it's okay

it’s okay
by hardCore

it's okay

to not want to
knowing you need to

to not feel beautiful or wanted

it’s okay
to be needy

adult toddler, stumbling
wishing someone would just pick you up
and hold your hand

it’s okay to feel alone
maybe you are
maybe right now, you need to be

you have your permission to be angry
@ him/her/me/us/them

to kick scream and throw things
breaking the silence
shattering your frustrations

it’s okay
to cry

so pour out your eyes
like buckets beneath a leaky ceiling
after a rain storm

and don't worry about who gets wet
it’s okay

go ahead
shun the sun

stare at your incoming calls without answering
or returning them

take a second to catch your breath
even if it takes an hour
or a year

and it’s okay
if people don’t understand

sometimes your soul speaks a different language
and you barely feel as if you understand yourself

it’s okay
to not be forgiving at first
to hold grudges until your arms tire

it’s okay to be wrong

weak

stubborn

a person you don’t like

a failure

it’s okay to be human
which makes it perfectly okay
to not be okay

so be what you can
because no matter what you allow yourself to be

it’s okay

brothaly advice, for sistas

"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment." - ralph waldo emerson

I'm surrounded by women, young, old, single, divorced, happy, bitter. They all have something in common. None of them have a significant romantic relationship in their lives, nor do they seem to have the slightest inkling of how to achieve and maintain one. These women meet men all the time and rarely get excited about them. Yet, when excitement does find their heart, a rush of over zealous emotions and actions lead to a relationship built on intimacy not interest. What these beautiful, intelligent women end up with is an on again off again lover rather than a soul mate, or the speed with which they want to move pushes their potential Mr. Right, right out the door. So how do these ladies deal with the aftermath? They go through phases of really casual relationships, followed by bouts of celibacy. They read books, join churches, write, become very goal oriented and focus on themselves. But deep down, that need to find a life partner of their own, to really know love, and even to start a family of their own never diminishes.

There is no blueprint for love. However, I've seen enough sistas make the wrong moves so often that I think it's time I shared a little advice and shed a little light on the situation. I'm going to offer a few tips that won't guarantee love, but will definitely put you on the path to finding something significant. Mind you, there are exceptions to every rule, but if you play by these rules, you'll significantly increase your success rate.


1) NEVER DATE STRANGERS

Never, ever date strangers. I don't care how great they seem or how good they look, do yourself a favor, don't do it. Here's the thing about a stranger, all you know about him is what he tells you. That's putting a huge amount of trust into someone for absolutely no reason. Trust is not a starting point, it's a destination. The minute you start dating a stranger, you make trust a starting point, thus setting yourself up to be lied to. Here is a simple dating rule. Only date people you know OR people who come with a reference. This gives you the advantage. By knowing the person, or knowing someone who knows the person you're dating, it gives you the opportunity to gather more information about the person than they may even be ready to reveal. It gives you the chance to think about all the things you've experienced with this person, or heard about them. Now you have a knowledge base to begin from. It also helps if the person you're dating has to be accountable of their actions to someone besides you. This is the beauty of meeting people through your friends. Common friends creates a situation where, the person can't just treat you any ole kind of way. Treating you bad could affect not only what you think of them, but what their friends think of them as well. Also, it helps the vetting process. If people you respect, can recommend someone they respect, all this mutual respect will drift over into your potential relationship. Once again, it doesn't guarantee love, but it will alleviate wasted time with someone absolutely wrong for you.

Also, if you want to increase your dating pool, don't go out and meet more men. Go out and meet more women with male friends. Your female friends make the perfect buffer between you and what's out there.

2) EMBRACE PATIENCE

Your friends are married, and have houses, and kids. So the f*ck what! Excuse my French, but trying to "keep up with the Jones's" is a perfect recipe for disaster. Life and the changes life brings comes at us in due time. So don't go throwing all your standards and expectations out the window in a rush to find any ole man.

