A-HA MOMENT #7 TIMES 7…

(or Where Is The Infinite Tolerance?)

None of us have the answers. I say again, “None of us have the answers.” What answers, you may ask? Answers to the questions, that have recently, taken residency in our living rooms, at our dinner tables, during the uncomfortable carpools, after church/before church, while playing cards, and anyplace the topic dare rear it’s imposing head.

“Should homosexuals be given equal rights?”

“Who the hell do they think they are asking for ‘rights?’”

“They know they gone to hell, right?”

Tough questions; and there are people on both sides of this ridiculous and dangerously heated argument, who rush to debate, deeming themselves, “right.”

Notwithstanding, I have questions of my own to add to the pile…

Why, with all our other problems (war, violence that’s completely out of control, poverty, obesity, homelessness and a recession), do Americans continuously bicker about people’s sexual preference, especially when said bickering is literally ripping the country apart?

Is it better to be a heterosexual who is a serial fornicator, humping everything that moves, sleeping with partner after partner, than to be a person who has committed themselves to someone who happens to be the same sex?

Where were the good people of Chik-fil-A, “all-married-to-their-first-wives,” when Jerry Sandusky was having his way with little boys? Or when Eddie Long allegedly used his pulpit position to coerce teenage male congregants into having sex with him?

Would Chik-fil-A be so concerned with going public regarding, “their ‘stance,’” if President Barrack Obama, who is running for re-election, had not recently supported gay marriage?

Can the Boy Scouts guran-damn-tee that banning gay people from leadership positions will keep troop from harm at all times?

Doesn’t God say that we should all love one another as we love ourselves?

And, how can we claim to love, God, who we have never laid eyes on, but dog, diss, dismiss and talk shit about people we see every day…?

I’m just asking…

NO ONE LIKES TO FALL
(Or A-Ha Moment # 65)

So during the practice run for a recent beginner motorcycle class, I fell. Hard. Scraped up my elbow (road rash is the proper term, I believe) and ruined my favorite DKNY jeans that fit “just right.” I knew this was going to happen. But I was hoping it wouldn’t.

If you do anything in this life besides take up space and breathe, accidents are going to happen. The first thing we learned in the class is one of the (several) reasons accidents occur is because we take risks. The higher the risks or the more risks, the more likelihood that an accident will happen; not “guaranteed to happen,” but might, probably, could possible, etc., happen. I can dig it.

Leaving the house in the morning, that’s a risk. Going to college, applying for a job, starting a business, falling in love, getting married, having children—all involve risks small and great.

Twenty minutes after my fall, I was thinking about President Obama. The audacity of his hope; how dare he think he could run for President of the United States and win. Wasn’t he, “scared?” He is African-American… And now he is going for a second run, too?

I do not know why President Obama wants to be in charge of this country. He’s running one of the most powerful nations in the world, taking on an infinite number of problems—many of which he knows he may not be able to solve, and there are a great deal of people who dislike him simply because his skin tone is dark. It is the latter that really baffles me. As an average African-American man, he would have the usual issues—specifically, racial profiling; but as the first President of color, those issues are multiplied and morphed beyond the imagination. As a reservist of color who serves this country, I am sometimes called nigger or discriminated against by people whose freedoms I have to defend. So I fully understand about, “doing what one has to do,” despite the circumstances. Still, our President puts up with an unbelievable amount of bullshit while facing a lot of risks.

Now, I am not comparing my motives to learn and master the motorcycle to the President’s reasons, whatever they are, for wanting to be America’s leader. Nevertheless, President “O” does the job as if he is taking care of his own family and our very lives depend on the decisions he makes. He does not all seem concerned with the risks to himself. My hat is off to him for courageously and selflessly wanting to make the world a better place.



My thoughts turned back to the motorcycle. Even before the class, I knew this shit was dangerous. But on the first day, it became more real. Sitting on the motorcycle, starting it up, putting it in gear, easing off the clutch and ultimately letting go; balancing, adjusting speed according to traffic—there is a lot of shit happening on two wheels! Still, the bike does what “I” tell it to do it goes where “I” tell it to go, etc. Basically, it is a serious game of, “Simon Says,” on wheels, as it were.

