I saw this on MySpace as a meme of some sort and I stole it. For my MySpace friends who’ve read my last “I Realize,” don’t worry: it’s brand new.

I realize, for instance, that cursing in the blogosphere is not chic, but fuck it. I didn’t make the curses, but I’ll use them.

I realize that every relationship has its waves, and whether you can hang 10 or belly flop depends a lot on work and luck.

I realize that every man is beholden always and forever to two women. Always.

But after what’s been up with me lately, I realize I can’t post on that just yet.

I realize how having too many middle men / women can make a school’s working conditions dubious and treacherous. That I can definitely go into.

I realize that not everyone on my blogroll agrees with my views on the issues I discuss on this blog, but fuck that, too. We can at least commune at the same table and share ideas about what we see fit.

I realize my circle of friends is tight knit, but I most certainly allocate different parts of myself to different people, but never all to one person. It isn’t a bad thing, but that’s just I’m built. I’m too strange to give all that responsibility to one person.

I realize just how horrendous some of the music I used to listen to is now. I just ripped the Godzilla Soundtrack onto my computer, and found that “Come With Me” (by P. Diddy, a remake of Led Zepellin’s “Kashmir”) stunk. I had a hard time digesting Diddy’s lines without clutching my stomach and throat. Once I got home, I told it to get off my iPod and go in the corner. I then invited “Kashmir” and “Stairway to Heaven” (Remastered) over to my humble musical cornucopia.

I realize the importance of keeping your balance and staying even. Today, a similar situation happened where a child, who I’ve been slowly chipping away at, became a nuisance, cursing cats out and letting the n-word off like a rifle. At first, I tried the hard disciplinarian approach, but I just got increasingly calmer because I was that confident in my stance. He needed to copy his notes and then when he was ready, I would address his concerns. Of course, he did neither, so by the last few moments of the class, I said, “Ah, I see what you’re about. I’m with you, man. I’m with you.” and gave him a little smile. He then slammed his book harder, and I just kept teaching. He got frustrated enough to just calm down and go about his business. He’ll get it soon enough.

I realize how important it is to come into school dressed appropriately. Children are extremely sensitive visually and olfactorily. They always remember whose breath stank back in the day and hence who always came like they didn’t have a job.

I realize how all the great computer philosophers were absolutely right: we’ve already started to see humans giving over some of the essences of what it means to be human over to robots. And for teachers who believe calculators should replace good fundamental mathematics and not supplement it, we have you to (partially) blame. HA! No, but seriously …

I realize how I could never go back to my previous blogging residence. As much as I loved the millions of comments, greater sense of community, and easier access to different blogs, I also got tired of seeing stories about miserable lives led by people who could switch it in a snap, pretentious writers who masturbate to their own shock writing, getting fellatio from women invested in the eldest profession, and force fed religious ideals.

I realize that having a teacher MySpace sounds like a bad idea, but fuck that thrice. As long as I write my activities, and keep my contacts logged, it’s all good.

I realize that, no matter how personal I get in my blog, there’ll never be a dearth of subjects I can discuss. As a teacher, I love writing about education, but I can do a little more than that.

I realize that, despite all the hardship, the Earth still rotates at a rather rapid pace …

jose, who’s looking up the face of the guy who played the neighbor in Home Improvement … 

p.s. - Shout-out to Hugh a.k.a. Repairman for supporting the work I spoke of yesterday. That humbles me to no end. Some of you, I’m sure, are waiting for the full-length feature.

Today, I had an emotional and heart-wrenching day at the school. I’m still unclogging myself from the excess amounts of frozen margaritas, quesadillas, and shrimp I had at Mama Mexico last night, and a weird morning in which I waited until the very last minute to leave my house and take my hour-long ride on the silver limos, one labeled “F” and the next labeled “A”. I had no reason to go into school other than pride, because I had a good lesson plan ready for my kids, and I’d prefer to teach my children rather than some random (and often confused) substitute.

In general, it started off auspiciously enough. My homeroom children (Team Orange as I shall refer to them as from now on) did their work, and the progress in their mathematical reasoning and explanation. Even with the little discussions going on, I still found the whole 2 periods successful on a few levels.

