It's Beginning to Feel A Lot Like...

There are some very distinct things that make it feel like Christmas to me. One, is The Temptations' rendition of Silent Night. There are a lot of holiday songs out there, but this one is at the top of my list. I recall riding in the car with my grandma. She would always drive with the radio turned down so low that I had to press my ear close to the speaker so I could hear what song was playing. But if it was December and I yelled out, "Grandma, your song on," she would immediately turn the radio on full blast so she wouldn't miss that opening "Woooohooohooo." Hearing that song always seemed to make her smile. I love that memory. That's Christmas.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFc7STuQF0U

Another is the wonderment of the Christmas movies. Now, we all have our favorites, and there are a lot to choose from. You may like the sentimentality of A Miracle on 34th St, or the hilarity of A Christmas Story. But my favorite has to be my favorite Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer. I think it's the most complete of all the Christmas movies. There's a rich and moving love story, a Rudy-esque underdog story, a tattered father-son relationship story; there's the independence-seeking dentist stuck in elfdom. It has everything. There's even a hot soundtrack! How didn't that win an Oscar?

Movies notwithstanding, like most kids, the biggest thing for me was the gifts. Each year was different. Some years, I would try to stay up all night so I could hear Santa Claus come in. Other years I would go to sleep extremely early so Christmas can get here faster. And it didn't really matter what I got. Of course, the more gifts the better. Some years were better than others. And there were times when Moms couldn't afford to get me the same things that the parents were getting my friends down the street. The youthful me learned to appreciate everything I got and to not compare my situation with anyone else's. It took a couple Christmas day smacks to completely sell me on that theory, but I got it. As I got older, the whole gift thing began to seem less significant. Maybe because I knew there was no Santa. Maybe because my sister came along and I was no longer the top priority for the family. But, mostly, it was because I was maturing. I began to understand that Christmas shouldn't be all about the gifts. I was fourteen.

Sooooooo, someone please tell me why the average American will spend somewhere around $1,000 this year on Christmas gifts. Now, this is the same America that has an unemployment rate hovering around 10 percent. This is the same America that is on pace for 1 million foreclosures by year's end.

I'm sure those three wise men weren't neglecting to pay their credit card bills so they can pick up that frankincense and myrrh for the baby Jesus. And conversely, I'm sure Jesus, Mary, nor Joseph looked at the wise men, sucked their teeth, and said, "Oh. Is this it? Umm...thanks. Thanks a lot."

We should change the name of this time of year from Christmas Season to Go Out and Spend Way Too Much Money On Things People Really Don't Need and You Really Can't Afford, But You Buy Anyway For No Apparent Reason Season.

So many people stress themselves out buying gifts they can't afford, often for people who don't deserve a gift in the first place. Parents feel inadequate. Children feel unloved. Relationships deteriorate. Families bicker and brawl. Over what? Christmas gifts.

I see people "making" themselves buy gifts all the time. No one should ever have to talk themselves into buying a gift for someone. If you can't afford it; don't get it. If you really don't like that person enough to buy them a gift; don't buy it. If you don't know the person enough to figure out if they'll like the gift or not, then why the hell are you stressing over buying them a gift anyway? If anything, get them a gift card and keep it moving.

One thing I've realized over the years is that a gift does not say "I love you." As I've gotten older, my family rarely gets me anything for Christmas. And I'm pretty sure they still love me.

Let's get back to those feelings that Christmas use to give us.
Back to the feelings of hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows on 80 degree days.
Back to riding your new bicycle for hours, hoping the thugs down the street wouldn't steal it from you on this first day.
Back to being happy with a football or a cassette tape or a Michael Jackson t-shirt.
Back to playing with your cousin's toys as if they were your own until he got mad and you got into a fight for a few minutes, then your uncle broke it up and you were back friends again.

This Christmas, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, or whatever, enjoy your loved ones, appreciate your blessings, and drink some hot chocolate.

And yeah, if you can't find the Temptations, then listen to this little gem. It's at the top of the list, too.

I'm Not a Hater, But...

Okay. Let me start this off by making one thing perfectly clear: I AM NOT A HATER! People use that term quite loosely these days. Anybody that isn't in love with what someone else does=HATER.

