Real Talk

To The Soul

It's one thing to fail from time to time. You just don't want to get good at it. However, it really hurts when you catch an L because of over confidence. You live, you learn, grow stronger, go harder, go longer...and never ever repeat such an error again.

Should We Quit Black History Month?

Posted by JuJuan Buford

Sike. Still, Black History Month has to be more.

Black History, the history of people of African descent, the journey, in this country, and throughout the world has to be more than just an assembly of facts.

Mark Twain’s literary classic, the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, should never, ever, never be edited. Why?

Black history is more than just an assembly of facts, but rather a narrative. Indeed, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. did have a dream, but why was his dream necessary? What was the context? Why was El-Hajj Malik Shabazz, known by most as Brother Malcolm X angry? By the way, was Malcolm really angry? What was the nightmare he spoke of, and why did his choice to articulate the strivings and inner thoughts of a lot, a whole lot of people of African descent so unsettling?

Why did Martin and Malcolm endeavors begin to mirror each other?

See, when you are familiar with the context… if you know the answers to these questions, it’s impossible to be fooled by those who would use King’s famous speech as an epitaph against Affirmative Action. The hypocrisy of speaking King’s name, while at the same time declaring war on the poor and less fortunate becomes readily apparent.

Why were George Washington Carver’s contributions significant? So what he created peanut butter (I’m being facetious)! Who were the Tuskegee Airmen? I read about a riot that occurred in Tulsa, Oklahoma back in 1921…a lot of people died, businesses were burned down to the ground, and some wealthy people found themselves pretty destitute when it was over.

Does it matter that Carver’s invaluable contributions to agricultural science flew in the face of those who argued that African Americans were intellectually inferior? Do our children need to know that the Tuskegee Airmen debunked not only misnomers regarding our intellect, but regarding our supposed inbred cowardice? Is it more amazing that many in this society still try to convince African Americans that they cannot run immensely successful enterprises and play by our own rules? Or is it more amazing that many of us believe we can’t? The existence of Black Wall Street has to be more than simply a fact.

Detroit.

How much time should families dedicate towards teaching their children that the history of mathematics began in Kemet, along the Nile Valley…and the people who lived there just happened to have some pretty dark hues. Mathematics. You know the basic underpinnings of scientific discovery and innovation. Yeah, black folks put that stuff down.

Our history, brothers and sisters, has to be about more than who won the last Soul Train, BET award for best recording artist. Our experience. Our contributions. Our narrative. Our story is so powerful, so phenomenal, so painful, so regal, so sad, so triumphant, and so astoundingly beautiful.

Michael Jackson really was bad.

Bad like, intelligent as hell. Bad like, competitive like Mike Tyson in his prime competitive. Bad like, one of the greatest artists in United States…no scratch that, world history. Mike was bad like, he understood the contracts he was signing, and made damn sure he wouldn’t go out like TLC or other… Michael will out earn Elvis Presley’s estate some day… believe it.

Artists are like activists… Do you know how much temerity it takes to step out and do you, all the while believing that others will love and believe in what you have to say, what you sing, or what you do? I had to say this, so that people understand that I do appreciate our musical contributions.

However, we have accomplished so much. We have the capacity to accomplish so much more. Unfortunately, until we begin to tell our story, our children will continue to behave as if they are born of concrete. We will continue to accept the criminalization of our neighborhoods by those who share our hues, and those that don’t. Our children will not understand why it is necessary to lift as we climb.

Consider the following quote by Frederick Douglass, “If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” I’ve seen people (some who are close to me) employ this quote in such nauseating ways. The words are empty if you ignore the context they are grounded in.

Douglass’s thought in its entirety: "If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom, and yet depreciate agitation, are men who want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightening. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters."

Black History has to be more than a random assembly of facts, or castrated quotes proliferated as chewy, sweet commodities for McDonalds commercials or folks who believe freedom is cheap. Our narrative is necessary because it is imperative that our children understand what this world owes people of African descent, what this country owes our ancestors, and most importantly, what we owe ourselves.

Not so random thoughts on Black History.

 

Detroit, Detroit....

posted by JuJuan Buford

I have mixed feelings about this commercial.

 

However, there's something about the spirit of it I couldn't resist. A common axiom is that if you can make it in New York or LA, you can make it anywhere. 

I unabashedly differ.  For better or worse, if you can make in D, the rest of the world is like a sweet bite of cheesecake.  

 

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy... I'm Hungry"

by JuJuan Buford

So the child, after consuming enough food to feed three adults in less than 6 hours, asks for more. So, after hearing "Daddy" on rapid fire repeat, I comply like any good parent would.

A plate of food is provided for the child. 

 

Then she proceeds to feed her shirt. I am the father of a shirt feeder. A shirt feeder! She feeds her shirt!

 

Is your Dream bigger than your Excuses?

by JuJuan Buford

Is your dream bigger than your excuses?

 It’s a real simple question really.

Can I be real?

How many times have you denied yourself? How many poor (passing over opportunities repeatedly) decisions have you made, because of temporal circumstances? How many times have you been distracted by what’s standing before your nose, the chatter of those who don’t have your solutions, or the fear (mythical excuses manifest in your mind), reacting repeatedly with the same responses expecting a different result (insanity), as opposed to responding?

And what does responding look like? The description is coming soon. This blog is already about to be too long.

See you have to embrace becoming, before you become. You have to be, before you become. A two-dollar mindset will be departed from a million dollar windfall.

This one is going to hurt. Remember that one? That one that really, really loved you; understood you, accepted you; no, no mater what? I'm just saying...what the fu#! were you thinking?

How many layoffs? How many periods of insecurity? Feelings of feeling trapped? See you can’t steal second base with one foot on first. Michael Jordan failed his way to the top. Cut from his high school basketball team. The Detroit Pistons (Deeeeeetroit!). Then there was the long hours in the gym, and than the decision.

Decide. Homicide. Suicide. Pesticide. You following? Something has to die. When you decide, something has to die.

See, the excuses have to die. The negative voices have to die. The deprecating self-talk has to die. Critics must die. The opinions of family who are more critical than supportive must die. The influence of friends who rather whisper on the side, as opposed to advocate or possibly even join (who owns gas stations in Detroit?) must die.

Those who critique and even diminish your personal development, because your finances haven’t caught up with your growth yet….because they fail to realize that the extent to which you become valuable to yourself, followed by those around you ultimately determines whether one achieves financial dependence as opposed to perpetual servitude. Or to keep it simple…sharecropping.

And yeah, you can borrow this. I did.

Smell the roses. Smell the roses. Let them Ridicule and Oppose. And smile when your success becomes Self-Evident. Ask anyone who has ever achieved. They knew well before the material became apparent.

But the excuses must die. Must f-ing die.

So what you’re tired. So what folks are criticizing and looking down upon you. So what, it’s difficult. So what, someone rejected you. So what, it’s snowing. So what, you have to do without that big screen television, that $1,000 hairdo, a couple nights at the bar, endure snickers, do without that one who supposedly loved you, but left you hangin…. (yeah, ima go there)… What makes any of this any different from any other day? Would you rather pay now or pay later?

You have all your life to fail. But in life… if you get it right once… it’s done. Just continue to get better. And it’s done! Imagine working because you want to. Imagine pursuing your passion without concern for how you’re going to pay the rent. Imagine your children receiving more yeses than nos. Imagine waking up one morning, dialing up your cadre or crew, and being like…let’s take a jet to St. Kitts. And they respond like, okay, but I gotta brush my teeth first. Whoa!

But in order to know the aforementioned… you have to decide. Make up your mind. Is your dream or your excuse bigger?

To live, doesn’t mean you are alive. Which is bigger?

What inspired this outburst? Nicki Minaj's "Moment 4 Life". Yes, Nicki Minaj. It's another entrepreneurs' anthem. Igore the ignance, and take in the spirit.

  

 

A Randy Savage Elbow for Christmas

by JuJuan Buford

It's amazing. Children truly believe their fathers are super heroes; totally impervious to pain or harm. So I'd just finished Christmas dinner and was taking a little nap. All of a sudden the air stands still. My daddy senses go off like alarms, but it's too late.

The child has launched herself from atop a cloths basket that stands a little over 2 feet tall, and drops a Randy Savage elbow on the back of my neck and shoulder.

 

Then as I rollover half dazed, she follows it up with a Hulk Hogan leg drop.

