Handwritten Letters to Aaliyah

I don’t have a lot to say much these days. Like every human, just tired like a single mom who works part time at FedEx Kinkos. 

I have been sitting down, having those conversations about laugh and how to make sure things don’t just “happen” to me moving forward. It’s been sad to just feel old and weak because that’s not who I am.

I’m someone who is always ready and happy to be existing as myself. This charismatic , joyful dude. Yeah, I’m dragging my feet every once in a while but that’s not me in general. I still have that huge desire to get amped and spontaneously make dance videos. I like it, I love dancing and having people look at me funny.

If I’m not doing that, if I’m not doing me then it makes me sad. I feel sad some days. Sometimes. I wake up and feel like when John Witherspoon had to take a dump while he was stuck on the freeway 🛣️. Just sort of stuck in this rut. 

I have to stop referencing indie movies. It’s like focus features and A24 are the only things that drive my central core thinking. Have they even made a black film about a geek from the suburbs who was aware that he is a good lil’ negro who loved FUBU?

Yeah I can blame it on me rehabbing my knee and and not controlling my vices well. I can blame it on my time in Denver or my energy depleting careers. But like Udonis HASLEM , I’m done yet. Probably should relax a little 

But it’s important to note , I’m not done yet. YET. I’m not sorry about certain things I say or do nor I regret it. The only apology I owe myself is to not do these things again. If I don’t do them again then there’s nothing more to say to people I hurt. Not like their opinions aren’t valid but what’s the point of being upset? Well I can be JODY all I want but I’m still Jonathan Whiting. The boy who befriended the weird kids and then got called a weird kid.

As I write my short stories, poems, and rants in this blog please be mindful: 

Man , EJ Pryor and Palco owe me an apology. Im sure they forgot about me and are existing their lives. But like an elephant, I always get my Tostitos, 

The Gosh Dern Funnel Cake

 (FYI definitely didn’t proofread this for grammar)

The Gosh Dern Funnel Cake

In the summer of July 2008, i went to live with my Auntie Karen and my Uncle in middle Georgia. I wasn’t sure why or what happened to this day, but I was excited. I lived in Virginia before that, in a Christian and military household. One mom. One dad. One Sasquatch (my older brother). And one dog.

To me it was a regular household. My parents together, educated and present. It was a regular household. A regular black household to me. Like the Cosby’s without that one thing. You remember, the sexual assault and drugging thing. Anyways,

To me it was important that I have that strong foundation and circle around me. Imagine a black boy having his father there! Like when my dad wasn’t working late I would be like “I love you dad” and he would be like “I love you too son!” So refreshing. Would’ve definitely not survived without that one. Phew,

So I’m starting at this school in middle Georgia , I don’t know anyone. My brother was a Star basketball player in the school I was at in Virginia, so I had a chance to be a whole new person. Not Jonathan or my middle name Nyles. Something for exotic and s*xy and fresh! I went by “Jon”

I would walk to school and have my Zune playing “Madvillainy by Madvillain” and had it shoved down my pocket with the Walkman sized headphones on. I had the bass clarinet in my left hand, sometimes cupping it under my arm pit. I had JUST stopped wearing hand me downs from my brother (who always was 2-3 sizes bigger than me) so I had the freshest gear from Marshall’s and Ross. Like 4 striped adidas?

Someone call this dudes grandpa, he’s cool as f*ck.

Walking in the first day at a new school, I was cooler than Mr. Freeze eating a freeze pop in the Arctic Ocean listening to Coolieo. I had finally got to 6 feet tall and ya’ boy was hitting that Billy Blanks boot camp so I was ready! I was at the wrong school, apparently my neighborhood has two buses for each high school in the district,

So fast forward: new school, made some friends, started a new sport. Almost got a girls number. Mostly ate the library or cafeteria but not always #socialprogress but this next part put me in the library for the final years of high school.

Strong Foundation for close friends with honest, and open communication. Only thing I need. Don’t need to them to have snacks when I come over or be as dope as me or be in band or like video games. Just don’t try to stab me or poison me via Hawaiian fruit punch or steal from my Auntie or berate me in front of the entire school or touch my momma or my pops or my uncle or my dog or my grandad or grandma or my gosh dern funnel cake.

Eric. Eric, stole my Zune that had the complete discography of De La Soul and Tribe Called Quest. He stole my funnel cake. He is the reason I have a binder full of racial slurs from the. 1800. How did I find out he stole my Zune? He told me. I told him “if you don’t retrieve my Zune and reimburse me $10 for that funnel cake, we are no longer friends” 

I said that word for word in front of the whole cafeteria. The stutters and stammers didn’t help. I was standing and breathing heavily. I thought I should grab my inhaler if I had one. He was sitting there and grinning an accomplished grin.

I mean I was crying. I didn’t have my mom or dad or brother. I had my bass clarinet. I had my Xbox 360. And I had a dog at home, probably dry humping my pillow. I didn’t know at the time but I wouldn’t have another real human friend from school until I turned 18. 

