Home Again

Saturday, June 27th, we returned home from the hospital. Around 11A. When we pulled up into the driveway, Harper was patiently, but excitedly, standing at the door waiting. Immediately, I met her at the door with the big hug and led her in pajamas to the car. She was a huge help unloading the goodies and welcoming her brand new baby brother, Miles, to his new home. Harper has been a huge help and a wonderful big sister. The photo above was taken during Miles and Harper's first encounter. Harper cracks me up---and clearly defines a Diva---by her sudden mood changes. The photo above shows off her "very serious Diva" look. Then, the photo below was taken two seconds later -

She is my Harper. My little Diva :)

Thrilled 'til the end.

It was the summer of 1984.

During that summer, our family traveled to Virginia for a family reunion of sorts with relatives descending from my dad's side of the tree. I was fourteen, and the oldest of my two sisters, Stephanie and Tonya. We were leaving Texas and seeing the East coast again. Although reaching our family reunion required several hours strapped beneath uncomfortable seat belts---not to mention, at that time, no DVDs or iPods--- we were still extremely excited about the miles ahead. If fuel was not a factor, our father could mercilessly drive from California to Boston without stopping. Years ago when that crazy astronaut lady drove to Florida wearing a diaper, the news outlets were shocked. Whatever. My dad had needed no diaper. I was convinced pops only required the use of facilities twice during any road trip: before leaving and after arriving. My mom, sisters and I were obviously built from a different cloth. Despite the torture to be endured, we promised not to complain and be the greatest travel companions since the Hebrew slaves were led from Egypt. But, there was something there for personal gain. Our good behavior was a bargaining chip. If fulfilled, our father would buy the three of us something very special while on that vacation. Something we wanted more than anything in the world at that time: The Making of Thriller on VHS.

We had an incredible trip, reuniting with family and spending time at the beach, but I cannot explain the joy upon our return home. Once home, another vacation began. The VHS tape was the first item unpacked and went immediately into the player. By that time, I'd probably seen the full version of Thriller once or twice---on NBC's Friday Night Videos; the other from a classmate's VHS recording at school during lunch. Both times I was amazed. This video was stuff no one had ever created, or even thought about doing. Basically, it was a mini-movie. A mini-movie with dancing and music. The epitome of our MTV generation. It was pure magic. Greatness bottled in thirteen minutes. More importantly now, we actually owned it and could watch anytime. No staying up late for USA Night Flight or patiently sitting through David Bowie videos on MTV. Owned it! Not only the video, but we also owned all the the behind the scene footage detailing everything A to Z in creating Thriller.

When our parents returned to work the following days, my sisters and I dove head first into our new VHS treasure. We watched The Making of Thriller 24/7, from the time we got out of bed until the time we fell asleep in the living room watching. Non-stop. Needless to say, by week's end, we knew the tape cassette inside and out. Seriously. Not just the video, but the ENTIRE VHS tape. Everything from the dialogue to the arrangement of archive footage chronicling Michael Jackson's career. More importantly, we knew every Thriller dance step, having transformed the living room into our own private dance studio. Without a single slip up, we could reenact the entire Thriller video from beginning to end---from the car running out of gas to the zombies to chasing Ola Ray into the condemned house to the final Vincent Price laugh. Not one move was lost on us. It was Thriller, and Michael Jackson was brilliant.

Now, let me explain before we go on, I was not a Michael Jackson fan. At least compared on the grand scheme of Michael Jackson fandom. I did not own a poster, wear a glove, nor did I record every appearance on award shows. The popular music most people listened to wasn't exactly what I was listened to. But, there was something about Michael Jackson's music and videos that slowly swayed my convictions. The first time I heard a song from Michael Jackson's Thriller was at my grandparent's house. My cousin Dewayne had the cassette tape. His jam of choice was the Paul McCartney duo, The Girl is Mine. I thought it was cheesy. First, of all, Michael and Paul fighting over a girl? Come on. Then, it happened. Slowly but surely, the music soaked through my being as my cousin repeatedly played the track on his jam box. I couldn't escape it, nor did I wish to. Thirty minutes later, I could sing every word. Because he had the "home field" advantage, I relinquished and happily played Paul to his Michael---but he knew at my house, the roles would reverse. To this day, some of the happiest moments of my life included singing that silly song while pretending to fight over some stuffed animal.

