Day Eight: Father – Son Tradition, I’m Going Back to Indiana

This was the last leg of our journey. When we went to bed last night we did so realizing that our eight-day tour was coming to an end. We also went to bed hoping – praying – to get just one decent night of sleep. Wouldn’t you know it the worse looking of all the hotels we stayed in provided the best night’s sleep. Just when I was ready to call Tom Bodett, just when I was prepared to take the full blame for not paying the extra $10 for the additional half star (Hotwire rated the hotel 3.5 stars), I slept like a newborn baby.

Before I get carried away extolling the excitement of one night of uninterrupted sleep, I have to tell you that there was a glitch. At about 7:30 am, we heard a key being used at our door. We had taken the liberty of securing the door with the two additional locks. Despite it appearing obvious that we did not want any surprise visitors, the person outside the door continued trying to get in.

I jumped out of bed looked through the peephole. If you guessed it was housekeeping, you would be correct. What’s the deal? Again with housekeeping at my door early in the morning. This time housekeeping was trying to get into a room that was dead bolted from the inside. I opened the door and the lady immediately begin to apologize. She looked traumatized before I even had a chance to say a word. I suppose my reputation for beating hotel staff to death with pillows has supersede my visit.

I wonder if there is a picture of me in circulation among hotels in the South perhaps the same way there is a “Pick This Man Up At Your Own Risk Poster” circulating among the nation’s cab drivers.

One and a Half Business Women

Alyson the wonderful lady who has been working with me to complete the edit of the book Raising Supaman graciously accepted our invitation to have breakfast with us before we left town. Accompanying Alyson to our impromptu business breakfast was her daughter Hannah. If memory serves me correctly Hannah is nine.

Hannah was dressed like her mother. Both were wearing business attire. I found this scene to be very impressive. A working mother who had made the decision to allow her daughter to accompany her to a breakfast meeting. While I had extended the invitation to both so many other parents would either have elected to leave their children at home or they would have been accompanied by children who misbehaved the entire time.

Hannah has been raised superbly and short of being spoken to you would have not known she was at the table. Hannah doesn’t realize it now but her mother is setting the scene for her to have a head start on so many things: how to dress for success, what certain business terms mean; how to have pleasant professional conversation, how to eat in a restaurant, how to interact with adults, etc.

On the other hand, Hannah was not only learning but she was teaching. You see when it came time to order breakfast Alyson, Naeem and I ordered something we each had eaten many times. Hannah, however, ordered something featuring poached eggs.

I have to admit that I was stunned. The look on Alyson’s face indicated that she was no less surprised. Alyson’s double take was accompanied by a gentle question. “Hannah are you sure that you want poached eggs”. Hannah confidently replied “yes”. Although by now it was clear that Hannah had never had poached eggs, she remain unmoved by our dumfounded looks and lite interrogation.

When Hannah’s breakfast arrived, she did what I think we all expected. She looked at the food realizing now that there was little on the plate that she recognized or desired. Yet, Hannah never complained or acted out in any way. Hannah was exactly as she was when she shook my hand after being introduced – cool, calm and collected – a true professional.

Out of the Mouth of Babes

This may appear strange but in and odd way, I admired Hannah for ordering and trying the dish with the poached eggs. I can assure you that I wouldn’t have been so bold to have tried poached eggs when I was her age. Truth be told, even before I became a striving Vegan I wouldn’t have tried poached eggs. Bravo to Hannah!

I think Hannah may understand “The Meaning to Life” at her young age better than most. Her breakfast was free. If she didn’t eat the poached eggs, she knew that her mom was going to make sure she ate something later so starving was not an issue. Hannah had been equipped with life’s proverbial parachute and secure landing spot. Having this parachute and super comfy landing spot to break her fall, Hannah threw caution to the wind and jumped out the plane. She order the meal with poached eggs.

Now Hannah knows that she doesn’t like poached eggs which is something she did not know before she arrived. Hannah is now a different person than she was when she arrived for breakfast. Hannah has grown. In the future when Hannah has to pay for a meal she will have one additional item she can avoid trying.

I was glad to spend time with Alyson but no less pleased to meet Hannah. Hannah reminded me that you can’t grow unless you are willing to risk not liking something and unless you are willing try new things.

In many ways, Hannah’s experience sums up many things about Life. Not to mention the greatest lesson of all which is when someone else is willing to pay the cost for us to learn something about ourselves, we should embrace and take full advantage of it. There is nothing better than learning something valuable today that doesn’t cause us any pain or suffering now and helps us avoid the personal expense of pain and suffering later.

I Had an Epiphany

Today’s Megabus ride begins and ends with the word Epiphany. Epiphany according to Dictionary.com means a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or commonplace occurrence or experience. Epiphany, in the case of Megabus is much simpler to define. Epiphany is a word that if you can use in a complete sentence, you should not be on the Megabus.

There was a woman sitting a couple of rows behind Naeem and I who I will call Dr. Laura. The first time that I heard her was when she said “I had an epiphany”. Immediately, I thought another person who doesn’t belong on this bus. Dr. Laura, however, like so many Megabus riders had been infected with “loudmouth”. Loud mouth is a disease that apparently afflicts the mind and tonal perspective of many unsuspecting Megabus riders.

The loudmouth’s disease caused Dr. Laura to be unaware of her surroundings or how loud she was talking. She told the sad story of some guy who recently dumped her so that he could move on to something better. She was still living with him and was doing so because he wants to remain friends. He thanked her for helping him to be a better man for the new woman. She was worried about where to sleep - with him or on the couch - now that he no longer wanted to be with her. Blah blah blah blah blah. Not only did we hear this sad story once, we heard her tell it to the other person on the phone twice.

What ever happened to use your quiet voice when you are inside? Or keep your personal matters to yourself?

Not G-Rated

Frankly, the remainder of the Megabus ride from Nashville to Indiana is simply too raw to give an honest and accurate accounting in a G-Rated manner. The things we saw and heard would provide any parent with plenty of things to talk about with your child. From the effects of socio economic standards, to the state of physical and mental healthcare, to alternative lifestyles…this Megabus ride provided something that illustrates every segment of America.

Captain Cave Man?

Seated next to me as we departed Louisville was a person who reminded me of the star of the late 1970’s cartoon Captain Cave Man and The Teen Angels. Was this person the real life version of Captain Cave Man or was she a woman with some serious hygienic issues.

Like the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, I remain stumped. I do know that this person was wearing a black cotton tank dress. I can tell you that as this person sat down, there was hair growing from their armpits that was longer and thicker than my son’s locks. I can attest to the fact that there was a sunburst tattoo on their left lower thigh that appeared to be so confused by the state of the owner that it was trying to run away and hide.

Not Your Grandmother’s Makeover

As we stopped for dinner at the same truck stop from the first leg of our journey, Naeem and I hesitantly departed the bus. The cast of characters that we were sharing the bus with left me uncertain about the existence of our seats when we returned. Yet, we exited the bus hoping for the best in humanity which I must tell you – on this Megabus – was seriously in question.

As we walked towards the entrance of the convenience store. A man walked in front of us and a lady walked past us. Nothing unusual in that sentence until I tell you that the man and woman were the same people.

Apparently, one of the Megabus riders was undergoing a gender reassignment. They reminded me of a cut-rate version of Rupaul. This person was well over 6 feet 2 inches with hands large enough to easily palm a basketball. Speaking of balls, from their backside, at the end of their free-flowing weave were what I can only assume to have been two soccer balls stuffed in the back of their pants.

Butt implants perhaps or simply someone who had stolen a couple of Naeem’s soccer balls and was trying to smuggle them across the State line. I wondered do Naeem and I talk about the stolen soccer balls or do we just act like we never saw the cut-rate Rupaul and never speak of this day again.

Sea Pines Eviction

Speaking of reduced, there was a woman who we suspect had been asked to leave The Sea Pines Resort. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that this woman was one of the many unfortunate Americans who lost nearly everything in the 2008 Financial Crisis. Whether she had made too many speculative investments, she had gotten caught up in the housing bubble or she trusted and unsavory financial advisor, I don’t know. But what appears clear that despite the fact that she was riding the Megabus, she maintained her Beluga caviar and Dom Perignon attitude.

Although it looked like she no longer had the wherewithal to remain in the company of the privilege few in the private Sea Pines community. She had found a way to create her own mini private community on the Megabus. She purchased two tickets so that none of the common – one ticket buying people – could sit next to her.

In an effort to grow her new exclusive community, she encouraged at least one other woman to join her in keeping the rift raft at bay and never riding Megabus without buying both seats on her side of the row. Proof yet again, you are what you think you are. She doesn’t have her million dollar home anymore but she hasn’t lost her exclusive attitude.

Last Night A DJ Saved My Life

The subtitle is a bit of a misnomer. The DJ, Naeem, didn’t save my life last night. Actually, I was a hero yesterday. Those arms that kept cab drivers from picking me up helped me stop a senior from falling. I know saying that I saved someone’s life might be just a bit melodramatic but what else would you expect from me.

The truth is that an elderly gentleman who was trying to move around as the bus started deploying started staggering and was about to fall backward when I threw out one of my Hulk Hogan like pythons and kept him from falling. In accordance with Megabus custom, the elderly man said nothing to me. No thanks! Nothing. Zip. Nada.

As a legal aside, Megabus doesn’t appear to have a plan in place for the elderly or disabled passengers who board the upper deck of the bus. Megabus might be a Mega lawsuit waiting to happen.

Not Ready For Primetime

As I mentioned earlier, there was so much happening on the bus words cannot do it justice – certainly not the words from a G-Rated blog. I can’t tell you about Cussing Candy, the profanity rule breaking lady who cussed the whole way. I thought I had heard just about every cuss word and tonal inflection of cussing until I heard the derelict seated a few rows behind us. Where was Tom Cat when we needed him?

I can’t tell you about the African-American Colonel Sanders who boarded the bus wearing an all-white summer suit, with white sunglasses and black canvas knock off Chuck Taylors. Contrary to Colonel Harland David Sanders the American businessman and restaurateur who founded the Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant chain, the Megabus Colonel Sanders did not get on the bus with a bucket of fried chicken seasoned with the secret eleven herbs and spices. No, of course he didn’t! The Megabus Colonel Sanders was carrying Chinese food in a clear plastic bag.