Now I would say I’m a man, hardened and cynical and ready to be a husband and a dad in future. But I’m still waiting on those $10

Take The Chicken Out The Freezer

Talking to myself like I am Nina Simone's Inner Nina Simone but also talking to myself like I am Carl Wheezer's inner Carl Wheezer

It's 2022 and I got 3 bags of Tostitos scoops and a maxed-out credit card to my name,

Complete with sweater vests and bass clarinets, like when I used to be asthmatic.

I had my first epiphany when I was 17 and I was like "I'm out here epiphanying"

Whether the name is Jon, JODY, Jonny, or Jonathan,

My words stutter and get twisted like I was a twizzler caught in a twister.

Being my authentic self, but not that way ya' weirdo

She half white, half latina so her name in my contacts is Sriracha Mayo

Complete with

Sweet shea butter kisses, tastes so good like some cornbread with the pig feets collard greens and the sweet, SWEET yams, I wanna' smack ya' Momma Donna

Watching Kung Fu Panda, crying like my Auntie when they first elected Obama,

Just a wee-bit narcissistic, so my haters wanna' turn me into a llama

Raised my voice like when my momma' told me "take the chicken out the freezer"

They say the universe works in mysterious ways, 

So I guess the boys chasing me down in their dad's lifted pick up truck is adding double XP to my character development, 

But all I wanted was some chicken nuggies and Rebecca Black on vinyl. And maybe world domination so I can student loans and take like 3,000 naps but

Seems like all I got was a broken knee, microaggressions, and a binder full of Pokemon cards.

Maybe you’re the one Morgan Freeman sent to me and I’m the man Tilda Swinton wanted me to be!

Just thought if there were a little more Spicy Nacho Doritos and a little less Cool Ranch Doritos, it would fix what is wrong and right in the world.

So 2.27 billion seconds I'm expected to be in this galaxy. Like Chuck E. Cheese tokens, gotta make them count, 

So I gotta' show up to show out to show off!

Now I may not be shit to you, but my momma' think I made it

So don't touch me, I'm famous,

Talk To Me Nicely

It’s March 5th, 2022. I’m sitting on a 737, some giant metal canister ripping through the air listening to Tee Grizzley. This giant metal box will drop me off at a place where confederate pride and hipsters run rampant. 30 minutes left to my destination.

The metro of Richmond, Virginia.

It is a place I’ve become indifferent too but always neared nostalgia to me. It’s where I spent from ages of about 4 years old to 14 running around in my off-brand Iversons and where I explored on a variety of bikes and scooters. If I had to pick a “hometown” (I lived in almost two dozen cities and lived in 4 different cities in my childhood), Richmond would be the one. Stylized with a giant red cardinal on my rib cage, to make it official,

Even after I turned 18 and had a choice to stay or leave, I always chose to leave. I know my family and I always had our differences but I always had hoped they didn’t hate me for leaving. Over and over again. Additionally I feel nauseated thinking about it because I didn’t have their feelings in mind, at all. And I knows what I was searching for, I was searching for the experience. I just wanted to feel the way I know I could feel but have never felt before.

20 minutes left until we touch down to John Tyler’s house. 

My own community, my own foundation that I chose. It’s not that I don’t value my parents impact on me, thats the paradox; I value it the most! But I know what I needed to grow and reach my fullest potential was to push myself and find a tribe that believed in me. My parents (after uncomfortable conversations) took time to support and love me even as an adult. But I’m their child, and I shrink back into that role a lot around them. And for someone who didn’t swing their arms when they walked and wet the bed until they were 14, it may be a little nerve racking at time.

My family and their family’s showed me how cool it was to have a tribe and build with one another. I loved going to reunions and being with my cousins and aunties and uncles and whoever. But they only hung out with me because their parents made them. Prime example: most never talk to me, even when I hosted our whole family reunion. It reminded we are cordial but they’re not in my ear , holding me accountable, calling and checking in with me. And they don’t have too. 

I love them dearly. Oh wait 10 minutes left, let me call Wayne Sr.  to pick me up (I would never call my dad by his name). But what am I going to do if I can’t build this thing , apart from The Whiting’s or Crawley’s or Richardson’s or whoever. They’re all in Virginia. I’m in freggin’ Texas. Even the fun fact of me having no Hispanic friends growing up until I turned 26 (now almost all of my friends are Hispanic) shows growth right? Terrible example, I know.

But if I don’t reach my full potential , especially after watching Rock Lee fight Gaara or watching Kanye West’s documentary or reading David Goggins then they’ll be the biggest regret and I’ll die a failure. That is my fear. And that’s not going to happen. 

Believe it, 

Also why do people clap after a flight is done or get up when the planes land? The door isn’t even open. Okay, I’m out!

 

Mayonnaise

I had a dream, right? Not that dream...

