Herbert Louis Singleton Jr.

I can't even begin to explain to you what kind of man Herbert L. Singleton Jr. was, or the relationship we shared. But I can try.
My father and I were closer, attached to the hip, because he would have it no other way. As I was growing up, I thought that he loved have me around him because he had a person to bomard with all of his ideas about life. And he had plenty.
The definition of opinionated and passionate, radical and revolutionary, and with all of those concepts running rampant inside of him, he had to let someone know. As a younger man, he put himself smack dab in the middle of the crisis that faced the marginalized masses that lived in this country. He spoke, sometimes yelled, fought for a change back when fighting for what was right was as nessisary as breathing. Sit-in, protests, rallies, it was rumored that when Angela Davis came to Baltimore, he hid her out. Interviews for Russian Televison stations, it was also rumored that he was a communist. Attended Morgan State, then Catholic University for law school, he had chosen his route to affect change. Worked for Legal Aid in Baltimore, as was being groomed to be its next Director, but he decided that he should move into private practice. Singleton, Robinson and Dashiell. Did alot of pro bono (free) legal work. My moms says the only thing he would turn down was his collar. An all Black law firm. How beautiful is that. And for a while it was. Eventually, it succumbed to the human condition. Which condition? All of them. Got sick for awhile, around the time I was 1 or 2. So he stayed home with me. Taught me to read through phonetics flash cards. Way before Hooked on Phonics. Taught me the states, countries, and the plight of Blacks in America. I'm 3 years old. So please people, bear with me when I go on my rants about the world. He still fought. Fought to keep cigarette and booze billboards out of my neighborhood, when surprisingly enough, he never saw them in Towson. Fought to keep my block clean. He loved McCulloh St. Fought to keep me and my friends away from the lures of the street and safe from its perils. Fought to keep my cousins love when their biological fathers weren't around. He was a fighter to say the least. He worked at Soujourner-Douglass College as a teacher and the special assistant to the President. He helped students realize the value of learning. He made sure all of the students got enough grants and scholarships to cover the cost of all aspects of their education. He taught outside of the classroom. All while being an asshole. Oh yes, my pops was an asshole. Ignorant and ornery, he said what we felt like saying when he felt like saying it. Filthy mouth. Also a sap. I mean super sappy. He cried. He cried when I left for college, when I came back, when he came to visit, when my niece was born, the first time I got drunk, when North Carolina lost, I mean, sappy. Never said he was perfect, just that he was my Father. Then he died.
That's not the whole story but enough background. This isn't a biography.
I always thought that when my father died, it would be like the movies. Somber yet inspirational music would play softly in the background, a sense of anguish would come over me, and a dream sequence would kick in. I would remember one interaction with him that would stand out above all others, remembered that he loved me, and then one tear would come out of my left eye. Nothing is ever like we see in the movies. It one of those unwritten laws of nature, like yawning is, and forever will be, contagious. No music, no dream sequence, no scene. And definately just not one tear of one eye. But one concept did rise above everything.
My father was the definiton of love for me. Unconditional love. Thats why I know what it means, because God gave him the gift, and he showed it to me. When he died, I realized that he gave it to me. He fought so hard, because he loved so hard. He told me all of his theories and ideas because he loved me. He gave his life to the world even when he didn't want to becuase he loved it so much.
He took the burdens of his family, and his people, and the people they knew, and his own and strapped in on his shoulders. My pastor at my father's funeral said that he walked around with his shoulders slouched not because he had bad posture, or that he lacked confidence, but because he carried the weight of the world with him. This is true. He sacrificed. I know what that word really means because of him. I cannot claim ignorance about anything really because before he died, he showed me the world, unplugged me from the matrix.
I miss him dearly. I wish everyone I knew got to meet him, be around him, be engulfed in his presence. But if have met me, then you have kind of met him. Because so much of him is in me. A part of me thinks that is how he planned it. That's all I have for you.

i'm happy. really, i am.

