Seeing the world anew

Elijah has started reading. After a month of nightly lessons with his mother, Elijah is reading everything he can look at. After he reads stuff he asks questions like "Why is that called Taco Bell?" me: "Because they sell tacos." him: "But why is it called taco BELL?" me: "Gee, I don't know." Now of course I know: It was started by an ex-marine named Glen Bell who opened his first 'Taco Bell' in 1962. At least according to wikipedia.

A new reader sees the world anew. He is always asking "what does that mean?", "Why did they put that there?" etc. and 9 times out of 10 it is simply bringing to my attention how much I don't know, just like graduate school and my wife.

"What the f*** you pull ME over for?"

It's Labor Day weekend. The whole family is returning from a trip to the drug store. On the way, we run into a sobriety checkpoint. Not exactly fun. How dare they? What if we were in a hurry? Oh well, I guess it's a good thing. We actually don't want drunk drivers on the road and I haven't had a drink since November 1994 but who's keeping track. The line of cars is moving slowly and as we pull up to our designated officer for the "check", I (in my mind) wait for instructions from the officer who is quite friendly. He politely introduces himself as officer so and so from the Emeryville police and that they are checking seatbelts and sobriety. He remarks that I clearly look sober, asks for my license, gives me a flyer to put on my dash, indicating that I have passed the test and I slowly pull off. That's exactly how it went down (in my head).

Right after we pull off, my wife immediately remarks that I was looking angry and rude and that I should not be so stand offish or confrontational. ??? Confusion. I thought you had to say "What the f*&k you pull me over for?" to be confrontational but she informed me that a flat affect, stone still and barely responsive, except to respond to requests like, "license please" or "show me your hands" is rude and confrontational and not the way you want to be to an officer of the law.

I am defensive at first but realize that I am never more aware of being a black man, (just like Rodney King or Fred Hampton) than when I am being pulled over or "checked" by the police. Hence, I may have been a little terse with the friendly cop, even though I have nothing to fear. I am not on PCP, speeding 100 miles on the freeway running from the cops, I am not leading a black liberation movement that is public enemy #1 of the FBI. I don't have weed or drink in my system or in the glove. No weapons. My license, registration, tags and car payments are completely legit and up to date. No outstanding parking tickets and no points on my record (anymore). Tail lights work, blinkers blink and the radio isn't even on. Why would I not be completely relaxed with my whole family in the car on a Sunday evening trip from the store. I don't even have dread locks anymore! Okay, I'm tripping. I mean don't get me wrong. I will never be the person who gets beat down because I didn't know how to follow directions. He could have told me to get out of the car and do the cabbage patch and I might have did the running man too, just not with a smile.

So my ever wise wife begins practicing with me the proper way to greet an office of the law. "Good evening!" (Big smile) That's sarcastic, try again. "Hello, hi." (less of a smile) That looks like a smirk. Not good. And so we go back and forth like this until I get it just right. "Good evening" (measured tone and cadence, but light and easy smile to follow and slight head nod with the head tilted just so) That's better.

So the whole drive home, I practice my cordial greeting to officers of the law. I got it down. I'm ready. Now I just hope it holds up if I run into an as*h*** cop.

The ghetto vegitarian

Yesterday, I was doing the pac man for my students. One boy stared at me for a minute then said “Mr. Payne, you’re a vegetarian, but you’re ghetto!”  Like the two were mutually exclusive. I laughed out loud. That was the funniest thing anybody said to me in a long time. He was already grappling with the fact that as a black man, I didn’t eat chicken, but now this. He was genuinely puzzled by the whole thing.

My son Elijah is in this summer program called Oakland Freedom Schools (OFS). It’s a reading enrichment program for black kids, modeled after the Freedom Schools in Mississippi in the summer of 1964. OFS is very radical. I was a OFS teacher back in ‘95 and the director in ‘98. It is only natural that my children attend the program. After 1 day at the school, he is on our back porch chanting “Chant down Babylon, OFS is the bomb, we ready, we coming...”  Another favorite that I am sure they will teach him is “We be an African people…”  and  “Revolution has come! Shine your light like the sun!”  I asked him how was his day and he starts talking about “the girl who doesn’t listen”. He doesn’t even call her by her name. He starts off a sentence like “Dad, today the girl who doesn’t listen… fill in the blank.” Like that’s her Native American name or something. I ask him, “son, what’s her name?” He pauses and thinks for a minute, trying to access that information. A few seconds later he remembers. I say, “Son, from now on, call her by her name.”

