To Infinity and Beyond...

This past week I experienced two profound events: the funeral of my great-aunt, Celestine and the third installment of the Toy Story series. While these happenings may seem to be as unrelated as two things could possibly be, I beg to differ.

My great-aunt was a wonderful soul. Cel, as she was affectionately known, had a meek and gentle spirit to all she encountered; all except fish. Fishing was her passion. During the funeral ceremony, everyone that spoke of her mentioned her love of fishing. It’s funny to watch the goings-on at a funeral. Some family and friends were deeply affected. Some listened attentively and responded only in head nods or “ummm hms”. The church members were there to do their job; sing in the choir, escort people to seats, and pass out fans and paper towels. A lot of the children that were present had little or no memory of my aunt, but seeing their parents cry caused them to fall into hysterics, as well.

Funerals make you think. This one made me think about time. I thought about time wasted and the time that has yet to come. I thought about the importance of doing something with the time you’re given. Then I began to think about the time I spent in the movie theatre earlier in the week.

While watching Toy Story 3, I was deeply and profoundly affected. First, let me say, this movie is absolutely amazing! I watch a lot of movies, and this was the best movie I had seen in a long time.

Spoiler Alert
In the movie, Andy is getting ready to go to college. Yes, college. While packing his things and preparing for his departure, all of his toys are preparing for the inevitable. Andy hasn’t played with these toys for years, and they are headed to the attic. By a twist of fate, they end up at a day care that is “run”, prison-style, by a sadistic, yet heart-broken teddy bear. He forces all of the new toys to be fodder for the younger kids who nearly destroy them. Long story short, the toys have to come together to make it out. Through the bonds of friendship and unyielding loyalty, they make it to a home where a little girl is more than happy to play with them and give them the love they need.

Forget the spoiler alert; go see it!

The major plot line centers around Andy growing too old for his toys. I understand this. I mean as a teenager, I put away my He-Man, G.I. Joe, and Hulkamania action figures mainly because I found more interesting figures to play with. Not everyone can be Steve Carrell in The 40-Year Old Virgin. So, with a greater interest in the fairer sex, I no longer had a need for an Erector Set. Get it? Get it?

Though I moved away from toys, as I became a Grown Ass Man, I didn’t give up all of my youth.

I admit it, I love cartoons. And I just don’t mean the old nostalgic Bugs Bunny and Tom & Jerry. In my opinion, some of the best films in recent years are of the animated variety. The Shrek series, The Incredibles, Up, Beauty and The Beast, Finding Nemo, and The Lion King…how can you go wrong with those picks? The storytelling is amazing. Don’t sleep on How to Train Your Dragon and Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, either. And who didn’t at least mist up when Simba watched his dad get trampled in a wildebeest stampede?

“Dad…Dad…wake up, Dad,” Simba wimpers as he lifts his father's lifeless paw.

You can wipe your tears. I’m sorry.

As kids, cartoons were our movies, our YouTube, our Facebook, our Twitter. We lived in a world of cartoons. There were the before school-eating your cereal cartoons. And there were the cartoons you watched while you were doing your homework. Then, there were the wake up on the weekend at the break of dawn-eat breakfast and lunch in front of the TV-save the best for last-Saturday morning cartoons.

Many people tell me that I should get rid of my cartoon collection. They don’t understand why a man of my age is still fascinated by these animated stories. If you ask my friend, Marlin, he’d say Disney/Pixar inundated DVD collection serves more nefarious purposes. No comment. Cartoons like these extol time-honored values of courage, loyalty, and respect. But for me, they also put me in the my mind of Jay-Z. A couple of songs from Hova’s last couple of albums refer to the ideas of youth. 30 Something and Forever Young both laud the notion of holding on to one’s youth.

People often denigrated the late Michael Jackson for his child-like antics and fascinations. They dubbed him as the Peter Pan of Pop. Given all of the things that he’d been through, Michael just wanted to keep a little bit of that boy that sang ABC to us. Hell, there are multi-million dollar plastic surgery practices whose entire purpose is to give people the illusion of youth. My aunt stayed young by surrounding herself with kids and teaching them the fine art of casting and reeling.

As I sat in the church, continually wiping the stream of tears from my eyes and listening to the countless people tell stories from my aunt’s past, I too longed for days gone by. For the days of cartoons and freeze tag. For the Little League football helmets and ice cream trucks.

And though I can’t get those days back, I can watch movies like Toy Story 3, and travel with Buzz Lightyear and live to infinity and beyond.

Below is an excerpt from a poem I wrote and recited for my Aunt Cel’s funeral:


Memories
…recall my smile,
Recount a story.
Remember that one time that we…
Travel back in time and space, when there lived a you and me.
Rest your thoughts on our special times that no one ever knew.
Tuck me away in your heart and mind, and I’ll always be with you.
The earthly ties that bind us will all one day be severed.
But it is in the memories you hide deep in your soul, that I will live forever.

Gods and Goals!!!

From what I’ve heard and seen, South Africa is an amazing place. It gave us Miriam Mekeba, Dave Matthews, and J.R.R. Tolkien, author of Lord of the Rings. Myyyy precious…

And of course, there is the incomparable Nelson Mandela. If you’re not up on your Mandela, please Google him or something. He was and is so much more than the white-haired man we see gingerly walking and waving or the rugby enthusiast that Morgan Freeman played incredibly well in Invictus. Nelson Mandela was the real deal.