 

The assault completed, she sprints away to the dining room table for a glass of chocolate milk. Of course she would. I mean after such an exhibition of physical prowess, we'd all need a little sip to refreshen ourselves right?

You've got to be kidding me. Fatherhood.

 

 

Random Christmas Ruminations

By JuJuan Buford

Warning. This is not a reindeer story. It is free writing rant.

There are very few things I find more enjoyable than walking through the doors of a business concern in one of our communities. I can recall my last visit to Philadelphia like it was yesterday. A good friend of mine left me to my own devices, and I took a stroll. And I kept strolling.

It was exhilarating to walk block by block and see black enterprise in motion. A small grocery store here; a leather repair shop there; a small accounting firm, adjacent to a small law firm; then a book store…etc., etc.  Notice, I didn’t mention gas station, liquor store, church.

Some, particularly those who are especially, intellectually obtuse may inquire why is that something to get excited about? So, here we go. All of these business concerns were small businesses, probably employing between five to twenty individuals. Each enterprises probably generates between $150,000 and perhaps a 1.5 to 2 million dollars in gross revenues apiece. Let’s say the average income of the owners and employees spanning the couple blocks I commuted on foot was about $30,000 annually. Multiply 8 businesses times 5 employees times $30,000 and you get $1,2000,000.

At minimum.

The importance of the aforementioned estimation seems more telling when you spell it out: one point two million dollars in net income concentrated on a couple blocks.

The neighborhoods that I traced across were not rich by any stretch of the imagination. I didn’t see Cadillac Escalades, Hummers, and Mercedes Benz emblems populating the driveways. No, check that, sidewalks. Philly doesn’t have driveways.

However, they were wealthy. Those neighborhoods were solvent. When the children walked down the street they saw African American adults taking agency over their lives, employing those in the community, and most importantly…they saw options.

No doubt many of them probably had jobs, and were simply scratching out enough time to run their independent businesses on the side. That’s the most practical way to do it, in the beginning.

When I looked in their eyes I saw determination, not desperation. One of them told me, “this is how you pimp the system.” I thought to myself, so true so true.

The system wants us to drop out, because prison labor is just another name for slave labor. They want us to wallow around hoping for one of those good paying jobs, whereas we can demonstrate our loyalty by committing 40 hours a week, for 40 years of our lives, and live off of 40 percent less than what was barely endurable at 100%. And then whimper when the lights get turned out just after you’ve bought that new house; ran up $30,000 in credit card debt (you have to furnish the house right!), and you’ve bought that new Cadillac.

Then of course comes the begging for some white knight (for some it’s Santa Claus) to do the right thing. You know whom I’m talking about. Santa DTE. Santa American Home & Loan (fictitious name), Santa U.S. Government, etc,….

People did we not learn the lessons from Katrina?  People this is capitalism, with a little racist icing to add some extra flavor.

Yes, it is Christmas. And indeed, there is so much to be thankful for. After all, Jesus is the reason for the season. And if you’re not Christian, that’s ok too. Any opportunity to spend a little more time with family, friends, and food is definitely something to be thankful for.

And considering the aforementioned, after folks are done herding themselves into and around store counters to spend their precious currency on stuff that will depreciate as soon as it’s scanned… save a little. And dedicate a small portion of it to an idea, an entrepreneurial pursuit, or a book about becoming financially independent.

Trust, I believe Jesus will be glad you did it. Oh, I know, you gotta pray on it, eh?

Right after you scarf down some more turkey and greens, and begin stressing out about how you’re going to pay for all of this isshttt. 

Question? Did you pray before you sprinted into Target? Perhaps you should have.

Remembering Jody Watley

by JuJuan Buford

The lady in the previous post reminded me of someone. It was nagging on me all day. Then I remembered Ms. Jody Watley. Wow.

 

 Now I'm really upset with that knucklehead.

 

 
 

Why Can't Black Men & Women Get it Together?

by JuJuan Buford

You know what? I don't know. I'm not and don't pretend to be an expert on happy, martitable (is that a word?) relationships. Unfortunately, I can testify more to not what to do, then how African American men and women can get it together.

The divorce rates. The numbers of men and women who have forsaken marriage or long term relationships altogether.... There's no need to review the stats. They are depressing, and depressing and merlot don't go well together.

So why even bother reflecting on this topic? A mature lady with some of the most alluring lips and hips, a stride that no doubt induces men to trip over the crack on the sidewalk, and a way about her that demanded immediate respect shared a piece of her mind with me today. She was very married, and painfully coquettish. CEO of her office and junior partner of her household. Those were her words.

Sista shared that men and women today don't know how to empathize, compromise... don't know how to shut the F up, stop trying to win, and just love on each other. As she shared her perspective a brother passed by straight up booming some of the most vitriolic, misogynist isshttt I've heard in a while. Honestly. I thought to myself you f-ing hater... the magic dissipated... long gone. The frown on her face spoke a million words.

As I drove to my next destination, I listened to the songs (the same lame ass songs) on the radio and thought to myself... dag even our music reinforces this nonsense. I couldn't help but to reflect on Fantasia. Yes, Fantasia. I mean Jill Scott's "He Loves Me" will forever be my favorite love ballad of all time. I mean I don't typically take an interest in Sista's 200 and over... but Jilly from Philly? That song? Rules can be broken after listening to that track.

Still the following lyrics capture something for me. The homage to HipHop and love just resonates right for me.

Cant see me
Without you by my side
So many reasons why
I'm your girl and your my guy
Your all i need
All i need to get by
Like method man and mary blige
You don't have to wonder why.

Fantasia Barrino - "Only One U"

I tell you what I do know. If you have a winner, don't take it for granted. It's a cold world out here. And don't believe the bullishhtt. You let too many get away, and you might be dealing with runaway loves for the rest of your life. And if you don't know what a runaway love is, check a poet out on a Tuesday night at Kuumba's Cove, and MoBettaBluez will break it down for yah.

 

 

 

 

See What's Wrong With America?!

by JuJuan Buford

See what happens when you mess with Europeans' educational opportunities. You catch Ls that's what happens. You catch Ls buddy.

They straight riot on you. Open up a can of whupa%$ on you. See if U.S. citizens behaved like this, every child would receive a top flight education. Ls buddy.

 Ls dammit!

  

 

For real though, check out this New York Times article. It's interesting.

What is Commitment?

By JuJuan Buford

 

So what is commitment?

It’s the decision to persevere long after the excitement has dissipated; after the warm fuzzy feelings have evaporated; after the sun sets and the horizon fades. It’s a walk of faith. It’s a decision to continue the journey, when there is a paucity of evidence; an acknowledgement in something greater than yourself; more salient than the limited scope of your eyesight, your fear, and your anxieties.

It’s a decision. In life, business, and love: commitment is what is required to achieve or experience greatness.

Think about it. Did not Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. opine, that he may not live to see the day when people would be judged by the content of their character as opposed to the hue of their skin. At a time when there was little reason to believe that we would ever know a POTUS by the name of Barack Hussein Obama; King committed.

The 16^th POTUS lost 13 elections. Thirteen! He lost a wife, suffered from mental issues, and was a huge failure as a businessman. Abraham Lincoln.

So much has been made of the extent to which forced bondage (slavery) destroyed any semblance of love bondage between African American men and women. Those who believe such nonsense have never read the testimonies of men who under the cover of night sprinted miles and miles after being sold down the river to see their loved ones.

Commitment.

The reason why Brother Malcolm died for us; the glue that holds together marriages that last 40 years plus; why Thomas Edison (he didn’t invent the light bulb) was able to help to create an instrument (the network) that brought us the light bulb; the reason why a basketball player by the name of Jordan, after being cut by his high school team proceeded to become the GOAT.

In its absence, there is confusion, uncertainty, and doubt. You can’t build a business without it. You can’t build a legacy without it. Love is an empty promise without it. Commitment drives one to continue after innumerable setbacks, wrong turns, and mistakes. Its best friends are humility and faith.

It’s the undying love of a parent. It’s the willingness to travel 40 miles on foot just to experience her smile, the feel of her skin, and to know her embrace. It is her willingness to wait. It is the unflinching determination of a human being with a vision to create.

Absent it, any type of relationship to anything is simply a thread bear lie.

It’s a decision to decide. Kinda like a homicide. A suicide. Insecticide. When you commit, other options, alternatives, and ideas other than what you have committed to dies.

 Still wondering what commitment is?   

