Saturday, November 20, 2010

***End of File***

I have not given up on blogging, but I will not post here any longer. This web log is now defunct. I will only keep it here for historic reasons.

If you want to read anything that I'm currently writing, then visit my newest blog:

I also have my original blog: My Dirty Little Secret

I won't blog at MDLS nearly as much as my newest blog. However, I won't consider MDLS dead just yet. I may post there from time to time, but I have nothing to say there at the moment that isn't ready being said very well by lots of other people.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Real Chicken

My five year old daughter was sitting at the table, eating some chicken wings when it finally dawns on her:

"Daddy, do these chicken wings come from the kind of chickens that goes BOK! BOK! BOK!?

Hardly containing my laughter, I answer, "Yes, they are from those kinds of chickens".

"So these are really their bones?? Why do we eat the chickens, Daddy"?

Because we like the way they taste. Why else?

My daughter hardly eats meat as it is. Now that she knows that chicken really comes from-- well -- chicken . . . I think she's going to end up being a vegetarian.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Too Smart for Me

My son wanted to sign up and create his own login account on Cartoon But, he needed an e-mail address to use during sign-up. So, he asked me for mine.

Son: Dad, what's your e-mail address?

Me: Why do you want to know?

Son: I wanna sign up so that I can log in and keep my profile on Cartoon Network games.

Me: Am I going to get any spam after you sign up?

I was expecting to stump him with my question.

But instead, my nine year old son responds with:

Nope. You won't get any spam. I read their Privacy Agreement.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Part of the Team

In my previous post, I talked about feeling "outnumbered" racially.

Well after some reflection, I feel that I should balance that post out with this one.

Though I do feel outnumbered quite often, I have moments where I feel warmly welcomed.

One neighbor brought us cookies when we moved in and gave us some firewood. That was very, very kind. They have always been very friendly towards us since we've moved into the neighborhood.

On the soccer field yesterday, my daughter played in her first scrimmage game. She got to play as much time as anybody else. She was treated just the same as any other child, in my view.

That's all I can ask for.

And when the game was over, the parents form two lines that face each other. We then reach out and touch our raised hands together. Then, our kids run between the two lines that we've made as though they are running through a tunnel.

They loved it!

And at that moment, I didn't feel outnumbered. I felt just as my daughter did. I felt like I was part of the team.

That was a great feeling.

And to top it off, our little girls won their scrimmage game 4-0.

Sunday, September 12, 2010


I generally try to remain anonymous. I've tried not to reveal too much about myself as far as demographics are concerned.

In this post, I will break away from that trend a bit. Otherwise, I cannot write about my true feelings on this subject matter.

I've been living in a new city, neighborhood, and house for about two years as of the date of this post. Same state, mind you. Just a smaller suburb outside of the capital city. Overall, I enjoy living here compared to the capital from which I've moved. But, I feel quite outnumbered where I live because . . . well . . . I'm a minority.

I guess that goes without saying; if you're outnumbered, you're in the minority.

But, I'm a demographic minority; A racial minority.

In that regard, my family is unique on my street.

That's not a big deal.

But when I go to the park with my family, we are often unique "demographically" speaking in that situation, too.

When I take my kids to soccer practice, I look across field and scan the seven or eight other teams practicing various sports only to find myself and my son or daughter as the only dark skinned people around.

When my kids stand at the bus stop . . . it's all the same story.

Sure, this shouldn't be a big deal.

And usually, it's not.

But sometimes, I feel like people look down on me and my family. I feel sometimes that people wish I wasn't present-- as though I've ruined their day. My presence rubs in the fact that the town is not exclusive to only one kind any longer . . . whatever that's supposed to mean.

Some days, I feel like a mangy dog that someone finds to be pesky and bothersome; perhaps even repugnant.

I feel sometimes as though people see me as the bringer of blight to the community-- as though my visit to the park heralds the commencement of the perfect neighborhood's downfall.

No . . . no one has been cruel to me. No one has been offensive or mean to me. The few neighbors I've talked with have mostly been cordial.

But most people ignore us. And then, there are those who deeply frown at us when we pass by.

See . . . in the South, people smile and wave all the time to most people who pass by. People say "hello" and "good-morning" to total strangers constantly. As a matter of fact-- in Southern culture, to not greet someone with a "hi" or a slight wave is considered insulting to most people who or products of Southern culture. You don't have to wave to everyone, but you are expected to wave back if someone speaks to you . . . within reason, of course.

So, to "not speak" or snub someone who greets you can be considered quite insulting in the South. At the very least, ignoring someone is often perceived as snobbery or coldness. This behavior can possibly draw comments out of other Southerners such as "ya damn Yankee".

This is said under the breath or behind the Yankee's back, of course.

We ain't known for our hospitality for nothin'.

But when snubbing happens between races, the words Yankee, snob, or cold, aren't used. Especially if the one doing the snubbing is a Southerner.

The word most often used in that case just mentioned above is: racist.

So, what am I to think when my neighbor of two years from across the street never acknowledges my existence even as we pass by on the street?

When out at the park, what am I think when my greetings are returned with a snub or a sour grunt and a furrowed brow from other parents?

And what should I think when someone dons a Rebel flag on their hat, T-shirt, or F-450 pickup truck? How about when they draped it in their window like a curtain or fly it high with a really tall flag pole in their front yard?

I don't know what I'm supposed to think.

But I do remind myself that I mustn't be hypersensitive. I remind myself that not everyone feels comfortable "speaking" as we say and not every frown is wish that we'd pack our things a leave town.

I think these things, then I just take a deep breath and carry on.

I carry on and hope that one day we all get past our ancient evolutionary circuitry and finally see all people as simply people.

Friday, September 10, 2010


At bedtime, my wife told our five-year-old daughter to pick out a "good-night" shirt for bed.

She crawls off into her closet and emerges moments later with a shirt.

She proceeds to put in on, but then pauses.

A furrow forms in her brow and with much gesticulation she says, "Momma, this shirt smells like tacos!"

We haven't had any tacos that week.

As nasty as little kids can sometimes be, she was sophisticated enough to put that shirt into her hamper and pick out another.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Out of the Mouth of Babes

Kids really know how to cut you down.

I had lost some weight, but I still have a long way to go. I have a hefty gut and I really need to trim it down for my health. And well . . . I haven't been working out like I'm supposed to be lately.

Enter my five year old daughter, who lovingly pats me on my tummy and asks, "Daddy, are you having a baby?"

What can I say? That's what I get for getting off track and eating that hamburger tonight.