Thursday, June 25th 2009, will always be a special day for my family. On that day, we welcomed into the world our son, Miles Robinson, thirty-five minutes after midnight. Several hours later in another part of the world, two icons of pop culture would say goodbye---Farrah Faucet and Michael Jackson. Who woulda thunk it? Two huge icons of the entertainment world. Even after Cameron Diaz and Drew Barrymore, no one can say 'Charlie's Angels' without first thinking Farrah. I was barely six years old when her image became commonplace for every adolescent boys' bedroom wall. Very young, but not young enough to realize she was something special when I first saw the poster in my friend's older brother's room. Back then, girls were gross; they were the to be left alone. Gross. This "girl" on the poster was something different; and I stared at the poster every time I visited. Sadly, we all knew Farrah would lose her battle with the disease. The news of her passing that afternoon still left us all a little shocked. To this day, her role in The Burning Bed is one of the best performances captured on film.

About two years ago, I inadvertently introduced our daughter Harper to Michael Jackson. Taking a page out of the book of bad parenting, I tried scaring my daughter to behave by playing the Thriller video on my iTunes. I think, I told her if she did not behave... My plan miserably backfired. Stemming from my genes, I should have known. She was a little over a year old and completely mesmerized. Completely enthralled. We watched the Thriller video about thirty times that day. She called it "Bad Kitty" and today she still does. Over the past two years, she and I have watched the video---I'd be willing to bet---over 5,000 times. Everyday. Four or five times a day. Months ago, before our first trip to the movie theater with Harper, we tried desperately to explain what to expect and how to behave in the theater. We explained how it would be dark; how she should not speak loudly; how the movie would play on a big screen; etc. Still, no matter how eloquent we could not truly describe the experience to better prepare her, we thought. While we beat our heads together, she rolled her eyes and said, "Like Michael Jackson on 'Bad Kitty'?" Um, yeah, like Michael Jackson on 'Bad Kitty'. The mark he left through his talent stretched across people of all ages, all colors and all boundaries.

Honestly, I will miss Michael Jackson. His music touched my life and the lives of so many people. Whether you liked him or not, or find the last recent tributes unnecessary, you cannot deny the mark Michael Jackson left on the landscape of our pop culture. Certainly there are others---veterans, teachers, police officers, physicians, parents, etc---who deserve greater eulogies; and some who believe Michael Jackson's legacy will be forever tainted by his faults, allegations and everything we did not understand but simply labeled 'Wacko Jacko'. Still, I will miss him. For nearly fifty years, Michael Jackson entertained the world. I will be forever grateful for his ability to bridge gaps between the generations through his talents. Today, some parents groan when taking their children to see Miley Cyrus or Jonas Brother. My parents would have loved taking me to see Michael Jackson, just as I would have loved, and hoped in 2011, to accompany Harper. It is not the day music died, June 25th, but it is definitely the day we collectively pushed the pause button. Don't worry, the music will continue shortly---much influenced by the icon we lost days ago. Meanwhile, pull out that sequined white glove and cue my favorite Rock With You.

"he/him".... A boy.

I write this with no sleep, so who knows how this "blog" will turn out. Of course, for those of you who read my stuff, it will probably be the same wacky mess. Seriously, no sleep. The couch/bed offered in hospital rooms are less than comfortable to say the least. In fact, I am convinced the company that supplies beds to prisons may be the same who placed this particular cloud of heaven in this hospital room. Anytime sleep tried embracing me, I'd roll over and feel one of the many lumps in the cushioning, thinking I had discovered the whereabouts of my bunk mates hidden shank, which again led to the prison bed connection. But I digress, as I often do, sleep or no sleep.

Less than seven hours ago, our little family grew a little more. Miles Robinson was born at 1235AM, weighing 6 pounds, 15 ounces. We have a beautiful, new baby boy. A boy. Even with a fifty-fifty chance, the realization of a baby boy truly boggles my mind. Honestly, I had no "feeling" regarding the baby's gender over the last nine months. None whatsoever. Boy or girl? With Harper, my spidey senses led me to believe she would be a boy. Obviously, I am no SpiderMan. Darn it. When pulled from the womb, I was so shocked by the lack of "boy parts" and fumbled making the big announcement as if I did not know the difference between a boy or girl. Seeing the lack of "boy parts", I still wanted to proclaim "IT'S A...BOY" but with the deepest of sympathies. Poor guy, I thought. Poor little guy. And then, with some prompting, I snapped out of it and realized my instincts had failed miserably and he was actually a she.

