To Listen or Not to Listen ~ Urban radio at work!

I'm sitting at my desk with the radio on listening intently as I try to win tickets to the Jay-Z and Kanye West concert, cause let's face it, the chances are far greater that I will win the tickets then pay $150 for seats where I can actually see them on stage.  So, my ear tunes in to the lyrics of the song playing, Ace Hood and Rick Ross, and this thought pops into my mind, "Am I too old and too professional to listen to urban radio at work?" 

I find myself turning the radio down when co-workers walk into my office, or suddenly breaking out into a cold sweat when during an awkward silence in conversation, the words of song shouting the n word or referencing sexual favors becomes blaring and audible. Is it just me? Am I the only one experiencing this? I mean, its not satellite radio or even an ipod playing, this is public radio. Censorship is virtually nonexistent. We've all become witty enough to know what word was meant to fill in the radio dub, my 4 yr old has said the words and he only listens to the radio (momma's been slacking on keeping her cd collection up to date).

Our music has changed. I'm old school I guess (yes, I have embraced that I am closer to the middle of my life then closer to the beginning), I want a smooth beat over some bass and lyrics that make me fall in love, cry, or get my old school butt out on the floor to dance. Our music continues to evolve, however our lyrical vocabulary seems to be headed in a different direction. AND let's not mistake wittiness for education or tact.

Now the impending decision is, do I spend my professional days tuned in to the Lite station or push through the awkwardness that sometimes occurs in a professional setting when our music is played on urban radio? 



Naturally

I was born with a tight coil pattern to my hair, we've been conditioned to call it nappy. I never got to know my hair, my choice was taken from me, from my mother, and her mother, and her mother before her, before we ever got acquainted.  At the root of this problem, literally, was a texture unfamiliar to the people who told us or classified it as "nappy". It was natural. Natural for them to not understand, or maybe they did. Maybe they understood that the natural strength in my hair was a testament to my natural strength. That if something so resilient, so course and determined was able to grow on the outside, that the same resilience could grow on the inside. 

So, in an attempt to keep me subdued and compliant, my hair became a symbol of intolerance. Heat, straightening combs, and chemical alterations followed suit. They tried to rape the kinkiness out of my hair and the color out of my skin. So now, in a time where all things are attainable, and self awareness is prevalent, why do I have to be called a "nappy headed nigger" from the people I love the most? Are they so insecure in what they have naturally, that they turn to derogatory words and old world sarcasms to disagree with a decision that they were never asked to partake in.

My  hair is my choice. I am more than my hair. I am more than any words you can think of to describe your opinion of my choice. How can I be the best me, when I've run from the most basic part of me my whole life? My journey to this place has been mine alone for reasons that are mine alone and I do not have to explain my kinkiness to you.

Disclaimer

I apologize in advance, if by the off chance
my words offend, relate, or speak directly to you
through you or even perfectly describe you
at a time when they weren't necessarily meant for you.

I only aim to express myself through a written art
paint a picture, though my brush strokes may be key strokes
and the picture is mental instead of hanging on your wall
hope it hangs around in your mind, at least for a little while

I may be random or quite specific, stand tall on my soapbox
or be a little indifferent
though I may express my opinion, in sequence or even out of order
I always hope to make sense with honesty and no pretense

So my disclaimer is a no-brainer, read at your own risk
just don't miss the point, leave an opinion if it moves you
share if you choose to,
but never take it personally, even if you know it is about you.

Banging on the door!

The other day, I'm knocking on my mother's door to drop off my 4 yr old, or should I say 80 yr old in a midget body.  I'm banging on her door like the police because apparently normal knocking does not warrant an answer.  Of course she doesn't hear me. Two reasons why I'm banging longer than 30 seconds, she's still asleep or she's in the bathroom. I continue to bang on the door, my fist is turning red.

The super panicky, always thinking the worse self shows up and I call the house phone, all the while visualizing myself kicking down the door to get in cause of course something is wrong.  I get so engulfed in my banging and crazy thoughts that I'm unaware of the 80yr old 4yr old. He's standing next to me with his head cocked to the side and says, only the way he can, "Really mommy?" His big eyes are staring at me through his bifocals and I want to say to him, "Really!?!, did you just say Really?", like as in stop banging on the door like a lunatic. But I didn't, cause clearly that is why he said it.