I had a dream Dr. Umar revoked my black card last Tuesday. Said I'm not with the times, I'm a day late and a dollar short. He told me about the new negro. Built by cornbread, BET Uncut, and non-brand double cups filled with the almighty skittles and crown royal. He told me I was built by gentrification, Zoey 101 episodes, and mayonnaise.

Mayonnaise...The white goo that goes on Arby's sandwiches? Or that one person who prays to Ben Shapiro, Gary Vee, and Joe Rogan podcasts?

But I told him I'm a proud monkey, complete with the nostrils and hog maws and Katt Williams references. 

He told me I'm whiter than Clay Aiken and Britney Spears in a snowstorm, I told him I'm blacker than Forest Whitaker and Whoopi Goldberg during a blackout in Detroit. 

Pastier than Elmer's glue more hollow than Vince Vaughn, and more unseasoned than an episode of friends.

More melanin than Fonzworth, darker than a shadow, more rhythm and flow than CL Smooth.

He told me I'm more caucasian than someone who puts sugar in grits, and I told him what's wrong with sugar in grits. 

No matter the bouts with walking home in my own neighborhood being followed by police or feeling of cocoa butter kisses from my auntie or being put in a Lil' Caesers sized cardboard box. I am done with that. Mayonaise. Underground hiphop.Murals on the side of abandoned buildings where I teach yoga. Ironic graphic shirts. Roasting people as a love language. It's the reason I'm J.O.D.Y.

I told him I'm the new-new negro because frankly, I don't give a duck.

"If It Wasn't For You" by Handsome Boy Modeling School

When My Papa Says Grace Pt.2

Love ain’t for sale, well at least not the love I’m talking about

No, Love is free

Love is giving you the big piece of fried chicken, even though I could write you a 10-page research paper with works cited in APA format on how much I wanted that big piece of fried chicken

Love is knowing you will always been there when I need you

Love is calling you every Mother’s Day even if you didn’t birth me

Love is pulling me inside your house because it’s about to rain

Love is putting me on the program as the headliner, even though you knew I shouldn’t be allowed to be around a microphone in public

Love is never, ever, never taking off your #teamcrawley wristband even though there’s green mold starting to accumulate on your wrist

Love is what Christians are supposed to do

Love is what got me and my father through the fourth quarter of 2013,

Love is embracing that one cousin or one auntie you may not know very well with hugs, with their arms as bony as Skeletor or as big as Mean Joe Green, trying to figure out how in the hell would I know you from when you changed my diaper when I was 6 months old,

Love is taking you to school when you pretend to miss the bus in the morning even if I’m not too fond of your extracurricular activities

Love is that initial slow clap of rain, hitting a lonely tin roof with a slow pitter-patter in a small town in middle Georgia.

Love is not berating your grandson because he puts sugar on his grits

Love is easy

Love is good,

Love is great

Love is God, God is great

Love is a mutual attraction on site like a covalent bond between some hydrocarbons that can be your fuel through the day

But hydrocarbons are volatile

Love is volatile

Love is hard

Love is as ubiquitous as Everybody Loves Raymond and is as meandering as Everybody hates Chris

Love is rough,

Love is lead,

Love is nasty, spits out sulfuric acid, dissolving skin and bones

Love can be Christmas in the morning and Halloween at night,

Love is bland

Like, like, like that one Auntie who does not know how to season chicken

Love is a colorless, odorless gas that may keep you in eternal slumber

But love is asking if you made it home last night.

Love is me calling you back that I made it home last night.

Love is when I’m crying because you never made it back home last night. And you probably won’t again tonight

Love is cousin Sonia still checking up on me even though I evaded her hugs for 15 years

Love is cousin Allie Mae giggling and running away whenever I try to pick her up

Love is cousin Brandon buying me a PBR even though I didn’t want another PBR

Love is Audrey interrogating me about the last time I ate

Love is throwing the ball at my brother’s head whenever we played pick-up games and still talking to each other by the time dinner is over

Now love is something I have taken for granted

Like flipping on a light switch and expecting lights to come on or my Papa taking a hour to say grace

These are things that are SUPPOSED to happen

But not everybody has electricity, not everyone has a Papa was pageantry

Not everybody knows what it’s like to be loved by some receding hairline folks from South Boston

But I do, and I hope everyone else here knows what I speak of

That’s love

Now ask me about hate?

I ain’t got time for that

I don’t need to listen to K-Dot to know that Team Crawley is gon’ be alright

Because I’ve seen love in my Papa’s eyes as well as his three big-headed children.

Love is all I got,

How to Ineffectively Solve Conflicts with Cornbread

I wouldn't consider myself a pacifist. The need for me personally to resolve conflict with physical conflict is as rare as finding a Moltres or Articuno in the wild. Let's begin, 

I know people may argue that it is what wild beasts would do, as people stand around and watch two grown adults fight at a baseball game (hold the phone sideways to be professional.) but I am not sure. I don't want anyone to touch my mother or father or niece or brother or cousin or bowl of Tostitos but there are other things to do than to actually harm someone with your body parts. Which oddly enough, ends up hurting you normally.