I simply can’t share anymore about the Megabus ride except to say that this leg of our journey left me with an epiphany. My epiphany was that it was good to get off the Megabus and I’m not sure if or when I will ride one again.

How have you prepared your child to deal with the many facets of a changing and increasing diverse America? Are you preparing your child to transition from child to adult as easily as Hannah?

Day Seven: Father – Son Tradition, Good Thing George Zimmerman Doesn’t Work for MARTA

Well we are now on the back-end of our journey and we are getting to the end of our rope of living in hotel rooms. It doesn’t appear in the cards for us to get a good night’s sleep. Everywhere we go it seems someone is conspiring against us sleeping more than 5 good hours.

Last night and this morning were no different. Just as was the case at the Hilton Head Marriott Resort & Spa, adults were roaming the halls with no regard for the other paying guests at 3:00 and 4:00 am. I suspected that some of those guests roaming the halls might not have been paying guests but working women and in some cases working men who were being compensated by a few of the paying guests.

Clearly having been traumatized on our journey through the plantations, I thought it best not to get out of bed. I couldn’t chance seeing something that would undoubtedly make me too scared to go back to sleep so I stayed in the bed daring not to look out the peep-hole or open the door.

All of these so-called four-star hotels with the unruly and disrespectful guests has left a slight yearning for The Sea Pines Resort. I’m beginning to think that there just might be something to private exclusive living for the “privileged few”. I’m sure things are different living in a place where the unspoken motto seems to be “you ain’t gotta go home but when sundown begins, you gotta get the H-E double hockey sticks out of here”. I bet those folks living in the Sea Pines Community don’t ever have to worry about a good night’s sleep.

Man, I hope there are no sleeping issues when I get to Bora Bora!

Leading Story on CNN

We were awakened this morning around 8:30 a.m. by housekeeping who was knocking on doors yelling of course “housekeeping”! I know 8:30 am might seem late to be sleeping. Under normal circumstances I would agree with you.

However, when you are on vacation and you stay up late talking to your son, writing blog entries, catching up on things in your office, you expect to be able to sleep without housekeeping knocking on your door. Not to mention that we were checking out by 11:00 am so I don’t know why in the world housekeeping was bothering Naeem and me. Housekeeping should have been down the hall bothering the guests who really needed housekeeping – namely those who were out soliciting unpaying guests to accompany them back to their room.

Had we not been residing directly across the street from CNN, I might have thrown pillows at the lady yelling “housekeeping! I didn’t. I kept my composure. I couldn’t afford being on national news. I could see the headlines now “Sleep deprived guest threatens hotel employee’s life with pillows”.

There are already more than enough men who look like me living behind bars. Besides being incarcerated is not a good look for someone known as Supaman’s dad.

Instead of adding to the growing list of incarcerated African-American males, I simply waited to check out to make my concerns known. Upon hearing our concerns, the hotel representative stated that we weren’t the only guests who said that there was lots of noise throughout the night. For my trouble, she offered me a $25 room credit.

What was I going to do with a $25 room credit? I would have preferred if she would have just given me the $25 so that I could have paid for a room at Motel 6. According to Tom Bodett, at Motel 6 “we’ll leave the light on for you”. Who am I kidding, I’m not staying at Motel 6 and I don’t need the lights left on. I need the room to be dark and quiet. Please, let the next hotel be quiet, I need some sleep.

Don’t Tase Me Bro

Back at the MARTA where the 11:30 am Megabus departing for Nashville, TN awaited us. Naeem and I were joined with a cast of hundreds. When I say cast, I am not kidding. Everyone from the cast of Martin to the reality show Honey Boo Boo were there.

We were in Georgia, another of those “Shoot First”, Stand Your Ground Law states. Thank God George Zimmerman was not there, he might have deemed a lot of folks ”suspicious looking”. And we all know what would might have happened next.

There was “Hustle Man” and his trusted side kick “Brother Man” trying to sell snacks and a cornucopia of other items for the bus ride. I believe their motto was “you gonna want, yo mega snacks when you get on the Megabus”. I’m telling you if it could be sold and carried on the bus, they were selling it. Fried chicken sandwiches, chips, soda, water, DVDs, CDs, hair extensions, press on nails, pre-paid phones, mixed-drinks, funny cigarettes and more. You name it “Hustle Man” and “Brother Man” sold it.

Shanaynay was there as well. Actually, there were so many Shanaynays, I thought human cloning had made its way to Megabus. There was the Shanaynay trying to sneak on the bus before checking in, the Shanaynay who had her hair – by hair I mean weave – dyed not red but Kool Aid red and the Shanaynay who worked for Megabus and was hugging all the MARTA officers while lining us up like little kids waiting for the short yellow bus.

Honey Boo Boo and all her friends were there too. Joining the cast of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo was the cast from the Bayou Billionaires, Moonshiners, Redneck Island, Lady Hoggers, Hillbilly Handfishin’, Duck Dynasty, Swamp People, and My Big Redneck Wedding. I told you everyone was there, well everyone except you.

And Always Remember Double D to the B!

Based on the cast standing outside waiting to board the bus, I probably don’t have to tell you that this time the Megabus ride was a Mega Pain in the Mega you know where. Naeem has sworn off ever riding a Megabus again. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t old enough to drive a rental car so either way he gets to do what he has expertly done the entire trip DJ, listen to music, eat snacks, text on his phone, utilize his tablet and sleep.

I’m not so sure about whether or not I should swear off Megabus yet. Although one more trip like today and I might have to side with my progeny. For now, I think there might be a time of day and particular destination that works better with Megabus travel than others. Nonetheless, I feel my son’s pain.

While I am on the subject of pain, I must tell you about the pain afflicted upon us by our most recent bus driver. The driver’s name was Tom and he was nuisance personified.

His obnoxious behavior began with his introduction. An introduction that seemed like an audition for the Deep South Version of Love Connection:

“Hey yaw! I’m Tom. Some people calls me Tom Cat. My wife calls me Docta Love! He He He! Imma gone be yaw driver this afa noon. Weh-come to Megabus. Now let me tell yaw them rules. Three thangs – ain’t gone be no drinkin’, smokin’maryjuwanna or fightin’ on the Megabus. Now if ya do any of them thangs, you gonna see them police. He He he! I promise yaw, I will pull this here bus to the side of the road and put yaw out. There ain’t gonna be no cussing on the Megabus. If you want to cuss somebody out, send em a text. Now a few more thangs about me. I’m a Georgia Bull Dawg and Atlanta Falcuns fan. My team runs the south. For all yaw SEC fans, yaw ain’t got nuttin comin’ its my Dawgs all the way. And in duh NFL, my Durty Birds gonna go straight to dah Supa Bowl…Now one thang I want yaw to always remember I’m a fan of the Double D to the B. That’s them Dawgs and Dirty Birds”

Dear Lord, please let me off of this bus. I can’t count the number of times that we heard the expression now remember “Double D to the B”. Actually, I think we heard the expression 1,627 times between Atlanta and Nashville.

Joining Tom on the growing Mega pain – in the you know where – list was the lady who also appeared to be auditioning for the Deep South version of Love Connection. For the record, I’m just going to refer to Tom, as Tom the bus driver. I’m certainly not ever going to call another grown man “Tom Cat”. That’s just not happening!

Unlike Tom announcing all the personal details of his life over the bus intercom, the lady sitting behind us was talking on her phone loudly. The only detail that was not clear was if she was making her love connections through Match.com, Black People Meet, Christian Mingle or Farmer’s Only. Whatever online dating service she was using, I heard enough of her talking to desperately want to get off the bus.

Juices and Berries

Finally a cab driver who didn’t seem to have a problem doing his job – picking up passengers and driving them to their destination. Fortunately, now I have an idea why the other cab drivers seem to have a problem picking me up. Maybe, I don’t actually suffer from C.C.A.C.W.B.

As we exited the cab and I paid the driver, the driver remarked that I should leave the juice alone. By juice he meant that I should stop taking steroids. “Steroids”, I exclaimed! “Man all I do is workout”! Like Akeem in Coming to America, I said to him “juice I use no chemicals only juices and berries”.

Who knew it was my guns – and by guns I mean biceps and triceps – that were the two things which prevented cab drivers from picking me up.

Oh yeah, finally a cab driver who didn’t talk on the phone in a language I couldn’t understand. He still drove like a bat out of you know where but he spoke a language Megabus had made me all too familiar – Ebonics.

Discourteous Traveler

Soop and I took the courtesy shuttle provided by the Millennium Maxwell House Nashville downtown for dinner. Riding on the shuttle bus with us was some guy having a conversation about how much he was going to be eating and drinking that night. Like the folks talking on the phone on the Megabus, he seemed unaware of just how loud he was.

Upon our arrival at the downtown destination, he exited the shuttle before we did. Although, he exited before Naeem and me, he did not go to the watering hole where I assumed that he would begin his night of gluttony and drunkenness. As he stood waiting for the driver to reply about the location of the shuttle hotel return pick up, I reached in my pocket to provide the shuttle driver a tip. Yes, the shuttle was complimentary but it didn’t mean the shuttle driver did not deserve a token of our appreciation.

I’ve tried to remind Naeem that unless the service you receive is deplorable, you should tip the person serving you. Too often we forget that those who serve us have a need and desire to be able to serve the needs of their own family.

The guy heading downtown apparently did not understand that concept. He had enough money to brag about how much eating and drinking he was going to do but only reached in his pocket to tip a man – out of embarrassment. What is really embarrassing is that a man was reluctant to tip someone who probably earns less in a day or several days than he was going to spend on food and alcohol.

Revenge Is a Dish Best Served Cold

Speaking of alcohol, we had dinner at the Rock Bottom Brewery. No alcohol for either of us. We had salad, onion rings and lemonade – the dinner of champion He Man Women Hater’s everywhere.

After dinner we walked around downtown Nashville for about an hour. I suspect Naeem was feeling a bit threatened by our pending Abs Challenge and wanted to burn off some calories before he had desert. He had his eyes set on a handmade ice cream from Mike’s Ice Cream.

It was our last night together before we returned home to the two and three a day training sessions so I let him splurge. In fact, I was more than happy to let him binge. While he would have been satisfied with one scoop, I encouraged that he have three. Why would I do such a thing?