Note the following "hater" scenarios:
#1

Friend: Hey, D. I just spent $200 dollars on these vintage canvas Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers. Whatcha think?

Me: Two-hundred dollars? They look like regular twenty dollar Converses to me.

Friend: Aww, man. You're just a hater!

#2

Cousin: Yo, did you see that new Jackie Chan and Jet Li movie? I loved it; it was great!

Me: Naa, I like movies with more dialogue and storyline, and I can't understand a word either one of those dudes are saying.

Cousin: What? Man, why you hatin' on Jackie and Jet? I bet they'll kick your ass!

Me: You're right. And I'm sure I can beat them in a debate.

#3

Friend: Yo, see shorty over there?

Me: Yeah, that's Sheila.

Friend: I hit that last night!

Me: Word? You might wanna go get yourself checked out; the word is that she might be infected.

Friend: Man, you probably tried to talk to her. Stop being a hater!

Just because you don't like something doesn't make you a hater. Am I an onion-hater or a mayo-hater? I just don't like them. Actually, I do hate onions. But I digress.

I said all that to say this: Who the hell made Steve Harvey a relationship guru?

Please, someone tell me how he has risen to the level of expert on all things love-related? I read his first book, Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man. Okay, I read the first chapter, the table of contents, and a few other paragraphs. But that was enough to get the gist. I wasn't incredibly impressed. It's not like some of what he said doesn't make sense; that's just it, it makes a lot of sense: common sense. I guess people just have a need to hear things they already know. Maybe it's just me, but I wouldn't rush to buy a book that told me a bunch of reasons why I shouldn't walk into oncoming traffic.

But his book became a best-seller and he became an authority on love. Women started taking the words from his book as the GOSPEL TRUTH. You would have thought that God was sitting at a small table in Barnes and Noble drinking lattes and signing copies of HIS (or HER) book.

Now, Steve admits that he is not an expert on love, but that he is an expert on men. Therefore, in his book, he speaks for ALL men and gives women the decoded version of what mean think about relationships, love, etc. So, naturally, because he speaks for ALL men and women want to know what ALL men feel, they read what he has to say. Especially since it's usually difficult to get it from the man they are actually dealing with.

But, hold up! In my dealings with women, I often tend to generalize according to my past relationships with women, including the women in my family. But when I do, I always get, "Mmmph...I am not every other woman! I am my own person. I have my own unique genetic code. Check my deoxyribonucleic acid!"

So, if I can't generalize, and sometimes my generalized comments are dead on, how can Steve Harvey generalize and you swear that it applies directly to me? Hmmmm. Check my DNA!

You know what? Maybe I am hating. Maybe Steve Harvey's position as one of the kings of comedy makes him an authority on things like this. I heard Cedric the Entertainer was writing a diet book, and D.L. Hughley was writing a book about how much he loves white people, especially white Republicans. And I'm sure there will be a posthumous release of a book on public speaking by the late, great Bernie Mac.

After the success of his first book, Harvey has a new book, Straight, No Chaser: How to Find, Keep, and Understand a Man. And I'm sure that a comedian with several marriages and divorces under his belt is the perfect person to help women with this.

I could put my feminist hat on and say that these books are just another example of the misogynistic, ultra-male perspective being showered down on women telling them how and who to be. But I won't go there.

But I will say this, these books tell women how to act and think in order to get a man. The women I know would cringe at the thought of a man telling them how to act or think, but every man doesn't host a morning radio show.

I think I should I write a relationship book. After all, I'm a man and I know some other men. Plus, I've dated women and I've known some other women. What else do I need?

My book would actually only be a relationship haiku:

You must know yourself.

If not, find yourself.

Always love yourself.

Common sense, right?

If you don't think so, I won't call you a hater.

Time Flies

Okay, I'm off of my soapbox for a moment. I'm simply going to talk about the one thing in the world that makes me smile ALL the time. The one thing in my life that seems to have no flaws. The one thing that I want to bottle up in this very moment in time and not allow to go anywhere or change in any way.

My family.

I don't mean the hundreds of unnamed or forgotten people that you just happened to be connected to in some random manner. Nor do I mean that folks that you only see at weddings, funerals, and family reunions. Nor am I talking about that not-so distant relative whose house you hate going to because you're scared to sit on the couch or eat any food that you're offered due to all of the roaches you see crawling around.