Fast forward to the fire drill. Unfortunately, Team Orange decided to lose their damn minds. Not only did they decide to make tons of noise while we went downstairs, one of the children (who I later found out felt distress over his mom’s hospital admission) completely showed me disrespect when he went BACK into the class after I called his name 3 times before I said, “We need to go!” My AP followed the class and yelled at them for them to keep quiet.

Of course, when we got out of the building, I had all types of things to say to the child, most of which includes a free call to his father and detention with me. I further thought of the ramifications if one or more of my children stayed behind, considering our homeroom’s on the top floor. We were the last class out of the building, and I felt a little shame, too, not because I hadn’t explained the fire drill rules carefully, but because the principal told us how well we did for that drill. I begged to differ.

So I let them have it for a while on the bottom floor after everyone went back to class. The aforementioned AP also had the same conversation, but those little eyes definitely welled up twice after what I had to tell them: about how if anything happened to them, I’d have to jump back in and rescue someone. If I lost them, I’d lose my mind. They’re not just a liability, but my children, and I’m responsible for their well-being.

I do concede that I have a bit of a “hero” syndrome when it comes to my homeroom children, but I also know that one can’t help but treat those children like your own when you see them more than you even see your own family five out of seven days. As much as fire drills make me ill, I instantly acknowledge how I’m an emergency respondent if I’m missing one of my students.

In the middle of her tirade, my AP said, “Mr. V, what would you do if this student was missing?”

I said, “I think I’d go back for them,” in an understated tone, because I felt my throat clamp up.

People don’t take into account how good teachers can’t and won’t sit idly while their students rot. We’ll push them when they prefer mediocrity. We’re magnanimous and scrupulous all at once about children’s shortcomings. We’re reflecting on how to make ourselves more accommodating to their needs, academically and usually personally, too. In other words, it’s a matter of life and death.

jose, for whom life is not promised …

This week, I’ve decided to focus on my girls because, 1) I’ve been reading Pandagon far too much and 2) sexism is still alive, simple and plain. Unfortunately, women are still making 77 cents to the dollar of a man, and even in this state, which many consider to be a beacon of liberalism, we have 80 cents to the dollar. Even at the same job, the ratio is still far too staggering. Corporations and the economic world still views women as those that need to be the ones raising the child, in the kitchen, and preparing their man a newspaper. The problem isn’t just economic, but psychological, physical, and institutional.

For instance, it disturbs me that we still have people referring to themselves as pro-life (when they’re really anti-choice and anti-woman), and that many people’s votes for this Reich hinged on this issue, even though they disagreed with him on everything else and may have even called this man anti-Christian. For one, I don’t see these people as pro-life because whose life do they care about? I don’t think it’s appropriate to tell a woman what to do with her womb when it endangers her health and well-being. Also, many women (and young women for that matter) tell me not just stories of coat-hangers and killer pills, but about the grueling, emotionally taxing, and expensive abortion process. Most of the women I know who’ve had one didn’t want to have one, but had to for fear of their health and / or the embryo that might come into this Earth.

Plus, it should be an option for women because it’s their womb. And usually the people who make the decision about these wombs are men, all of whom will never experience anything close to a menstrual cycle or the labors of labor. Women should be able to rely on us for protection and support, but many of us spend our time reducing them to our play things and sidebars in our life’s great made-for-life movie. In a day and age where women are more than 1/2 of our population (and easily 6/10ths of our college population), we can easily debunk the (sexist) theory that women are inferior.  Most of the employees in our first professional environment (school) are women, yet they’re often pegged for stupid.

Yet, we still see them as them and not us. We still have rapists saying “She was so hot, it was like her body was calling my name” and “she shouldn’t have worn that if she didn’t want to have that happen to her.” We’ve been imparted views (on both sides) that women are supposed to be beautiful or else they’re ugly. They’re put into extremes that aren’t (dare I say) humane. To put some perspective on this, even in Hollywood, where everything’s bloated, liberal, and absolutely perfect, the highest paid actor is Brad Pitt with $62 million and the highest paid actress is Jodie Foster with $27 million dollars, almost 2.5 times less.