Winning! I believe the great Vince Lombardi was quoted saying “Winning isn’t everything; it’s the only thing”. I plan to be victorious when the Abs Challenge concludes. He is a little ahead of me and I surmised giving him a couple extra scoops of ice cream might be all I need to turn the tide to my advantage.

Naeem doesn’t know it yet but revenge is not the only dish best served cold.

Theory of Relativity and the Meaning of the World

While Naeem ate his abs thickening ice cream, I explained the Theory of Relativity and The Meaning of Life. Who am I kidding, we simply had a father-son, man to man conversation.

Truth be told, I have no idea what the Theory of Relativity is and The Meaning of Life seems to change every day. Yet, I believe both Principles are connected like the Great Circle of life. Life is Relative or Life is often times better without Relatives or Relate to those who give you Life are the ways I tried to explain the two Ideologies.

I don’t know if he bought any of my explanations but that was secondary to having great intellectual discussion with one of the people I most respect. One thing for sure is that it is always ideal when your child would rather talk to you when seeking answers to important questions.

Chivalry is Not Dead or Is It?

After calling the hotel to request a pick up, we walked to the designated spot. While we waited we observed some very peculiar behavior. Men who were walking with their wives and girlfriends were walking on the inside of the women nearest the building. The men took this position while the women walked to the outside of the man nearest the curb.

I pointed this out to Naeem and asked did he recognize what was wrong with this picture. He quizzically, replied “no”. I told him that those men apparently did not have the talk with their fathers that I am about to have with you again.

Those men, I informed him either did not know or did not care to abide by the Laws of Chivalry. I explained that there is an art to being chivalrous and should he learn it. Being chivalrous I said will provide you with an upper hand on most men.

Now that he appreciates the Art of Chivalry, we are considering doing an expose on chivalry. Who knows we might even catch you on camera walking with a woman or walking with a man not abiding by the Laws of Chivalry.

I know for some chivalry seems old-fashioned but some things that are old are good. Old valuable clothing is called vintage. Old valuable cars are called classics. Men who value and practice chivalry are called Renaissance men.

Renaissance man, I suppose that is exactly what I have been trying to raise Naeem to be from day one. Today he learned just one more lesson. The death of chivalry has been greatly or in his case SUPA over exaggerated.

We closed the evening by riding the shuttle home with the Prince of Wales. Okay, we didn’t ride home with the Prince of Wales but we learned a lot of cool stuff about the Prince. We met two nice Welsh women who were visiting the southern part of the U.S. for the first time. They shared enough things about the UK and Wales that we now have another destination for our annual Father-Son journey.

When was the last time you had an intellectual conversation with your child? Does your child understand the importance of chivalry?

Day Six: Father – Son Tradition, Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Today was our final day on Hilton Head Island. Not wanting to take any moment or opportunity for granted, when we woke we put on our swim trunks – after brushing our teeth of course – and hurried outside. We went back to the ocean – to commune with the Atlantic once again.

William Shakespeare wrote in Romeo and Juliet, “Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.” Naeem and I love the ocean and like Juliet, she deserved a personal connected good bye – not a stare while we watched her wave from outside the window.

Swimming Lessons For All Ages

I have to learn to swim proficiently perhaps even expertly. There is just no way around it. I love the water, the sand and sun too much not to be able to maximize my time in the place that I consider my own small piece of heaven. So swim lessons are in the works.

Learning to swim will be just another opportunity to take the words my son shared with me more than a year ago and put them to good use. About a year ago, he reminded me that as long as I am still living “I have time”. Time to do whatever I am willing to commit to doing.

I’m committed to being capable of doing everything possible in and on the water during our next Father-Son excursion. Imaginably, our next excursion will begin on a yacht with no intended destination in mind. Oh yeah, the He Man Women Hater’s Rules will still apply.

Fare The Well

Fare the well-beloved lazy spots. Fare the well Hilton Head Island! Fare the well Hilton Head Marriott Resort and Spa! Peace out children spawned by Ricky & Carey Bobby and Be Be!

Reluctantly but necessarily – we showered, dressed and packed our gear. We proceeded to the front desk to drop off the room key card hoping someone would ask about our stay. The intention was to apprise the hotel that there was far too much noise at night and in the early morning.

To my delight not only was there a hotel representative who genuinely wanted to know about our visit but she wanted to do something to atone for some of the unpleasantness. The wonderful representative was named Linda and her hotel badge read Kingstree, SC.

Linda not only empathized with our plight but she also monetized her feelings by voluntarily adjusting our room charge. The adjustment was sufficient enough to just about cover the entire cost of the rental car. Fare the well Linda from Kingstree, SC. Fare the well!

On The Road Again

Before we reached the highway, we stopped at our new favorite baked goods establishment, Atlanta Bread Company. Thank God that there is no store near our home or Naeem and I might soon find ourselves in big trouble. And by big, I mean big bellies. We have a Father vs. Son Who Has the Sexiest Abs contest planned and right now the Atlanta Bread Company has caused the contest to be moved back a few days.

We ordered one baked good each and a fruit smoothie. Well if you force the truth out of me, I have to tell you that we also placed a carry out order so that we would have some treats for the road. At the rate we ordered baked goods, the abs challenge looked in jeopardy of ever taking place.

The Atlanta Bread Company and its excessive carb - high calorie food had a hold on us. Good thing we were leaving because the only six-pack in our immediate future was not our abs but the half-dozen cookies in our carry out bag.

Hey Mr. DJ

Once again, Naeem served as the DJ. While he again played what felt like the soundtrack to his life, I happily wore the Hoke Colburn chauffeur hat and assumed my position behind the wheel. After all, I was just trying to drive Miss Daisy. Oops, I meant, I was just trying to drive Naeem back to Atlanta.

Sometimes as a parent your relationship with your child can feel a lot like you are Morgan Freeman and they are Jessica Tandy. All Naeem had to do was program a play list on his Google Nexus 10. After he arranged the music he wanted to hear, he was free to play games on his tablet, text on his phone, read comic books on his tablet and eat some of the abs destroying baked goods from the Atlanta Bread Company. Oh and let’s not forget, he was able to fall asleep at his discretion. Sleep what a wonderful concept but something I was not free to do.

There are times as a parent when carrying the brunt of the responsibility, doing all the things that you for your child and their reaction to your efforts leave you feeling unappreciated. Although, Naeem was free to chill in the passenger seat and he even dosed off a time or two this was not one of those times where I felt unappreciated.

Actually, rarely has my relationship with him left me feeling unrewarded. I have never loved anything more than being his father. Having been an adult for more years than I care to remember, I am convinced that adulthood is a most overrated experience. In accordance with one of the songs on Naeem’s playlist, I remind him constantly that the key to life for him at this present moment is to remain “Forever Young”.

Certainly there are times just as there were between Hoke and Daisy when we get on each other’s nerves. Yet at the end of the day, like Hoke and Daisy, he’s my best friend and I would do anything in the world for him which includes chauffeuring him around while he sleeps.

One of those occasions while he was sleeping, I looked over at him and thought life is good for my son. That sight alone was motivation to chauffeur him anywhere the road of life takes him.

Twenty-Nine Minute Grace Period

We were late returning the rental car. I have no doubt that Junella was laughing at me, as I drove feverishly trying to get the government issued vehicle back to MIB headquarters before 5:29 pm. I half expected Junella to be waiting for me in the car return garage, wiping the sweat off her brow as she gave me that look women so often give men when we say something we believe humorous and they find dim. I also expected Junella to be yelling at me while security accompanied her. Yes, I thought Junella was going to have the MIB arrest me for telling her Alien secret – that June and Ella were living uncomfortably inside her – and for exceeding the 29 minute grace period.

Fortunately, neither Junella nor the MIB were there to greet us when we returned. However, trying to find the return location had more challenges than getting Junella to give us the keys when we arrived to pick up the rental. We and by “we”, I mean “I” drove around aimlessly for more than 30 minutes trying to find the entrance to the Alamo return. Every sign we saw took us to the wrong location. Every person we asked for assistance steered us in the wrong direction. Finally almost sequentially with the clock striking 5:29, out of nowhere the entryway for Alamo returns magically appeared.

I drove into the area happy to remove my chauffer’s hat and happier not to see Junella. Fully expecting to learn that I was being charged for another day, I looked at the receipt that the return clerk handed to me. The receipt read balance due zero. I had not been charged for arriving after the grace period. Good fortune smiled on us again.

Is It Me?

After leaving Alamo we proceed to go catch a cab. If we had any other options, trust me, I would have chosen something different.

Once again, I suppose this should have been expected, we had a disconnect with the cab driver. Imagine that!

The airport ground transportation crew instructed us on where we needed to stand. We stood in the area marked “cash or credit”. My intent was to pay with a credit card. Not only did I want to hold on to my cash in case of an emergency, I wanted to know exactly how much this priceless time with my son was costing me.

So, before getting into the cab, I informed the driver that I would be paying with credit. He did not reply, it was as if I was the one speaking in a tongue that he didn’t understand. As he started to pull off, I again asked do you take credit cards, he replied, I prefer cash. I thought to myself “so do I which is precisely why I’m paying you with a credit card”.

He dropped us off at The Westin Peachtree Plaza Hotel at about 6:30 pm, I kept my cash and paid him as intended with MasterCard. Cash still in my pocket, a credit trail to track the cost of our journey, more time with Soop…Priceless!

Arranged Marriage

We checked in an immediately went to the room. Outside our window was the CNN building. I suggested taking a tour. Naeem replied how early would we have to get up which was code for old man are you crazy. I guess that there won’t be a tour of CNN tomorrow.

I have always thought Naeem would make a great journalist. He is thorough in his research. He is opinionated. He isn’t shy about sharing his thoughts or opinions. He could do stories in several languages or even work for networks whose primary language was other than English. Maybe in another lifetime.

In any event, after our success with Yummy House excluding the tragic encounter with Be Be and her kids, we decided that we should continue our pursuit of local authentic cuisine. Using Google Maps, we only found one place suitable to our vegan /vegetarian lifestyle Hsus.

Hsus is a Chinese restaurant. We were greeted by the lovely Jessica. Upon seeing Jessica, I thought I don’t know how good the food is going to be but I think I just found the woman my son is going to marry. The food like Jessica was as Hsus advertised “Atlanta’s Finest”.

