Tag Archives: Stereotypes

Slip Away – A journey of love, loss and showing up

 

I didn’t know Charles Roberts, my paternal father.

My mother divorced him when I was a toddler.

Upon reflection and an examination of the facts, as I recall them, my father did very little to foster a relationship with me.

In fact, my father’s most important relationship was with alcohol…and, ultimately, it is the thing that took his life. He drank himself to death.

Much of the credit for the man I have become is due to my mother.

A single Black female, full of grit and moxie, determined to make a good life for herself and her son.  She is part of a legacy of strong Black women who wore multiple hats, made sacrifices and like a momma bear, nurtured and protected her cub.

Credit is also due to a man named James Burks.

My mother didn’t have a lot of boyfriends.

There were, of course, men that she dated, but “Mr. Burks+” was somehow a consistent presence in our lives.

He was the only constant adult male in my life while I was growing up.

As far back as I can remember, he always treated me with love, respect and dignity.  He treated me as if I were his own flesh and blood.

I questioned him about that recently and he replied,

“What was I supposed to do? I was dating your mother and had no choice but to love you and fill the void that was there.  You needed me.”

Over time, to the outside world, including family and friends, Jim Burks was my father.  To me he was Dad.

He taught me how to properly care for myself – things, I assume that men teach their sons – how to shave, how to groom and. most importantly, how to best navigate through life as a Black man.  Who better equipped to teach a young Black man these lessons than another Black man?

There are countless snapshots and memories from the past that solidify his presence and importance in my life.

An appreciation of the arts, mostly music: introductions to James Baldwin, Billy Strayhorn, Coltrane, Billie Holiday, Puccini, the simplicity and vibrancy of a Harold Wheeler string arrangement. He was passionate about history and antiques and he shared his passions with me. Like a sponge, I absorbed them all.

Education: He hired a tutor for me when I needed to improve my grasp of arithmetic.

When my boarding school tuition was due and my mother was short, Jim made up the difference and added a sweetener on top.

In my early teenage years when my maternal grandfather’s body was riddled with cancer and he was dying, it was Jim Burks who showed up at school to take me to Boston in order to say goodbye.  He didn’t tell me “how to” mourn, but through his actions, he taught me that it is okay for a man to be vulnerable, to cry and express empathy.

My mother and Jim came to visit me in the eighties.  I was in my twenties, living in New York – in an apartment that I could not afford, in a relationship that was toxic and detrimental to my well-being, and visibly thin and in trouble.

Disgusted and disappointed by what he saw, Jim called me later and told me to pack up my things.  He was coming to take me home.  On the appointed day with no more than a hello, we loaded his car with my belongings and he brought me home.  The two-hour car ride was filled with silence.

All that was needed to be said remained unspoken. He rescued me. He saved my life.  He saved me. He showed up when i needed him most.

Eight months ago, I got a telephone call from my dad’s doctor…He was concerned that he had missed two appointments.

“These are radiation treatments for the skin cancer, Eric.  It is important that Dad not miss these appointments. They are scheduled every weekday for the next two weeks, and you have to make sure he gets there.”

Skin cancer? Radiation? This was new information to me.

When questioned, my dad made light of the situation and referred to the treatments as “this thing.”  He saw it as no big deal and, at 95 years of age, I assumed that, given all that he had been through in his life, it was no big deal.  So, for two weeks we would go to the oncology treatment center at the hospital.  Outwardly he appeared fine and without any visible side effects.

Three weeks later, everything changed and the world turned upside down.

 

 

+As a child, I was instructed to refer to any adults as “Mr” or “Miss.” My mother believed that it was not only a sign of respect, but, in her mind, a differentiator, that separated her child from others.  So for close to twenty years, I referred to my dad as “Mr. Burks.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Ghetto Uber” or When S%*t Works Out

I had meetings in Los Angeles last week and flew into LAX.

I didn’t make arrangements to be picked up like I normally do, assuming that I’d order a ride from Uber when I landed.  I was surprised and disappointed to discover that Uber cannot pick up passengers at LAX.