You know that man showing you some interest. Well, I'm not sure if he's Mr. Right, or Mr. Wrong. But one thing I am definitely sure of, he wants to tap that ass! And that's all he will want UNLESS you give him a reason to want more with you. Men are very skeptical of things that come too easy to them. Let me repeat this. MEN ARE VERY SKEPTICAL OF THINGS THAT COME TO EASY TO THEM. So if you really want him to stick around, take your time and get to REALLY know him, and allow him to really get to know you before you start giving way too much of yourself.

As men, all our lives we have been told that women fit into two categories. The ones you just sleep with, and the ones who are worthy of relationships and commitments. Right or wrong, this is the lesson we've been given. Very promiscuous women often find themselves surrounded by male attention, with few ever sticking around long term. As we get older and people get more in touch with their sexuality, the lines blur. However, what doesn't blur is the reality that a man must have a certain amount of respect for you and who you are to maintain a loving relationship with you. Often times a woman meets a man and quickly starts sleeping with him, cooking for him, and in many ways taking good care of him, yet he won't commit. You know the old adage, if you can get the milk for free, then why buy the cow? It's true. So if you want to go giving away unearned milk, cool. Just know if you're doing it, it's not necessarily the way to a substantive relationship.

Learn to show yourself the same level of patience you have given so many bad relationships. Take your time with yourself. Be forgiving of your mistakes. Put no time constraints on your happiness and well being. And when you do find a spark with someone, resist the urge to let your mind go zooming past the second date down the aisle towards the preacher. Desperate thoughts lead to desperate actions. Sure, the ticking clock is real. But at a certain point all you can do is put yourself in the best possible situation to embrace love. What you can't do is make love embrace you back.

3) KNOW YOUR POWER

Women, you have no idea just how much power you have. From here on out, know this if you don't know anything, you are worth a million dollars to someone. So act the part.

a) Never chase a man. Remember, you're worth a million bucks, what man wouldn't chase after a million bucks? Initially, if he wants to see you, let him come to you. The minute you put yourself in a situation where you are running behind him, chasing him down, flying to see him, driving to his place at his whim when he hasn't even shown you he's willing to do the same for you--in his eyes, your value diminishes.

b) Invest wisely. Every relationship, no matter how deep or casual is an investment, an investment of you. What defines a good investment is the returns you see on that investment. If you make a small investment of yourself and you see small returns, that's considered a conservative investment. But if you start making risky investments, mind, body, soul, and the only returns are pain and heartache, that's a great way to become emotionally bankrupt. If you value your worth, and understand your power, always invest conservatively. Take your time and learn all about what you're investing in. See how risky or stable of an investment it is before you go investing more and more of yourself.

c) Be specific. Not only are you powerful, the power of words is real. You all have standards, and beyond that, you all know what you want. Yet when you go speaking to the universe, you make really general statements like, "I just want a good man." And bam, you meet a good man. He just happens to be a good man with bad credit and four kids. See, the universe gave you exactly what you asked for, but you weren't specific. So become more specific. Also, know what you REALLY want. Don't say, "I want a handsome man", when you really want a man who won't cheat on you. The universe is listening to your thoughts and your words. Embrace your power, and speak into existence your reality.

4) BE HAPPY

Your happiness is not dependent on a romantic relationship. Focus all your energy on being a happy well rounded person. Happy energy resonates with people, and is one of the most magnetic forces on Earth. We all want to be around people who seem like they are carefree and enjoying life, not those drowning in misery. Our worlds get really small when we only focus on our personal problems. When we focus on our blessings and the potential of what's to come, our worlds suddenly seem enormous and very exciting. The best chance you'll ever have of being happy WITH someone, is by first learning how to be happy alone.

