Predator" for wanting to be with lil' girls is now something I can no longer stand. Bang City has a song called "Time To Kill" that has an excellent chorus of "Pedophiles don't make it to trial, it's time to kill like Samuel (pronounced as Sam-You-Wild)." I second that emotion. God might not forgive me for the murder, but God gotta' understand. Being a Dad, a conscious Dad, has it's share of fears; devout fears that the thing that bring one so much joy might be tarnished. Having children that behave well and achieve is icing on the cake. Baby-girl you look Fab, but you make a Daddy feel complete.

Overheard today. . .

Sherrice: ". . . and you're a big girl now. you're big enough to sleep in your own bed by yourself. Besides, Mommy likes to sleep with Daddy. (beat) How do you think you got here?

Eva: (after some thought): "By car?"

She's always be my joy...

It's one thing to be a father to my children....It's totally another joy to be a Father-figure to another's child. I'm blessed to be all that and some-mo- stuff ! My brother Daniel has two lovely little ones (seen here cheek-to-fore head on a trip to A-T-L Georgia!) who have indeed stolen a father's heart. Dominique, the youngest of Daniel's, calls me "Co-Co" which sometimes means 'Uncle' and other times means "Seko". She can truly lighten the load of life when she enters the room with a smile that wipes away disasters. Demya became Dan's when he married his wife. Demya is so full of emotion and tugs at my heart-strings each time she slaps on a warm extended hug. I never realized how 'fatherly' the position of Uncle can be. I actually feel responsible for their well-being and often think about them when I'm buying things for Mi-Ninos. Today we ate lunch at Ce-Ce's Pizza as a united front. Daniel and his family and Familia-mio. Looking at the eight of us at one table quietly celebrating family is a bit life-changing. Today Dad (My Blog Bout' Me Daddy) presided upon his last service for a church in Chesapeake. The eight of us planned to worship with Pops this morning and we all forgot about it until we came together for lunch. As I remembered Pops service it came across me that I was where I needed to be...... with family. Dan and I seem to be growing closer again and I love how my children enjoy their auntie & uncle. Family is indeed the cornerstone of a civilization, and I'm warm on the inside considering that I'm following the Creator's plan of family. God is good, Family is good. While pondering this emotional nugget Demya had an emotional meltdown as her mother Hope-Dori informed her of the family's plan to move from their current townhouse to save some money to buy a home. As she sobbed "I don't want to go, I don't want to go." I felt her cutting pain. I expect to feel my children's pain, yet I felt this child's pain in a way I've never experienced before in my 11 years of being an empathic counselor to school children and three years as a classroom teacher. This pain it me like my children's pain..... That mix of pain with a smile knowing that the pain was a temporary staircase leading to a better quality of life. I realized how much I love Demya with each of her tears. Last year when Daniel married Dori he presented and placed a ring upon Demya's finger during the reception vowing to never forsake her as a father. The whole crowd was boo-hooing following my crying-like-a-punk self. I was DJing the event and introduced the surprise event with a quiver in my voice as I held back my tears. Prior to the wedding Demya had been on pins and needles.... As much as she loved Dan she was so scared that he would leave she and her mother worse than found. Dan's actions were ritualistic and symbolic and touching. I didn't get paid for doing Dan's event, my price for the DJ/Entertainment work I did for his event would have been $1,250. Watching him place that ring onto Demya's finger and making that promise to be a father would have been something I would have paid $1,250 to see. As I watched Demaya's meltdown I began to melt. So much so that Wifey informed me later that while I was hypnotized by Demya's tears my daughter was carrying on a conversation with me. I was too touched by my Honor-Roll student (Demaya) to notice that the world was moving around me. It's moments like this when Father-hood, or Uncle-hood as it is, is something to treasure.
Crisette Michele has a beautiful song named "Your Joy." While riding in the car Rukiya began singing the chorus ("you'll always be my father, and I'll always be your Joy") to me and I teared up like a punk. Since then I've been calling her 'Joyful'. While hugging everyone off today from the pizza place Demaya gave me her normal hug and I blurted-out "My Joyful Honor Roll Student". While she may never know the importance of my hug-talk, her presence has been a joy to me. I look forward to dancing with the bride at her wedding. Since I met her, she's always been my Joy.