On our way out, the owner and I had a conversation. It continued to rain and he tried to convince us to stay in the restaurant a little longer. I think he sensed what I felt that we should arrange the marriage between our two children. I don’t suspect either Jessica or Naeem had a clue what was being considered. Not wanting to derail Naeem’s pursuits, add an additional obstacle (namely a wife) or cause him to lose the innocence one who has yet to become a full-time responsible adult, I said to my new good friend “huí tóu jiàn” which means “see you later” in Mandarin.

I purposely chose not to say “zài jiàn” which means “goodbye” because I plan to make sure Naeem sees Jessica again. I wonder how often Jessica’s family visits China. Maybe her dad could stop over in Bora Bora so that we can work out the details. Bora Bora is close to China isn’t it?

Is it Fringe, Inception or Twilight Zone?

Naeem and I experienced several – for lack of a better word – oddities before calling it a night.

First, there were the two men accompanied to their room by a prostitute. The oldest profession is definitely open for business in Downtown Atlanta. Almost the moment, we drove into the downtown area, you could see that there were “working women” positioned on just about on every corner. What I hadn’t expected was that one of those “working women” would be accompanying two male guests into the hotel. There are so many other comments I could make but as I always remind myself this is a G-rated blog.

Then there was the elevator hidden behind the locked door. Talk about strange. Naeem and I expressed that the whole thing left the feeling of crossing over into an alternate universe. His alternate universe was something out of the movie “Inception” or the TV show “Fringe”. My alternate universe was more like something out of the “Twilight Zone”.

I imagined walking through the locked door, into the elevator and suddenly hearing the voice of Harriet Tubman yelling at me to run before the hound dogs and Massa catch me. Running through the woods trying to get to freedom with Harriet, I imagined her saying “come on Nat”. Somehow the elevator behind the locked door had transformed me into my namesake Nat Turner. Harriet and I were running through a forest of poplar trees where there were several strange fruit hanging – a constant reminder to run faster.

I know, I need a good night’s sleep. I’m not thinking soundly. Today, I nearly arranged my son’s marriage and I imagined being a runaway slave on a plantation. I shudder to think what’s next. I would settle for the next thing being 6 to 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Good night.

Do you ever feel under-appreciated or unappreciated by your child? How do you reconcile those feelings?

Day Five: Father – Son Tradition, Ricky Bobby’s and Be Be’s Kids Have Gone Wild

Another morning where I just wanted to stay in bed. I did not want to move. I found my lazy spot and it was good.

There was a lot of tossing and turning going on in our room last night. I think Naeem and I both were still a bit traumatized by our time on the plantation. At one point during the night, I noticed Naeem in a position like someone trying to run away. I mean he was literally positioned on his side like he was awaiting a gun to be fired indicating the start of a race.

I wondered if driving through the plantation – which in some places felt like a scene out of 1997 movie Rosewood – had him imagining that he was one of his ancestors trying to find his way to freedom. I know the plantation affected me. I am always bothered when I stand on the ground where my ancestors’ blood, sweat and tears toiled, fertilized and soiled the land.

America Needs a National Parenting Czar

Speaking of disturbed, our sleep pattern over the last several days have been messed up. Throughout each of the last couple nights and early mornings, we have been awakened by inhospitable guests. From the wee hour running up and down the halls to the opening and slamming of doors, some of the adult guests - not just the children - have been genuinely unbearable. But in the early morning, the evil spawns of the inhospitable parents have been equally wayward.

Over the last several days, I have made some observations which for me have reinforced the truth behind the idiom “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”. Many of the misbehaving kids were being parented – I’m not sure parenting is an accurate phrase – by let’s call them unruly DNA Donors. I kid you not, some of the things we saw from Ricky and Carley Bobby’s kids and let’s not forget Be Be’s kids would make even Dr. Lipschitz consider giving up his child psychology practice.

Tattoo Dad

Look, I’m no prude. I believe people should have the right to do whatever they want to do with their own body – after all it is their body. So if you want to get piercings, tattoos or whatever it’s absolutely cool with me. As long as you aren’t harming anyone else in the process, I say “Do your thing”!

I offer the ensuing framework to assure you that when I say “do your thing”, I really mean “do your thing”. I am such a proponent of individual freedoms that I joined a fraternity where a great number of my fraternity brothers elected to be branded. I am not one of the branded members but many of the men who I greatly respect have been branded. One of my favorite NBA players is Chris “Birdman” Anderson. Birdman might be the most tattooed athlete in sports.

Okay, I get it – I should stop protesting now. He who doth protest too much. I get it, I’m starting to sound like the racists who says that he isn’t a racists by saying “you know one of my good friends is Black“.

Just one more time for the record, I really do believe in personal freedoms – doing your thing. However, I just don’t believe that “do your thing” should include tattooing your child so that they look like you.

Yesterday, we saw a child no older than four with tattoos on his arm that matched his father. I thought Naeem was Mini-Me but this father and son had us beat by a mile. There was not just one inconspicuous tattoo, the child’s entire right arm was tattooed like his fathers. I know the father was able to exercise his individual freedoms but I wonder did the father rob his son of the same liberty by tattooing the arm of his child?

Scratching and Tugging Dad

Not ten minutes had passed between the time we witnessed the boy with his daddy’s tattoo when we saw the public scratching and tugging by a father and son. I can’t tell you exactly what the father and son were scratching and tugging in public. This is a G-rated blog. Yet, I am sure that you are smart enough to know the body part which is not acceptable for a male to scratch and tug in public.

Apparently, neither this father nor son had received this social norm notification. The father was scratching and tugging on himself near the public rocking chairs while his son scratched and tugged at himself in the playground with all the other pre-school age children.

During the scratching and tugging ceremony, a woman spoke – I assumed her to be the wife and mother. She commented “there he goes scratching and tugging on himself again, he always does that”. I so wanted to ask, “which ‘He’ are you talking about the father or the son”?

Home Alone

Have you ever watched Home Alone starring Macaulay Culkin? It is one of my all-time favorite movies. I don’t know what it is about the movie but it always tugs at my heart (nothing like the scratching and tugging of the previously mentioned father and son).

Slow your roll, now I didn’t say that the movie brought me to tears; it just makes me a little emotional. Okay, maybe there is a sniffle or two and some mist in my eye but that’s as far as I will go.

Please, enough about the movie already. What I was trying to explain to you before you got on this tangent about me being sentimental was that Naeem and I witnessed more than one Kevin McCallister today. In fact, we saw enough small children leaving their hotel room, entering elevators and roaming the resorts unaccompanied that Twentieth Century Fox could write scripts for Home Alone 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10.

I just don’t get it. We live in a nation where approximately 800,000 children younger than 18 are reported missing annually. Yet, despite the alarming number of abductions and the likelihood that an unaccompanied child could become an additional unfortunate statistic to the growing numbers of missing and exploited children – “parents” leave their children alone in potentially perilous situations.

Caring for a child is not a movie set, its real life with real life implications. I only wish more people spent as much time planning to parent as they do planning the next vacation.

Emily Post Would Be Mortified

There was once a time when young men knew the proper time to wear a hat. More importantly, there was a time when father’s instructed their son’s on the ways of respect and honor. One such example of respect and honor use to be removing your hat when you were inside a building.

I can remember more than once being reprimanded for not removing my hat fast enough when I entered someone’s home, a restaurant, school and when the national anthem was being played. Not only was I verbally reprimanded, I was slapped upside the head to expedite my slow memory.

Now listen, I am not suggesting that children need the type of physical reminders that were common in my day. What I experienced back in the day, would qualify as child abuse today. It is my preference that no child is abused and all parents avoid time in jail. Child abuse does a disservice to everyone the victim, the perpetrator, the family and the community.

What I am suggesting is that children, specifically young men – in the case of wearing hats – should be trained to understand when a hat should be removed. Plain and simple. Fathers have to do a better job raising men who understand the importance of doing what are considered the small things in a major way. In order for son’s to appreciate some of these rules of etiquette, fathers have to set examples of good manners and etiquette.

Sadly, today, at breakfast, I saw too many fathers who must have missed out on some of the old school incentives that I received. Fathers wearing hats at breakfast and sons wearing hats. Fathers wearing baseball caps and son’s wearing visors. Breakfast was a portrayal of anything you can do I can do better. Or in this revocation of good manners – a depiction of anything you can do I can do equally poorly.

I Want to Ride My Bicycle

Some of the bicycle riding that we witnessed over the past several days has been about as outrageous and offensive as the English rock band Queen’s video to the aptly titled song Bicycle Race from their 1978 album Jazz. Today’s bicycle riding encounters were no different.

I bet when you think of outrageous and offensive bike riding you imagine children riding recklessly, weaving in and out of track, popping wheelies, jumping ramps and in general riding as if they were auditioning for the next X Games. If that is what you were envisioning, you would be wrong.

Most often, the offensive bike riders who literally crossed our path – the path of our car in oncoming traffic – were not adrenaline immortality believing junkies. Instead, the bike riders were “irresponsible bicycling allegedly risk averse parents”.

Yet, more than just being irresponsible and rude, these parents were out each day routinely endangering their lives and the lives of their children. The examples are too numerous to name them all but I will share a few with you:

• Father weaving and swerving through cars stopped at a light while his elementary aged children weaved, swerved and wobbled unstably in between cars trying to keep up with their father. Neither he nor his children were wearing bike helmets.
• Father riding with his elementary aged daughter seated sideways across the bar as he teeter tottered down the bike path. Neither he nor his daughter were wearing bike helmets.
• Mother and father riding bikes with their children and pulling the youngest in a bike trailer. No member of the family was wearing bike helmets and they were all weaving and bobbing in and out of the bike lane.

If just one of the children in the aforementioned examples was hit by a driver there would have been potential for a national debate about drivers respecting bicyclers. What Naeem and I witnessed suggests that there is reason to be outraged and for a call of national debate. But the summit should not bring parents, community leaders and politicians together to discuss bicycles and cars, it should be to convene about devising standards for responsible parenting.

It Really is Yummy

Having had our fill of the parental exploits of Ricky and Carley Bobby, Naeem and I decided to venture off the resort for dinner. Having no idea where to eat, we Googled vegetarian restaurants and found a listing for a place named Yummy House. We figured with a name like Yummy House it had to be good.