It's just I have other stuff to do, ya' know? Like whenever I was younger and I was being bothered or teased and things got physical, it was easy to walk away. I had an Xbox and two loving parents in a home. A dog needed to be walked. Tostitos were waiting at home. If a fight were to manifest then I would get suspended. No Xbox. Get but whooped (so technically two times I get beat). Teachers would take me out of the "Student of the Month" awards. No gift card to KB Toys.

Whenever I got older and grew into my body and played sports, obviously it popped up. But using words was even more effective versus flinging a wild haymaker at someone's temple. "Sticks and stones" blah, blah, blah; words will forever and ALWAYS hurt me. What's mightier, the pen or the sword? The silver tongue laced with poison *chefs kiss* was developed throughout my childhood, even as I managed a speech impediment (shout-out to Ms. Faye!).

But also recognizing to always defend yourself. Most people have some sort of community. Whether it be personal or professional or platonic or what have you, someone looks to a person for love and commitment and support. Sometimes the homie needs you to opt-in or square up when there is conflict. There will always be conflict. There will never not be conflict. 

And that's house this life works. There's a problem and a solution happens. It may not be pretty at the end, but an end will come. Most of the time it is within someone's self. Like maybe the kids who bullied me during grade school were mad that they didn't have a father figure. Or Halo 3 on the Xbox 360. I am sorry your family's lights went off but please stop teasing me about playing the bass clarinet. I was All-District, 4th chair.

"You gonna' let him talk to you like that?"

"No! I am going to walk away, so I won't be able to hear him talk to me like that."

Again, I am the guy who will eat the food even if my order is wrong. But also the guy who will ask for a manager because they ran out of curly fries.

#knowyourworthking

 

Do The Right Thing: Part 2

People say to always do the right thing. In any dire circumstances or consequences. Do the right thing.

Always.

It's not that I don't want to, I just don't know the know-how. It's not like there are 2 or 3 options to choose from, it is about 4,000. At least, I am just estimating. I am a scientist, ya' know. That means I can make stuff up and use fake primary sources and people believe me.

Anywho, I tend to make the wrong choices (or we shall say, not the most thought-out choices) and then get upset about why I chose something. I chose to eat-out know I will be too tired too cook and didn't want to go home hungry after a workout, but I forget my wallet at home. Too many variables and not enough equating (Algebra 1 should have prepared me better for this situation!)

Also the "right" thing and "always" sounds so absolute and I don't want to be considered a sith lord. I can "most of the time" choose the "better" option as I seemingly effortlessly glide through my life. I mean I am a human who typically, okay, more often than not can choose the correct thing but sometimes that option is also lame. Like choosing to not throw a dodgeball at a 10 year-old who can barely even though the ball back at me. If she wouldn't have tried to duck, it wouldn't have hit her in the face.

But the right thing is so subjective. Or objective. Detective? 

Anyways one of the 'tives but the right thing to do for someone will put me as clear disadvantages or vice versa. Am I supposed to look out for my neighbor if we are in a clear zombie apocalypse or do I let a possible infected zombie inside my house with my 2 and 4-year-old?

See, doing the right thing is an elective! Gotta' go my mom is calling me, 

To Grow Old in Norfolk, Virginia

I never thought about too much in the future when I was younger. But I was constantly, painstakingly reflecting on my past. My past year, month, week, day, hour, minute, second, millisecond, etc. Like how could I have done that differently being aware of every time I make some sort of mistake or a quizzical choice.

But as I grow older and my mistakes become more frequent and more costly (because remember, it's literally about me at this point in my life) I do start to ponder the bigger yet more concrete things that matter. People asking what I am going to do in my life, I'm not sure. There aren't really too many big-big plans besides getting my degree and opening up a studio. But even those two things I am not obsessed with. 

I am obsessed with being a great friend and being a great teacher and being a great student and being a great coworker and being a great partner and being a great parody dancer. But I'm not doing the things to do that right now. It's as though it's okay but not really. Because remember, I am constantly reflecting on these tasks and myself. I am past the first E, I've already identified and know how to fix the problem.

Those big goals, divided into smaller, measurable attainable goals have been what keeps me going. If one of my goals is to stay joyful, that means I need to sleep 6 hours a day or eat 3 servings of leafy green vegetables or run 3-4 miles, 3 days a week. Then the big goals slowly but surely are within my grasp and I won't even know it until it's already been passed and accomplished. Fortunately reaching my goal but unfortunately not celebrating the milestone, 

But I am tired, we all are and I sometimes just want to get through my days. And that's a huge issue, there are so many cool things that happen throughout my day and I want to enjoy them. But the days and weeks and months run together and I am not able to process anything.

