shala esquire's Seven Spoon

The brother who writes this piece is pure comedy. Irreverent and upbeat. Keen observations from the young, vibrant Seven Spoon always confined to 40 words or less, but never without invoking the deep thought and/or raucous laughter. The publishing of such has been running in email syndication for 2 to 3 years in between the Shala's work with the hip hop group Qualo. Expect that I will treat you to other such episodes of Ms. Spoon that I find to be well woven into a future commentary. I simply hoped to introduce you in this first instance to the unequivocal Spoon as well as offer you a link to the artist's website where you can subscribe to his work as well as order T-Shirts with your favorite Spoon-isms inscribed upon them. Hope you have as much fun with this one as I did. Remember this insight the next time you are talking to someone that you think should have been swallowed.

More Seven Spoon Can Be Seen Here

Sea Legs

Remember the first time you touched the water with those wildly flailing arms and stiff, unsteady legs? Can you recall the touch of excitement meddled with apprehension of the chlorinated mixture that kept finding its way into your throat coupled with the resultant tummy ache from having swallowed a gallon of salt or pool water? Don't you dare turn your nose up! As disgusting as it might sound in your adult phase, it happened to you too

Think back to the time when you had thoroughly embraced your merman/mermaid heritage and you succeeded in ripping from one end of the pool to another. For myself, this was a summer at Camp Mathieu somewhere in southern Illinois. I was reeling from the recent disclosure that at age 8 or 9, I was a recovering bedwetter. It had to come out at some time. Hopefully this revelation will not come back around to bite me in any future political campaign since others can clearly relate to it. *Listens for crickets chirping amongst the audience*

In any case, I was in dire straits to find a success during that summer. Already, I had been bested on the cross terrain bicycle race due to my unfortunate discovery of a ditch on the far right side of the racing lane. I was also never able to keep up with the other children in arts and crafts who had mastered the magnificent art of making those braided rubber key chains. My fingers are still not nimble enough to this day to string one together especially when my patience is the width of that string, at least as far as craftwork is concerned.

In the midst of this tumultuous season, I found myself gleefully splasing about in the pool with 50 or so other campers that had been allotted pool time on this scorching summer day. As the whistle was blown announcing the end of our time, I found myself wading toward the wall intending to make my exit. I was halted by a counselor beckoning me to make my way down to the shallow end of the pool. I was immediately filled with a sense of danger since I had been in the habit of attracting the attention of summer employees who obviously earned their physical education degrees under the careful instruction of the Marquis De Sade. Fortunately, this would not a new spin on table squats or bucket holding. This counselor just wanted to see if I would accept his challenge to swim from 3 feet to 9 feet.

I beckoned on all the courage my adolescent frame could muster. I was not in the habit of putting on shows since I can't bear the thought of people staring at me. As I stretched out that first straight arm and cupped hand, I threw my face into the water in a frenzied manner. 4 feet. I twisted my head from one side to the other to prevent drowning myself in the drink. I reached out my arm as if I was attempting to grasp the safety bar at the wall on the 9 foot side. 6 feet. I found my wispy arms becoming weary against of the pressure of the waters they were churning through. 7 feet. The body could stand no more and the legs began to give out. 8 feet. The safety bar on the left wall was my salvation that faithful day. I swam maybe 20 feet that day which was more sustained cardiovascular work than I had been accustomed to performing aside from the intensity of my bike rides. I will never forget the first time I earned my sea legs.

Rashida

Cute Sister's Dog

Cute Sister Trying To Avoid A Morning Picture

Cute Sister's Other Dog

Persistent Brother's Second Attempt At A Morning Picture

Everyone give your best greeting to Rashida. She is an interesting character that can be encountered here in Chicago if you look very carefully on the second Sunday after the full moon where the third star in Orion's belt can be seen on the far East rock near Promontory Point. Sorry. My subtle attempt at humor to offer some semblance of how often I get to see her, but still I find her quite the treat when she is in town.

Determined, explorative, adventurous, and willing to put up with a non sequitur such as myself. Isn't that printed tee great? The two little ones pictured above are Gizmo (above) and Chewie (below). They have faces that bear an uncanny resemblance to their respective namesakes. She has just returned to Boston to complete a contract so I will have to fast and meditate for another 6 or 7 weeks at best until her return. Until that time, I always have my blog, these photos, and the waning days of my seasonably warm Chicago summer.