No, I'm talking about the four most important people in my life. My four ladies.

Of course I'm talking about my niece, Na'Zyia Kamarria Williams. If you know me, you know that I'm in love with this little girl. But I'm also talking about my sister, mother, and grandmother.

They mean so much to me that I have their initials, A.T.T.N., engraved on the ankh that lays on my chest, close to my heart. (Insert AWWWWs here.)

This past week, two of my ladies experienced birthdays. My niece turned four years old and my grandmother reached an amazing seventy-one years.

Their birthdays made me think, made me reflect. I tend to do that. Let's start with Na'Zyia.

The crazy thing is that I remember when my sister, Na'Zyia's mom, was just four years old. Hell, I remember when she was born, ending my wonderful reign as an only child.

The day I found out that she was pregnant was surreal. This same little girl whose hair I'd plaited and diaper I changed was now going to have a baby. I had the typical father-figure/big brother reaction. It was some sort of mixture of anger with disappointment, more disappointment. When I use to bounce her on my knee chanting "jimmee jimme jaa mama", I had so many plans for her. (That actually was initially "Joe Namath and John Matusak", but she heard differently and requested it often.) She was going to be a world-renowned doctor/lawyer/architect/singer/dancer/world-changer. Now she's busy doing her damndest just being a good citizen of the world and a great mother. Applause, applause!

It's amazing to see my niece at four. I'm searching for the PAUSE button. It seems like just last week that I was seeing her for the first time. And it seems like just yesterday that I was encouraging her to take her first steps, while she was more inclined to stay entrenched in some surfer-like position, afraid of what might come with that next step. Now, the fear is mine. I worry about what might come with that next step. Just as fast as these four years arrived, I know that equally fast will arrive the big girl bicycle days, followed by the first crush days and the...let me stop. I'm getting light headed.





I try hard to play a significant part in her life. I don't want to miss out on 'those' moments, those special moments that no picture or facebook post could ever truly capture. I don't want time to fly away on me.

But time has seem to fly away. My grandmother is a fine example. Like I said, she just turned seventy-one. Now, I don't know what your grandma's seventy-one looks like, but my grandma's looks like weekly dollar store and Walgreens shopping coupled with arthritis and religious Wheel of Fortune watching.

My grandma and I are extremely close. I am the first of her 35, 42 (I don't know, I lost count) grandchildren. In fact, I consider myself her seventh child, especially, given the fact that my uncle is only a few years older than I am. Growing up, my grandma was my rock, my friend. When Mama was working multiple jobs to make "IT" happen, I was being spoiled with Mahalia Jackson serenades and sweet potato pie spoon-licking.






When there was no one else for me to talk to, there was my writing and my grandma.

But seventy-one. Damn!

The Grandma I grew up with was never going to be seventy-one. She was always going to be that "Dang, that's your grandma? She looks my mama's age" grandma.

While she's far from incapacitated, she has slowed down a bit. I don't envision her hopping on the back of motorcycles anymore. It seems like just yesterday when she was. She's always been a hilarious, compassionate, and caring person. She taught me how to laugh at myself and others, and the importance of being "good".She has not only been in my entire life, she has been a significant factor in creating the man I am today. (Thank or blame her.)

I got really sentimental in what I wrote in her birthday card, and, of course, she cried. Again, PAUSE button, please.

But in life there is no PAUSE button. If only it was that easy. Forget the Staples EASY button, give me a DVR remote for life. So, I can pause and replay those moments that I never want to leave.

But that doesn't exist. Time DOES fly and we can do nothing to stop it. We can only maximize those moments we're given. So, I say, take a moment to press that imaginary pause button today. If you have someone(s) special in your life, take a moment to bask in the now with them. There will never be another right now.

Be like me: hug them, kiss them, pinch their cheeks. My grandma loves it! Listen to their stories that they are so passionate about but make no sense to you at all, and love it! There's going to come a time when you'll long to hear about unicorns and tea parties.

No matter your religious or spiritual beliefs, you have to agree that LIFE is a precious gift. I may not know why we're here, but I do know that we must maximize the time we're given.

My niece is my princess, and my grandma is my queen. If someone finds a way to make time stop, leave a comment on this page. I need them with me, always. (Resume the AWWWWWs.)