Elijah is also quite the filmmaker. We have this flip camera and Elijah makes 15 minute movies of himself walking around the house, playing with his brother and engaging his parents. He surprised me today when he revealed that one of his movies has a title. We’re watching one of his “movies” and he says “is this ‘Walking on Water?” “Huh? Walking on water? Is that the title of your ‘movie’? When did you come up with that?” The boy is creative.

And lastly, reason #235 why I hate the media: Obama visits Ghana yesterday. This is his second visit to Africa (he was in Egypt a while back) but they repeatedly described it as the presidents first sub-Saharan African trip. Why? Did they every say, “his first trip to eastern Europe?” No they didn’t. I checked google. Then to top it off, they show the Ghanaians celebrating Obamas arrival and they show hundreds of folks literally dancing in the streets. With all of these people to choose from, they choose to interview a lady wearing 2009 shades. You know, a pair of glasses that are in the shape of the number 2009, with sparkles and glitter all over them. You know, the glasses you wear for new years eve. I don’t even remember what she said. All I could think was: Why? Why? Why? 

Just enjoy the ride

Flying to New York on Sunday for an all day funeral on Monday and returning on Tuesday would seem like a big, stressful event. Especially when you throw in traveling with a 5 year old and an 18 month old. I did my best to make it easy on myself: Took time to relax Friday day before the trip, bought direct flights from Oakland to JFK which was 10 minutes from where I was staying in NY. I traveled light, carried lots of snacks for the kids, and spared no expense in the airports and on the plane. You want to see a movie for $6? No problem. You want a burrito? juice? muffin? headphones? magazine? You got it! Excuse me, can we get 2 more bags of animal crackers? 

The trip was indeed major. Small jubilant, active children in a funeral home for 3 1/2 hours was a bad idea but necessary. Family is family and when one of their greatgrandmothers passes, they have to be a part of the transition, for their sake but more for the surviving families sake. So we went and I was exhausted. 

Checking in at JFK to fly back home, the airline had 50 people in line ahead of me and the line was moving slow. Cameron waited a full 10 minutes before he started screaming. Elijah wasn't sympathetic. He started whining too. People started staring. When your baby starts screaming in public, you get all kinds of looks ranging from "Oh, poor baby. He's so cute, etc." to "What kind of parent are you? Your child is screaming." I just looked back at all of them like "Say something and you'll get your feelings hurt in a New York minute." Cameron screamed for a full 10 minutes before the airline people pulled me out of the line and checked my bag, explaining to me that "Your child is screaming, let's get your bag checked."  I resisted making a dozen different smart remarks and simply expressed my humble appreciation of the gesture. I get up to the counter. Cameron promptly stops screaming. I smile and explain to Elijah the silver lining of the moment. 

On the plane, I got up to walk Cameron around the plane to prevent a meltdown, leaving Elijah in his seat next to a 15 year old unaccompanied minor and I hear Elijah behind me whimpering, following me down the aisle. I turn around and walk with him back to his seat and explain that I wasn't leaving him and that I was coming right back. He listened to me patiently and indicated that he understood and then whispered very loudly in my ear: "but daddy, he's a STRANGER" And he was right. I didn't have any reason to trust him with my son and Elijah wasn't going to take the risk. Sure the chances are slim on a plane 30,000 feet up but we taught him, a stranger is a stranger. You don't trust em, on a train, or in a plane, in a box with a fox eating green eggs and ham.

Finally, I am back in Oakland waiting for my bags. The first batch of bags come then the conveyor belt stops. and it stays stopped for 10 minutes. Half the people from the plane are still staring down the conveyor belt looking dumbfounded. I overhear someone who spoke to an employee of the airline mutter something about them being short staffed today. I mused to myself that I wasn't 'short' when I paied for my plane tickets. I couldn't say to the ticket counter "Oh, I'm a little short on cash today" and expect to get a ticket. Oh well. 