We remain convinced of the quality of food served by Yummy House long enough to drive to its location. Once we pulled up in the parking lot, we had real doubt that Yummy House was yummy at all. What was once excitement about having dinner away from the resort, turned into great apprehension once we parked the car and started walking toward the building.

We walked inside and the waitress offered us a seat. Without saying it, I believe that neither of us wanted to take a seat anywhere other than back in the car. Yummy House looked more like Crummy House and we expected the food to be yucky.

I said to Naeem, “hey we can give it a try or we can go; I’m good either way”. Surprisingly, he said “we are here so let’s go ahead and try it as long as we can go somewhere else if it tastes bad”. I agreed to his proposal so we ordered.

In short, the food was great. The meal was absolutely yummy. Yummy House, although looking like Yucky Shack, lived up to its name and served us a meal that went well beyond our expectations.

Naeem said to me, “I guess you really can’t judge a book by its cover”. Another valuable lesson cemented in the mind of my son. A mouth-watering meal served with a side of delightful conversation and lip smacking perspective.

And Then There Was Be Be

While we are on the topic of smacking lips… Nah, I can’t tell you the whole sad story. Nope, I don’t have the energy or heart to tell you about Be Be and her three kids who were also smacking their lips and chewing with their mouths open at the Yummy House. What little ambiance the Yummy House could have offered was destroyed literally and figuratively by Be Be and kin.

From not expecting to pay for her kids meals to protesting that she thought her kids should eat free to leaving her infant alone while she took one of her other two children to the bathroom to allowing her two pre-school age kids to roam the restaurant while she went to the bathroom to yelling and screaming at her kids as they ran around the restaurant to her kids pulling apart pieces of the interior structure of the building, Be Be and her kids left the proprietor informing her “you don’t have to go home Be Be but you and your kids have to get the H-E double hockey sticks out of here”!

Watching Be Be and her kids in action, Naeem and I decided to get out of the Yummy House as well. We didn’t go because the food wasn’t good or like Be Be, we were asked to leave. We wanted to leave before Be Be and her kids started tearing up our rental car or worse asked us if we could give them a ride back to the hotel so that they could go hang out with Ricky and Carley Bobby’s kids.

Would somebody please do something about parents!

Are you setting an example of responsible or irresponsible parenting? Will your children be the red shining apple that fell from your tree or the rotten quickly decaying apple that no one wants to have anything to do with?

Day Four: Father – Son Tradition, You Got the Look!

Still feeling a bit tired, I forced myself to get out of bed and get the day started. What’s the point of going somewhere new and laying in the lazy spot all day? Moreover, what’s the point of going to the ocean and only touching the water that runs out of your shower? Talk about a complete waste of time!

If I have to be honest with you, I must admit that laying in the lazy spot would have been okay with me today. But this trip is not solely about me – actually it’s not about me at all. This trip is about creating a tradition for my son and me. This journey is about making memories with Soop that last - forever! So rather than recline in the lazy spot, I chose to follow the Hollywood mantra and get out of bed. Because as they say in Tinsel town – the show must go on.

No We Aren’t Them

As I mentioned briefly, at the conclusion of yesterday’s post, we encountered some very peculiar stares. I’m going to stay positive and assume that the stares we received were those of people looking at and admiring two strapping and handsome men. Or maybe the stares occurred because people were trying to figure out why the good-looking young man was hanging out with the average at best older guy.

Whatever the reason, the experience reminded me that we have a choice in how we interpret and subsequently react to the words or actions of others. To quote my BFAM (Brother From Another Mother) life is about choices. In another time in my life, I might have chosen to see or imagine the worse in others.

More than likely I would have assumed that the fact that there were less than a handful of people who looked like Naeem and I in the hotel, excluding of course the waiters, waitresses, bellhops and doormen meant that those staring were – to put it kindly – wondering how in the world Naeem and I were able to afford the costs associated with staying at the hotel. However, because I am older and wiser – mostly older – I chose to make no assumptions.

Well who am I kidding, I may have made assumptions but I want my son to be better than me – the world needs him to be better than me – so I simply kept my assumptions to myself and chose instead not allow my assumptions to cause me to overreact. I believe it has been said that to assume makes an ASS out of U and ME.

Rather than thinking negatively, I tried taking the medicine that I have always prescribed for my son – optimism. Allowing my thoughts to turn positive, I assumed that those ogling recognized Supaman and me from The Raising Supaman Project. And like awe-struck fans, they glared at us because they were too nervous to ask us for pictures and autographs.

Lesson learned, the medicine that I had been prescribing to my son actually works. I felt better instantaneously remembering that what you believe and how you interpret things is your choice.

Thanks President Obama

Unless you have been living on the moon, in a cave or traveling by way of the Megabus, you might have missed President Obama’s surprise remarks about the killing of Florida teenager Trayvon Martin and ‘Stand Your Ground’ laws. As one who appreciates any President taking a personal interest in the well-being of ALL children, sharing his personal feelings and taking a firm non-partisan position about how the Nation needs to do a better job to ensure that ALL children get to partake in the things that make America great – life, liberty and pursuit of happiness, I must admit that he made at least one scenario for those interacting with Naeem and I today just a tad awkward.

Wanting not to simply lay around in a hammock all day, lay by the pool, walk along the ocean, enjoy a soothing massage or go for a swim in the ocean (and yes I’m rubbing it in), Naeem and I ventured to the lobby to meet with the concierge. There were several concierge on staff.

One of the concierge, an older woman, noticed us approaching the desk. She had one of those looks on her face that I mentioned previously. However, being a student of Detective Marcus Burnett (played by Martin Lawrence in Bad Boys II), I said a sufficient number of woosahs to prepare me for just about anything. “Woosah Nate, you are in control of your own thoughts and emotions” is what I repeatedly told myself.

As a backdrop to the interaction with the concierge, I think President Obama’s comments might have offended just a few people in South Carolina. As it turns out South Carolina is one of the 26 states that has “Shoot First”, I mean Stand Your Ground Laws. Moreover, South Carolina was the first Southern state to declare its secession from the Federal Union and later formed the Confederacy. For some, in South Carolina the “good old South” is destined to rise again.

So with this as the prelude, the older concierge told me that I looked like I needed help. I replied amusingly or so I thought, “wow I’m going to have to do something about the word help written on my forehead”. If you guessed dead silence, you would have been right. I thought my statement was a pretty good ice breaker but something tells me President Obama’s comments about the coveted Stand Your Ground law and race in America simply sucked the air out of the room.

Noticing the stillness in the air, a second younger concierge jumped in to help her more mature colleague. The younger concierge made a number of suggestions. Unfortunately, none of the suggestions were particularly interesting to us. I explained that we had been to lots of beaches so doing the typical “beach thing” was not what we were looking for. I explained that we desired to do something that could only be done at Hilton Head Island.

I could see the wheels spinning in her head. There was something she wanted to suggest but she was hesitant. I surmise President Obama’s extemporaneous speech had made her and the older concierge a bit apprehensive. With almost a whisper she said “there is the Gullah museum and several plantations that you might find interesting”. Naeem and I simultaneously said “cool, then we will do that”. Before, she could put the map to the museum and plantation in Naeem’s hand, “she said don’t worry about the plantation, there isn’t really a lot going on there these days”. I replied, “That’s good to hear or it might not be a good time for us to visit”. And the air was sucked from the room once more.

We departed her presence and thanked her for her assistance. The older concierge simply continued as she had done initially – admired us without asking for our autographs or picture. The whole scene was comical to me and sad. I apologize if you find it hard to follow along as I’m not sure my words can do the entire experience justice.

Regrettably, our country still has real issues with race, ethnicity and skin color. The younger concierge was hesitant about mentioning the plantation because she made assumption like I made earlier. Naeem and I nearly missed seeing something that was of interest because the concierge was afraid that the recommendations she would make to any other visitor would be offensive to me. Actually, I was only offended by not being provided with the same information.

These assumptions and fears surrounding race remains a huge problem. We have to resolve those issues if any of us especially our children are going to have the chance to truly experience life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness in the fullest extent possible.

Is that It?

Per the younger concierge’s recommendation, Naeem and I were encouraged to visit the Harbour Town Marina and Lighthouse in Sea Pines. The drive to the Sea Pines community and the drive through the community took longer than the time we spent touring the community. The area was like any other coastal hot spot filled with restaurants, bars, live music, souvenir shops and the like. There was nothing eye-opening except maybe three things.

First, there was an entry fee that was required for each non-resident that entered the neighborhood. Furthermore, each non-resident was required to leave the community by sundown. Talk about exclusivity.

Second, there was the irony of the exclusivity of the Sea Pines community on Hilton Head Island. The land was taken from “Native Americans” like the Woodland Indians. The great plantations were developed and sustained by the free labor of enslaved Africans. And now with rare exception, neither of the two aforementioned groups can afford the $2 million dollar fee associated with purchasing a single plot of land.

Finally, there was a small plaque in the Lighthouse that told the story of Hilton Head Island. I believe the plaque might have given further explanation about the meaning of those looks Naeem and I received. Hilton Head Island was developed for the “privileged few”.

Back to a Lazy Spot

Overall, not a terribly busy day but enough stuff to leave one emotionally spent. Seeing plantations where my ancestors toiled the land and suffered great human loss, recognizing that complete nations of American Indians were wiped from the face of the earth and witnessing the precise spot where the Federal Union launched its first naval attack against the Confederacy was enough sightseeing for the both of us.

Sometimes laying on the beach and being naïve is easier than dealing with the uncomfortable truth. America has come a long way but we still have quite a way to go. Fortunately for those of us able to read these words, we have the opportunity to be a part of the citizenship that makes sure ALL Americans have an opportunity to be the living embodiment of what the American dream should be – a chance at life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

But for the moment, I’m just going to enjoy the reality that not much is going on at the plantations and chill with my son in a lazy spot.

What thoughts do you share with your child about the state of race relations in America? How do you manage your assumptions and perceptions about others?

Day Three: Father – Son Tradition; the DJ and Me

Day three and I literally have no idea what day of the week today is. It seems that I completely lost track of time when I had to attempt to calm Naeem’s nerves and work him back up to reaffirming his commitment to our “He Man Women Hater’s Oath”.