Good luck sistas. One luv.

sidenote: Quit taking advice from your bitter female friends. Find an objective male confidant you trust, who isn't trying to date you, and take your men issues to him.

a lil down home beef in alligator

a lil down home beef in alligator
by hardCore
(performed at the S\W Speak Easy)

Only two kinds of people ever come out of Bolivar County Mississippi; young looking old people, and old looking young people. Now if you happened to be young looking and old, then praise the good man up above cause you lucked out on some damn good genes. But if you turned out old looking and young, chances are you were just another real life victim of them down home Delta blues. See down around these parts, life is extreme. The July sun can sho nuff change your mind about taking a mid day joy ride in a Chevy. And a late afternoon thunderstorm can wash away the road you take home, and you right along with it. And money, well, it doesn't tend to be too fond of most folks around here, so if you're smart, you don't go getting too fond of it. But what you do, is take the moments in life slow, whatever they are. If a cool breeze comes running down a hill at you, you inhale it head first without blinking. You take long drags off the square. You eat, and you rest. Then you rest, and you eat some more. And love? You don't just make love. You learn to make love last. Now if all that slow living doesn't smooth things out for you just enough for you to find a little bit of joy in life, then you're left with two options; church or that music they call the blues.

The baddest blues player to ever come out of Alligator, Mississippi was the twentieth of twenty-one children. His name was R.L. Johnson. Now R.L. didn't stand for Richard Leonard or even Rudy Lester for that matter. R.L. didn't stand for nothing but a capital R and a capital L. But names ain't matter much to his family, cause nobody went by their birth given anyway. He had a sister they called Doll, another they called Smush, and one that just went by Pepper. He had brothers; Red, Tree, Preacher, Junior Baby, and Duck. He had a big brother they called Little Johnson, and a little brother they called Big Johnson. But R.L.? R.L. just went by R.L. That is, until the summer of 1959. R.L. was ten years old in the fifth grade when they found out three of his teeth were rotten. And well, with money being tight and all, poor little R.L. was forced to walk around the whole year with breath that leaned towards the sour side of baby shit. And believe it or not, that's exactly what they called him. Baby Shit Johnson. So it was no surprise to anyone when little R.L. jumped into his grandmother's blue Buick at the end of that school year, and went to live a few miles up the road in Hushpuckena. And for the next 10 years, if you weren't blood related, chances are you never heard one peep out of the little boy, they once referred to as R.L.

Then next time he returned to Alligator, he came in a white brimmed hat, wearing white patten leather shoes, driving a pearl white Cadillac. And his smile was the biggest brightest most electric anyone had ever seen. The minute he turned in off that old 61 Highway, leaving a long trail of dust down Lake street, past Lake Alligator, right through the heart of town; it was obvious, he was somebody. R.L. came back a blues man with a record they played on the radio, and everybody knew his name too. They called him Sweets, short for the name he was now known by, Sweet Mouth Johnson. Sweet Mouth could hit notes as high as the night is long, and could make a single guitar moan like ten rooms in a whore house. He had an almost too quick laugh that often trailed off into the wind as a whiny hum. And he had this obsessive way of sucking on anything that smelled remotely sweet. Peppermint, butter scotch, rock candy, you name it. Sweet Mouth had cursed the halletosis God's forever, and the ladies, oh how they noticed. You could always find him leaned up against a wall whispering in some woman's ear, whether she was married, engaged, or otherwise. And like any true blues man Sweet Mouth kept a black rubber gripped Colt revolver down around his ankle in case anyone had anything to say about it. Sweet Mouth was finally back home. He played his guitar, drank his whiskey, and pulled plenty of skirts, all across the South. And that's how the passing days quickly blurred into years.

A blues man can lose time, the way a small kid loses change. He'll sprinkle a few years backing the wrong band. Seven or eight fighting a bad record contract, and another three or four trying to recoup the money he spent fighting it. He'll throw away some of his best years doing heroine, or denying children he always deep down knew were his. He'll drop twenty years running from taxes while simultaneously chasing the wrong women. Dysfunctional marriages, funerals, and fewer gigs are enough to make a blues man spend a couple of years doing nothing but thinking. Thinking about all the years that got away. And that's exactly what Sweet Mouth did.

