Archive for June, 2010
#50) A Dream Deferred
One of the beautiful things about poetry is that meaning and interpretation is left to the reader. I doubt that Langston Hughes had Detroit in mind when composing “A Dream Deferred”, but his words provoke profound feelings about my hometown:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
The deferred dream of which I question is the unfulfilled leadership of Kwame Kilpatrick. I am not a Kilpatrick supporter, nor am I a Kilpatrick detractor. I also choose not to heap additional negativity atop of the challenges he is facing. However, the deferred dream of which I mourn directly stems from the void created and the momentum lost due to his choices.
Another entity that represents Detroit provides an example of a void created by poor choices – the Detroit Pistons. A few years back, the Detroit Pistons were perennial participants in the NBA Eastern conference finals. Their team was a cohesive, doggedly determined unit that featured no super-stars but highlighted the efforts of talented players working together to make a super team. While they were on top, they held the second pick of the 2003 NBA draft. The performance of their team permitted a window of development for whomever the team selected with that pick. The 2003 NBA draft was well-stocked with future all-stars and potential hall of famers. With their selection Darko Milicic as the tipping point, the Pistons began their downward descent into missing the playoffs and unentertaining basketball. Had they made another choice, the franchise would still be competitive and they would have remained playoff contenders. The underperformance of that choice or as an investor would say, the lack of return from that choice, has propelled the franchise in a downward spiral of which they have yet to recover.
How does professional basketball relate to the potential of a politician?
Darko Milicic
Kwame Kilpatrick
Just as the flameout of Darko created a void for the Pistons, the crash and burn of Kilpatrick’s mayorship has created a void for Detroit.
Indeed there are people working hard to curtail the damage, plug the gushing hole, and keep the mighty ship from sinking. I salute and commend their efforts, because without them Detroit would already be fully capsized and sunken. But we cannot ignore the lost momentum and collateral damage that stem from Kilpatrick’s choices. How many potential leaders would have been developed under his watch? Now their potential has been either thwarted or aborted. What would Detroit’s national position be with an accomplished Democratic mayor working with a benevolent Democratic president? Could jobs have be saved or new ones created? Would the city’s budget be closer to the black rather than wallowing in the red? Maybe the city’s culture would have been nursed from an industrial mindset into the technological age? Could? Would? Maybe? Damn.
The facts remain the Detroit faces some possibly indomitable obstacles: high unemployment, a dysfunctional school system, too much debt, too little revenue, and much, much more. But the hope, the ambitions, and the trust of the city were attached to a dynamic young man who like Darko, wowed the scouts with pre-draft workouts (2001 mayoral campaign), dominated in another less-demanding league (Michigan House of Representatives), and merited all the aspirations and confidence that prompted their selection; just like Darko, the choices of Kilpatrick will haunt the city for years to come. But hopefully the dream of Detroit’s revival will not fester like a sore, stink like rotten meat, or sag a heavy load. I pray that the dream of Detroit’s renaissance will not be deferred for much longer, because if it is, Detroit may just explode.
#49) Karma Don’t Come Back Like That
There is a scene in the movie The Best Man, where Terrance Howard’s character attempts to assuage his friend’s fears by assuring that “karma don’t come back like that.” As a father of two beautiful girls, I am certain that I am not alone in hoping that karma indeed does not come back like that.
At the moment we first find out we’re having a daughter, every father flashes back to all the things that he has done to and with someone else’s daughter. It is at that moment, despite religious standing or affiliation, every father-to-be communicates with God. A communication, a prayer, or more than likely a plea, that begins with these two words: “Lord, please”.
From that initial moment of humility and probably for the duration of our days, we are never the same. We attempt to stand rigid, but when those pretty eyes sparkle and coo “please daddy”, we melt faster than ice cubes in a heated oven. When baby girl cries, our chest expands, our bravado multiplies and our ego rages – because whoever did this to our baby girl, they are about to be victimized by our ferocity. Yet somehow, the money you had begun saving for a huge high-definition television, becomes easily spent when lil’ mama needs a pretty dress and sandals. Indeed, we are never as tough as we were before daughters.