It was when I returned to Oakland, relieved to be off the plane, that I relaxed for about 1 hour then started thinking about the class I had to go to in an hour and the assignments that might be due and the work I missed the day before and the meeting I had to go to for work and the team lead I needed to call to let them know I would be in a meeting and not to expect me until after 11 or so... it was after the flood of details and preparations started churning in my mind that I realized how much of a mental break the trip to New York was. It was physically taxing no doubt, containing Cameron within a 2x3 area on the plane for 5 1/2 hours each way, and helping Elijah find the cartoons, but the mental complexity of the task (keeping him fed, contained and not screaming) was a piece of cake compared to the juggling act of work, school, home, work school, home. But I'm not complaining. I just enjoy the ride and try not to take any of it for granted.

No more small talk

Anybody who really knows me, knows that I am very discreet. I don't like to draw attention to myself in public but rather be the observer. Well today, while browsing the drug store for a fan for my house because it's 100 degrees, I notice that the selection is slim and not only that, the fans are ridicilously priced.  I glance at the lady examining the selection too and mention out loud "it looks like they raised the prices for us because it's so hot"  The woman looks at me and says loudly "What?" (in hind sight I realized that she must have been hard of hearing) I repeat my statement louder and she then replies 5 decibles louder than me. "Yeah, and they don't have any wattage information so you can't compare the different fans..." I was acutely aware that everyone in the store could probably hear this woman. I was no longer interested in small talk with this loud person but she kept going. I responded out of politeness and she kept talking loudly about the lack of specifications on the box. 

I expected to say something, and for her to respond and that would be the end of it. Not a long conversation and not at full volume. Oh well. So much for small talk.

You want the what cake?

My son Elijah turns 5 on Wednesday and we were having a small party to celebrate. I take him to the bakery like I do every year to pick out a cake. You know, a football cake or baseball cake, or maybe a Cars cake or Hula Hawaiian cake like last year. So I show him the 20 or so cakes in the display case and his #1 pick is the snow white cake with a big figurine of snow white and a castle in the background. "You sure you want that cake son?" "Yes, I want the princess cake!" (The princess cake is absolutely not an option. Not just the gender role thing but the Disney marketing machine has tricked my son into thinking he wants 'princess cake'.) "Elijah, I'm sorry son, the 'princess' cake is sold out. What's your second pick?" "Oh, ummm, I'll take the baseball cake." "Oookkk, baseball cake it is!"
As I happily order the baseball cake I wonder: what is my fear with my son getting a princess cake? Am I training him to be sexist by limiting his options for expression? Answer to self: Oh well, at least he got to pick from the football or baseball cake. He'll get over it and I'm already over it.

As the world changes, so does my approach

Ok, now Elijah is almost 5 and has hit this chatterbox phase. He asks 50 questions a minute. "Daddy, the world has changed." "Yes son, it has." "Why has the world changed dad?" "Because the sun went up and down." 

Gone are the days (yesterday) when I though I could dig deep in my soul for every question he asks me. Now I am rattling off random answers and keeping it moving. I know. So disappointing. I'm over it already.

And another thing: he is obsessed with making everything a race. "Daddy, I finished my pasta before you, I win!" "Daddy, I beat you to the corner!" At first I supported his winning attitude. Then it got tired. "Elijah, were eating dinner, it's not a race." Then I impressed upon him "Son, you compete against yourself. If you win, it's because you beat your personal best, you understand? Nobody in this house is a loser: not your brother or your parents, understand?"   silence..... "Elijah, I said: do you understand? There are no losers in this house!" (silently nodding his head) "Yes there is", "What did you say?",  "Yes there is, you and mommy are losers, ha ha ha..."  

Well, that was the last time I let him win a race to the corner. I ran past him and got 50 feet ahead and as his laughing trot turned into a sad cry for me to slow down to let him catch up. I grinned and turned to run faster. No more kid gloves. He got to learn. Don't gloat to someone 3 times your size.