And frankly, it’s a hyperbolic microcosm of what America’s going through today. For many, there seems to be a sense that women are easily dispensable and men, while they won’t always shine, they’ll always dominate what goes on behind the scenes. They’re the aggressor, they’re the protagonist, and whenever a woman shows some strength in character, she’s compared to a male counterpart or has male qualities, an absolutely absurd idea. It’s obvious when we read through our Cosmos, Vibes, Kings, XXLs, and the other popular publications that we’re constantly fed images of what women are supposed to be, even subconsciously.

So when I think about that in the backdrop of my job, I don’t wonder why it is that little girls often believe they have to have sex to boost their self-worth and esteem. Girls become very aware of their sexuality in the wrong ways very early on. From the dirty uncle who keeps trying to have the little girl sit on his lap, the dude at the grocery store who keeps giving her sweets, hoping she’ll return him the favor, or even the co-worker that slips something in her beer when she’s not looking. With 73% of these rapists being someone whom the survivor / victim knows (28% being a relative or a boyfriend/girlfriend!), we can only surmise that rape happens more often after the person’s gotten to know the burgeoning rapist. In these people’s minds, women are nothing but play things.

Yet, I don’t advocate for abstinence or any of that mess (recent studies have shown that abstinence only programs have done nothing to curb the trends of teenage sex, so I can only imagine what it’s like for adults), nor do I think women and men should stop expressing themselves sexually. We should, however, use caution when we address someone as a “bitch” or a “ho.” When we belittle someone by calling them a girl or a wuss (women included), those are negative connotations attached to women.

I’m not here calling myself Mr. Ethical, but we have to make an effort to have true equality amongst race, gender, sex, and class, word to bell hooks.  True equity comes when we don’t just talk about what we’re going to do about inequality, but be about that change.

jose, who wonders why someone searched “How old is Jose Vilson?” on Google. TALK TO ME! (ha)

p.s. - I got a huge boost today from voters to the Weblog Awards 2007. Thanks a million for everything, mi gente. It’s my first year doing this, so humble I am.

Yesterday afternoon, I attended a panel discussion entitled “Black, Latino, Both” sponsored by the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture (of which I am now a card carrying member) and el Museo del Barrio, and it took place at Harlem’s Schomburg Center. The panel featured Howard Jordan, Clarence Lusane, Yvette Modestin, Angela Perez, and Silvio Torres-Saillant, who I know from my Syracuse days. While I’m not inclined to discuss exactly who said what, I do have some notes I’d like to share on a rather excellent panel meeting. I’ll definitely have to go over some of these topics again during the week, but for now, these are only some of the great sub-discussions we had at the panel. (I’m trying to take a 2-hour discussion about a topic spanning 500 years into a few paragraphs. Fun.)

- Anyone who’s read my blog for a while or even took a look at my name can pretty much gather what my identity is. Yet, that’s a challenge if you’re simply taking me at face value. Honestly, people don’t know how to act when I reveal my ethnic make-up, and that works two ways: I have an identity I’ve self-developed and people have their own perceptions of what I am. Those are not mutually exclusive of each other. To the contrary, that’s the essence of understanding the race logic: race isn’t about what you see, it’s about what you think you see. And I’ll never be “Black” or “Latino” enough until people really understand what those terms truly mean.

- Arturo Schomburg. Carlos Cooks. Felipe Luciano. Men who most people would associate with either Black or Latino, but in actuality, were Black Latinos like myself. I only knew of Felipe back in freshman year of college when I first got to meet him, and the rest of them I didn’t find out until yesterday. Unfortunately, that’s what happens when both communities fail to address AfroLatinos. The names of so many other AfroLatinos who fought for their communities were obscured by their own people, and that’s unfortunate. I know a Black Latino college student-activist back in the day who could have used those role models for community activism.