Regrets Happen

by J.S. Buford

In life we all come to terms with regrets. A moment of indecision. That special someone that got away. Heaven help those who repeat this error. Times when temporal circumstances were allowed to cloud out life long pursuits, love, or timeless moments. Regrets happen.

And yes, some cost a lot more than others. A lot more. So get your mind right. Allow yourself to dream. Let your actions be determined by your core directives, and your core directives be predicated upon a vision of a life filled with laughter, good conversation, good touching, loving relationships, and liberation.

Don’t be lazy about it. You gotta stretch a little. There’s no growth in your comfort zone. Nothing in life is stagnant.

Yep, we all have the choice to live lives of regret, or lives of satisfaction. Regret doesn't have to be a state of being, but rather a momentary lapse in judgment (none of us is perfect), along fulfillment road.

A Moment in Time

I'll never forget the moment I heard this song on the radio.

I found myself feeling the need to be still for a period of like 30 minutes. There's not words to describe it.

And this song came on. Sometimes you just need that something at a moment in time. I can do without all the posing, but the song is beautiful.

The Weight Is On Us, Black Men

By J.S. Buford

“The weight is on us, because the answer is in us.”

Unknown

A number of weeks ago, while taking a coffee break… Who am I kidding? I stopped at a coffee shop to straight up squeeze in about twenty more dials before my next appointment. An elder entered the shop and took a seat adjacent to me, and as a courtesy and acknowledgment of each other we exchanged a head nod upon eye contact.

As I was scheduling appointments and firming up commitments, I happened to look out the window a family of five caught my attention as they headed towards the entrance. A young lady, accompanied by a younger girl, and three little children scampering to and from filled the place with commotion. The young lady appeared to be 23 at the most, but her eyes were old. I gathered from their banter that the younger girl was her sister, and the three children were hers. They looked rough. The kind of rough that strips children of their childhood, living lives dealing with adult stress despite being just babies.

I thought to myself, what the hell.

See I’m an academic at heart, afflicted with a condition of perpetual curiosity. I’ve read damn near all the books, given innumerable speeches, initiated and participated in numerous mentorship programs and community awareness functions, etc., etc., etc. I’ve tasted it, and observed good part of it from the front porch. I’ve seen it go down. And today, I didn’t want to strain my cerebral cortex, nor did I want to hear a dissertation regarding the conditions that plague the African American community. I wanted the truth, not intellectual postulations. I wanted wisdom.

Instinctively, the elder turned to me, undoubtedly reading the irritation, rage, shame, empathy, and love I have for our community, despite my usual stoicism. I inquired, “Sir, what in the hell is going on?” and without a second thought he replied, “the weight is on us, because the answer is in us.”

Black men, the answer is in us.

I listened alot, and pondered his words even more. He spoke to the myriad vices, over indulgences, and materialistic fetishes that garner so much of the attention of too many: Nintendo super, X-Box, Hennessy, marijuana, sexual exploits, jewelry, drugs, gym shoes, clubs, television, etc., etc., the list could go on and on.

The weight is on us, because the answer is in us.

All these distractions. The things that too many adorn themselves with and expend inordinate amounts of time pursuing, rather than making themselves more valuable. And in turn, being facilitators of a rising tide within our communities. Ever wonder why the aforementioned things are so accessible in urban communities where the supermajority of black men lay their heads. Is it happenstance? Those of us who know our history, know better.

These distractions are tantamount to tranquilizer. Black men have been put to sleep.

The statistics are clear as day. Black men are under, constant, attack, constantly. Black men, nor any human, have a monopoly on violence, crime, and nihilistic behavior. You find me an underdeveloped community, crippled by intergenerational poverty, poor educational systems, and a paucity of opportunities to generate income, and regardless of race, you’ll see how people behave when subjected to inhumane conditions. Yet, black men are criminalized overtly, denied opportunities, and caricatured with startling efficiency.

Perhaps what’s even more distressing is that whether on purpose or not, our own community is often the progenitor of the most debilitating psychological abuse (but that’s another article for another time). Dr. Carter G. Woodson’s “The Mis-Education of the Negro” makes it plain.

Black men, the weight is on us, because the answer is in us.

The weight. The pressure. The stress. The constant attack on our sense of manhood, and accompanying sense of self worth hasn’t ceased. It’s hard as hell out here. Make no doubt about it. The slights. The subtle references and treatments; hard in a way that only men understand.

Commitment is love.

But we must commit to being creators of opportunities and freedom, rather than beasts of burden. We must commit to being builders of our communities as opposed to being tormentors. Do you really believe that all our swag, muscular arms and backs, our defiant spirits, our intellect, and quick wit were intended to inflict damage upon ourselves?

Love is commitment.

You will face resistance. Often from those who share our hue, because the decision to commit will require that you tread against the tide. Those who profess to love us may abandon and ridicule you…there will be pain.

But how would it be any different then the lives of restriction, broken dreams, feelings of hopelessness and frustration, and acceptance that too many suffer with in silence. False bravado doesn’t feed children nor does it bring value to others lives.

Try, do, repeat. Try, do, repeat. Try, do, repeat. Try, do, repeat. Try, do, repeat. Again, and again, and again, and again. Again. Again. Again. Again! Again!!! Then teach someone else to do the same.

Black men, the weight is on us, because the answer is in us.

Choose to be a player, rather than a spectator. Because make no doubt about it, the game of life doesn’t have a pause button. Our communities are waiting for us, crying for us, begging for us, pleading for us…. to be leaders. Those annoying, grating, disconcerting screams you are hearing are a clue, to summon the strength, courage, resilience, and intellect that we are blessed with, and lead.

The weight is on us, because the answer is in us.

You can’t save time. You can only spend it.

Chris Malloy

No Guarantees

by J.S. Buford

It rains on the just and unjust alike. You can give your best, break your bones, change your religion, purge your soul... A minute too early or too late, and you miss it. A move too far to the left or to the right, and you overlook it.

You can pour your heart into someone, something, a vision, or belief, make the pursuit, bear the blame and weight with dignity in the face of pain, being under appreciated, or simply dismissed.

Life is not a Forest Gump movie.

It just may not work out the way you planned. You might not get the girl. Your endeavor may never come to fruition. You may cast your pearls, but some folks just won't ever appreciate the value.

However, if you're ever going to win. If you're ever going to know love. Know success. Know what it is to be appreciated or fulfilled, you have to try, try, and try again. Because that's life. That's living.

It's the journey that both reveals and consummates.

And when you are stripped down to your being. Pride gone. Bones broken. You just can't bleed anymore. You realize that your currency of love is no longer valued. Right when your passion for what ever it is you are driving for seems to dissipate.... Know that you are valuable, beautiful, born divine.

Keep moving.

When you arrive people will be different. Your surroundings will be different. The prism, the lens, the viewpoint will be different. Because you will be different. Focus on growth, embrace the change, accept that sometimes you have to cry before you smile. If you do so, you will be able to revel in not only the fact that you are different, but so much more improved.

And remember. Remember. God is in your pain.

What if.....Detroit?

by J.S. Buford

What if Mayor Dave Bing’s administration actually had and executed a plan for the city that spurred and supported small business development? You know, cut the bureaucracy, rewarded ingenuity, and aided small businesses with the potential to become mid cap or large cap organizations. What if?

What if City Hall enacted a series of policies that made it so nauseating for slumlords and owners of vast plots of land and dilapidated property, that they simply left the keys and the deeds on the front porch or in the dilapidated entrance? What if?

What if the media parrots and pundits actually accepted the fact that they are not the deal? Obviously, because if you were, we would cease to elect folks who embarrass, steal from us, lack integrity, and are seemingly too incompetent to open a cereal box. How about you shut your trap and listen for once, because its obvious you are not as knowledgeable about choosing good people as you think you are. What if?

What if pseudo black nationalist who run around shouting black power, were forced to actually take responsibility, act with a sense of agency, deliver services, opportunity, and security to the residents. You know deliver real empowerment as opposed to blaming the man; considering it's oxymoronic to pursue power, but blame others for what happens to you. What if?

Is the man really responsible for babies’ futures being literally blown away by bullets; elders too afraid to step off their front porch; the politicians you promote playing the residents like a game of Grand Theft Auto? What if?

What if Detroit’s citizens voted? Voted! Rather than allow the same miniscule percentage of knuckleheads who vote to continue to choose these domestic abusers who continue to deliver nothing. Nothing! Look at the city. Do you know the top vote getter for the Detroit Public School Board only secured approximately 40,000 votes? What if?

