Quotes That Make You Go, "Hmm . . . "

I'd like to thank one of my Old School Mix visitors and Goodreads Friends, Damika, for introducing me to the following quote by Quincy Jones:

"The tradgedy of Tupac is that his untimely passing is representative of too many young Black men in this country . . . If we had lost Oprah Winfrey at 25, we would have lost a relatively unknown, local market TV anchorwoman. If we had lost Malcolm X at 25, we would have lost a hustler named Detroit Red. And if I had left the world at 25, we would have lost a big-band trumpet player and aspiring composer--just a sliver of my eventual life potential" (Quincy Jones)

Doesn't that make you think? Not just about the lives of talented celebrities like Pac or Oprah, but ordinary folk, like yourself? We live in a society that appears to worship youth, money, popularity and little else and personally, I think that's unfortunate. Tupac was young, good-looking, popular, talented and doing better than most of us ever will financially, but we'll never know what else he could have been or accomplished. We'll never know his true potential or genius.

Isn't the same true for any us? Had you died at age 25 how might it have impacted the lives of the folks nearest and dearest to you? Moreover, what might you NOT have accomplished, seen to fruition or watched come to pass? What lessons or opportunities migh you have missed had you died at 25? Or for those one or two of you who have yet to reach that grand ole age (smile), what if your time had come at age 19?

A few of the things I would have missed had I breathed my last breath at age 25 include:

*not being able to see my still healthy, alert and funny grandfather live well into his '90s;

*being married to my college sweetheart for more years that I care to announce on this blog (smile)

*bringing another life into the world and watching him grow into the smart, handsome and vibrant young man that he is today;

*publishing my first newspaper article, my first magazine article, my first short story and my first novel;

*helping one of my oldest and dearest friends through the end of her 17 year marriage;

*accompanying my husband through the removal of a cyst from his brain;

*witnessing the joy and delight my parents take in being grandparents.

What about you? What sort of life enriching experiences might you have missed had you departed this world at 25? What gifts or talents might you have missed out on sharing with the rest of the world?

ALL OF THE HUMBLING REMINDERS . . . Along The Way . . .

It never fails. Whenever I find myself on the verge of crossing my arms, frowning, shaking my head and muttering, "To hell with it all" some tiny spark appears along my path and shines a bit of much needed light my way.

Sometimes these sparks appear in the form of fan letters from folks I've never met before. One kind reader wrote, "Hi Lori, I just finished reading your book After The Dance and wanted to let you know how much I truly loved it. I don't know if Carl was really a beggin brother or if he was just a man who had no problem showing his feelings. I need me a brother like that . . . Thanks again, I think I'm gonna read this for a 3rd time." Oh yeah, you best believe I grinned behind that for days (LOL).

Other times the spark will appear in the form of comments from friends. Recently, a dear old friend shared with me how much his father enjoyed After The Dance. For the record, my friend's father is 76 years old and he's experienced a number of health issues of late. But according to my friend, not only was my novel the first book his father had picked up in years, but it appears to have aroused within him a desire to read other things. Wow! I'm telling ya, for a debut author, it doesn't get much better than that (smile).

In the early part of last week, a trip to the mail box revealed that one of my sisters-in-law had sent me a couple of my books and a request to sign them and send them back to her. Similarly, just this past Friday, one of my father's retired miltary buddies shot me an email in which he informed me he was having three more copies (over and beyond the three he'd already purchased) of After The Dance sent to my PO Box and he wanted me to sign them and send them back to him.

And truly, for me, one of the coolest things about this whole experience has been being able to visit various library websites and get a glimpse of just how many folks are interested in my book. At one point last week, 27 of the 28 copies of After The Dance owned by the Memphis Public Library had been checked out. Even better, upon browsing my title at the public library here in Charlotte, I discovered that not only were all 15 copies of my book in circulation, but there were 7 requests currently on file which meant that 7 additional individuals were eagerily awaiting a copy.

I said all of that, not to brag, but to remind myself and any other newbie author out there that this is a journey, one that will be full of ups and downs and more than a few confusing round and arounds. Rather than get bogged down, side-tracked or deterred by any of the numerous insults and disappointments (oh yes, there have been plenty, I'm just not gonna give voice to any of them here . . . well, at least, not yet anyway *smile*) my/our primary task is to learn what we can from it all while staying humble, remembering always to give thanks and keep moving forward, one small step at a time.

THE HISTORY LESSON . . . (More On Name-Calling) . . .

Back in high school, I had a favorite teacher, who, with his big grin, jerky movements and small, wiry frame, reminded me of a cricket--Jiminy Cricket to be precise. He was a older fellow whose wisdom and intellect I'd accepted without question until the day he opened his mouth and spat out the words, "Those dirty Japs!"