By the fall of 1997, Sweet Mouth was three months into a marriage with his fourth wife, Rosetta Turner. And as things had turned out, Sweet Mouth hadn't exactly become a young looking old person either. The hard living and late nights of a blues man had carved deep lines into his face and left his tired eyes a dusty yellow, but nevertheless, he was in love. In Rosetta, Sweet Mouth had finally found a woman he was as taken with as she was with him. Rosetta was beautiful, well educated, extremely successful, and loved the blues. At a blues festival in Baton Rouge, Sweet Mouth plucked his guitar with an intensity that left her with curled toes and a post orgasmic glow . A two-year courtship ensued, resulting in Sweet Mouth divorcing his third wife. Rosetta quickly took an early retirement from her job and she and Sweet Mouth were married under a Magnolia tree. They only exchanged one vow written by Rosetta. "I promise to love you tomorrow, the way I do today, and to never ever cheat on you." From then on, she and Sweet Mouth became one with the slow easy life of Alligator. They were best friends. They'd talk and fish and tend their garden and take slow drives on Sundays. Most days, they slept late and rested. Most nights, it was a different club, jook joint, or tavern. Sweet Mouth did the playing, and Rosetta did the clapping. They'd always leave the house together before the gig, and they'd always come back together afterwards. Until one night, when Rosetta was forced to stay home to nurse a cold. Like a good married man, Sweet Mouth kissed his wife goodbye and left the house that night. But like the blues man that he was, he did not find his way back home.

Sweet Mouth stumbled into the house at about 8 a.m., smelling of corn liquor, cigarettes, cheap perfume and sex. Less that five steps through the door he had passed out, face first on the couch. There, his limp body would lay for most of the day. He finally lifted from his slumber to the loud sounds of an evening storm. The rain was tap dancing on the roof at a steady pace when he finally got his bearings. And the memories began to flash flood his heart. The big legged red bone seated at the back of the club, the long drive out to Sugar Hill, the backseat of his car. Panic rushed his heart. Sweet Mouth began calling out to Rosetta. He called for her in a pleading tone, then sweetly, passionately, commandingly, and eventually angrily. Yet all he heard in response was a steady down pour of rain and an ever increasing wind. He jumped up towards the window only to pull back the curtain and see one less car in the driveway. He darted towards the bedroom to find all her personal belongings gone. Clothes, pictures, make-up--everything. Eventually Sweet Mouth made his way to the kitchen. Everything Rosetta had left for him was there. Sitting on the table was the spare house key, Rosetta's wedding ring, and a box of curiously strong mints for Sweet Mouth, that held the curiously faint scent, of cyanide.

the re-launch

"get your popcorn ready" - t.o.

After a long long long hiatus, T4TD is relaunching this week.
So spread the word. It's about to be on up in here. One.

beautiful young women

beautiful young women
by dr. cleopatra abdou (inspired by corey d. seaton)

january 5th, 2009

Beautiful young women,
let me tell you what happens.

Here’s what happens:
you see these images of love,
you dream of love,
you imagine love,
you hope for love,
you will it to be love,
you do all kinds of
not-so-smart
things for love,
make all kinds of
downright bad
choices for love.
And these never put love where it never was
and never was
meant to be.
And these never bring love sooner
or closer
or more like you imagined it.

And
still
you feel on the inside
and show on the outside
to be without the love
it seems only natural and normal to have.
And worse
maybe you suffer in all kinds of ways--
irrevocable and not--
that you wouldn’t have
had you not made all kinds of compromises
in exchange for
what you thought
would be
love.

And so you suffer
maybe just once,
maybe once a month;
but finally you learn.
You learn your worth.
And you learn,
if not
what real love looks like,
then at least what it does not
look like.
And you decide that
no more
will you give yourself to anything else.
And you let go a little.
And then one day
when you’re not even paying attention,
and you’re much too busy to notice it,
and you are way too happy and too vibrant to be looking for it,
just like that--
real love comes
just strolling down the street.

And it is not perfect,
but it is
absolutely
perfect for you.
It is so much more than you ever dreamt,
than you ever could of imagined,
and certainly than you were beginning to suspect realistic.

And it’s easy.
So easy.