What if more of us read 10 pages a day? 10 pages. Thirty minutes out of 24 hours for those us who aren't speed readers. That’s 3600 plus pages a year. That is 10 to 15 books per year. How much more informed and prepared would we be? What if?

What if people stopped making excuses for former Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick? Yep, I said it. He did what he did behind closed doors. So what? However, his actions outside closed doors cost the city money, diminished its reputation, and caused greater rifts. Bottom line. Stop with the negritude. What if?

What if Black folks held ourselves to a higher standard regardless of how white, Chinese, Jewish, Latino, Martians, or any other type of folks conduct themselves...because we love ourselves that much; regard ourselves that much; respect ourselves that much? When did it become ok to accept corruption, abuse, and mediocrity because others do it? If monkeys start jumping off the Ambassador Bridge, are you going do it too? No? It makes no sense, eh? What if?

What if Detroit’s artists (poets specifically) blazed mics so hard regarding how low our community has fallen that the whole world stopped to listen. Then turned around and sparked a black arts movement that was so hot that it transformed the consciousness of the residents? Now I’ll buy that for only 10 dollars! What if?

What if Detroiters demanded today? Today! Demanded a good public school system; safe streets, job opportunities; lower car insurance rates; manicured, clean streets; and a real plan for small business development. And if it wasn’t delivered before the end of the business day, did a recall on all elected officials without exception? Think things would change the tomorrow after? Better believe it. What if?

What if churches were forced to prove that 50% percent of their revenues were actually invested back into the community? What if?

What if Detroiters embraced the African community, and asked a couple simple questions? How can we make money together? What do Africans need overseas? What do Africans have that we don’t have, to sell over here? What if?

What if we erected a modern day Tuskegee Institute in the middle of the city, given that the academic halls of a University of Michigan per se is not for everybody, but learning a trade, being productive, being able to bring value to people’s lives absent a job, allows one to make a living?...bad economy or not. What if we did a better job of publicizing the fantastic job WCCC is doing? What if?

What if we stopped accosting black men psychologically? And really addressed the problem. Here’s a couple solutions – YMCA, JOBS, JOBS, football and baseball leagues, etc., etc.,.... And for you grandiose more religious than now assholes, if you played the tune (change your tune, not your message) that kids like they would come. Then you could hit them with what we need them to hear. What if?

What if entrepreneurship was stressed moreso, as opposed to the 40/40/40 plan? You know what I’m talking about. Go to school to get a good job, work 40 hrs a week, for 40 years of your life, to live off 40% less income than you were barely making it on in the first place. How’s that working out for most Americans right now? What if?

What if children were educated all year long in Detroit, like they are overseas? Any one heard of something called the global economy? What if?

What if Detroiters elected folks to the City Council with urban planning experience, a couple of policy wonks (straight up so nerdish they can’t interact in groups larger than three), coupled with at least two former city administrators who understand the deficits and waste within city government; sprinkled in a business owner and an attorney; Detroiters voted; and they won? What if?

What if an initiative was launched by City Hall in partnership with the Detroit Public Library to reverse the illiteracy rates in the Detroit? What if?

What if?

It would be a good start, eh.

Who You Calling A Deadbeat?! - Part VI

by J.S. Buford

greetings. thank you for including her medication, as i was preparing to inquire why they weren't forwarded last week tuesday. i spoke with her teacher two weeks ago concerning her graduation, and will insure that she is properly prepared.

in terms of her hair. touch up? you and your family have been neglecting our daughter's hair for months now, among other things. are you really going to force me to go in court and produce the photos that i have been recording. i'll do her hair as i have been doing, in a style that will accommodate her graduation cap.

dresses? she leaves with dresses that i've purchased her, and the dresses don't return. t-shirts, jeans, sweats... those things return. expensive jewelry and dresses... these things don't return. we'll make due.

apologies.

you are well aware of the fact that i have no interest in your apologies. i have been contending with gutbucket behavior for years... years. your words won't find audience here.

what i do have an interest in is being able to father our daughter peaceably. what i have an interest in is being able to spend time with our daughter, love her, and care for her absent disruptions and unnecessary stress. what i have an interest in is our daughter being able to grow up free of the conflict that is constantly being stoked.

what i have an interest in is you abandoning selfish, self serving ambitions and putting her first.

how many years must this continue? seriously. don't you have better things to do? would it not be easier to just let whatever you are harboring go? wouldn't you be so much happier? wouldn't our daughter be so much better off?

save your apologies. pray. go to counseling..... do whatever you have to do. set aside the acrimony and practice harmony. my only interest is fathering her? is that so bad? a father who loves and wants to father his daughter? is that not worthy of a small modicum of respect... enough for you to simply allow our daughter to know the love of her father without years of this.

and as an aside. father's day is approaching. please, find it within your heart, or pretend, not to disrupt father's day too.

jb

And next time you find the audacity to utter the aforementioned words, think about it, think about “Who You Callin a Deadbeat Daddy!?”

Shit Happens

by J.S. Buford

Shit happens. It just does. No use questioning why it happens; anticipating when it's going to happen; how it's going to happen... it happens.

People get fired everyday. Entrepreneurs get rejected daily. Business owners know better than most that failure and success are not strange bedfellows. Cars break down. People get divorced. Someone's little precious son or daughter is going to deliver some life altering news about pregnancy today. The pipes burst, the toilet upchucks, a big gaping hole opens up in your roof, during one of the hardest down pours of the summer. It happens.

Think about it.

Someone's husband is giving someone else's wife one hell of a spit shine right this moment.

It's going down. Believe!

One of my personal favorites: someone's baby's drama momma is expending a considerable amount of energy, trying to spread as much misery as possible. Never mind the child. Ha!

And if Essence or some other mag publishes another article questioning where are all the black fathers, I'm going to produce a reply so scathingly, honest and brutal hundreds of babies’ drama mammas’ mammas are going to turn in their graves.

It happens.

Indeed, it seems God just desires to know how bad you want it, just to see if you deserve it. The real question is what are you going to do about it?

You can go on a bloodthirsty rampage, eh? Most likely won't end well though. You can spend your time cursing the sun, the stars, the moon, and the seas too. You can give in? A friend of mine once opined, you better have an agenda for yourself, or someone else will impose an agenda upon you, and you might not like it.

Or you can get up, slap the dust off, brush the dirt off your shoulder, and commit to your dreams all over again. You'll never hit the ball if you don't take a swing. Think about it, baseball players get paid millions of dollars to miss seven times out of ten.

The bottom line is that your value is directly related to your willingness to seek solutions, solve problems, and your capacity to overcome. If success, happiness, and financial independence was easy, babies' drama mammas would have to relocate to somewhere between Pluto and a horses's ass.

Seriously though. Choose to believe in yourself. Choose to embark upon a journey of satisfaction, transcendence, and appreciation. The world needs you to. And you need you to too.

One Foot On First

by J.S. Buford

You can't steal second base, with one foot on first. People say they want it. But very few are willing to pay the price.

The difference between those who succeed, achieve, and transcend is typically, and simply a matter of belief. We all wake up with the same 24 hours a day to work with, mold, to seize the moment. No one has a monopoly on hardship, though some are bit more fortunate than others. On the other hand how many have emerged from the harshest circumstances to live lives of satisfaction?

Some live their lives looking for evidence that isshtt is going to fail. For them stumbling blocks are simply reaffirmations of worse things to come. At times these same people will straight defecate in your cereal if you let them. I mean straight up squat in your face, right when you are really getting get in.

Some live their lives as if every second is ripe with opportunity. They look for evidence of success, are buoyed by wellsprings of joy (it's an internal thing), and hone in on the bricks around them as they erect their testimonies. When you see them, you know it because it's as if they're operating in another universe most of the time. It's called vision.

Ever read the testimonies of those who have achieved their dreams. Whether it be in business, health and fitness, spiritual edification, love....? Ever hear of fellow by the name of Abraham Lincoln? How about Hilary Swank? Michael Jordan? Steve Jobs? No?

Guess which mindset tends to win. The mind is an interesting thing, eh?

Some things are just like that. You just got to get it all the way in. Pour it all out. There's no time table. There's no guarantees you'll win. But, one thing is for certain... you have all your life to lose. Most people spend all their lives losing, and losing, and losing and losing.