a friend of mine recently told me that my posts are depressing. well, i do not want them to have that intent. i would hope, that on some level, they are inspirational. i think alot about life, and i disscuss it as i write. it's how i feel, from the heart. the reason i bring up so many "sad" topics is that i have noticed that people have start accepting chaos as apart of life. we think this is as good as it gets. i do not believe that it is. we all deserve better, but better will not be given to us. we have to expect it demand for it, fight for it, strive after it with all of our being. things for you and me can be better. they will be better. but i think we all have to realize how bad is truly is before we can move on. we have to deal with the truth of this life and our lives, whatever that truth might be. for me, its that i can be lazy, and sometimes i love too much, but i want so much for the people i love i can't help it. my pops was a sap, and so am i. but my pops got down for his, and so will i. i like 36 mafia and project pat, even though i'm trying not to listen to it all that much anymore. under the right circumstances, i become the gangland terrorist. i love my city of baltimore, and honestly believe if you can survive here, you can survive anywhere. i miss chris weaver alot. i can be judgemental. very much so. after a particularly difficult past relationship, i am super sensitive about comprimising myself for people. i never want to feel used or underappreciated. but i will be. i love my inner circle of friends like brothers. there is nothing i won't do for them. and my cousins, well, if you know me, you know how i feel about my cousins chris and tay. i can be horrible with keeping in touch with people. i can be impatient with my sister. i'm trying to love god more than i do now. i always want to be right about something i am arguing. i don't know what god wants from my life. thats some of the truth. and i'm happy, please believe me. the truth seems ugly at times, and sometimes it is. but, the truth about our lives is that we all need to enjoy life at a different level. above the booze, weed, cigs, clubs, mtv, cars, sex, death, crime, you know what i mean. never settle for that being the life you have to live. lets make it better for us.

beautiful.

For the past couple of weeks, I have been trying to stay up on my current events. My father used to make me read all the sections of the paper before I could read the sports. It was to make sure that I was aware of the events that surround me. So I would never be caught unaware of situations that could effect me, my people, or the populace, of which I am apart. So, even with his passing, I try to keep up the practice. It was a struggle then. It is a struggle now. I read the paper, and watch the news. I go to news websites, and click on all of the hyperlinks. I listen to NPR. And everytime I take a step towards immersing myself in the knowledge of the world, something in me shudders and retreats from this information. For a while, I never knew why. Now I do. The news is ugly. And when confronted with true, unadulterated ugliness, we all have a reaction. My soul shudders.
I realize that there is no getting away from the part of life that is truly ugly. The truth is ugly is what I have always heard. The truth about this world is that it is filled with ugly people, who are in ugly situations, and who do ugly things. This has nothing to do with asthetics. And the news lets me see that. The truth is that is world is also beautiful. With beautiful people, in beautiful situations, who do beautiful things. This beauty serves to sustain us in times of bleek desperation and persistant despair. Oil to a lamp, air to a flame; the fuel necessary for a reasonably sane existance. But maybe because we are shown so much of the ugly in this world, we then seek it out. In those times where we need a recharge of beauty, we surround ouselves the opposite. We wake up and hear of someone dying. We go to work and pass by someone sleeping in the gutter. Today, I had a homeless man ring on the doorbell of my office building, wrapped in a blanket, corvered in sores, and in search of anything. He swore me up an down that he needed 10 dollars to eat, and that my 1 dollar wasn't going to help. He swore to me that he wasn't going to use the money for drugs. He proceeded across the street to cop some. A fight breaks out on the bus between a older woman and a younger one, while the latters child watches on with intent amazement. And after all of that, I go to a bar? Or maybe a club. Maybe I call up some of my friends to talk about what girl we know has the fattest ass, and who would hit. Smoke some green and travel the streets seeing what we can get into. It's like chasing crack with heroin.
I'm face to face with unavoidable shitty situations, then I voluntarily follow it up with even more?
I can't shake this concept of beauty. It seems like I forget for weeks at a time, then something reminds me. Tonight, it was The Last Samurai. "The perfect blossom is a rare thing. You could spend your life looking for one, and it would not be a wasted life."
Why don't we all spend our lives seeking out such beauty when we can? I know, I know. It's not realistic. A movie. But I know you have never tried. Maybe then, we all won't be so tired, upset, frustrated, desolate, alone, needy, abused, sad, mistreated, underappreciated. Because those are all feelings that are brought upon by being sought out, they never just appear. Let us instead just look for it, those moments of beauty. Then maybe we won't have time to notice the ugliness that surrounds us. And then, we will be in a better, happier position to transform all of the...everything.

inner city blues, revisited

When is a true remedy going to occur? Something that truly changes the plight that surrounds us, that demoralizes our men, demeans our women, and disgraces the child? When will the powers that be realize the mistakes of the past, remedy them in the present, to brighten our future? Never. The lights and the cameras are just apart of a larger plan. And what a plan it is. Things are the way that they are because this is how it was meant to be. I sound angry, I know. It's because I look for beauty in this world, and find it sullied and tarnished. And deep down, I know it doesn't have to be this way. So I refuse to settle for the scraps of success. 10% drop in crime. Not good enough. Less drug arrests. I need more. I refuse to become complacent with improvement at the margins of the problem. Because I know, like you do, that alcohol and a band-aid isn't enough for a bullet wound. Expand the job opportunities for those with felonies. Create support systems for single mothers. I need not go on. What I need to do, and what you need to do is put ourselves in a position to affect this change for ourselves, for our people, for all of those who are unable to get what they need to truly live in this society. The true change begins with our actions, not our words.
I'm off the soapbox now. Thanks for listening. I needed that.