The first time I heard him say it, I was stunned. I thought to myself, Surely, I must had misheard him. I didn't want to believe that my favorite teacher, a man whom I'd admired for his quick wit and keen sense of humor, not to mention his command of American history, had actually made such an offense comment.

But it was true. Again and again, while covering the U.S. involvement in WWII, one of my high school teachers used the terms "Japs" and "dirty Japs" in reference to the Japanese. And each time he uttered the words, I squirmed in my seat, made uncomfortable not only by his use of the ethnic slur, but by my own hesitancy when it came to voicing my objections.

Some memories stay with one always.

No, I'm not Japanese. I'm not even Asian. (Well, as far as I know *smile* According to the hubby, I do sorta kinda look Asian when I'm asleep). By self-definition, I am an African American of the female persuasion. But if it matters, and in this instance it did, there was a young woman of obvious Asian ancestry in that particular high school history class. I don't recall her name. She and I weren't friends or even acquaintances. The possibility exists that she was no more Japanese that was I, as does the possibility that she took no offense to our teacher's comments. But the fact remains that we were both young women of color, bound together in one sense by our vulnerable status as the only two visible minorities in a classroom full of young, White students, and bound together in another sense by our silence.

I can't help but think we should have said something, if only to one another. Why didn't we? Was it youth? Shyness? Fear? Ambivalence? Embarrasment? Or was it simply too far an emotional distance for either of us to cross. Twenty-plus years later, I still don't know.

Looking back on the incident, I now find it both unnerving and somewhat ironic that the teacher in questin reminded me of a cricket. The truth is, I have a fear of crickets, a fear that involves my not knowing where the little critters are bound to jump next.

And indeed, it is a small jump from Jap to nigger/from faggot to coon/ from spic to jigaboo/

If I, as an African American, wait until the slur turns from slanty-eye bastard to big-lipped baboon, then have I not, in fact, waited too late? Of course, I have. I think even way back then, I somehow sensed it was so.

"In Germany they came first for the Communists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't Communists. Then they came for the Jews and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics and I didn't speak up because I was Protestant. Then they came for me, and by that time no one was left to speak up for me."

(Rev. Martin Niemoller, 1892-1984)

"If they take you in the morning, they will be coming for us that night."

(James Baldwin, 1924-1987)

And for those who still don't get it, the "History Lesson" here is--just as there is no safety in silence, there is no safety in drawing the lines of intervention around our own ethnic, racial, sexual or religious identities.

(Written while listening to Erykah Badu's "Honey," "The Healer" and "Master Teacher" from the CD entitled New Amerykah: Part One (4th World War). Check the refrain from "Master Teacher":

"What if there was no niggas only master teachers?

I stay woke . . ."

TODAY'S CULTURE OF CELEBRITY . . . AND ALL THAT CRAP . . .

"I've always thought there are two kinds of celebrities. There are people who really want to be celebrities. There are other people who want to be good at their craft. The ones who want to be famous are the ones who you hear about all the time. The ones who are studying and honing their craft have to do that out of the spotlight. You can't learn anything when you're out (in the spotlight) all the time."

Johnny Mathis (The Charlotte Observer, April 25, 2008)

Outside of the Old School Mix, I really didn't tell a lot of people about my recent television appearance. Make no mistake, I told those who didn't already know about the book (After The Dance) and shared with them all of the details about the two signings I had scheduled while in Memphis. But the TV and radio stuff, I left to others, like my proud hubby who called up just about everybody and their mama's (LOL).

Those who know me well understand that I'm fully content being in the background. I have no real desire to be in front of the somebody's camera or even behind somebody's mike (my dream of being a DJ fizzled a long time ago). I'm more than willing to step aside and leave the place on the stage marked as "the center of attention" to the more spotlight hungry.

Ain't it funny how those things you enjoy the least, often seem hell-bent on chasing you down? When I worked at the public library in Memphis, seemed like somebody was always sticking a camera in my face: on one occasion, I had to do an impromptu TV promo for the library's Magazines/Newspapers department and on another, I had to do a televised spot for an African American film festival I'd helped coordinate.

Shortly after my son learned that I was going to be on television, he struck up a loud chant of, "Mama's gonna be famous! Mama's gonna be famous!" Every couple of hours, he'd break into another round and finally I asked him, "Are you still gonna love Ole Moms even if she isn't famous?" Of course, being a good son, who loves regular meals, clean clothes and on-call chauffering, his answer was a resounding, "Yes!" (LOL)

I suppose, among other things, the point I'm trying to make is, I love writing and certainly, I love it all the more when folks find what I write entertaining and enjoybable. But I've never had a desire to be thought of as famous or a celebrity. I've never set as my goal "getting rich" from my work. Now, I would love to see some of my work on the big screen, but the satisfaction I would derive from doing so doesn't necessarily have a dollar sign or a certain number of zeroes attached to it. Sorry, if that disappoints, but I'm just simple like that (pun intended *smile*).