Yep. You can't steal second base, with one foot on first. No matter how much you attempt to rationalize, believe the rules don't apply to you,... it just ain't gonna happen. People say they want it. But very few are willing to pay the price.

Are you?

Who You Calling A Deadbeat - Part V

by J.S. Buford

Some voices just capture the sentiment better than others.

OUTKAST

Ms. Jackson

[Andre 3000]
Yeah this one right here goes out to all the baby's mamas, mamas...
Mamas, mamas, baby mamas, mamas
Yeah, go like this

[CHORUS (Andre 3000):]
I'm sorry Ms. Jackson (oh)
I am for real
Never meant to make your daughter cry
I apologize a trillion times
I'm sorry Ms. Jackson (oh)
I am for real
Never meant to make your daughter cry
I apologize a trillion times

[Big Boi]
A baby drama mama, don't like me
She doing things like having her boys come from her neighborhood
To the studio trying to fight me
She need to get a, piece of the American pie and take her bite out
That's my house, I disconnect the cable and turn the lights out
And let her know her grandchild is a baby, and not a paycheck
Private schools, daycare, shit, medical bills, I'll pay that
I love your mom and everything, see I ain't the one who laid down
She wanna rip you up, start a custody war, my lawyer stay down
She never got a chance to hear my side of the story we was divided
She had fish fries and cookouts
On my child's birthday I ain't invited
Despite it, I show her the utmost respect when I fall through
All you, do is defend that lady when I call you, yeah

[CHORUS]

[Andre 3000]
Me and your daughter
Got a special thang going on
You say it's puppy love
We say it's full grown
Hope that we feel this
Feel this way forever
You could plan a pretty picnic
But you can't predict the weather, Ms. Jackson

Ten times out of nine, now if I'm blind fine
The quickest muzzle throw it on my mouth and I'll decline
King meets queen, then the puppy love thing, together dream
Bout that crib with the Goodyear swing
On the oak tree, I hope we feel like this forever
Forever, forever, ever, forever, ever?
Forever never seems that long until you're grown
And notice that the day by day rule can't be too long
Ms. Jackson my intentions were good I wish I could
Become a magician to abracadabra all the sadder
Thoughts of me, thoughts of she, thoughts of he
Asking what happened to the feeling that her and me
Had, I pray so much about it need some knee, pads
It happened for a reason one can't be, mad
So know this, know that everything is cool
And yes I will be present on the first day of school, and graduation

[CHORUS]

[Big Boi]
Uh, uh, yeah
"Look at the way he treats me", shit, look at the way you treat me
See your little nose ass home girls got they ass up in the creek G
Without a paddle, you left the straddle and ride this thing on out
And then you and this girl ain't speaking no more 'cause my dick all in her mouth
Know what I'm talking about, jealousy, infidelity, envy
Cheating, beating, and to the G's they be the same thing
So who you placing the blame on, you keep on singing the same song
Let bygones be bygones, you can go on and get the hell on
You and your mama

The World Needs You

by J.S. Buford

The world needs you. Needs you more than you could ever realize.

You are unique, blessed, and excellent in your design. Consider the innumerable souls unborn, their life force never manifesting in conception; those that will never be born; and those that won’t make it. Those whose laughter will never echo throughout the cosmos. Those who will never know the warmth of the sun, or the patter of rain drops.

The world. It hungers for you to achieve a life of satisfaction and fulfillment. It’s crying out for you. Life is not happenstance, accidental, nor incidental. And therefore, neither are You. You are truly divine. We all are.

Divine.

But, programmed for failure. The spirits of hopelessness, disease, fear, and dejection are relentless; opportunistic tormentors of us all. They abound. Seeking to strip of you of your imagination, belief, and vision. Distract you. Infectious they are, slipping into our temples, holding souls hostage, employing people as platforms of dissonance and disturbance.

And it is so imperative that you succeed despite them.

Yes, it will be difficult. They will attempt to dissuade you, put you down, blemish and dismiss you, even destroy you… But they require your complicity to succeed. Therefore, they will attempt to convince you to shrink and quiver, find comfort in mediocrity, replace your dreams with thoughts of practicality, and slip into a life of casual acceptance and compromise.

Therefore, beware. People are good. And most don’t serve these spirits purposely. However, people don’t know what they don’t know.

And the world needs you to remember. Remember you are powerful, transcendent, beautiful, talented and inspirational. Designed for excellence. Yes… to be excellent. And thus gifted with all you need to be what you are intended to be.

Still, nothing worth having is seldom accomplished comfortably. If you want to run faster, become stronger, more resilient, lift more, push harder, become more muscular, You have be willing to be torn. You have to appreciate the burn. Even fail.

Time and time again.

However, failure is a trickster. A verb, not a state of being. Failure sprints to and from, grinning all along. It invites you, holding in one hand pain and discomfort, taunting you to receive more, pat you on the butt, courting you all the while to lie down. And should you decline to lie, you’ll discover in its other hand growth, progress, and wisdom. The abundance of action.

And the world so needs you. Needs you to choose action. Needs you to choose a life of satisfying actions. To chose becoming. And never stop becoming the manifestation of your divine self. A progenitor of prosperity and inspiration. Needs you to be a beacon. Irrefutable. A liberator. The world so needs you to never stop becoming.

The world is watching you. Their tiny little hands and feet mimic and their eyes are fixated upon you. And all the while others are trying to dim their light. Instruct them what they don’t deserve, what they can’t do. Inject skepticism, envy, ignorance, disillusion, blotting out their light.

They are resilient. Waiting for you. Beckoning for you. Their arms outstreched. The world needs you. So desperately to choose. Choose satisfaction. Liberation. Needs you to pursue your divine purpose. Needs you to adopt a philosophy of now.

Needs you to be urgent and present. The world needs you. It can't wait. You can't wait. The world needs you.

Being in Love

by J.S. Buford

Strike up a conversation about love and you’ll find that everyone has an opinion. The aphorisms too numerous to numerate, some beautiful and others crass, and depending on the lens all seem to carry a degree of truth.

One of my favorites…to love someone who does not love you is like shaking a tree to make dewdrops fall. It’s one of the most poetic and truest adages I’ve ever heard. So poignant and subtle. Still, it does have one flaw.

It’s myopic.

For the reality of the matter is, loving anyone and falling in love especially, is truly like shaking a tree to make dewdrops fall. The reason being love doesn’t care about circumstances, who deserves, right or wrong.

We do.

It’s a shame that so few of us are willing to be open and honest about that one undeniable truism. Seems someone always has to assign blame. No doubt, there are times when admitting one’s fault is appropriate. Just don’t blame love.

Like many things, love is about the little things. It’s as delicate as a dream. There’s a thin, thin line between a successful relationship and one that fails. Love is precise, yet simple.

Love is a choice. A mindset.

It can intensify, enhancing the focus. Time becomes pregnant with possibility. For two people who genuinely love each other, things become urgent. Each moment is an opportunity to learn more, delve deeper, and peel back the layers. It’s also a dangerous time though, for this period is often characterized by walking with eyes wide shut.

Some truly sinister ishhttt can happen. There are the eaters of hearts. And there are the addicts. Those whom under the guise of love reel you in and at the first sign of trouble, kamikaze you without a bit of shame.

However, let’s assume that parties are of sound mind, and have good hearts. Love imbues excitement, even feelings of inebriation. If left alone to do its work, it imprints. Envelops the heart and if conditions are right, it metastasizes. Now that’s dangerous.

Let’s just say, I don’t know of a single relationship that’s lasted between adults, that has not involved some unreported incident of… how can we say this delicately. Passionate disputes. Sometimes things get thrown, including people. Yet it thrives despite the most tremendous of hardships because love unfettered, engenders acceptance and respect for the person whom you have decided will be the one.

It’s an emotion that enhances the focus (and the aim) like no other. Those of us who know, often regard it with consternation because time has shown over and over again that deserve has little to do with it. Two people can genuinely love each other, have great intentions, and be right for each other.

And things can quickly go terribly wrong. Why? Well, love doesn’t care about circumstances, who deserves, right or wrong.

But we do.

As surely as love unveils the best of us, it can highlight the warts just as vividly as the dimples. And being the prideful animals we are (and at times wholly irrational despite how smart we may think we are), we begin to rationalize it. Make it complicated. Someone feels like they are more deserved. It’s the worse, because nothing makes another feel unappreciated than being told that their contribution is less than, or less valuable, when they are pouring all of their being out. Birds begin to chirp in the background, and now love becomes more of an exercise in logic. Scripted. It’s no longer about discovery, but mining for reason to believe in continued drudgery.

