Take Me To The Water

I am standing at the rear of a boat heading down Virginia's Elizabeth River. The sun is falling from the sky like a single that's lost it's legs. The DJ, a white boy with a MacPro and a mouse, blends in Huey's "Pop, Lock and Drop It". The first time I heard this song was on a solo mission to Magic City in the A almost a year ago. Now it is the soundtrack for an onslaught of teenage girls shaking their asses for both parents and teachers to see. And my baby sister is among them.

She's is not at the center of the action but on the outskirts, watching, videotaping, occasionally dancing a few steps, smiling and laughing as she has a good time. As they jump up and down, still separate as boys and girls, still making their gradual way to the point of where they'll choose partners (if they already haven't). They grab their whitest teacher and force him into the center of the dance floor. He becomes both spectacle and exalted one as they cheer for him, somehow believing that grownups never have that kind of fun anymore. We did that to the same teacher at a dance the year I turned 13, the same age my sister is now. I know the songs they sing. Hell, I even know some of the words. But I also know that it's their music and not mine.

I'm stuck on a conversation I had minutes before the boat launched with one of my closest homeboys, one about how he and I, despite poverty, discouragement, and our creditors, have continued to do what we do. I remember when all he had was the tape of beats he'd made the last time he was home because he didn't own his own sampler. I remember when I was writing on that Smith Corona word processor. Now, we both own better tools for our trades, but our hearts beat just as strong for the arts we love.

My sister thinks I'm sad because I'm pensive. She comes over and asks me the deal. I tell her what my boy told me and she listens, understanding in the same way that I would have at my age. She puts a hand on my shoulder and tells me to turn my frown upside down. After that I can't stop smiling. There I am, a chaperone, filling in for my father because his knees can't take the walking this trip requires.

I haven't slept well in two days trying to adjust to the daywalker schedule. Still I came awake after only four hours sleep. I called the children I'm responsible for to make sure they were awake. I did push-ups, showered and shaved. Looking at myself in the mirror is so strange. I'm slimmer now. No more spare tire, no more fledging locks, so much less insecure than I was when I landed at Morehouse just shy of 18. I am a man now, a man who has accepted both his strengths and limitations. And I do not miss who I was before.

Two days ago I sat in the car with my father and we talked about life, about how hard my job is. I told him that sometimes it felt so hopeless with my girls. But today, with a group of kids the same age, kids who are bright and obedient and hopeful, I started to see the world for what it was and not what I feared that it was going to become. For such a long time I worked harder at getting others to make their dreams real than I did my own. I tried to save folks from themselves, which is the very definition of a losing proposition. Now I know that's just not possible. Now I constantly remind myself that we make our own karma. No matter how cliche it sounds, everything that happens is meant to.

Today I will shepherd my flock for an outing at Busch Gardens. I will take head counts and answer questions. I will worry when someone isn't where they're supposed to be for a two seconds too long. I'm a mother hen that way, the same as my Pops before me. He's no better at hiding it than I am. When I called him at home to tell him that all was well on the trip he seemed relieved. This is a guy who swept my entire crib for an hour because he was scared of leaving all his kids in New York by themselves. He taught me what it meant to be a father, an artist and a man. I'm more grateful for that than I am for almost anything else. There's talk of a camping trip in the future, on where I see myself grilling fish over an open fire and meditating in the cool mountain air. I'm so happy to be out of the Apple for a weekend. I need to do it more often. Out.