Convincing him to stay the course was touch and go for a moment. You can’t imagine the pressure he was under from his mom, grandmother and aunt. Those women in his life (smile). My poor child was figuratively sitting bare bottom in the hottest of hot seats.

Lazy Spot

Speaking of seats, I hopped right out of bed this morning and went to the hotel’s fitness room. I can’t criticize the state of health and fitness in this country if I am not an example of good health.

However, my son the athlete did not move a muscle. When I returned from the fitness room, he was resting in the bed in the very exact spot that he was sitting when I left. He was in that position where one sits in the bed with their back propped by pillows which rest against the headboard.

That position is what I refer to as the lazy spot. You know that spot. The spot that is so comfortable that you could have all your meals in bed, fall asleep sitting in bed, watch TV in bed, read books in bed, listen to music in bed…do any and everything sitting in that propped up position in bed. I mean this is that spot which allows you to max and relax - be flat out L-A-Z-Y. And this is the position my son was in and would have likely remained had I not reminded him that check out was in 30 minutes.

When I offered some encouraging words to tell him he needed to get out of the bed, he sort of looked at me with a glossy eyed gaze. Either he was basking in the glow of the Lazy Spot state and his temporary reprieve from training or he was still suffering PTSD from the harassment of his mom, grandmother and aunt. I’m going to chalk up his delayed response to enjoying a break from training. I suppose even children/young adults need a mental, emotional and physical break every now and then.

Hotel Shuttle 21

It took some doing but we managed to get showered and ready to leave the hotel before the next shuttle bus arrived. The shuttle bus driver - unlike yesterday’s two cab drivers - gleefully welcomed us onto the shuttle bus.

Once we arrived at the airport, I gave him a $21 gratuity. (I do not share the amount of the tip to brag about my generosity or lack of generosity depending on your tip giving habits. There is a much greater universal principle that I hope to convey). Nonetheless, my guess is that our shuttle bus driver needed the money more than I did and his courteous demeanor - particularly compared to yesterday’s experiences - more than warranted the appreciative gesture.

Why $21? I know it’s an odd amount, right? Well yesterday prior to checking out of the Nashville Renaissance Hotel, I found $21 on the floor. The universe had bequeathed an unexpected gift to me. I put the $21 in my pocket but for some reason, I never spent it; probably because we were on the Megabus and there were no vendors selling blankets or portable heaters.

So as we were exiting the shuttle bus it dawned on me what I should do with the $21. I didn’t really need the gift. I already had the greatest gift I could ever receive – spending time with my son, my best friend. Thus given my present good fortune, it seemed only fitting that what the universe gave to me, I should give it to someone else. I paid it forward.

I remain convinced that the shuttle bus driver needed the $21 more than I did. He was working that afternoon while I was celebrating life, manhood and fatherhood with my son. The universe had seen fit for Supaman and I to travel together so giving away the $21 bequeathed to me seemed like the least that I could do to show my appreciation.

Remember the Alamo

Once we exited the shuttle bus, Soop and I proceeded to the Alamo Car Rental reservation desk at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Having already completed my reservation online through H-O-T-W-I-R-E-Hotwire.com, I assumed the process of procuring a rental vehicle would be easy. Boy, was I ever wrong.

To begin, there was the encounter with Junella. J-U-N-E-L-L-A (and yes you read that correctly, absolutely no misspelling on my part). Junella was the customer service representative who wanted everything but my first-born child to complete my reservation. I mean Junella behaved as if I was a total stranger asking for permission to drive her car.

If you will, let me digress for a moment. Look, I know what June is – it’s the sixth month of the year but I don’t have any idea why “L-L-A” was added to the name June. As an advocate for great parenting, I think we need to talk to Junella’s parents about the meaning and intent of her name.

Maybe Junella was named after two important women like June and Ella. If so, my question is why couldn’t her parents have just named her June (first name) and Ella (middle name). I know - a great question, if I say so myself. And if Junella is her first name - what in the world did her parents do for an encore with her middle name. Perhaps they named her Vianca. Yes, you read that correctly V-I-A-N-C-A. Vianca now that’s another name that will shall address at another time.

So back at the counter, where an extra plus size profusely sweating Junella was asking me for all sorts of questions. I had assumed that I already met the qualifications to rent the car when I submitted the request on-line but apparently Junella had additional terms that I needed to satisfy before I could rent the standard Alamo car. Boy was she sweating. I don’t know if the lights at the customer service desk were making her hot or if it was the activity of the two people trying to escape from inside her body - you know June and Ella. Whatever it was she was sweating like nobody’s business. You should have seen her, she was sweating like a wrestler wearing a plastic silver sweat suit – running in the sauna – attempting to make-weight for a match.

Junella proceeded to demand the origin of my name, my address in Swahili, the total of my social security numbers added together, my driver’s license, name of my place of birth assuming I had known my African ancestors, my parents name spelled backward, my parents’ blood type, the total calories in my last meal, my shoe size and a hair sample (which by the way I could not provide as I am follicle challenged).

Finally, after what felt like an hour, Junella approved my reservation but not before she tried to sell me prepaid fuel and an additional insurance package. Good grief. Had I known renting a car would be this trying, we might have stayed on the Megabus.

Here Comes the Men in Black

Considering the interrogation that I was subjected to by Junella, I was half expecting Zed from the MIB to enter the room and not only tell me that the clammy Junella was an alien but to explain that I just passed the test to be a member of the Men In Black. Alas, Zed did not enter the room and the jury is still out on origin of Junella’s home planet.

As a consolation prize for surviving the third degree interrogation, Naeem and I were assigned a black Chrysler 200. Let me state this in advance, there is unequivocally nothing special about the black Chrysler 200 which in hindsight might explain why the car was purposely allocated to us. The car looks like a standard government issued vehicle. Just the type of inconspicuous car Agents Kay and Jay would drive.

Maybe we really did meet with Zed. If we did, you’ll never know! For now, I need you to focus your attention on the flashy thing in my hand so that I can give you an eye exam. Now let me warn you, you are going to see a series of flashes and those flashes mean that what you think you saw/read, you did not see/read…

That’s Amore

The moment we were settled in the car, Naeem informed me that we needed to make a few stops before we hit the road.

Our first stop was to Best Buy so that we could get an automobile phone charger and an auxiliary cable. According to my traveling companion, the aforementioned items were must-haves for the next leg of our journey. I needed the phone charger to ensure the GPS worked and we didn’t get lost. Naeem needed the auxiliary cable so that he could be the unsolicited-official DJ.

But before, Naeem was able to put the items from Best Buy to good use we stopped at an old stomping grounds for lunch, the Olive Garden. The Olive Garden - the place where the toddler/pre-school Naeem and I shared an insurmountable number of meals.

Back in the day, Olive Garden was our version of fast food. Yes, I have always been a bit of a fanatic about my health/fitness. As such, I refused to take my mini me to McDonalds, Wendy’s, Burger King or any of the similar fast food establishments.

Olive Garden was the place he was able to put into action the things he learned at home. How to eat with a fork and knife. How to place his napkin in his lap before beginning his meal. How and why he should bless his meal. Why he shouldn’t talk when chewing his food. Why eating vegetables before and with a meal was a good thing. How and why we tipped those who served us our meal.

Olive Garden was also the place where we shared many early conversations about life and manhood, my expectations of him as a man and my commitment to him as his father. So it seemed ironic that soon after he recently turned eighteen we were sitting in an Olive Garden sharing a meal like old times and still talking about life and manhood, my expectations of him as a man and my commitment to him as his father.

The time spent with Soop in Olive Garden was as delightful as the after meal chocolate mints Olive Garden serves. Sweet to be with my beloved son and refreshing to learn that even at eighteen he still respects, admires and needs me in his life.

Oh and before I forget, this is where I was supposed to tell you about our waitress Vianca. Again, you read that correctly. V-I-A-N-C-A! And again, there is no misspelling on my part. I’m deducing Vianca is a blending of Vivian and Bianca or some similar combination.

Again, as a proponent of great parenting, I imagine that we would need to check with Vianca’s parents who are probably Junella’s aunt and uncle. Yes, my guess Junella and Vianca are cousins. What other explanation could there be?

He’s the DJ and I’m the Driver

Naeem and I finally hit the road around 3 pm. The road was now leading us to Hilton Head Island, SC.

Naeem plugged in the electronic utensils that we had purchased from Best Buy and began to program his Google Nexus 10. Shortly thereafter, we were listening, humming and singing to his Palmetto State playlist.

While many parents lament having to listen to their children’s music that has never been an issue for me. Naeem has always been eclectic and his musical tastes have been equally diverse. During our drive we listened to Rap, Hip Hop, Jazz, Afro Caribbean, Neo-Soul, South American influenced, R&B and Pop music. He played music from his grandmother’s era to today.

Listening to the music that appeals to him has always provided some great insight into who he is, what he thinks of others and how he feels about himself. I have never had to warn him about listening to music that was excessively violent, profanity laced or misogynistic. I surmise that this is why I’m cool with him being the DJ while I serve as the driver.

Listening to his programmed Palmetto State playlist was like listening to the soundtrack of his life. Easy, rhythmic, pleasing to the ear with only a rare missed beat. God I love my son!

Are You Sure This Is Where You Are Staying

We arrived at the Hilton Head Marriott Resort and Spa around 7 pm. There were some interesting looks as we walked up to the hotel. More about those looks later.

Speaking of looks, you are going to have to keep a watchful eye out for the continuation of this story and the next installment of Every Father and Son Should Have A Tradition.

It’s been a long day, I’m exhausted and just like Naeem earlier today - I need to find my own lazy spot.

How comfortable are you listening to your child’s musical playlist? Would you be able to listen to your child’s music with little to no objection? What does the music your child listens to say about them, what they think of others and what they think of themselves?

Note: If you missed Day One I would suggest you read that first.

Day Two: Father – Son Tradition Continues With Georgia on Our Mind

This morning Soop and I woke having to decide our next move. We checked the Megabus schedule to see the connecting destinations from Nashville. The destinations to choose from were Atlanta (GA), Chattanooga (TN), Chicago (IL), Indianapolis (IN) and Louisville (KY). Only two of those destinations allowed us to continue traveling away from home. Those two destinations were Atlanta and Chattanooga.