Impatience mixed with self-righteousness, a tad of anger, coupled with feelings of under appreciation. Allow to simmer. Then boil. There it is.

Resentment.

Soon conditions and ultimatums are introduced. Every breath and movement is scrutinized as if the sum of the whole can be determined by the splinter of the moment.

Pride.

Love pressed through the grater of rationality begins to resemble a dream deferred, burnt up by the bright light of distrust, frustration, and feelings of being underappreciated, begins to dry, become increasingly brittle, and all is required is one more strike before it withers away. Parties are no longer willing to listen. Eventually there is the clinching of fist and the throwing up of hands. And it’s over.

Being in love is like shaking a tree to make dewdrops fall. For in reality, love doesn’t care about circumstances, who deserves, right or wrong.

We do.

Then there is the moment of truth. Do you pursue it anyway?

Who Needs the News?

by J.S. Buford

Watching the news has never been so nauseating. It is absolutely ridiculous how one can simply change stations and feel like they’re living in a parallel universe. It’s gotten to the point, whereas regardless of your political leanings or orientation, you have to be insulted.

Fox News is absurd. It is a propaganda machine that appeals to the lowest common denominators: fear, rage, and prejudice. Oh, let me not be too critical…the machine does offer a convenient transition to Maxim Magazine. Kerry Washington. Kerry Washington. Kerry Washington. Kenya Moore.

MSNBC is mildly entertaining, if only because it’s obvious their talent has a little more brainwave activity going on in their cerebral cortexes. Still you can only remix rants at the right so much, before it gets tired. There’s still of course the daily dose of crime, violence, and mayhem (strategically) delivered by a few broadcasters that might inspire some less evolved men to linger ten minutes longer than usual. Morning Joe offers a bit of redemption.

CNN. In their effort to remain neutral, they report on little of real import on the ground level. Very rarely will any real analysis be offered. Here’s a programming idea. How about CNN assign a couple staff members to travel to all the major metropolitan centers – the crumbling and flourishing alike – and report back which cities offer the greatest prospects for small business development?

After all small business development is the lifeblood of our economy,eh?

And then focus on the why and what they are doing. Tell their stories of failure and transcendence. Explore how they are changing the landscape in their local environs, and highlight those that have the potential to change industry at large.

Wouldn’t that be interesting? Wouldn’t that be inspiring? Oh, and fellas, your welcome.

Take It Till it Hurts

by J.S. Buford

Today I find myself reflecting on the laments a young brother shared with me a short while ago regarding love. Why? Perhaps because the NBA All Star Game of Horse is absolutely mind numbingly boring. Or perhaps, it’s because of a string of brokenhearted ballads that seemed to dominate the radio waves while I was driving today.

You know how it is. When certain songs seem to resonate more, stick to your bones, reverberate within your soul, and linger in the recesses of your mind. Time stands still, you passing exits you were supposed to get off on. It’s like the lyrics consume you, your breaths, your very heartbeat somehow synchronize with the baseline and time goes by and by.

It’s a feeling that’s hard to explain, but I imagine it must be something like Michael Jackson felt right before he’d un-expectantly explode into an extraordinary dance routine. Brother was breathtaking wasn’t he? It’s like he became music when he moved.

Brother complained of being misunderstood. Doing all he knew to do, feeling unappreciated, and his contributions being overtly disregarded. Brother man was cutting up, for real. And the more he talked the more it became evident to me that his lady really wasn’t thinking about him. It was all about her now, her hurt, her disappointment, her pride.

A classic case of manifest destiny. It's an issue all men have dealt with at one point and time or another in our dealings with women.

Young brother had f#$!#d up, and was making a valiant effort to make things right. However, women live in their minds. Once a woman gets it in her mind that her man is somehow fatally flawed, doesn’t care, is selfish, or not worth her empathy… in other words her man ain’t sh$!. It’s a wrap. Forget about it.

Brother man could walk across water, introduce her to Jesus, hit the mega millions and spend every last dime adorning her household with roses…I mean from the sidewalk to her bathroom sink. It doesn’t matter. She will simply look for evidence to confirm the worse. And once she gets it in her head that somehow she’s justified, you know justified, oh snap…and the birds start snapping up your seeds. Hell, you better off swallowing nails and hoping for the best the following morning.

It is what it is.

I listened. And listened. And listened. Patted him on the back and lied to him, telling him “everything is going to be alright.” Give it another couple days. Ha! I almost dropped my cup of tea just now, as I typed that line. Hilarious! But not really.

What I should have said is life isn’t fair. Never has been. Never will be. You can only manage what’s in your power to control, which is very little in the large scheme of things. Nevertheless, our successes and failures are found in the moments of our decisions, and ultimately you must decide to be a constant gardener, and build towards a better you.

And never ever allow anyone to diminish your sense of faith, self-esteem, and self-worth. You were born to make manifest the Creator’s glory, and God don’t make mistakes.

The solution is simple. Take responsibility for all that has transpired, step forward and hope she decides to accompany you, but push forward regardless. Take it till it hurts. And keep taking it. Empower yourself, and give yourself permission to grow, transcend, and progress without deference to past errors or demeaning remarks meant solely to drag you back down. After all, we are human beings, not trees. We don’t have to remain rooted in shallow, unforgiving soil, or endure the sight of birds gorging on our seeds.

Just take it till it hurts, revel in the liberating winds of responsibility, and satisfaction that comes from choosing to move forward. Life isn’t fair. And that’s ok. Take long confident strides and live life without regrets.

Amend this broken

If only you’d quit this nonsense of your possum playing

If only you’d wake up, wake up baby, wake up baby

Playing Possum-Maxwell

A Good Life

by J.S. Buford

Today was different. I arrived to pick up my lil one from the childcare center today, just as I have on any number of days. However, today was different.

She was knocked out. I mean mouth open, slobbering, enjoying that good sleep. I was amused and jealous at the same time. My mind drifted away as one of the teachers lightly jostled her to wake her up, to a time a long time ago when I slept like that. Just sleep, without a worry in the world.

It felt good. It felt real good to see my daughter sleeping so peacefully, but I needed to go, to be somewhere. But today was different.

For when she awoke, she ran up to me with a sense of urgency, reached her arms out to be picked up, and as I lifted her up until the air she exclaimed earnestly, “I love you Daddy. I miss you.”

She reminded me of how much we, I, often take for granted the important things in life. Our family and loved ones. Those quiet moments, when time seems endless, and without worry of time commitments, you just sit and reflect upon your dreams. The time spent conversing together, exchanging love taps and loving on our partners. The affection of and for our children.

The moments, minutes, hours, and days we take for granted.

Sometimes we, I, become so engulfed in the pursuit of my dreams, ambitions, and desires that you simply forget the little things that really make life worth living.

I was blessed with an opportunity to converse with a sista last night. She is Sudanese and Canadian. We chatted about our business concerns, the pressures of building financial independence and lasing success, and our fervent pursuit of it.

The willingness to constantly do what others will not do.

However, at one point she spoke passionately about the importance of family. She shared with me the harsh realities that exist for many back on the continent and throughout the African Diaspora. She spoke of hunger, living in extremely modest conditions, and the daily, monotonous routines that allow people to subsist with so little.

She shared how her people in particular never knew they were poor until others (U.S. citizens specifically) informed them that they were poor. Why? Because despite the poverty and hardship, the people had family, and so they felt they were wealthy beyond measure.

So what if they couldn’t afford new cars or clothing. So what if six of them lived under the same roof. So what if they didn’t have cable or Wii . So what if they couldn’t jet set across the world. They had family. They stuck together, they loved their children, and supported each other. Husband and wives sacrificed. Children understood and appreciated it. Friends prepared meals for each other. And the elderly were rich with company and conversation.

As I tickled my lil one today, I couldn’t help but to reflect on that conversation, and how my daughter clung to my neck as if she hadn’t seen me in a year. I reflected upon how hours, days, and nights whisk by so quickly that they just run together sometimes.

I thought about how my beautiful daughter reminded me about what life is really all about.

Why Did En Vogue Have to Go?

by J.S. Buford

I remember when brothers everywhere swore up and down they were going to marry one of the sistas from En Vogue.

I'm talking about tongues wagging, brothers scraping, scrapping, and WWF DDTs being delivered to craniums. It didn't matter where at...the porch, the basement, the lawn, or all three in a one hour period of time. Talking about "I did it for you Dawn!" Ha!