South Africa has risen from the ashes of apartheid, to be considered a slightly- progressive nation. So much so, that it is the host of the 2010 World Cup.
If you’re like me and not a huge soccer fan…excuse me, football fan, then you probably could not care less about this quadrennial competition to find the world’s best team in the world’s most popular sport. However, people from the Caribbean to South America and all parts of Europe; people around the world love their soccer. The amount of passion and zeal they have for their teams is nearly unparalleled. Well, there is one parallel that I can draw; RELIGION.

For many, soccer IS their religion. The stadiums are their churches, synagogues, or temples. The players are deities or prophets of good fortune. A team has a bunch of pretty good players who could be considered the disciples and there is usually one very good player whose feet the fate of the entire soccer world rests on. Coincidentally, he usually goes by one name, like many of Religion’s Head Honchos. Pele, Maradona, Kaka, Ronaldinho. And a score by one’s team, accompanied with the melodic GOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!, sends more hands waving, feet dancing, and voices yelling than a Pentecostal revival.

PASSION!

So, when I heard the story of a 61-year-old South African, David Makoeya, being beaten to death by his WIFE AND KIDS for changing the television from a religious program to a World Cup soccer match, I was slightly perplexed, faintly amused, but not completely surprised.

Yeah, you read that right. His wife, 68, son and daughter, 36 and 23, respectively, beat his ass to death for changing the television.

What was the day’s sermon? “Love thy neighbor and spread the goodness of God, unless he tries to change this station, then you can bash his head into the wall in the name of the Lord”.

My mother is known to get her T.D. Jakes or Joel Osteen in, but I doubt that she’d “alleged” O.J. Simpson on me if I tried to change the channel.

PASSION!

I get it. People have passions. I’m passionate about my family, my career, and my God-mother’s pineapple upside down cake. And I guess if someone was to jeopardize any of those three, I might resort to violence.

Passion can be a wonderful thing. Many of the world’s greatest wonders are birthed from an unyielding passion: music, art, social change. And many of the world’s greatest disasters are products of passion, too.

So, can there be too much passion?

At any soccer match, it isn’t uncommon for a melee to break out in the stands between opposing fans. Many fans have been killed in victory celebrations after soccer matches.

PASSION!

The majority of the world’s wars have been tied to “passionate” religious arguments. Want a sure-fire way to start a fight and lose friends? Bring up religion. I steer clear of religion as a conversation topic with most of family members. My aunties love me until the religious discussion begins, then it becomes hard for me to get a second plate of macaroni and cheese at family functions.
It’s funny, I’ve always been taught that sports and a belief in a high power beget a certain set of core values.

Sports: Competition, Teamwork, Respect, Sportsmanship
Religion: Love, Compassion, Forgiveness, Tolerance

But I guess in the world of Goals and Gods, passion trumps principles. Just ask David Makoeya.

The Beginning of the End

Okay. So, I am officially beginning my foray into the blogosphere. This has been about two years in the making, but due to procrastination, laziness, and a million other excuses, it was put on hold until now. So, here I am, unleashing my words to millions across the world. Or, more likely to the two or three friends who’ve been waiting impatiently for this.

When trying to decide what my first blog would be about, many ideas crossed my mind.
TOP FIVE:

1. A rant on my many less than enjoyable movie going experiences in the past year. (Though I saw this foreign film, The Secret in Their Eyes, recently, that was amazing.)


2. My desire to take Gucci Mane, Plies, and Soulja Boy, line them up on a wall, firing squad style. Then throw every single one of their CDs and mixtapes at them until they agree to neva eva eva eva make “music” again.


3. A personal campaign to take Old-School MC, Kool Moe Dee out of the ranks of history's most under appreciated rappers. Come on, I Go To Work, Knowledge Is King, The Wild Wild West…classics.


4. Lips.


5. The disappearance of respect. Example: When you were a teenager and were walking in the mall or a store with your friends, you cursed. Don’t lie, you know you did. But if someone old enough to be your mama, uncle, Sunday School teacher, or bus driver came by, you would watch what you say. Ahhh…no more. I was in the mall the other day and I could have sworn Richard Pryor and Andrew Dice Clay were having a conversation behind me. When I turned around and saw what seemed to be two fourth-graders, I gave them the look that my mama gave me when I walked in the house, sweaty from playing football in the street, but acting as if I didn’t know the street lights went off thirty minutes ago. But they just kept on spewing f-bombs like a 2 Live Crew Album. And I was offended. Wait, am I getting that old? I digress. One of the worst things about what the little bastards were saying was that the cursing was unnecessary and gratuitous. See, I am a connoisseur of cursing. A Picasso of properly placed profanity, if you will. But they were just cursing by numbers. STOP! (Okay, Okay…this wasn’t the chosen topic. Maybe I’ll get into the rest of this at another time.)
   

But I choose to introduce the world to my niece. My niece, Na’Zyia is three years old. She is the Universe’s most perfect creation. Na’Zyia is simultaneously 3-year old inquisitive toddler and 30-year old attitudinal diva. Below is a transcript of a conversation she and I had over Sunday dinner.

Na’Zyia sits with her plate in front of her. She has eaten the crescent roll, but continues to arrange and rearrange the rice, chicken, and green veggies on her plate. Uncle D looks at her.
Uncle D: Zyia, eat all of your food.
No response.
Uncle D: Zyia, come on. You gotta eat all of your food.
She continues to play.
Uncle D: If you eat all of your food, I’ll give all of the money in my pocket.
She looks up, tilts her head to the side, and reaches out her palm.
Na’Zyia: Take it out and let me see what number it is first.
My sister and I just laugh.

How did she know I only had a nickel in my pocket?

Whew! Blog number one is the books. More to come. Some poetry, short stories, I might rap or perform a magic trick. You never know.