Fast forward three years. Back to current day. This morning. A boy. Still, it sounds strange. A boy. Three years saying 'she' cannot be changed. A boy. Very exciting. Right before my eyes lies years of sitting on the couch watching football games, playfully debating who is greater, Batman or Spider-Man, and standing in the back yard tossing a baseball back and forth. A boy. A little brother for an older sister who is incredibly independent and a Diva. Poor thing will no doubt be the victim of numerous older sister tea parties and unsanctioned makeovers. Still, very exciting. Even typing this he still sounds quite strange. She is still the norm; but He will soon be. However, I am preparing myself for a new word around our household - 'they' -

They pulled down the book shelf and destroyed the room.

They drew all over their bedroom walls with markers.

They clogged the toilet with Play-doh.

They were asked not to come back to school tomorrow.

They are not at church camp; they are in Cancun.

They are the reason why we smile every day.

Good times are ahead. It will be one amazing journey!

Welcome to the world Miles Robinson :)

Miles Robinson

Miles Robinson

Thursday, June 25, 2009

@ 12:35 am

6 pounds, 15 ounces
19.5 inches long

Incoming!

I type this blog within the walls of the hospital. Fourth floor, labor & delivery. Cheryl lays on her side mere feet away, waiting for another contraction and ultimately those last fun-filled ones which will plunge us head first into the world of another bundle of joy. Kid number two. Everything is good to go. All set, as they say in Beantown. Waiting, waiting, waiting... Funny how nine months filled with morning sickness, massive body changes and fatigue come to sudden slow motion as we both watch the monitor and clock. Waiting, waiting, waiting.... Soon we'll know, boy or girl? Waiting, waiting, waiting.....

It's almost midnight. Looks like June 25th will become a great family celebration in the years to follow.

Stay tuned.

Moments in Black History - Juneteenth: Better Late Than Never

June 19, 1865:


In today's society, black people account for several inventions, milestones, and achievements---not to mention, words, slang, and phrases which have been used for hundreds and thousands of years to present day with little or no understanding of their origins. In fact, two phrases we use or hear almost everyday were insprired by black people several years ago on a day now known as Juneteenth.

Juneteenth is the oldest celebration of the ending of slavery, dating back to 1865 on June nineteenth. On that day, Union soldiers landed in Galveston, Texas, to spread news that the war had ended and all slaves were now free. The news came two and half years after President Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation, which had become official January 1, 1863.

"When I rode my horse into Galveston, I delivered grand news to the Negro people," proclaimed Major General Gordan Granger. "As the Negro people gathered, I yelled 'FREEDOM! You are FREE! Free people by Lincoln and his Emancipation Proclamation! FREEDOM!"

The word 'freedom' echoed through the crowd. As the word reached the ears and hearts of the slaves in Galveston, some fell on their knees in prayer while others began to dance and sing. Years of slavery had come to an end, giving birth to a new day and a new life.

Excitement filled the air with the sounds of laughter, crying, and singing of old spirituals throughout the crowd of the newly free men and women. Finally, all prayers to end inequality and injustice were answered and freedom was now a reality.

Granger continued: "REJOICE FOR FREEDOM IS YOURS....which by the way happened, well, just about, well, two and a half years ago, but....well, something just came up, and well better late than never, Negroes. REJOICE!! FREEDOM!!"

Complete silence met Granger's last words. All clapping, cheering, praising, and singing came to an abrupt end. Scrappy Johnson, who had spent his last years hoeing weeds in the Texas sun, walked toward the smiling general. "Excuse me," asked Johnson, making his way through the crowd. "Excuse me, but did your white ass just say two and a half years ago and better late than never?? Excuse me? Better late than never my ass, bitch! And who you calling 'Negroes' bitch?"

Granger later admitted the next hours were much of a blur as he suddenly felt 2,439 hands pull him from his saddle, violently slamming him to the hard ground. Granger's horse followed. Granger noted in his journals the two and a half hours provided a lifetime of nightmares and sleepless nights. The pain, he recalls, was excruciating. The beating he and his horse endured that day was unlike any pain and suffering he had experienced during any Civil War battle. Granger was beaten with switches, extension cords, house shoes, whips, chains, radiator belts, water hoses, rocks and stones. Several times, his mouth was punch shut as he attempted to explain his tardiness.