Brothers didn't stand a chance. Between those beautifully sculpted derriers, hips, lips, and legs, their harmony, and the lyrics. I mean read those lyrics below. Brothers just don't get served like that anymore.

Those were the days.

Sista's let me tell you, do you a favor, help you out just a little. Read these lyrics out loud. After you're done reading them, close your eyes and marinate on how they make you feel. Then put on that special night gown, tight fitting dress, or for most of us brothers, those form fitting jeans you keep tucked away and a t-shirt. Find your man, or if you are single, a man. Play this song. And then handle that business!

Game Over! His boys won't recognize him for a week. At least.

En Vogue - Don't Go

I'm so glad to see you
Now I have the chance to say
Our love's been growing freely
What must I do to make you stay

Don't go

I feel the time is right
'Cause my love for you has grown
Up until this very night
I had doubts your love was strong enough
To break me down
Now I'm caught up in this web
You've spun for me tonight

Don't go

It takes a gifted man
To release the love in me
So far you're the only man
Who has gone this far for me
It feels it's out of my hands
Can't think twice, it's much too right
This may be my only chance

Don't go

I've been such a fool
To have kept my love for you
Could have lost your love searching for the truth
Don't go nowhere
You know I care
Stay right here with me forever baby

Don't go

Let's make sweet love tonight
I won't put up any fight
Your wish is my command
Lay me down upon my bed
And make me feel the heat
Of your body next to mine
I just have one demand

Don't go

You send chills down my spine
I surrendered all my love
You captured all my life
In just one night of ecstasy
You brought me to my knees
Your first bite was just to strong
You left a scar on me

Don't go

I've been such a fool to have kept my love from you
Could of lost your love searching for the truth

Don't go

I'm so glad to see you
Now I have the chance to say
Our love's been growing freely
What must I do to make you stay

Don't go

American, Me?

by J.S. Buford

For many of my peers – thirty plus but still under forty, HipHop grown up – 2009 will live on in infamy. I recall reading about the Great Depression in middle school, discussing the probability of economic collapse in AP government classes in high school, and debating its encroachment over jack and coke, while cheering and cringing at Mike Tyson with my fellow activists in college. Yelling, drinks spilling, folks tripping over non-existent objects…. it was the best of times.

Seriously though. 2009 was tough. And there are plenty of reasons to be disgruntled with what’s transpiring in this country. Undoubtedly, many of us could draft a list as long as I am tall detailing the ills and shortcomings of the United States of America.

I crossed paths with a former client of mine, back during by days as a modern day sharecropper with the banking industry. We chatted it up a bit. For the sake of his privacy, let’s just refer to him as Penne. Penne is Nigerian, freshly returned from the homeland. Though, I didn’t ask, Penne happily shared with me his reasoning for his return. Our exchange covered the gamete; from the blatant political corruption he encountered during his travels, images of young men and women getting shot for speaking out against tyranny, the state of the African Diaspora, President Barack Obama, the Mayweather/Pacquiao fight, and the poverty, the poverty, the poverty.

Penne spent his last to return and spoke glowingly of the relief he feels at being able to speak his mind without fear of being chopped or shot to death, even if no one listens. He shared in detail his ambitions to set up a brick and mortar business, possibly invent something of value to the marketplace, or dive two feet first into a service industry to achieve financial independence.

Mind you, he wasn’t seeking security. Brother wasn’t looking for a job. His stated goal was financial independence. And if you don’t know, there is a difference.

Many of us make fun of, mock, eschew, and even offer up disdain of recently arriving immigrants to this immigrant country. Too many just don’t get it, but they get it. That’s why when you look at the supermajority of the multimillionaires and business owners (there is a strong, undeniable correlation) produced in this country; you soon realize they are disproportionately immigrant. Or let’s be provincially ignorant for a moment. Not born and bred quote unquote Americans; whatever that means.

Consider for a moment, that despite the idea of job security being about as romantic a notion as Republicans actually being committed to anything other than obstructing the Obama administration…I digress. Is it not true that most citizens seek security from a job, and then seek maximum security with a second and third (sounds like prison, eh?), rather than financial independence?

I always found it ironic that citizens manipulated by fear, provincial ignorance, racism, sexism, and various other isms can be marshaled pretty much like cattle to make herculean efforts to destroy what is good about this country, while simultaneously being duped out of it.

See, what inspired Penne to return in the face of the current economic crisis was the promise of this country holds for those who are willing.

Yes, the promise.

For despite all of our problems, the United States still offers one of the best opportunities in the world – whether you be a beggar, high class or low class, hooded out or black brass – to alter the circumstances that color our lives in a relatively short amount of time.

Freedom. Financial Independence. Entrepreneurship. These are bedrocks of what made this country great. A destination place for the downtrodden, disenfranchised, and well to do alike. The promise. And simultaneously, it is the denial of promise that has weakened this country, and ultimately stunted its growth. Too bad Congress doesn’t spend more time creating policies that spur more of it.

Yes, we can learn a lot from Penne and many of the immigrants who cross the oceans on a raft, equipped with nothing but their desire for the promise.

Black America especially. Yes, I said it.

It is the reason why Penne who is no stranger to discrimination in this country returned anyway. He doesn’t take what we’ve grown accustomed to for granted. Penne believes every second, moment, and experience is ripe with opportunity. And if we can marshal the will, anything is possible. The isms be damned. Penne doesn’t hope to. Penne will start a business. That’s what he came here for.

Faith and hope absent desire and effort are empty notions. We, rather, you will or you won’t. You are either living or dying. There is no in between. If you are Christian, then you believe the breath of life is metaphorically the gift of choice. Regardless of religious persuasion, ethnicity, sex, or whatever isms exist. We all are blessed with it.

Once again, there is plenty to complain about. However trust, Penne certainly isn’t complaining right now. He’s chosen to spend his time celebrating his faith and indulging his love of his family, friends, and food. And when he awakes tomorrow morning he’ll get right to work, but not for someone else. For me, Penne is an interesting (and contagious) reminder of what it means to be a U.S. citizen in this country. And hopefully he can serve as a source of inspiration for those of us feeling down on our luck this season.

Merry Christmas!

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The Pursuit of Happiness is a Choice

By J.S. Buford

It is.

So many of us are afraid. Afraid, to paraphrase the great President Nelson Mandela, to unabashedly embrace our intellect, brilliance, and talents. The inner divinity that exists within all of us is frightening to many of us.

To do so requires courage. It requires a willingness to peruse the inner recesses of our minds and hearts, rather than look to others for acceptance, or hide behind a mask pretending to be something we are not. Indeed, it is much easier for some to simply rationalize misdeeds, nihilistic behaviors, low esteem, self doubt, and even hate under the guise of a creed of this is the way things are, this is me, and how I’m going to be.

Yet, inside, individuals who subscribe to such credos, really live lives of spiritual turmoil, engulfed by perpetual unhappiness broken by respites of contentment. Some simmer quietly, feigning gregariousness. Others lash out, their pain, low self-esteem, and unhappiness justifying their endeavors to share their misery.

We all know them. They are never satiated. Resist change at all costs. Their relationships are transient, alarmed by the fear of being exposed, challenged, forced to face themselves by those closest to them. More often then not, they tend to focus on why success isn’t possible.

Their reason for doing anything, becomes their excuse not to.

They deny themselves and if allowed to, the prosperity and spiritual edification of others. Opportunities, whether they present themselves in the form of a phenomenal business venture, a hand up whether it is from a loved one or a complete stranger, an opening for reconciliation, inner growth; are systemically and often with great temerity rejected.

It’s too difficult. I know it makes sense, but I need to think about it (procrastinate), I don’t want to learn about it, it (change) scares me. I could never do that. That’s not realistic for me. I know you offered assistance, but I did it my way, and I failed. I know I’m not right, but hey, take it or leave it. And by the way, you shouldn’t pursue it either. Matter of fact; allow me to offer my own commentary, while I fail to support your efforts…spiritually, monetarily, or otherwise.

And my personal favorite…God will handle it. I’ll leave it in God’s hands.

As if God would prefer that his sons and daughters waste their talents and gifts, as opposed to make them manifest. Failure, sadness, self-hate, and jealousy are as much maladies of the spirit as they are of the mind.