There’s no drama.
There’s no wondering,
there are no games,
no calculations.
There is no fighting,
no kicking,
no screaming,
no willing it to be,
no deals with the devil
(and not just because there is no devil in the Creator’s beautiful Universe).

It just is.

Just like when it wasn’t love
and nothing you could say
or you could do
would make it be love;
when it is love,
nothing you can say
or do
will make it stop being love.

So you can go ahead and be yourself.
Go ahead and love yourself.
Go ahead and exhale.
Go ahead and shine.
Go ahead and use all that
previously wasted and scattered
energy for good;
your betterment and others.

Beautiful young women,
can you hear me?
Do you really have to learn this the hard way
like all of us before you have?
What can we do to show you,
to help you listen,
to help you see,
to help you understand?
So that your suffering will be small.
And your love will be big--
the defining factor of your life;
not your heartaches.

Beautiful young women,
we--
your sisters, your girlfriends, your mothers, your mentors--
we love you.
Let us lead you to love.

All you beautiful women--
young and grown--
let’s help lead our sisters, girlfriends, mothers, daughters, and mentors
to
not away from
love.

dear diary

dear diary,

this morning when i woke up, things seemed different.

the sun was still the sun, the clouds were still the clouds, and the wind was still the wind.

my nose was still my nose, my eyes were still my eyes, and this black skin was still this black skin.

the same people who speak to me, spoke to me. the same people who never do, didn't. the same way i couldn't care less either way, remained the same.

falsely convicted felons were still in prison. men and women were still dying in wars. and the economy was no better than the day before.

but today i smiled, because today, it FELT different.

it felt like we were finally at the point where today, becomes TOMORROW.

tomorrow is the point at which the old day ends, and a new day begins. our entire lives, we've just been living a series of the same day over and over. sure, the sun would rise. but it brought with it no new meaning. no new hope, or new ideologies. no new movements, leaders, or voices for change.

but TODAY...

today FEELS like america has pushed its confederate flags into a dark corner and cast its racist brethren to the side.

it FEELS like a white man can be a white man without having to carry the stigma of being an oppressor.
and black and brown men can be black and brown without feeling they will forever be oppressed.

it definitely doesn't FEEL like i'm less black. however, somehow i do FEEL more american.

my city FEELS more livable. like one people, in one community, in one nation.

and truthfully, it FEELS good. dammit, it feels real good. overwhelming even.

i know today, our problems are still our problems. but under the lens of hope, they truly seem smaller. because for the first time in most of our lives, the notion of impossible has been defeated. and the embodiment of that spirit is a just a regular living-breathing-walking man. a black man. president of these united states.

he is no longer a dream, which means our dreams are no longer fiction, which makes our realities feel way more dream-like.

yesterday is yesterday. today is just a day. which means tomorrow, we will finally know what it means to see tomorrow.

whus fa dinnuh? pt. 2

"the dinner hour is the summer of the day, full of sunshine" - herman melville

There's been so much serious stuff going on in the world lately, I thought this might be a nice time for a feel good piece. A couple years back I wrote a post called Whus Fa Dinnuh? It was a piece that attempted to explain how, as a kid, you could correlate what was going on in the family, socially and economically by what you had for dinner. So I ran down a bunch of stand out meals, and what they said about my family. It seems a lot of people could relate. Over time, I kept remembering more meals, or I kept getting emails saying "how could you forget" such and such. So by request, definitely read part 1 first, here's part two.

TUNA FISH

Tuna fish is one of those easy breezy meals my mom would make for one reason: TO KEEP THE HOUSE COOL. In the summer time, when the temp started to creep up past the mid nineties towards one hundred degrees, my mom did everything she could to keep from having to turn on the oven. Either the folks were trying to keep the energy bill down and weren't running the air yet, so it was hot as southern hell. OR, the air conditioning was running over time and nobody wanted to make it have to work any harder than it already had. That meant a lot of quickie meals. Tuna fish was one of them. She'd boil eggs, cut them up, and crack open a few big cans of tuna. She'd start seasoning it with all kinds of stuff, until there was this big bowl of tuna. (She always sprinkled Paprika on top to give it some color.) We usually ate it with white bread, Premium crackers, or Ritz crackers. I liked to eat it with just Ruffle potato chips, but that usually got me yelled at. So Ritz crackers it was.