There was no way we were going anywhere in the direction of home. Thus, we chose Atlanta and purchased two one way tickets. Remarkably the total fare was $9 per person. I don’t know about you but Megabus is a great deal. With today’s gas prices, I can barely drive across the street for $9.

Fly Me to the Moon

At breakfast, I met a Southwest Airline pilot, Bill Willoughby (I believe that was his name although his name could have been Charlie Brown and it would not have changed this story). At any rate, Bill and I struck up a conversation before my only begotten son could find his way from our room down to the restaurant for breakfast.

The great thing about my conversation with Bill was him sharing the story of his childhood. When Bill was a child his father was a pilot for Pan-Am Airlines. During his father’s tenure as a pilot, Bill had the opportunity to travel the world with his father – seeing and exploring the world first hand. He believes those experiences made it possible for him not only to see the world in a very different perspective than his peers but it allowed him to be able to choose very early the way that he wanted to live his life and the vocation that he wanted as his career.

Bill compared Naeem’s experiences abroad, his introduction to other cultures and Naeem’s ability to speak several languages to his childhood. He applauded Naeem for his courage to expand his horizons at a young age. He also encouraged Naeem to do as he had done, dream audaciously.

Bill shared with Naeem stories of the many people who questioned his sanity – when as an 18-year-old he left home to attend an aeronautical school with the sole “do or die” intention of becoming a pilot. Bill has now been a pilot for over 26 years. Bill told Naeem, “one day you will do as I do when I rhetorically ask myself where now are all those people who doubted me now?”

They Weren’t Kidding When They Say Music City

After breakfast Naeem and I decided to again walk the streets of downtown Nashville. The heat was still sweltering. Fortunately, this time all that we had to carry was our own body-weight and the weather was helping to decrease the pounds we were carrying with every step we took in the unforgiving Southern heat.

Just about everywhere we walked there was someone strumming a guitar, playing a harmonica or some other instrument that country musicians play. Please don’t ask me to name the instruments. Its country music and I am from Gary, Indiana. Enough said!

Although I’m not a country music fan – walking those blistering hot streets and seeing all those aspiring musicians doing their thing was a great experience to share with my son. Not to mention, I was able to hang out with the King. Most importantly though, I was able to remind my son and he was able to witness first-hand the extent people will and should go to make their dreams a reality.

Sometimes the media would have you believing that people don’t want to work but playing an instrument and or singing in 90 degree hot sticky merciless southern weather in hopes of being discovered is without question work. It takes mental, physical and emotional prowess - the likes of which most of us do not have - to do this everyday with no guarantees of success.

These people, those who aspire to entertain and inspire us with their musical gifts, are often accused of being deadbeats. These street musicians are not loafers, they are working and without question they want to work. What we saw were not freeloaders. What we witnessed were people who simply just believe in their talents and don’t want to give up on their dream only later to find themselves doing what the skeptics who disparage them are doing – working a 9 to 5 job which they are totally dispassionate about doing.

C.C.A.C.W.B.

C.C.A.C.W.B. reared its ugly head once again. In case you were wondering what C.C.A.C.W.B. stands for, it stands for Can’t Catch A Cab While Black. C.C.A.C.W.B. is a first cousin of D.W.B. For now, we will only discuss C.C.A.C.W.B.

I hate to say it but the demise of racism in America has been greatly over exaggerated. Folks, it’s sad but true – this just in – we are not yet a color blind or discriminatory free society.

Evidence of this unfortunate truth was substantiated as Naeem and I had need - on two occasions - to catch a cab. The first encounter transpired when a cab driver unenthusiastically picked us up from the Nashville Renaissance Hotel with the assistance of the bellhop. When we told the cab driver where we needed to go, he looked at us as if we had said something blasphemous about his momma. Trust me, I know how to play the “Dozens” and I can assure you that I hadn’t said anything about his momma. Maybe taking a person to the Megabus stop was offensive enough and beneath him. Whatever the case, Naeem and I were confused by his begrudging demeanor. After all, he was a cab driver wasn’t he?

The second encounter with a cab driver occurred when we were leaving the MARTA (The Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority) station downtown Atlanta. After the Megabus dropped us off downtown, we needed a way to get to the Crowne Plaza Atlanta – Airport. Not knowing downtown Atlanta, we sought the assistance of a law enforcement officer.

We asked one of the “dedicated” (or at least that’s how they are described on MARTA’s website) MARTA Police Officers where we could catch a cab and he halfheartedly mumbled something about “down the street and I don’t know”. Under my own breath, I inaudibly retorted, “thanks for nothing, Paul Blart Mall Cop - Atlanta is so much safer knowing that you are on the job”. But I digress.

Down the street to the corner Soop and I went per the mumbling, bumbling and stumbling directions of the Mall Security Man. We tried unsuccessfully numerous times to hail a cab before a cab finally – yet hesitantly stopped to pick us up.

When I say hesitantly, I’m not exaggerating either. The driver drove past us and then slowly reversed as if he still wasn’t sure it was advisable to pick us up. You would have thought we were wearing hoodies, eating Skittles and drinking a can of Arizona Iced Tea.

After picking us up, he drove us to the hotel as cab drivers tend to do – driving the speed of sound and talking to someone on the phone in a foreign tongue.

Before going to bed, Naeem asked without any prompting or tainted cynicism from me, “do cab drivers have a problem with African-American men”?

Baby It’s Cold Outside

Actually, on the Megabus it is cold inside. Outside the bus it’s an oven, inside the bus it’s a freezer. If by chance, you have been wondering why your home or automobile air conditioners are not as cold as you would like, I suspect that the Nation’s supply of Freon has been hijacked by Megabus.

When I tell you that it was cold on the bus, I’m really not kidding. How cold was it you ask? Well let me tell you. It was so cold that I saw a man and woman who before boarding the bus were laying outside sun bathing. When they boarded the bus, she was wearing a Victoria’s Secret string bikini and he was wearing a pair of speedos. However, 60 seconds after boarding the bus that same couple was wearing Under Armor Cold Gear and North Face coats and snow boots.

As an aside, I don’t know how the people at the Megabus do it but the White House needs to take some fiscal lessons from them. A bus ride for $9 from Nashville to Atlanta in 90 degree weather and 33 degree temperatures inside. I don’t know how Megabus can afford to keep a bus cool/cold, afford to fuel the bus and take passengers several hundred miles for $9 per person but they do it. What they are able to do for $9, now that’s fiscal responsibility American’s can believe in.

Forget Democrats, Republicans, Tea Party or Independents. Can you say Megabus 2016?

Fashion Nonsense

When we arrived at the MARTA station, I saw a collection of outfits that would make my sister absolutely lose her mind. To borrow a phrase from my sister, the people standing outside the station were looking a hot mess.

Color combinations that would make even Rainbow Bright close her eyes. Pants and tops two and three sizes too small. Flesh seemingly leaping out from places that the clothing never intended flesh to leap. Cracks here, muffin tops there, Dunlap everywhere but where they should have been – reserved exclusively for the sidewalks, bakeries and tire stores.

Not only does America need real Healthcare reform we apparently need some fashion reform. I believe this is a job for my sister and Fashion Cents TV.

He Man Women Hater’s Club

Oops, I forgot to mention before embarking on our journey, Naeem and I took the He Man Women Hater’s Oath. The oath is not new. The oath is very old in fact (much older than me thank you very much). The oath originated with Spanky from the Little Rascals.

The oath states “I, (state name here), a member of good standing of the He-Man Woman-Haters Club, do solemnly swear to be a he-man and hate women and not play with them or touch them unless I have to and especially never fall in love and, if I do, may I die slowly and painfully and suffer for hours or until I scream bloody murder.”

Well we didn’t actually take that oath. The Little Rascals oath was too arduous for even the most hardened man to follow including Spanky. So in the spirit of the softer gentler Alfalfa, we took poetic license and revised “The Oath” to fit our 21^st Century Father-Son Annual Tradition.

Instead of swearing to hate, not play with, never touch nor fall in love with women, we swore to: act like two independent grown men needing to answer to no woman; choosing to get out of bed at our own discretion; electing to shave and shower if and when we wanted; refusing to provide any woman with an explanation about any subject matter; sporting whatever we felt like wearing even if we wore the outfit the previous day; deciding for ourselves when and what we would eat; and electing only to reply with “in my skin” if any woman had the audacity to ask our whereabouts.

Gotta Go

I must go now. I think I might have gotten my son in trouble. His mom is calling, his grandmother is trying to play “Words With Friends“ with him and just spelled the word “BELT” and his auntie is sending threatening texts.

Now he is acting all scared like he wants to reconsider “The Oath” and maybe cancel our Father-Son Annual Tradition. I know he’s recently 18 but maybe I pushed him too hard. Some fatherly example I am setting. Let me see if I can’t get this journey back on track.

Until tomorrow…

Have you given any thought to the traditions that you might establish and share with your child?

Day One: Father – Son Tradition

The last several days with the excessive coverage of the George Zimmerman trial, my son’s recent eighteenth birthday and the fact that I am quickly closing in on the BIG 50 caused me to take a look at life from a different perspective. I realize that is saying a lot for those of you who really know me. You all can attest that it is routine for me to look at life from a different perspective.

This time however given the Nation’s obsession with discussing every aspect of the death of a young man and the loss that his parents are suffering, I thought that I should do something to make sure that I create some tradition that I can share with my son. One perspective that I will never lose is the one that reminds me that tomorrow is not promised. So, if my son was taken away from me, I want to be able to say and reflect on as many lasting memories as we can possibly create while we are both present and accounted for.

Moreover, my perspective is a bit different as my son, unlike his high school classmates, who will all be attending college in the U.S. mostly in the Midwest, has opted to return to Brazil to pursue his professional soccer dreams. His pursuit does not include fall breaks, winter breaks, spring breaks, etc. His journey has one destination and it does not include the intentions to return to the U.S.

Father-Son Tradition

Traditionally, father’s and son’s go fishing, hiking, camping or perhaps to a college sporting event with their sons. None of those are options for my son and me. Doing anything outside where insects and rodents are crawling around is never going to work. Sleeping in a location that doesn’t say four star feels like a camping trip. And as for sporting events, the only sport that he really has passion about sitting as a spectator would be the one he plays. As there are no major soccer games occurring at the moment, we chose to do something else to create a father-son annual tradition.