- People within a certain race are not a monolith. Definitions of what it means to be part of a race change vastly depending on place and time. For instance, Jews and Italians weren’t even considered to be White until decades after coming into this country. In the same way, Blacks and Latinos don’t just have one ideology, one perspective, or one religion. There are certain trends and connections amongst many of these groups, but we don’t all have the same interests at heart, either.

- A crucial point of discussion was the evolution of the ethnic make-up of baseball players. For the last decade or two, baseball has become an increasingly Latino sport, though it’s still marketed America’s favorite pastime. Gary Sheffield once said that, despite Jackie Robinson and Larry Doby’s efforts, there are more Latin players than Black players in baseball now because Latin players are easier to control. He elaborated by saying Latino players will get sent back to their countries if they don’t comply, so they have much more to lose. Of course, I agreed with the premise of the argument, as did many of his Latino teammates (those of whom already have their citizenships and paid the Republican Party some dues).

- In connection to that point, there was also a mention of Sammy Sosa, David Ortiz, and Manny Ramirez, men who in this country, most would identify as Black men, but when asked, they identify as Dominicans … strictly. While some people may take issue with their identification, I completely understand what these players are talking about. If you’re coming from a completely different racial paradigm than the country you’re visiting, then of course you’re going to strictly identify with your nation. As someone mentioned on the panel, it’s really easy for someone who identifies as a certain group to tell someone else what their race is, without even knowing where that person’s coming from. And that’s not always a good thing.

- Then there’s the issue of immigration, and how it relates to the American workforce. Vicente Fox once sad that Mexicans will take the jobs that Blacks don’t in this country. This is with the premise that either Blacks are lazy, incompetent, or acting too good for a broom and mop. The point disturbed me for a multitude of reasons. The government instills policies for migrant workers that makes them into nothing but rotating slaves. Corporations never have to worry about minimum wage, health benefits, pensions, or anything of that nature for workers who don’t have any rights in this country. Plus, the very people bringing those migrant workers here have agents working to tell working class communities here that immigrants from all around the world are here to take their jobs, so of course on the surface, it’s easy to diminish migrant workers as sub-human.

- Lastly, the one solution for many of our social ills is not through developing some sort of hegemony. Rather, change will come from a multicultural group of concerned citizens. I try to build those coalitions wherever I go, and the results have usually been nothing but positive.

jose, who loves to hear everyone’s opinions on these topics, not just my black or latino brethren …

You say you want a revolution, well you know we all want to change the world.

My annoyance right now stems from the idea of leadership, and how my definition of it has changes vastly everyday. On the one end, I wanted to believe I was a leader. I do my part as a teacher and motivator for my kids, and even the students who’ve graduated and tell me how much their lives have changed as a result of my teaching. That’s all well and good.

Yet, I’m at a struggle with the term leadership because unfortunately, we often have people in leadership positions who are more concerned with how they look than the actual cause, and that can only spell disaster for our movement. Everyone can instantly point to the very top like Dubya and Co., whose company seems to get smaller by the semester. It’s bad enough his party often complains about the lower class being lazy; their leader takes vacations like they’re going out of style.

I even throw shade at people like Al Sharpton for his backing of Bill O’Reilly of all people. I’m having a hard time with the idea that he’s so ingrained in the history of the African Diaspora that it’s like the man can diss everyone but Malcolm and Martin and still be a point of discussion.

After all, the younger version of himself, along with Jesse Jackson, Nikki, Lennon, Gil-Scott, Cesar, Che, and the like all call us back to a time when people really looked at themselves and decided to make a conscious decision to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others. My girl once said we should be ashamed at the complacency we’ve reached in our society. Yet, that self-sacrifice isn’t always a prosperous journey: some of these very leaders came to the point where they gave in to their own vices, thinking they had lost their souls after so many losses.

So in some ways, I guess it’s only right that we have a form of revolutionary talk that’s self-aggrandizing. It’s easy if you don’t have to do much to look revolutionary, speak it, dress it, or play the part, so long as you don’t get hurt or it doesn’t interfere with your business, whether that business is women or profit. If you could write a poem about how you are the conduit to the aforementioned greats, get a bunch of points from random people not based on quality but performance, and become popular all over America for it, wouldn’t you? If you could write a blog about how evil Republicans are, win a bunch of web awards, and continuously point at how revolutionary you are, couldn’t you? If you could sit down and spit blurbs with a media head so you’re made into the saving face of a major incident, would you take that chance?