Yet I’m here to say that unlike the rest of you, I can tell my daughters, “no!” In fact, I supplement my “no” with a crazed hysterical look that shouts, “what the heck were you thinking?” But my girls work with charm – hey, what can I say? They get it from their dad. They climb into my lap and use their little fingers to outline my eyebrows or mustache. Then they tuck their little chins to their chest and look up from under those long eyelashes. They shrug their little shoulders and affectionately murmur: “daddy….” The rest of the statement doesn’t matter, because this daddy springs into action. “What!! You can’t find your Princess Tiana Barbie? Well, go get your jacket. Daddy will get you a new one.” Later, as we proceed to the cash register of Toys’ R Us, I stoop down and plead with my little ladies, “don’t tell your mama, ok?”
This post is originally featured in Daddy, Am I Pretty? by Damon E. Duncan. Order Your Copy today!
Daddy, Am I Pretty?
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!!!!!!
#48) A Bridge Too Far
If you have ever ventured into the unknown, taken a step into faith, or simply recognized that where you are may not be where you were forever ordained to be, then perhaps the notion of a bridge too far evokes personal introspection. While the terminology refers to a war movie, a book, and a quote from military strategist, the notion of a bridge too far strikes me as a concept regarding destiny and faith.
Chesapeake Bay Bridge
A few weeks back, I had to traverse the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. A twenty-mile series of bridges and tunnels that would immobilize those with a phobia of bridges and could possibly give pause to many others. My journey placed me on the bridge just as the morning fog was lifting. The clouds were overcast. The waters of the bay were choppy and restless. The traffic was barely scant. The lump of gumption I swallowed as I proceeded to cross was followed by consoling, whispers of plea – “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus”. I even turned down the radio as if the music’s volume could influence the ocean’s waves.
As I gripped the steering wheel, steeled myself by focusing ahead, and drove in prayer, the lanes began to merge as the bridge descended into the waters. For moment, a large sea tanker was at eye level. I’ve never been face to face with a tanker but I did not have enough time to be afraid of it because I was entering a two-lane tunnel with a large truck approaching just a few feet to my left. By this time, the whispers of plea evolved into a louder conversational tone with its own rhythm – “Je-SUS, Je-SUS, Je-SUS”.
I have never had a phobia of bridges, but the Chesapeake Bay Bridge- Tunnel can evoke unforeseen fears into travelers. However, those fears are much like other fears I’ve faced in life. I chose a college without ever visiting it. I pursued a career without any assurances of financial wealth. I accepted a job, moved across the country, and changed careers simply at the request of one person. Each of these instances evoked their own set of fears. But just as I found with the Chesapeake – the surrounding, rushing, deep-ocean waters, the dreariness of the skies, the inability to see land on the other side, and the loneliness of the journey did not prevent me from crossing the bridge. All of those fear-inducing facts did not mean that journey was impossible.
It simply meant that to proceed toward my destination I would have to advance through some possibly intimidating circumstances. Those circumstances did not threaten the stability of the bridge nor obstruct the direction of the path. Those circumstances were ever-present but were not controlling factors. I came to realize that those circumstances only usurp the journey if allowed.
Something else I learned was that while I was becoming nearly petrified of the narrowing lanes, the abundance of water, and the bridge-to-tunnel-to-bridge-to-tunnel-to-bridge dynamic, I was more afraid of stopping. I was more afraid of parking on that bridge and awaiting help than I was to continue driving. I imagine that if anyone stops growing in life and stares at their circumstances too long, immobilization is imminent and fear trumps progress.