If you made a pie chart of my 24 hour day, 2 hours would be spent exercising, 12 hours spent working, 6-7 hours sleeping, 1 hour school work, and then the rest hopefully is decompressing but rarely. 

I did that in a space and time a while ago and I was like poorly made grilled cheese: burnt out, melted down, broken down. Just pieces, on the ground, eaten up by street rats wings. I didn't want to grow old and die in Norfolk, Virginia or Denver, Colorado. If I can't process my days and decompress, then the repeat happens then it'll be a wrap like Saran. 

But once again, this has happened and I have been able to pick up those pieces and become the best Jon or JODY that I can be. It happened twice. But I have to slow down and provide maintenance when needed. Because honestly, I need me! Jon needs me. Jonny needs me. Jonathan needs me. JODY needs me. Hell, even Jo(h)n needs me. Hopefully this weekend I can go over everything and get it going. Wait hopefully, I mean it'll get done. I don't have a choice,

I Got You Boo

 People always talk about their “authentic self” and being in a particular space for themselves. I have no idea what that means, being honest. Sometimes I feel like going for a 12 mile run because I can. Sometimes I feel like moving to a new city to try out a different area. Sometimes I’ll put on a skirt. 

I don’t know how anyone in this world can tell me if I’m being myself or fake. It’s become a competition to become unique and innovative for social media. Yeah yeah sometimes I do it for the gram but most of the time I’m like “oh I have to try it AT LEAST once” because why not? There’s literally a ba-jillion things I don’t know how to do and everyone I’ve ever met , including my students, can teach me a skill or give me a new dataset I have never considered. Isn’t that cool? A lot of kids can speak two languages , that is so freggin’ amazing.

Anyways but I’ll pinpoint my quick entry to this point in time . I was with some friends having a chill night with wine. I spilled the wine on pants that didn’t agree with the color. They contrasted like Dame and Jay. For some reason my friends house didn’t contain replacement ones for a Shrek sized man. But apparently skirts apparently are one size fits all. 

We decided to go out that night and my friend took that picture in my super flamboyant sweater (that was mine and I still have/love it) and I wasn’t trying to be my “authentic self” as strutted down Hancock Street downtown. I was just Vivian vibin’, I felt comfortable.

I’m a science teacher and unnecessarily super reflective for a long time. I know for a fact when I’m being myself (me) being genuine to myself and I know when I’m doing it to be recognized. People yelling out “you’re so brave” or “you’re a (bad word)” was endearing but I just wanted to go dancing with poetry geeks and eat a chicken biscuit. Not a statement for myself but if someone else needs it as positive reinforcement, I got you boo. 

Plus skirts are super breathable and I can do super high kicks. Feels fabulous,

Please, Tell Me About Me

It's strange to think one day I wasn't here and now I am here. I have become obsessed with my own self and personal/professional relationships, that I haven't taken the stepback. Ya' know the whole thing about "gotta' backward to go forward" sort of energy. You can't build a house on a rickety foundation. Gotta' burn down the forest to get rid of all the dead matter so it can rebuild itself through different stages of succession.

Well yeah, I was priveleged enough to have a comfortable upbringing in which my parents kept on the lights and sometimes the cable. I didn't have to worry about being loved even though sometimes it didn't fit in the mold I needed. But it was there and abundant and that's where I am today.

But being the emotional truck I am, spending years and years writing into my journals, having good and bad trips, spending most mornings sorting through thoughts on my short and long runs...I still can't stop processing. It is supposed to stop, right? Even as I write on my computer at 11:36pm on a Sunday evening, my own brain continues to say "why are you not improving?" as I slowly start nodding off to street at now 11:37pm on a Sunday evening. 

I am someone who is restless, energetic, even-tempered, mellow, volatile, joyful, angry throughout most of my days. I would say joy and anger are my foundation mostly. Microaggressions eat away at me almost instantly. Like when one of the ladies I work with profiled me and a day later said "I know you". It was so interesting and unsettling; I wanted to throw up. So through all of the years and therapy and 60-minute runs and conversations I've had, you know me? Please, tell me about me because I am most genuinely confused.

If there is something you don't know then you have to speak up, you gotta'. I mean you GOTTA'. I am tired and exhausted and confused and mad yet happy and excited and eccentric and comprehend everything like, please I will pay you inexpensive Pokemon cards. I guess when I heard that comment I became upset but I am someone who likes feedback, especially from rich middle-aged white ladies "whose father will hear about this."

I am also someone who enjoys feedback and resolution and compromise. I crave it. I need it. And I won't stop until everything is at 99.9% optimal capacity for me. But I am not ready to die on that hill quite yet.

My Favorite Taco Truck

 Where in the world did I ever get the ability to earn a best friend that meets the “best friend” requirements? There have been people who I can play basketball with, talk about music with, motivate me professionally, motivate me personally, talk about “conspiracy theories” with, swap RDCworld videos, etc.