Actual Words

"Daddy, are you going to take my training wheels off tomorrow?"

Birthday Afterthoughts

These thoughts have been postponed for quite some time. Mostly because I can speak them more clearly than I can write them and partly because I know that in writing them they become concrete objectives of the ongoing mission statement that I have aspired to since that very first birthday on July 15, 2002. I recall the the pigment deficient head as it ascended from the water, eyes struggling to grasp the concept of light. I recall my desire to shove aside the European midwife so that I could coax you the remainder of the way as clearly as I remember reminding myself of why we had sought her services in the first place. Fortunately, she was kind enough to respect that I would like to be one of the first two people to greet this new soul arriving to join us on our journey.

5 years later...you have broadened your already large personality to consume one experience after another. I can't say that I know another child who takes on tap like you, who plays baseball like you, or who approaches signn language with your enthusiasm. You show yourself to be more precocious and innately sensible each day I know you. An heir to the throne beside the other daughters of Katherine Mackey in every respect. I used to have a habit of saving up every witty challenge you presented to your old dad. I would make notes of any major quip that crossed my radar that caused me to question who was in fact the elder in this situation. At later dates, I would present this evidence to my mother and father that someone was playing a game with me. Something was definitely afoot. Someone had found Auset's womb and inserted this "child" there only to make me look ever the fool trying wrangle and raise up someone that keeps proving to me how little guidance they actually need to attack every experience in life with vigor.

In the days leading up to this celebration, I had to ask myself how I should go about honoring and celebrating you properly. I am not a big fan of birthdays in the traditional sense as I understand them in the same regard that I understand holidays. They are excuses to do something different and I don't think human beings should need excuses for exercising their right to celebrate living, family, and freedom. Only days ago on July 10, I had let my own birthday pass by without so much as a peep. A traditional afternoon was spent at your little league practice trying to motivate you to focus on the coach and the field. I apologize if I push you too hard sometimes. I try to follow each such experience with an embrace or an affirmation of Love so that you will know that all of my behaviors are rooted there.

As we walked into your grandmother's house that evening, I noticed your keen eye peering about the room for any signs of traditional birthday paraphernalia. There was none to be found. As interesting as this was, I found it even more interesting that you did not move away from this initial state of excitement to one of disappointment. Instead you spent the first half of the time playing with the basketball your grandmother had given you and waiting with anticipation as Mike and I tightened the bolts on your new bike. We then enjoyed a few bites from the Sponge Bob ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins before we put your helmet and padding on and went outside to test out the bike.

In the end, I want you to know that I was proud of how you handled that day. I know other children that would have thrown a tantrum over such a spartan celebration. My objective here was to teach you the value of honoring the people and relationships that exist around you instead of honoring things. The love you draw from these relationships will sustain you far longer than the temporal satisfaction that you derive from the things that people use to prop themselves up in the world.

I have my reservations about diving in so early to these values as I still have the traditional parental ideals to grapple with in wanting to give your children everything, but I hope to bypass these feeling to show you "everything else" that is traditionally forgotten while children learn the art of accumulation. Every gift you receive from me will follow the continued pattern of the piano and the guitar. They will all be chosen to guide you toward a new experience where you might ultimately find your way in Life. I look forward to holding your hand as we flesh out the rest of this parent child experiment.

PS...I have given up trying to figure out who you really are. I understand that sometimes we are not allowed to reveal these things early on. I am sure that someday you will reveal yourself to me. Until then, I hope you don't mind that I continue addressing you as Jah'kaya Sirius Tekhen.

Self Portrait

Self Portrait, originally uploaded by AOmuse.

Nothing is more noble than the picture painted of you within the eyes of a child. If I judged from the above picture, maybe a better choice of adjective would be ignoble. I recall that at the height of my relationship with South Central Community Services I had reached a point of ecstatic joy at the fact that I felt I was in a place where I was accomplishing my purpose.

The dark side fell upon me when I came to the realization that not only was I not being paid what I was worth, but that I would never be paid any sum above the amount that they had allotted to the position on my date of hire. I was crushed. Every day in my time that I had opportunity to offer insight to a burgeoning young mind was a new level of insight as to why I had accepted the ministry placed upon our shoulders by Minister Ezekiel Khepera.