This isn’t to say that anyone with communication skills isn’t tempted to try it. I’ll admit to having forgotten my purpose for writing sometimes, but that’s only led to trouble. In my former weblog community, that’s exactly what happened. Many of us were a little more concerned about comments and responses than thorough feedback and honest writing. Not to say that weblogs should be these awesome pieces of literature, but I do think they need to be fresh and real.

That died though, and now no one’s writing as much for it anymore. And a lot of the writers who I considered thorough either left or just stopped blogging. The movement I thought was building up there slowly drifted, because there was more concern about rank and pomp than real dialogue. So in this new age of communication, I wonder how much more concerned we are with the actual movement we’re trying to create instead of rankings, listings, and widgets, for the only purpose that serves is really ephemeral. A real revolution will come from the peoples’ hearts and minds.

Until then, peace is what I’m after more than anything. The road to the revolution is paved with good intentions, too, but too many people are quick to dishonor the bodies that went with it.

… because you know it’s gonna be, alright …

jose, who’s honestly disenchanted with a lot, but I keep on keeping on …

p.s. - Check my “about me” page. If you know me personally, it might even be about you.

I recently read on Slate.com that not only is Big Brother watching, but he’s also trying to get into my library, keeping records of the types of personal items I keep and stuff I do on their planes. I wonder what Osama bin Laden’s reading list looks like and if they compare it to my own. I was recently on an airplane on my way to Florida, and everyone but me on the plane was wearing a suit. On my left was a lady who was reminiscent of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada and a dude on my right wearing a distinctive red turban, and I facetiously thought, “Who’s really the terrorist?”

Speaking of which, I had a discussion of sorts with some anonymous guy in front of the airport as I was waiting to get picked up. (He was smoking a fragrant, green substance wrapped in brown paper). As we get to talking about the 9/11 stories and such, he said something very interesting: “I knew that whole shit was rigged, ’cause I was watching this television interview, I’ll never forget it, 3 years after the attacks, someone asked him what his thoughts were on Osama, and you know what he had the nerve to say? ‘You know, I don’t really think about Osama much these days.’”

Wow.

By the way, I’m sorry if I have a hard time giving thanks to bloggers who namedrop me. I’m usually so humbled, I don’t even know what to say except thanks. To that end, thanks to Hasta Los Gatos Quieren Zapatos, Siobhan Curious, Teaching is Learning, and anyone else I didn’t mention. Just because you’re not on my blogroll doesn’t mean I’m not watchin’.

On another note, the Jena 6 march looked like it was a success. What disappointed me that day was the lack of all-black wearers in my own school (For those that didn’t know, on September 20th, people were asked to wear all black in support of the Jena students). With the density of Blacks and Latinos at the school, I would have thought that there’d be more than 3 teachers wearing it. Then again, people either never “heard of” the Jena 6, ignored it, or realized that most of our kids have never / might never leave past a mile of the school’s region. Sadness.

My father’s in better shape, so thanks to everyone who had him and my family in their thoughts and prayers.

The Yankees look like they’re closing in on another playoff berth huh? …

jose, who’s in heaven right now …

edit: by the way, now my blog is black, white, and read all over, too. har har har …

2nd edit: My Blogcritics article about Black History Month was published. Check it out when you get the chance.

The problem / blessing with being a blogger of “color” is that, because of our natural tendency to discuss politics, we’re instantly labeled and constricted to a certain type of writing i.e. we’re looked at as racial polemicists. I suppose that’s fitting seeing as how I’ve been doing this type of writing since 2K4, but on the same end, I don’t necessarily feel the need to discuss it. The Afrospear Bloggers seem to do a pretty good job of it already, but more importantly, it’s because the world has so much more to offer than racial discussion.