FRIED PORK CHOPS

This was definitely one of my top two or three meals as a kid. It was a semi-celebratory meal. We usually had it mid-week, or top of the week, always Monday or Wednesday. My sister and I were latch key kids, so when my mom walked in with a few grocery bags after work, I'd perk up because that was a good sign. I'd slide across the kitchen floor in my socks and ask my mom "what you bout to cook." And that's when I'd here those two magical words, pork chops! ( as a kid I called them "poke chops") I'd fist pump and jump up and down, "yes". She always made pork chops with mashed potatoes and gravy, green snow peas, and maybe some cream corn. Cream corn has to be one of the worst things ever created, but with pork chops, even that tasted good. Pork chops meant my old man would be getting home on time, six thirty sharp. My mother would never go through all the trouble of cooking that if he was going to be late. Just as the evening news would go off, he'd be pulling up. And just after the family introductions on Family Feud, I'd be climbing into my chair ready to get my grub on.

KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN

The minute I'd see a bucket or two of chicken come through the door, I already knew, we were about to have some impromptu company. Not only that, but it was probably the kind of company we weren't that close to. If it were family, my mom would be cooking "a real meal", and if they did buy some chicken, it'd be Popeye's. So KFC meant some people, my folks weren't expecting, had phoned ahead, and were about to pop up. And I could always tell how much my parents didn't really like them by whether there were side items to go with the chicken. If it was really annoying company, there'd be one kind of chicken, original recipe. If my folks liked them somewhat, there'd be a mix of original and crispy, and there would be side items like corn, baked beans, and mashed potatoes. Sometimes I'd luck out, and the people coming over didn't have kids, which gave me plenty of chances to raid those chicken buckets for left overs while my folks put on their best faces and pretended to enjoy the people who had messed up their evening.

SLOPPY JOE'S AND FRENCH FRIES

Sloppy Joe's meant kids were in the house. It meant one of my friends or cousins had talked their folks into letting them spend the night, and my folks were just trying to keep us happy and out of their hair. This was one of the few times I can remember when my folks ate something different than we ate for dinner. If we were eating Sloppy Joes, my mom would make some cornbread and throw some crowder peas and okra on for her and my old man. Meanwhile, us kids would try to stuff ourselves and eat as many Sloppy Joes as possible, which was always one and a half, and a whole lot of french fries.

HOMEMADE SOUP AKA POT LUCK STEW

Nah, don't even think chicken noodle soup. This was one of those broke meals. When it was served up, we were usually over due for groceries, do to the lack of time or money. I'd frown the minute that big silver pot was pulled out of the cabinet. I didn't hate this soup, it just wasn't my thing. If we were lucky, there was some ground chuck in the freezer to throw into the soup. If not, cut up hot dogs or polish sausages. The soup always started out simple. Some potatoes, some green beans, some kind of meat. My mom loved tomatoes and tomato paste, so that pretty much made up the stock. But somewhere along the way, maybe because it was a throw together meal, she's just start throwing anything in that soup. Corn, chopped up okra, pasta. And please believe, this kind of meal made for perfect left overs.

ROAST AND POTATOES

This was a Sunday meal, make no mistake about it. I knew what the roast pan looked like. It was this big oval discolored light brown pan, with burn marks and a hole right on the top where the handle used to go. Made for the ultimate steam releaser. Whenever I saw that pan being pulled out, I started dancing. Then I started humming, then I started started to smile. One of my favorite meals was on it's way, roast and potatoes. The blessing and the curse of a roast is, it takes forever to cook. The blessing is, all that while its cooking, it fills the house with the warm happy smells of what was manifesting in the oven. The curse was, it smelled so good, you wanted it NOW! First two hours were heaven. The next two hours you'd feel your stomach eating through your skin. The next two hours, you'd be agitated and angry. And that final hour when the whole meal came together, your hate reached the point of exhaustion and you felt like "whatever, i ain't even hungry no more". Yet the minute the words, "it's ready" hit your ears, you were back to singing and grinning. Thick beef gravy. Soft potatoes and carrots, with green beans and a soft roll. Lawd-ham-mercy. Roast made for great convo, and instant itis.