A lot of what I despise about today's arts scene (whether literary, theatrical, musical or otherwise) is the whole "15 minutes of fame" and "everybody's entitled or dang well oughta wanna be a star" notion. Bump that. Rather than doing some of everything (whether legal or illegal; moral or immoral; outrageous or just outright dumb) in order to draw attention to themselves, I really wish more folks (both artists and non-artists) would follow the advice shared in the quote above. Obviously, it's worked well for the 72-year-old crooner, known as Johnny Mathis. He's been in the game for fifty-two years and he's still going strong. Not only does he still perform, he can still draw a decent size crowd.

Think about some of today's more popular singers, writes, musicians, actors and the like. Who, among them, will still have a viable career, be in their right minds or even drawing a breath in the land of the living ten to fifteen years from now? Of course, nothing's promised and anyone of us could get hit by a bus tomorrow. Moreover, a lot of today's youngsters wouldn't know Johnny M. or likely be at all impressed by him, even if he turned up butt-naked on their favorite reality show, but I'm just saying . . .

COLOR BLIND . . . or . . . COLOR STRUCK? (True Story) . . .

Back when I was a bright-eyed, twenty-some-year-old, college student and living in Memphis, I found myself frequenting a hair salon with a predominately-White clientele. The salon was one of those chains you typically find in a mall. Matter of fact, this one was located in what, at the time, was my favorite mall--the now demolished, though forever infamous (smile) Mall of Memphis.

Anyway, I was sporting a perm back then and I'd somehow lucked up on a fella at this particular salon who could give me that hot, poofed-out look all the PYT's were sporting in the '80s. So one day, I'm there sitting under the dryer (possibly getting a conditioner, I can't recall) when the older White lady seated next to me strikes up a conversation.

No biggie right? Happens all the time in salons across America, I'm sure. But hold on, this one was a little bit different. This lady, bless her lil ole heart, starts in on how she loves my color.

"Oh my, I just absolutely love your color! I'd give anything to be able to tan like that."

With the salon music blaring (Duran, Duran, no doubt) in the background and the dryer humming on full blast, it takes me a few seconds to process the information and to realize, okay, wait, she thinks I'm . . .

I've barely finished the thought when she smiles ever so sweetly and asks, "So are you Greek? Jewish? Italian?"

Okay, granted, I'm a card-carrying member of the light-skinned tribe. I have a tendency to wash out in pictures and grow pale in the winter-time. And, sure, my perm-straightened head was tucked inside of a dryer. But I'm sorry, the nose is a dead-give away. Till this day, how anyone could ever mistake me for anything other than a person of African descent, truly boggles my mind.

In any case, I smile ever so sweetly back at her and say, "No ma'am, actually, I'm African American."

The sweet little old lady's smile disappears and for the remainder of our stints beneath our respective dryers, she doesn't utter so much as another word in my direction. Go figure (LOL).

(Written while listening to Aretha Franklin's "Rock Steady," "I Say A Little Prayer," and "Think.")

THURSDAY THIRTEEN #11 . . . 13 LESSONS YOU LEARN IN LIFE . . . THE HARD WAY . . .

1) The people you help the most will generally be among the first to let you down.

2) A "sorry" however sincere, won't always make it right.

3) Cats don't generally do baths.

4) Not everyone who smiles in your face or showers you with praise has your best interest in mind.

5) If a kid looks like he's about to throw-up, he probably is.

6) Excessive bravado is typically a mask for fear.

7) Excessive anger is typically a mask for pain.

8) The people who tell you "I'll call you" or "We've gotta do lunch one day" but never follow through, aren't really your friends.

9) Paprika and red pepper are not interchangeable.

10) A "maybe" isn't the same as a "yes."

11) A life spent talking, planning and dreaming about all you're gonna do, is typically a life unlived.

12) Just because a woman has a big, protuding belly doesn't necessarily mean she's pregnant.

13) Just because a man has a big, protruding ______ doesn't necessarily mean he knows what to do with it. ( don't act like you don't know what goes in the blank*smile*).

Okay, I'm bad, I know (LOL). Of course, we all know when it comes to "lessons in life" 13 is just a start. If there are other lessons you'd like to mention, feel free to tack them on in the comments.

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