I am not fearless. But I rather proceed through and past my fears than to become a stagnant prisoner of them. Just as I gripped the steering wheel while on the bridge, I could become confident in the resources I have in life. Just as I steeled my resolve by focusing ahead, I can channel a more intense focus on my purpose and my goals. And finally, as I drove over the bridge in prayer, I can grow through life in constant communication with a higher power.
That day, I made it across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, twice. Proving that despite it being a bridge of considerable distance, it and the bridges in life can be successfully crossed because no bridge is a bridge too far.
#47) Coming Together about Real Issues
The anticipation of the NBA Finals has me more excited than a child on the last day of school. The Celtics vs. the Lakers (of which I am picking the Celtics in seven) is perhaps the most ideal match-up of the post-season, a post-season some are seeking to fast-forward in anticipation of the pending free agent signing period. Although I believe Coach Phil Jackson to be the most important free-agent-to-be, most NBA fans are anxious about the destinations of LeBron James, Dwayne Wade and others.
Apparently, the free-agents-to-be have convened a meeting of sorts. Allegedly, they have come together to share ideas, explore possibilities, and possibly formulate strategies for their future employment.
It isn’t a crime to ponder strategies that result in the best compensation for one’s work. What earnest hard-working person hasn’t? However, this “summit” reflects a remarkable chasm away from the solidarity displayed at a previous summit of Black sports stars.
Bill Russell, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and others
Amazing how the tributes and accolades flow about the Muhammad Ali we see today. Today’s Muhammad Ali is not the lightening rod of controversy as was the Muhammad Ali of the 1960s. His allegiance with Islam, his discarding of Olympic gold, and moreover, his refusal to comply with draft guidelines rendered him a pariah to many, a villain to many more, and a hero to others. Given his position of celebrity, his defiance could not be overlooked. His morally grounded, religion-supported position garnered an intense, publicly scrutinizing spotlight. Under such perusal, he could have found himself alone. But he didn’t and he wasn’t.
The summit of sports stars that means the most to me is the show of supportive solidarity exhibited by Jim Brown, Bill Russell, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Cleveland Mayor Carl Stokes, Walter Beach, Bobby Mitchell, Sid Williams, Curtis McClinton, Willie Davis, Jim Shorter, and John Wooten. If only today’s significantly more exposed, tremendously more affluent, Black professional athletes took such a substantive position, wow! The possibilities would be amazing. Would it end poverty? No. Would it deter crime? Hmmmmm. Would it plug the oil spill and end war in the Middle East? No and no, again. So what purpose would it serve?
Potentially many.
But here are a few.
The decades that have passed since the civil rights movement have witnessed the rise and now on-going dissolution of the Black Middle Class. The socioeconomic diversity within African-American culture is expansive and renders a plethora of varying everyday realities for individuals of the same race. Yet, amid our assorted life challenges – racism exists. Even more profoundly ugly than racism, economic classism exists.
The prospect of a collection of African-American millionaires coming together to support a cause, to draw attention to an issue, or even idealistically to invest their energies in a far-reaching, uplifting purpose … the prospect of such a dream … well, the thought is beautiful.
The free-agents-to-be are entitled to invest their resources in whichever way they choose. Under no circumstance would I endorse otherwise. Just as they are entitled to their choices, I am entitled to mine. My ambitious dream of choice is a collection of socially conscious, well-intended, community-grounded brothers and sisters coming together to compose and implement strategies that support and benefit others. Perhaps a strategy could be funding ventures that make higher education obtainable for the marginalized. Another strategy could be using some of their collective resources to jump-start minority businesses. Publicly displaying brotherhood (off the court that is) that counters the self-hatred that is the core of Black on Black crime is another possible strategy. Perhaps even developing an investment arm that ensures that athlete millionaires of yesterday will not become the financially destitute of tomorrow would fit my ambitious dream.
The potential and possibilities are endless! Although there is some value of brothers coming together, I’d like to think the value would be dramatically multiplied if Jim Brown, Bill Russell, or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar were invited. Yeah, that’s a dream all right … a dream that Dr. King could envy.