No need to be quixotic though. Life can be a grind, and often times unforgiving. For those of us who were not born into plenty, we know better than most. Hard work, our own or the efforts and the benevolence of others, is necessary, biblical, a reality of life. However, incessant unhappiness and struggle is not. Acceptance of the status quo as static is not. It is a choice.

Everyone deserves happiness, prosperity, and dignity. And no, for the supermajority of us it will not be delivered to our doorstep by the tooth fairy, or if surrounded by haters and jealous spirits, relinquished willingly. The most successful among us have experienced failure more intimately than the supermajority of us ever will. However, like an athlete at the top of their game, the achievers, the dreamers, the best among us simply forget the last bad play as soon as it ends, focusing intently upon the opportunity before them to achieve excellence again.

Michael Jordan missed over 50% of his jump shots over the course of his career, but we all remember the image of him stuntin all over Byron Russell as he catapulted the Bulls over the Utah Jazz in the 1998 Finals.

Do you recall Jordan before he knew what a jump shot was? Do you recall him being cut from his high school basketball team? Can you imagine Jordan not taking that shot? Giving into thoughts of being too old; refusing to refine his J; never pursuing basketball; unwilling to look himself in the mirror and acknowledge, I must change, improve, endure, work, and fulfill my destiny of the most celebrated basketball player (and perhaps athlete) of our era?

And yeah, Jordan pushed off, but did you notice how Russell hand checked him like he was trying to deprive him of his shorts? Come on! But I digress.

The pursuit of happiness is not a journey for the weary. And it starts with the simple realization that you are deserved. Not perfect. But deserved. And sometimes you have to go through it. It’s dark before dawn. Abundant fields require calloused hands. Leadership first requires a willingness to follow, a desire to empower, being a good listener, and a willingness to defer. Integrity is not bought, but rather forged.

Happiness is rooted in an internal tilling, cultivation, and harvesting that too few of us are willing to undergo. But it is required. The exterior is simply window dressing. It is the music that reverberates throughout our souls deep into our bones, eventually finding expression in our religion: the way we live our lives aside from time spent in church on Sunday.

Once again, this is not meant to deride, or minimize the tremendous obstacles many of us are forced to hurdle daily. However, we all have a choice concerning every hour, minute, and second we are blessed with on this earth. We can choose to go hard, give our all, and give ourselves a winning chance. Or remain bound to the limitations of bruised psyches and malignant agendas. It’s a heavy responsibility, not to be absolved in religious dogma or fear.

Refusing to make manifest our destiny as beautiful people deserved of plenty and dignity is a choice. And so is the pursuit of happiness.

Well Past Words

by J.S. Buford

Being in love can be as mercurial an experiment as predicting a Michigan winter. For all the feelings of adoration, admiration, and affection…love. Love, that place of vulnerability and extreme sensitivity is nothing to fu%? around with.

Indeed, loving someone can be like shaking a tree to make dewdrops fall. We all carry debris into our relationships. Our life experiences, what we have endured personally, observed, our own ideas of right, what’s acceptable, what’s appropriate, the prism of our eyes, ears, and premonitions that linger beneath the surface for good or wrong.

And we seek it reflexively, plaintively, foolishly, gallantly, cautiously, boldly…to our own peril or to our eternal happiness. It’s one hell of a predicament, eh?

The words we share. Our intentions, beliefs, ideas, and objectives. Yes, our objectives. Our actions. The little things like late night conversations, rapid text messages, the stroking of one’s arm, fingers politely gripping hair, the squeezing of a rear end, public pecks, the grasping of fingers, extended gazes. Love is a contact sport.

And communication is essential.

It binds. It engenders. But it also unsettles. And it can inflame. Misunderstandings happen, but the failure to acknowledge, empathize, set ego aside, ignore the chorus of voices, and at times simply acquiesce (or in other words shut the fu%! up) almost inevitably will lead well past words.

And the end result? Someone else is stroking his ego, and eventually he returns the favor. She interprets your silence as ambivalence, or worse yet, weakness…leading to someone else indulging in your wifee’s backside.

Love is carnal.

Like it or not. Ignore this simple reality to your own peril. Engage a sista who’s been confronted with the prospect of her man no longer being interested in engaging her emotionally, yet engaging another wholly. Look into the eyes of a man who’s discovered his friend or compatriot loving on his wife. I hear it’s a lesson you only have to learn once. To either learn the lesson, or be damaged forever.

Well past words.

Poetic incantations are replaced with blunt addresses. Predictable late night conversations become infrequent. Text messages are no longer prescient, no longer expected, no longer a priority. Things begin to simmer underneath the surface. Affection gives way to resentment. Disgust becomes omnipresent. So much so, that you can cut it with a knife.

Reflect on that moment after a really, really good orgasm. A part of you wants to continue to indulge your partner, but sometimes you simply want them to be still. Movements that were oh so pleasurable a moment ago, while appreciated, become unnecessary, even agitating. The intention is appreciated. Words are welcome. However, at that very moment, things have progressed well past intentions, well past words.

Initially, it’s ephemeral. But then begins to simmer. Innocence dissipates. Words, that once consumed, were as satiating as a well-mixed tonic, now become toxic. Grating against the ears. The feelings of vulnerability, coupled with the sting of a loss of congeniality. Trample upon a man’s pride. Disregard disrespect paid to him, and he may just patronize another. Or if he is a quote unquote good guy he may just check out…at first. Take a woman for granted. She’ll grant someone else access.

Well past words.

One hell of a predicament, eh.

Dear Mayor David Bing

by J.S. Buford

The residents of Detroit have been so hard hit upon. And the city needs your help.

The decline of the automotive industry is having a crippling impact upon our neighborhoods, small business owners, and morale in general. While Cobo has dominated the airwaves as of late, the growing numbers of small businesses shuttering their doors are beyond alarming. Indeed, coupled with the amount of attention Cobo has been receiving, the lack of attention (or appearance thereof) to this matter smacks of outright placidity.

Despite the relative degree of excitement associated with your successful mayoral campaign, the signs of the city’s decay are too egregious to ignore. There are scores of city blocks inundated with debris, pock marked by abandoned homes, and cluttered by ditched vehicles. Many of us live in fear, unwillingly to allow our children to play in the surrounding parks, our front, and our backyards. Sadly, memories of sitting on porches with our parents and grandparents when we were young are nothing more than memories nowadays.

With every passing year, my peers – bright, ambitious, beautiful minds – are fleeing the city. Yes, they are seeking jobs. However, they thirst for civic engagement opportunities as well; eager for a chance to improve their communities, unfettered from outright corruption. They want to be able to drive down thoroughfares like Grand River, Jefferson, Gratiot, and Michigan Avenue, pull up to a coffee shop, plug up their laptops, read a book or review a report, and chat after a long day of work. They want to park their cars off of Woodward and Grand River and patronize businesses offering greeting cards, artistic works and crafts, hip clothing and accessories, ice cream and peanut M&Ms, fine wine and food (but diverse moderately priced menus as well), live entertainment, etc., etc., etc. They want variety, variety, and more variety.

Detroit is a beautiful city, full of beautiful people. However, something has seriously run amiss. There was a time whereas people truly believed if you were intelligent, worked hard, were willing to accept guidance, and exhibited a commitment to the city, Detroit would embrace you with open arms. However, it would be an understatement to state that the maxim “it’s about who you know" has become not only the primary, but the only determinant of who is able obtain city jobs, acquire contracts, secure licensing, open their doors, and market their offerings.

The result has been the pitiable delivery of city services, financial waste, and the repression of the bourgeoning talent and energy simmering just beneath the surface. And more importantly, too many of Detroit’s citizens have simply given up, don’t anticipate better, or worse yet, don’t believe they deserve better. The environment is stifling, and the supermajority of our elected officials, their appointees, and pundits have done a woeful job of convincing the citizens that change is possible.

Mayor Bing, you are in many respects the embodiment of the success many strive for everyday. However, we need you to do more than personify the possibilities, but to execute. Business connections are undoubtedly going to be invaluable to you as you seek to turn the city around. However, don’t forget that even in the midst of abundance, if barriers and challenges (transportation, entrepreneurship friendly policies, greater investment in educational and training programs, centers of information with later hours, etc., etc.,...) are not addressed, your efforts will be as effective as sipping soup with a fork.

We need to believe that Detroit is a place where hardworking, skilled, intelligent individuals can find a home, work, play, and build prosperous lives. We need to believe you are vested in the improvement of living conditions, but also the empowerment of the citizens. Help us believe.