A PLATE FROM SO & SO's HOUSE

You know that event/get together/party that was for grown ups only? Well, there was always a bunch of food at those, and that became dinner. My mom would call home to ask if we were doing okay, and then she'd say, "I'm bringing you a plate". Now, those words could be heaven or hell depending on where they were. If they were at a stranger's house, my mom wasn't bringing us a plate unless it was some catered food. (Mom didn't trust strangers on the cleanliness tip) And if it were family or friends, it totally depended on whose house they were at. With a plate from someone's house, you know it's going to be good the minute you look at it. BBQ and spaghetti makes for great plates. Cold roast beef and fried chicken, or turkey and dressings make for a doable plate too. But once you start getting into more specific type foods, especially vegetables like greens, they tend to be pretty sorry on the reheat. I'd always end up diving right in, or turning up my nose quickly. Sometimes that got you yelled at. Other times, it got you a free trip to Mickey D's.

FRIED FISH FROM THE FISH HOUSE

I love fried fish as a kid. It was usually a Saturday or Friday evening meal. Things were pretty easy and comfortable when we had this meal. My old man would leave the house, and about twenty minutes later, he'd show up with these brown bags full of aroma. Then he'd start pulling these bundles of news paper out of the bags. He'd pull the bundle out and unwrap it, and in the bundle would be a paper plate with another one on top. He'd lift the paper plate off the top, and underneath there'd be two pieces of white bread, and four of five pieces of smoking hot fish, with sliced pickle and raw onions on the side. Ewwwweeeee, now that's some good eating. My mom and dad would split a plate of catfish, and a plate of buffalo. My sis usually ate the catfish too. But I loved the jack salmon. It was white fish that came one one long big bone. Whenever we ate fish, without fail, my folks would start talking about all the horror stories about folks who got fish bones stuck in there throats. "There was a boy name Arthur Lee Kinley, boy had a catfish bone stuck in his throat for two years. Had to learn sign language cause he couldn't talk, then one day he ate some white bread and it just popped out". Mind you, these were absolutely the biggest tall tales you ever did want to hear, but I was a kid, so they scared the hell out of me. I think my folks knew what they were doing. They didn't trust us with fish, and told those stories to make sure we never got careless with it. Note to reader: Ghetto fish doesn't come de-boned. lol

TV DINNERS

As a latch-key kid of the 80's, I definitely ate my share of frozen dinners aka TV dinners. Mind you, TV dinners were totally a luxury item, and were the one excuse my sister and I EVER had to turn on the oven. My parents were on some "don't be messing with the gas eyes when we aren't home" shit. But we WERE allowed to crank up the oven to pop in a TV dinner. So for those late work days, or those days when my parents would be gone, when money was right, we had an array of frozen pot pies, pizzas, and various Swanson meals. You open the box to the meal, and then you peel back the tin foil on it and slide that bad boy in the oven. About a half hour to 45 minutes later, you had you something. I started off on those small dinners. The meat would be on one side, and the accompanying side dish would be on the other side. The meatballs and mashed potatoes quickly come to mind, as well as the veal and pasta, and the fish and mac n' cheese. Somewhere around ten, I developed an appetite, and I had to move up to the HUNGRY MAN size. The only thing better than one frozen fried chicken breast, are three. lol Bigger dishes, multiple sides, hell yeah. But what really stands out are the shows I remember watching as we ate those meals. Various syndicated shows that included, Gomer Pyle, Good Times, The Munsters, My Three Sons, What's Happening, Leave It To Beaver, etc. While making those meals myself taught me independence, those shows became the backdrop to my childhood. Weird thing about a TV dinner, no matter how much you ate, chances are, your ass was hungry about fifteen minutes later.