But I remember watching episodes of “Recess” and trying to wrap around my head that someone may have 5 best friends. 5. Best. Friends. My 1 best friend throughout elementary school literally was polar opposite of me and I don’t remember how we even bonded. But I know we were best friends and we would hangout together. Pizza parties and Skittles and Pokemon cards.

But like my Plumeria, as those friendships continue to grow, increasing in the amount of room they need, they need to be repotted. I am the plant, my friends supporting me are the pot. And by the time I need to be repotted, my roots have burst out from the pot and my potential of exponential growth steadily declines. From 3rd grade through my Iggy Year, 87% of my friends 

“Why young guy, why? Why are you roasting your best friends! They have given you solid years and validation and warmth and love!” Most definitely yes! But ‘imma keep it going.

Every time I have been with a bestie (most people know them as ‘Tier 1s’ or as the retired Tier 1s, I deem ‘Tier 2s’) I notice a modified or perhaps a change in mindset. Not sure if its my mentality or there’s but it happens. But as I begin to make friends in late 20s, those are people who are just going to be with (they say). But people don’t know, I will drop a friend like a bad habit. Well I don’t always drop bad habits. I will drop a friend like a spoiled avocado. I don’t care how old I am.

Back to the topic, I actually didn’t forget about it. 5 best friends. At one time.  When I think about 5 best friends, I think about 5 direct, intentional, assertive, present energies. Okay, let’s ponder that I have school and my 120 or so kids, their families, my own family and cousins and aunties and uncles, my old best friends, my yoga clients, my social media following, and me. Well more or less, I have all of these relationships. Cool. Yes. Now I am going to put my vibes into at least 5 people and be my very, very best around them. My VERY best. 

My best friends are different than any of those other people because they are not as confined to time. I won’t allow my students to call me super late crying about relationship issues or I won’t allow a yoga client to crash on my couch because they lost their job. I’m going to tend and help those folks out but within an allotted time. I check in on everyone regardless. But my BEST friends, you best believe 2am and couch are available, sometimes, I mean normally reluctantly.

And I as I get older and wiser, I want to be with folks and give me the energy back. I need it reciprocated. I want to be in debt to my friends because they’re that inspiring and heavenly to me. I talk about my best friends like they’re my All-Time starting 5 NBA lineup. I talk about them like they’re my favorite movie.

I hope as I continue with my journey in San Antonio those 5 (at the most) are cemented. I don’t have to have 5 but that’ll be cool. I am hoping they don’t feel pressured when they read this but maybe I want them too. Because that’ll make diamonds.

Me, You, and Ya' Momma Pt.1

I always thought it was important to check in with yourself and what you need on a daily basis. Or at least weekly. I am fully aware of the minus and plus that come with living on Earth as a young black man in the United States of America with two college-educated parents. I understand that is not normal and as well. 

As a child, I would be holler out "Hey dad" and he would holler back "Yes, son" with that in itself being a big flex.

The privilege I have to check in on myself, as I have been doing subconsciously through my journals since around 3rd grade has been above all things, terrifying. I lived in the suburbs my entire childhood, and I remember being terrified even to go asleep. 

9/11 happened, what if it a plane runs into our house? The DC sniper, what if he is waiting outside for me? What if I have a heart attack from all of this soul food by the age of 12? What if I never make it into the Justice League?

The world is huge, massive yet the world in itself is tiny, bite-sized compared to everything else. When I listened to the words of Carl Sagan talking about being a speck of dust on a speck of dust scientifically speaking, what do you do? Where do you grow from at that point? How is someone who was afraid of any and everything, supposed to develop into a semi-functional human. 

Where did any sort of eternal sustainable happiness come about after so much self-conscious, degrading thoughts that were proven to be true when life hit as an adult.

Maybe it is when I got to college and started meeting folks. Maybe it was when I went to Alaska for a summer and was isolated. Or maybe it was between Me, You, and Ya' Momma.

Before You Got Here

He said he got the hog maws, chitlins, collard greens, catfish, smoked turkey legs, ox tails smothered, suffocated, and strangled in gravy,

She got the homemade potato salad with the raisins in 'em with the Tostitos from Dollar General

And you wonder why someone may get cursed out so pleasantry and elegantly on Big Ma's back porch.

Momma' ain't raise no fool, but your momma is an astronaut and her head looks like a Psychonaut

Got elbows crisper than Uncle Leroy's 2 piece from Popeyes

Hey, I don't blame you I haven't been the same either since Jett Jackson died

And you wonder if she changed, but that's just the top layer

You was who you was

Before You Got Here.

I gotta' go to twerk-and-work at 6:53, because they little brown kids need a role model,

So why I'm STILL standing in the middle of a FedEx Kinko's on Christmas Eve.

But I ain't no buster, I still pulled up my sleeves and all I ask you is to call me when you get home.

She did Call, and she said "I HATE YOU JODY" 

Hello!