Truth of the matter was Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation had little immediate impact on Texas due to the minimal number of Union troops to enforce the order. Finally, with the surrender of General Lee in April 1865, and the arrival of Granger's regiment, the forces were finally strong enough to overcome the resistance and execute the Proclamation.

Still the beating continued. "Bitch, you could have sent a postcard or passed a note or something! Two damn years? Oh no. And, in this hot ass Texas heat?Oh hell to the no, fool! You white people be trippin'! Better late than never, my ass!"

Eventually Granger and his horse managed to free themselves from the beatings as he mumbled an explanation to the enraged crowd. His words seemed to fall upon deaf ears as the mass again surrounded Granger for another beating. Finally, Granger pleaded "Don't kill the messenger!" Slowly a calmness fell about the scene.

"My apologies for the late news, my fine.....colored friends of African American heritage," moaned Granger. "You are all now free men and women. Please don't hit me or my horse again. I can no longer feel my lower extremities and painfully I believe I know the whereabouts of someone's left Timberland boot. Size 12. Now, do any of your fine, um, colored people have a first aid kit or Tylenol? Again, my apologies for the tardiness which resulted in extra unpaid work over the past two years, but today, this nineteenth of June, you are all free!"

Later that evening the joyful people of Galveston celebrated by kicking off the first annual Juneteenth bar-b-que featuring ribs, pork chops, and Earl Cambell sausage. General Granger, who was temporarily unable to eat solid foods, was forgiven and extended an invite to the festivities. He chuckled and moaned in delight as the phrases were re-told and met with laughter. Although, a white man initially uttered better late than never and don't kill the messenger, recognition is given to the black people of Galveston for introducing the phrases to today's culture due to their continued enjoyment when using the phrases over the years.

Today, every June nineteenth in Texas, African Americans continue to celebrate the historical day of freedom known as Juneteenth. Due to CPT, Colored People Time, some events may begin later than scheduled but, as we have all come to know, it is always better later than never.

This is a Moment in Black History.




"You can turn painful situations around through laughter. If you can find humor in anything, even poverty, you can survive it."

Bill Cosby

Genius, indeed.

Everyone knows I am a Mac person.  I have two Macs---a massive video production beast affectionately and appreciatively named Maxine; and my on-the-go, edit-on-the-fly baby, Apollonia.  Apple products I believe were created on the 6th grade, and then on the seventh day God synced his iPod, surfed iTunes and produced a dope video called "What I did in just 7 days" with iMovie.  I love Apple.  

Tonight, my love for Apple reached another notch.  

Now, certainly I have raved about this recent feature in previous blog entries.  Surely I have -  Don't call me Shirley.  For those of you reading, that's Comedy 101, and, really, there really is no need to read further.  But, for those still intrigued, I continue....  One of the latest features on iTunes is iTunes Genius.  Perfect name.  In a word, this thing is GENIUS!  

Here's what iTunes Genius is all about: 

Say you're listening to a song on iTunes.  You're dancing and grooving.  The volume is cranked.  Like Kevin Bacon hearing Kenny Loggins at the dance, you are in music heaven.  Since you dig this tune, I'll bet there are songs very similar throughout your library.  Even some you may not even know exist in that massive collection of digitized funk.  Well, with just one click of a button, your iTunes can create a playlist built around your song.  Now, I've seen a magician pull a rabbit out of hat; pick the four of diamonds from a stack of cards; and make an elephant vanish underneath a large picnic blanket.  Oh yes, I know magic.  This feature, iTunes Genius, my friends is MAGIC.  SHAZAM!!!  With one click of the Genius button, an entire playlist appears, starting with the original groove-filled song followed by 25, 50 or even 1oo addition masterpieces.  Incredible.  Simply incredible.  This playlist can now be saved and added to your collection of other great playlists, like "Friday Night Rules, Bitches", "White People Songs for Black People" and "Breakup Songs".  What, you don't already have these playlists?  Is just me??    

The reason I am inspired to blog about this topic tonight: 

General Public "Tenderness" + Genius button.  

Um, as they say, the rest is history....

Apple, I love thee.