Forty minutes after my fall, I was excited again. Inside I’m screaming, “All right, Lady, let’s get it. Fall again if you have to, dammit!” Was I actually inviting another impromptu meeting with the pavement? Indeed, I was. No worries, that feeling passed after a while—later that night when I was sore and nursing my lumpy knee. Still, I was no longer as fearful as I was before I started the class. Humble, yes—not that I was ever arrogant or cocky in believing I would never fall. Respectful of the bike, (double) hell to the yes!

And am I ready to fall again? Indeed, I am.

Dedicated to my late Dad, Rudolph Clark, who rode a motorcycle as long as I can remember, and fell one day—but he got back up and rode again. Thanks, Dad!

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PROBLEM
(Or Hell To The No…!)

I was determined not to blog about the late Whitney Houston—to let her finally, “rest in peace.” But I was moved to break my promise by comments from the ignorant, the racist and those without a soul. Somebody has to say, “Hell to the no,” in defense of Lady Whit.



For the record, however, this is not the first time I’ve written about her. In 2005, I wrote an article about then-husband Bobby Brown’s reality show. I was not too flattering; nor have I been supportive of her comeback in two of my blog entries last year.

But it does not mean I am not a fan; indeed, a huge fan, I am. Like most of the world, she, “had me at ‘Hello.’” From, “Saving All My Love,” to ,“The Greatest Love of All,” and then her performance at the Super Bowl (say what?), to, “The Bodyguard (movie and soundtrack),” then, “Waiting To Exhale (ditto),” and of course, “The Preacher’s Wife (ditto times two).”

Unfortunately, by 2000, her music slowly began to fade for me; never stopped being a fan of her talents, but ceased digging, “Whitney the person,” as it were.

Fame and drugs were killing the Whitney I knew and loved—period, point blank.

Still, it was probably the Diane Sawyer interview and the now infamous, “Crack is whack” statement that officiated the end of my support of Whitney. Nevertheless, afterwards, I continued to give her much propers for all she gave us. I still blast, “I’m Every Woman” and her other up-tempo songs during impromptu dance fits. Or, I croon to her love ballads as if they were written just for me. Plus, I have my own doubt-erasure elixir of Whitney’s gospel music—“Joy” and “Help Is On The Way,” are my choice singles. And my true Whitney favorite, especially when there’s a new man in my life, is the obscure cut, “My Heart Is Calling.” I truly wish she knew just how much that song moves me!

It simply breaks my heart that in her death, folks trying to honor her or support her family are being bombarded with bullshit. And it’s not just one topic; it’s multi-layered venom. The speculation of how she really died, the unceasing reminders of her issues with drug addiction, the deafening whispers that her voice, “had been shot for some time” and that perhaps, marrying Bobby Brown was not her best move. People dwelling on the negative are present on every other newscast, blog, Twitter feed and Facebook status post.

Moreover, this active duty veteran and current reservist finds it disturbing that some people are upset over the Governor of New Jersey’s decision to fly the state flag at half-mast in her honor. Those outraged ranted about her not having been to war or “officially” serving our country. Hmmmm. Let’s see, the media was always out to get her, she battled drug addiction, and attempted to continue performing despite the naysayers—sounds courageous to me.




The fact that she touched so many lives with her music and films has been drowned out by the constant highlighting of her personal troubles. No one besmirched the names of Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor (who could not sing, by the way) or Elvis Presley when they died; all had drug issues. Elvis not only died of a drug overdose but was grossly overweight at the time of his death. And what of Judy Garland…?

In almost 30 years, Whitney accomplished what most people only dream of; she dreamt it, she dared to do it and we loved it! And then, for all of that, in both life and death, she is treated like dog shit by the righteous few because of some serious mistakes that did not hurt anyone really except Whitney herself. Is that what being an American is about? Hell, is that how fellow humans treat one another? If Whitney were guilty of killing, harming or stealing from someone, perhaps the posthumous vilification—which technically began the day after she and Bobby Brown married, could possibly be justified.

For the sake of her family, why can’t we let her find the peace, quiet, rest and respect, she so aptly earned and deserves? If it will help any, why not, to quote, “A Time To Kill,” simply, “…imagine she’s white?”