So, I did the next best thing – stood in line for a cab. 

As I stood waiting a young brother approached me and asked if I needed a ride.  He was neatly dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, armed with an Ipad and had an outwardly friendly disposition. 

I told him yes, I did need a car and gave him my destination. He plugged the address into his Ipad and quoted me a fair based on the 20 mile trip. 

“All Love and Respect will get you there right away Sir, and much cheaper than a cab.”

Meanwhile the arrival area at Terminal 7 was absent of cabs and I was the sixth person waiting in an ever growing line. 

I thought to myself, why not give the young brother a try? 

I agreed to his terms.  He grabbed my suitcase, explained that a client’s flight was an hour and a half delayed, led the way to his car and off we went. 

His Lincoln Town Car was immaculate and the complimentary bottle of water was a nice touch.  The a/c was on full blast and the dulcet tones of Anita Baker provided the soundtrack for our ride. I spent the 1/2 hour car ride on my cell and ended my last call just as we pulled up to my destination. I thanked Taylor for getting me there so quickly. 

I am not in the habit of getting into unmarked cabs and I am certainly not the trusting type.  This experience proved that you can never judge a book by its cover.  It wasn’t Uber but it produced the same results.  A young Black Entrepreneur focused on giving superior service. The right time.  The right place. A chance encounter.

“Ghetto Uber” that demonstrated “all love and respect”…or a perfect scenario when “it” worked out?

 

 

Fernando Ruiz & Heavenly Jenkins need not apply…

 

watermelon1

There are a total of 15 charts.

I chose “Number 15″ to share, but I guarantee that the other 14 will enlighten you about two of the most vital and growing consumer groups –

African-Americans and Latinos

“No. 15 – Employers are more likely to turn away job seekers if they have African-American sounding names.”*

Click here to be enlightened.

 

 

*Source: “15 Charts that Prove We’re Far from Post-Racial,” HuffPost Black Voices, 7/2/14

Just in time for Father’s Day…

“People have a core belief about black dads — whatever it is — and they’ll either hold onto that core belief of ‘Oh, my gosh, black guys are deadbeats’ and not listen to a word I’ll say,” he said. But there was another response. “The other people are the people who have their core belief shattered. This guy seems pretty cool, he’s black and loves his kids. What’s going on?”

I have often presented to clients the fact that there are more female heads of household in the African-American Community vs the General Population.

While this may be true, clients like Jim Thrower were always quick to remind me that this does not mean that African-American men are not involved in their families or involved in raising their kids.

The above quote is an excerpt from an NPR story, White House Urges Dads to Join Work-Life Balance Conversation.  Proof that stereotypes should never be confused with facts.

Click here to check it out and Happy Father’s Day.

 

 

 

Bringing Up The Rear

I heard the muted giggles and snickering before the object of the public ridicule caught my attention.

Call me ‘old fashioned,’ “not hip” and, perhaps, “out of touch,” but there is something very wrong and not cute about inappropriate clothing behavior…especially among Black people.

Some might raise the bar and suggest that it is unacceptable, (or acceptable?) regardless of race.

That is neither my argument or the point I am making.

As Black people, we have a shared responsibility to lift one another up and encourage each other to always put the best foot forward or at least make the effort.

What one wears in the comfort of their home is an entirely separate matter.

Once outside, parts of the anatomy that are typically covered need to stay that way.

If you have a 36″ waist, those 32″ jeans are no longer appropriate because, simply put, they don’t fit.

While low hanging jeans project a fashion forward image when worn by an artist or a pro-“baller,” if you are neither, pull your pants up and put a belt on it.

First impressions count.

They matter.

This I know is to be true…especially as we all struggle for equality and the right to be treated with respect and dignity.

The next time you see someone that you love, care about and/or have a vested interest in – all young people – pay it forward.

Tell them the difference between self-expression and self-respect.

Tell them to put a belt on it, to cover up and tell them that you are doing it because you love them.