 Hello! 

I mean goodbye.

I was only here for a minute, so you can say hello to the "bad guy" since every protagonist needs an antagonist.

 I sent positive vibes your way, sweeter than some wild berry poptarts and cornier than a party-sized bag of Tostitos, hoping that a connection would last longer than Rondo's wingspan.

But now I'm sitting in a FedEx Kinko's parking lot, trying to update my resume after working at Dollar Tree for two weeks, wondering how this warm feeling in my tum-tum turned into rolly pollies.

I cried out, a more severe pain after I stub my toe on the coffee table, screaming louder than a theatre kid doing the 'Mr. Feanie' call. 

I only have a finite amount of "I Love You's" and when I say "I Love You" it 99% of the time means "I Love You", so "I Love You" but, eh, ya' know.

That's eternal sunshine but I guess suns explode eventually. Or maybe just dim out like the light in your eyes when you don't follow your childhood dreams and become numb.

Well, I thought about sending you the longest text message ever but I didn't. I just went for a run. I'll call later. Probably.

Goodbye!

I mean hello.

The Off-Season

The Off-Season is upon us. Two months of recalibration, remediation, relaxation, recovering or what have you. It's a time not to be taken lightly as expired sweet peppers and avocadoes sit patiently in my vegetable drawer, waiting for me to take them out behind the barn to end their misery. I was going to throw them out and clean out my fridge during the winter, but I had to get disfectant spray on layaway on the Dollar Tree. I'm definitely taking time now to reevaluate my close personal and professional relationships. My social, emotional, physical, spiritual simulations, needs, wants, and desires. As soon as I left school today, I felt that exhale finally happen like I was Loretta Devine trying out new swimsuits after a BBQ. I did get through the last school year with a relative smoothness but still fell into my vices quite easily, as they tend to send out false vibrations, playing with my emotions. I feel like for every 1 vice I have (let's call them Tom Cruises), I need about 10-15 positive things (let's call them Bill Murrays) to only REDUCE the effectiveness of the Tom Cruises. Not eliminate, just reduce. And not doing those vices isn't very helpful because then there's a fear I'll fall back into them and just dive deeply into it more when I get back to that level. I always come back to them, like a deadbeat dad after their son makes it to the NBA. For example: Tom Cruises: Overeating, Overdrinking, Maintaining a failed relationship, Undersleeping, Overexercising, Over Social-Mediaing, Not Drinking Enough Water, Ignoring Warning Signs of Anxiety, Saying Yes, Stealing disinfectant spary from the Dollar Treem, Not expressing Needs from a relationship because it's "inconvienent" Bill Murrays: Eating vegetables, checking in with friends, Hydrating, Running, Yoga, Meditating, Listening to (informational) podcasts, Calling parentseekly, Keeping up with my sleep pattern, Burning incense or sage, Getting/receiving hugs, Making my bed in the morning, Petting dogs, Cursing positive affirmations at my plants, Saying No, Writing this blog that only my mom and Dee reads, Listening to Hans Zimmer when I am doing mundane activities, Dancing awkwardly around people I love, High fiving people until their hands hurt, Making up secret handshakes with people, Knowing when to go home, Performing entries from this blog only my mom and Dee reads, (TBC) And I feel it more, ya' know? I feel this over indulgence as I round to my 28th birthday, I feel the uneasiness of it all. It's there and always ready to serve to medicate me but I needed to meditate. Yes there's Jon, Jonny, JODY, and Jonathan but there is really only one Jon. And I need to take care of him, I need to take care of me. Whether I am wearing a wig or not. And damn that fridge needed to be cleaned out so long ago So how does the Off-Season going to effect my Tom Cruise-Bill Murray conundrum this year? It won't unless I sent some intentions soon. Like right now. I think it's important to see everything from the lense on how it effects not only other people but me. It's all about me when it comes down to it. I came into this world with my parents, a brother, probably some white dude slapping me on sight, and oversized heads. But ultimate-ultimately I was alone. And I will die alone. My intro and outro. But that middle, juicy, meaty part between those things is where I get excited. I'm overworked, overanxious, underslept, sometimes more sad than not but I am here with a lot of joy and a lot of faith, which I need to extend to myself. I am and will continue to turn up. I don't have a choice in the matter. But I need to breathe. I need to slow down and be with myself and in this sh*t or I'm never going going to attain the 5th and final Jon. #savethetostitos

See How You Fly

"When I couldn't move, you showed me how to crawl. When I could walk, you showed me how to run. When I could glide, you showed me how to fly." Now see how they fly, from the mountains of Zion, roaring down the hillside, along the county lines, through Dollar General alleyways and flyways in the Mississippi where I saw Bobo and them earn their wings earlier than expected but were always accepted, But the King is dead, the tostitos are crumbled, and they tried to clip my wings. I howled that day for 3 summers and 4 winters, waiting for my chance at the throne and my seat at the table and I hobbled to Valhalla on one knee over 38 countries and 8,000 miles. I told them I was a humble knave, traveling along the piedmont for the past 13 years. And they told me "no" at the door like they worked for Fedex Kinkos. "No, no, no, no, no no" NO. I shook hands with Yahweh, consumed the blood of Christ, etched my body with ancient images, and I saw how they flew! I have done the spectacular and watched all 5 seasons of Living Single. What do you mean "no" I met the Oshun and she supplied with the ether and new bag of only a few crumbled Tostitos at the bottom. I asked "why" , they asked me "why would they let a knave fly" I told them "I can" They told me "if you can fly then you're not a knave. Walk first. Then Run. Glide. And THEN show me how YOU fly, King."