If I was in college at this point and time, I might have gone into the Jena 6 discussion more thoroughly. I might have told you how excited I am that Mychal Bell isn’t getting tried as an adult, and how atrocious this judicial system is that it almost turned a blind eye to the whole situation (if not for the hard work of the thousands out there). I might also have told you how much of a dimwit Jason Whitlock is for his views on the Jena 6, and how quickly he shuffles his feet and claps his hands for people above him. I’d also comment on how I’ll definitely be wearing Black on September 20th with the rest of the (eclectic and united) group of men and women who will protest the Jena 6 madness.

I might also talk about how O.J.’s a disgrace to people of color, and how there’s no way anyone who he once considered his “people” should support him. I might say how, because the denominator representing us is much smaller, when one person messes up, the fraction (or infraction) is that much bigger (math jokes tickle me). I wonder how much OJ Simpson’s memorabilia even costs, as I imagine that the value of his stuff has to cost much less than that of a steroid-abusing black baseball player. I might even say that, unless Johnnie Cochran rolls up out of his grave in a black and white pinstriped suit, there’s no way in hell Simpson gets away with this.

I might even discuss this whole “Read a Book” madness, because I would have supported it back in my college days support the spirit behind it. G_d forbid that we actually pick up a good read from excellent authors, as there’s a plethora of hot trash that people confuse for intelligent Black literature. The fact that BET finally did something right by putting that video up for the masses is ironic in that over the last decade, it’s deteriorated into a very small snippet of what it means to be Black in this country.

I might go into how the blogosphere outside of maybe Guanabee and The Unapologetic Mexican dropped the ball as far as reporting on Elvira Arrelano, the Mexican immigrant who was quickly deported from the United States after speaking out against the government’s immigration policies in a church in a Los Angeles church. I would then react by speaking on the weird relationship with Blacks and Latinos that the outrage for the the Arrelano story wasn’t nearly as big  as the Jena 6 incidents (or in some cases, not even mentioned). There’s a lot of factors in that, but it still makes me wonder.

Then again, the first thing I noticed when I started to circle the blogosphere is the lack of blogs that at least generally fit my experience. I got it in snippets here and there, but in general, I couldn’t just find a blog that discussed a Black Latino’s life. I know enough of them, and there’s a growing faction of them in the media and such, but in the blogosphere? Not exactly.

So I’m usually focused on everything else, because I see value in discussing it all. Hmm …

jose, who has 4 artists on heavy rotation: common, talib kweli, kanye, and chuck mangione (which of these is not like the other?)

By the way, I didn’t know my last blog was blocked from comments, but that’s fine. It was a post I just needed to exhale. Thanks for your concerns again, though.

On my way back from Florida, I had to think of what poems I wanted to perform for the Tavern of Creativity (presented by Cathy Delaleu and hosted by Rob Bless). I was invited by Cathy, so for that I was grateful. I was a little nervous; I just got back from seeing my father in a hospital bed, and I didn’t know if I was even up for it. Little did I know that the performance was exactly what I needed to relieve my stress.

Besides the great atmosphere, the food, and the performances, I also felt I had grown so much since the last time I performed in front of people. With all the teaching, speeches, and blogs, I felt I got a better sense of what it means to reach a wide audience. So I got up there and did “I’m Full,” “Whoops,” and “Armaggedon is Upon Us.” (I can’t put those online, but if you want them by e-mail, I can provide that.) I even did a little “I Wonder” by Kanye West. I can’t speak on everyone else’s experiences there, but with a packed house receptive to a crazy middle school teacher’s rantings, I felt anything was possible.

What’s more is that many of the artists up there were already published, and had works up for sale at the event, and I couldn’t provide that at the moment. It was interesting to see how they responded to me. Sometimes you’ll get the snide comments, but the artists there were so open about things and genuine, so it was cool.

Anyways, school’s still cool. I’m still optimistic, but I’m already starting to see where I’m going to have issues, and that goes for everything and one in the school. So far so good, though, and I’ve been dressed professionally every day, which is a result of and has helped cause my rather optimistic and positive attitude. I don’t feel the pressure I did before, and it’s helped a lot. Tomorrow, I’m teaching the Fundamental Theorem of Arithmetic (basically, every number greater than 1 has a unique set of primes, etc. etc.). I’ve already taught the sieve of Eratosthenes, so that’s exciting. I’m sure JD2718 appreciates that, especially since I’m teaching 6th graders this.