Bold and Daring

My ultimate travel experience – besides the one where I move to Bora Bora and live in an over the water bungalow with a glass bottom floor – is to arrive at the airport without any luggage and no destination in mind. Then I want to simply look at the departure board, find a location that appeals to me, purchase a first class ticket and fly to that destination. No return date, no luggage…no problem.

Regrettably today, I can’t do that so instead we did what was for us the next best thing. We looked on-line at the Megabus schedule. Yes, we boarded a bus. Picked a destination that was appealing to us and bought two tickets. First stop Nashville. Next stop, not confirmed but I will report back tomorrow.

No Wonder America is the Second Fattest Nation

The Megabus stopped just outside of Louisville for dinner. Where did we stop? I will give you one guess. We stopped at a truck stop that was adjoined by a McDonalds and a Subway of course. As I looked around the convenience store inside the truck stop along with the McDonalds and Subway, it was reinforced for me that no matter what America says about Healthcare Reform, America has no intention of ever having a health population.

I won’t even bother telling you about the menu at McDonalds. As for the Subway menu, I know we generally think of Subway as healthy but as I examined the 6 inch veggie sub on honey wheat bread that I ordered, I realized the sub was not that nutritious. The bread contained the greatest number of calories 260 and the amount of calories the vegetables provided was almost negligible. In essence, I had a bread sandwich with mustard. One fourth of my caloric intake was made up of bread and mustard and I am one who considers himself a healthy eater. Fortunately, I was able to find some fresh bananas, apples and oranges hidden in the convenience store. Luckily for me there were plenty of bananas, apples and oranges as no one else seemed to be interested in finding them much less eating them.

Trayvon Martin May Be Gone But He Is Not Forgotten

Sadly Trayvon isn’t among the living but thoughts and discussions of him continue. As we were approaching the arrival point in Nashville, several of the African-American patrons were discussing the trial. They weren’t adding anything new to the National debate but they were bemoaning the loss of life.

Out of nowhere a voice loud and proud exclaimed, “I’m glad George Zimmerman was acquitted”. The person who uttered those words made some additional remarks but I can’t tell you what he said. I was too busy bracing myself for the fight that I expected to break out. I put my seat-belt on, held on to the arm rest and anticipated the worst.

A white man pleased about the verdict and a group of African American’s lamenting the loss of a young man was more than the price of the Megabus ticket. Thankfully, no one said anything else. It was as if both sides realized that they were treading dangerously outside the gates of a crossroad that would be difficult if not impossible to return. Cooler heads prevailed and we were soon able to get off the bus.

Big Phyllis - Little Phyllis

As Naeem and I were preparing to board the bus, we were approached by a lady named Phyllis. Phyllis was putting her eighteen year old niece whose named just happened to be Phyllis also on the bus by herself. For the purposes of this story, I will refer to the aunt as Big Phyllis and the niece as Little Phyllis

Big Phyllis saw me, approached me and asked me to keep an eye out for her niece. Until that very moment, I had never met either Big or Little Phyllis but I took my orders seriously. I wrote my name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to Big Phyllis before the bus departed. I knew Little Phyllis had a phone but I wanted her aunt to have another way to contact her in the event something unplanned occurred.

As I was instructed, I kept an eye out for Little Phyllis. When she went into the rest room, I stood watch until she came out. When she order her sub, I watched intently. Naeem and I sat at the table behind her after our subs were complete. On the bus, I sat in a location that allowed me to keep an eye on her and Supaman.

I was vigilant in my new-found responsibility. I was honored to look out for Little Phyllis. So many times over the last year, I have watched my son get on a plane and fly 6,000 miles by himself to live among people whom I don’t know. My discomfort made me keenly sensitive to Big Phyllis’s plight.

More than just wanting to show karmic appreciation for my son’s safe travels, it felt good to know that someone found me to appear caring and trusting enough to look out for the well-being of their child. The whole scene was an old school flash back to days when I was a child and the adults in my community embraced the responsibility for not only caring for me but for raising me and all the other children in the neighborhood.

I’m not sure how much Little Phyllis appreciated my looking out after her because of what probably felt like a stalker who would not let her out of his sight. Nonetheless, I did what I promised. I know what it is to really love a child and something unfortunate happening to Little Phyllis was not going to happen under my watch. Little Phyllis was not going to be the story on the nightly news and I was not going to be the dumbfounded witness who stood by and watched something unfortunate occur.

So, I kept a watchful eye and I wouldn’t leave her side until her ride arrived and I had received a call from her aunt, Big Phyllis. I even had the pleasure of speaking with Little Phyllis’s mom. Little Phyllis’s phone battery died and my phone was the only way her mom or aunt were able to contact her. As it turns out Little Phyllis’s ride was late and her aunt and mom needed to speak to her. Although, she never said it, I believe Little Phyllis was happy to have had me hanging around.

Man Am I Getting Old

When we got off the bus, I was shocked. I thought the bus had dropped us off in front of a corner where ladies of the night work. I was ready to cover my son’s eyes when he informed me that we were parked in front of a night club. ”A night club”, I exclaimed! No way, not the way those young women were dressed. Thank God that I didn’t have a daughter. My daughter might never be permitted to leave the house. Man am I getting old!

Objects On The GPS May Be Further Than They Appear

According to the Google Maps, the distance to the Nashville Renaissance Hotel was only 4/10ths of a mile. I figured 4/10ths of a mile was too short of a distance to take a cab so I convinced my son that we should walk. Besides we had been sitting for four plus hours on the bus so the short walk would help stretch our legs or so I thought.

Surprisingly, Google Maps was wrong and what was supposed to be a short walk to stretch out our legs turned into a mini marathon. Without registering for the lengthy walk or having the goal of supporting some worthy charity, we found ourselves sweating profusely as we carried our back pack and rolled our luggage. We walked so much in the steamy grueling Southern night, up and down the streets of downtown Nashville, that I thought for a brief moment - we might as well have gone camping and hiking. And then we arrived at the hotel and reality was restored.

That’s All Folks

That’s it for today. Stay tuned for tomorrow’s edition of “Every Father and Son Should Have a Tradition.

What traditions are you establishing with your child?

The verdict in the case State of Florida vs. George Zimmerman is controversial on many levels. Rather than regurgitate the same facts and perspectives, I have tried to talk to my son about the case in the following way:

1. BUT FOR – Imagine being with your child. You all are out shopping and rely on public transportation. The next bus is en route to the bus stop. Your child anxiously runs out into the street to catch the bus. Horrifically, your child is killed by an oncoming driver. The horror doesn’t stop there, you are charged with vehicular homicide. Not only does the Court charge you with a crime, the Court charges you with a crime previously only charged to one driving a car not walking with their child across the street. The Court seems to be able to make the connection between your child running out in the street and your negligence in them being hit by the oncoming car. However, the Court doesn’t appear able to make the connection between a man disobeying the instruction of law enforcement to remain in a car and his subsequent shooting and killing of a child. But for the mother keeping her child out of the street, the child would be alive. But for George Zimmerman remaining in the vehicle, Trayvon Martin would be alive. (The scenario of the parent is derived from a real case from the State of Georgia.)
2. BETTER TO BE A DEFENDANT – George Zimmerman, the defendant, is alive today. He is alive because he was carrying a gun. He is alive because Trayvon Martin, the deceased, was not in possession of a fire arm. George Zimmerman, the defendant, was able to tell his side of what happened that evening. Trayvon Martin, the deceased, had his story reported – not by him – but from the testimony of others and forensic evidence. Make sure you live in a Stand Your Ground State, be armed at all times with a handgun (not the concrete sidewalk), shoot first, make sure the other party dies so that the State and Court can only hear your narrative and listen to your first person testimony.
3. NOT GUILTY DOESN’T MEAN INNOCENT – Not guilty does not mean innocent. The State of Florida allowed George Zimmerman the following options in pleading his case. Those options were guilty, not guilty, no contest, not guilty by reason of insanity, or incompetent to stand trial. The State of Florida did not offer George Zimmerman the right to plead innocent, blameless, vindicated, righteous, pure of heart, virtuous, or any other adjective that might infer that George Zimmerman is a good guy. The Court simply determined that the prosecution had not proved the defendant guilty of the crime beyond reasonable doubt. So even after the acquittal if you maintain that George Zimmerman is not an innocent person, you would be right.
4. APATHY REIGNS – America’s outrage is classic and typical. What we rant and rave about now we will soon minimize and ignore later. Today’s headline is tomorrow’s footnote except unfortunately for the family who has to forever live life without their son. The apathy is particularly problematic for the majority of those who possess the power to make real change. Americans particularly those of us who are middle class somehow fail to act - thinking that we are different, feeling that we have “made it”. Where exactly we think we have arrived is far different from where we actual reside. The truth is that we are just like those who are slighted and disrespected. Most of us are still living paycheck to paycheck, a job termination from being homeless, overweight and overstressed, consuming prescription drugs in mass quantities for maladies that could be remedied by changes in diet and exercise, no long-term wealth accumulation, lacking the financial resources to withstand living without a job or enduring an emergency for a prolonged period of time and unlike what George Zimmerman was able to do, be able to afford the best defense money can buy. These are the issues that people like Trayvon Martin, who are racially and socio-economically profiled continue to experience. Trayvon’s story and far too many others share this experience. This is the story of the majority of America. Unfortunately, many of us who have benefited the most from the blood, sweat and tears of our forefathers and foremothers are too confused, indifferent, lazy and disrespectful – to those whose shoulders we all now stand – to do the work to make the needed systemic substantive permanent changes in our society that would assure that another Trayvon Martin like headline never reappeared.
5. JUSTICE IS NEITHER EQUAL NOR BLIND – Justice has never been nor will it ever be definitively equal or blind. Justice is and shall always remain subjective not objective. The application of the law is personal. People accuse others of committing crimes. People make arrests. People collect evidence. People research the law. People serve as attorney. People testify. People report the facts. People serve as Judges. People are deemed guilty or not guilty. People serve on the jury. As long as human beings who all come from different life experiences, socio-economic backgrounds, varied educational opportunities, etc. participate in the justice process, justice will be precisely what it is and forever shall remain an imperfect - occasionally fair - sometimes impartial system.

What are you telling your child about the shooting of Trayvon Martin? How are you explaining George Zimmerman’s acquittal?