I had a voice that was soft in tone, but explosive when provoked to a position of thoughtful expression. A voice that I had truly never known or rarely used until I understood why I had to speak. The above portrait will remain a favorite of mine for years to come. It is a simple portrayal of a character with his thoughts flying in too many directions at once although the student fancied himself drawing my stringy locks.

I will experience many openings in the next few seasons as Michael, but there was one season in time where I was Mr. Strode and I will not fail to return to that time when I can affect change upon the greatest measure of the growing hive mind that is inner city youth.

Just A Matter Of Time

It was only a matter of time I suppose. No physical body can exist in that sphere of activity and sustain itself forever. Surely it would give out before its time.

Do you realize what you are seeing? It only took an initial purchase and an afterthought for me to realize. You see before you a pair of size 9 deep brown leather loafers with a rubber sole. Classy enough for work and durable enough for play.

I purchased them on Saturday for my attendance that evening at two consecutive "white" parties. Don't ask. Of course I was kind about the title they invoked in the naming of their parties. In any case, I have never owned very many shoes in my life that might be considered a loafer save the pair of black ones I received in my early teens which managed to crawl their way to the back of my closet to die a slow death. They were resurrected some 18 months later in one of my mother's annual closet sweeps which reaped massive benefits for the local Goodwill.

A pair of basic browns spelled out a new era in life. I am growing old. July 10 saw me turn the clock forward 27 years and some change. The things which once held so much sway over my life approach now cease to hold even my most base interest.

The thrill of chasing about behind random women; the allure of the newest and latest sound in music; and the desire to create a tastemaker of myself in the realm of fashion have all lost their flavor.

Now I just want to lounge in the comfort of a khaki suit in my deep brown loafers and wonder why Frankie Beverly can improve the mood of any jam session while leading up the playlist with an order of MF Doom, Prince, Madlib, and Miles in the comfort three or four other random souls.

Don't get me wrong. I still love an impromptu street race with the cretin at the light who is attempting to cut me off in traffic as much as the next man, but I am no longer attached to that outcome enough to consider it any further than the next stop sign. I can also still play a mean game of ultimate frisbee and at least stave off defeat for a short while in a grappling match.

At the end of the day, I now understand that my youthful vigor and vibrance will not be maintained because I allow myself to be tethered to what I did 5 years ago, but in the spirit of enjoyment, laughter, and playfulness that I bring to others who are a part of my life. All it took to realize this lesson was a pair of deep brown, rubber soled leather loafers size 9.

Where It Gets Real?

Okay. Here I am. The innocent and naive baba going about my day washing off the newly delivered Juiceman juicer when what should I hear from the next room, but the most perfect voice in the planet announcing to her own world that Tasha was going to hang out with a boy. Aaaaaahhhh! Who is Tasha, you ask? Tasha Imani Tekhen was our latest delivery from a certain Bear Building Workshop. The boy in question is last year's arrival, The Clover Kid, who was my attempt at building the ultimate good luck charm in the midst of the White Sox frenzy. What ever happened to two bears being able to sit over a cup of tea without having such defined gender roles? Alas, another time I suppose.

P.S. This is my first of what I suppose will be many mobile blogs from my Palm Treo 650. Since I sit in front of a monitor all day updating tickets and troubleshooting issues, I really hate doing so at home which is why I am such a late arrival to the blogosphere. I could get used to this sort of thing. God bless the moboblog.

I Love To Express Myself...

...but I hate to talk. At least as far as general conversation is concerned. I recall when I first begin composing poetry. It was my attempt to move past the initial chatter of teaching peopel who I envisioned myself to be directly into the heart of matters. Of course, since 1990's Silver Age Hip Hop possessed the bulk of my person at the time, my subject matter was far from being a noble profession of the education my mother had sought for me amongst the quiet content of Kenner, Louisiana. It was a far cry from the early childhood my brother had spent in the much larger and looser culture that was Chicago.

When I began writing and rhyming, I found myself transformed from a shy being of less than average weight into a steadily, paced being of deft and strength...intellect and fury. I felt better and still do anytime I am on the stage. I feel a freedom that is beyond anything that I know. A clarity and a peace that was matched only by watching my daughter rise from the waters during her home birth. A place where everything is understood. A place where people might finally understand me because I hate to talk...

but I Love To Express Myself.