Anyways, week 3 is upon us NYC teachers. Holla back …

jose, who has an education rant just waiting to come out of him …

Thanks everyone for your prayers and thoughts. I finally arrived to Florida after a somewhat long trip here. I had a short stop at Washington, DC, and of course, I had to wait a while before someone picked me up. It was weird.

We headed directly to the hospital, and when I saw him, I was in shock. It was the first time I thought I was looking into a mirror; he looked so much more like me than I remembered. It was even scarier with all those tubes flying out of him, for everything he needed like food, water, and air. We take for granted the essentials, and here was this man who couldn’t get those simple elements into his system on his own. He was sedated so he’s stop resisting the treatment. Yikes.

I couldn’t handle it. I mean, we tried to wake him up, and when he heard my name, he reacted by raising his arm. He could hear everything I was saying. That’s a plus. (My other siblings on his side of the family were joking that I must have the Jesus voice, because they couldn’t get that out of him.)

The irony of the whole situation is that everyone around him is starting to help sew the rifts he helped create.

Thanks everyone for keeping me and my family in your prayers, thoughts, and meditations.

and before I forget, R.I.P. 2Pac Amaru Shakur. You’re missed.

jose, who’s not mad at him …

“Find your dreams come true
And I wonder if you know
What it means
To find your dreams …”

I’ve been forced to do a lot of reflection as far as my father’s terrible health right now. The growth I’ve gone through since I’ve seen him has been tremendous. I don’t think I’ve gone through this much growth in such a short period of time since adolescence, and it’s been more inner growth than anything. I’ve come to a bunch of realizations:

- I can’t stand when kids keep getting switched from class to class; it’s bad enough they don’t have stable situations at home. Now we have to switch them constantly in school too? Everything’s in flux for them and school should be more stable than that. I’m going to write a letter to the principal about that. Just when we were starting to gel as a class, and getting things in order, this abrupt change happens. Kinda like a father who comes and goes as he pleases, we have to wonder how the student will react to that constant change.

- I’m completely not ready for children. As much as I’m excited about the prospect of having a child someday, I also realize it’s hard work, and it takes a certain mentality to be a good parent. I’m not ready for that responsibility, and I’m not willing to bend my definition of what it means to be a father for my own selfish purposes. I’d like to be there through and through, but that’s the whole thing about being my age: much more mature than most people in my age group, yet not mature enough to just shut down all that comes with this youth. I’ve resisted becoming so much like my father that it scares me when I even get an inkling that I might be following his path.

- I’m over it. That visit to him in February really helped me grow as a person. I thought I’d swear him off forever, but I made my peace with that man. For those who’ve just met me, check the next poem.

“Original of the Species” by JLV 2007 ©

He’s got this raspy bass about his voice
A French accent to accompany the vocals, too
His dark, rough, weathered, and brown skin
Glistened against the reflected light from the dashboard
His frames tinted, as any Miami resident should have
I envisioned this rather handsome gentleman seducing the women
Who soon became my brothers’ and sisters’ mothers
And mine as well
The ID hanging from his rear view mirror took me aback
For it felt that the ID had some sort of mirror
I started to scan his face for the manly features in my own frame
My lips were certainly fuller than his
And my eyes bulged while his just barely opened
Yet his head and mine were almost identical
His mind and mine worked similarly
And his squint reminded me of mine
I felt like that kid again
The one who admired the other half of his DNA
His intonations through some of his questions yielding a sense of promise
As if the past was too quickly gone and
The future was ours
His charm only enhanced by the fact that I knew who he passed it onto
I came to this city seeking some sort of completeness from seeing him
And showing him that I am a man now
Despite his own faults
Instead, I am a man because of his faults
I inherit all from him
And as I grew, I had to filter out that which was not me about him
Become someone
Become that man
Become me
I am now the original of my species …

jose, who flies out on Thursday …