I Love You Too, Jo(h)n Whiting

 "Who am I becoming as a teacher?"

I love talking about myself. I mean I love talking about myself. I am a black man, college educated born from a middle class family who loved me who always seems to have something new to reflect on every two seconds. And it is lovely because I have been unpacking “who I am” since I was young JODY. But throughout middle school, the grade I have been teaching since 2017, has opened up a magnitude of suppressed memories and feelings throughout my entire life. More specifically, my career as a teacher.

I was a “B+” student in school; I did my work at a fairly high level, I loved to read, loved to learn new things, loved that I had two, hardworking college-educated parents, loved to earn and give respect to my teachers and colleagues. I was bullied higher than average in reference to my peers, as I attributed to my geeky yet shy personality. My middle school was a nice pool of diversity, with mixed socioeconomic status and sociocultural differences (until a new school opened up years later, making it a low SES). My friends included a band geek, basketball player, low achieving student, book lover, a physically handicapped friend, and mentally handicapped friend. Not plural but all singular, as I had one of each. School was good to me and I reciprocated those feelings.

I began journaling privately in 7th grade, as I started to find my identity amongst my peers. I loved talking and reflecting about everything in that journal.  I played basketball, loved reading, loved playing my bass clarinet; I loved doing hobbies. My parents continuously (somewhat forcibly) encouraged me to follow different pursuits and numerous activities and I even have somewhat of an interest in. I liked them but not necessarily loved them. But I wanted to know the how of everything due to my eagerness to try new things and learn new things from my peers.. This was an ideal that is now extremely important and relevant to me as a 27 year-old, as my amount of interests only increased as time went on. 

Fast forward to my college years, the same amount of energy came up. Wanting to know how things work and how I could possibly make the world a better place through education. I wanted to hold that space for folks who may not have a group they belonged too because I couldn’t find one either. College gave me this platform to finally be a facilitator of information for anyone who wanted to learn. I was a part of running club, clean-up club, gardening up, environmental science club, dance club; anything that would prescribe me this piece of mind of me finding this identity. But as I people found these loves and passions in college, I became discouraged. How was I going to find what I was looking for and become this high-level professional adult in my career?

My teaching career started primarily due to me trying to figure out what I wanted to do post-college life.  All of these skills and talents I had and learned from working as a biologist, tour guide, recreational assistant, etc. had gotten me nowhere. I did not know what to do with my college education and my vast amount of knowledge and experience for someone who was 22 years-old. And I went into my first year of teaching, tiptoeing and I got exposed. Heavily. Terribly. I wasn’t a trained teacher when I first walked into a room full of 7th graders. I was a scared 12 year-old who used to get bullied by EJ and them boy and only talked to a bunch of weirdos. Whether I was 5’3, 130 pounds or 6’4 200 pounds, I walked into my first year of teaching 7th grade like I walked in my first year into 7th grade, as 7th grader. And I cried a lot those first couple of years I taught. Not because of the kids, mostly because I had an identity crisis. If I love teaching and love these kids and can’t teach these kids then who else is going to do it? 

  So I continued to teach without any regards to my emotions to a point I was gently asked to leave my career. The career that exemplified all of amazing attributes was exemplifying all my insecurities. I didn’t know how to talk to 7th graders, I didn’t know how to talk to my black 7th graders. It’s because I was the kid who talked to all of my teachers or read during lunch break. I was not going all in with little bit of gas but constantly going full-speed. All I had to do was push it to a gas station and gently drive off. 

The feeling of not being the best or not fitting in was a common trend. Yes, I had a wave and pool of friends but I only chose those outliers who helped me learn that specific skill. Managing and holding a space for groups of people became a talent I didn’t know I had until my current year in teaching, as my culture-setting for each of my classes is now beautifully executed. My family is a big deal to me and rarely do I like something but I always love something. The glory and pain of failure is a driving force for me. All of the teasing and isolation really hurt me growing up, especially from my black peers, especially from peers that I know are hurting as well. Sometimes I took it too personally but I always knew that if someone made even the smallest attempt to connect with me, whether it be as a peer or as a teacher, they were going to have a safe space to be in. Even if it was only for 5 minutes at the bus stop.