Reunited

Usually when you go to a reunion
you meet with a side of your grandparents' family,
awkwardly ask how each other is doing,
make boring small talk for 5-10 minutes,
and then never talk to them again until the next reunion 5 years later.

Luckily I got a little something more
from my weekend in Myrtle Beach.
And no, I don't mean darker skin and a random hook up.
Although I actually did get one of those. [no wink wink nudge nudge :-/]

As little time as I spent in Jersey these past four years I've spent even less time talking to my family.
It's not like I was trying to be the anti-Peter Griffin or anything.
You see, in order to stay in touch with most family members
you need to ring them up on the telly.
I loathe talking on the phone.
But it's not just that.
I was basically the baby of the family on my mother's side before my sister had her kids,
and it happens to be very hard to break out of the mentality of staying out of grown folks business or even carrying a normal conversation with them.

I have two cousins that are between me and my sister's age (we're 12.5 years apart)
but they decided not to come to the reunion,
work schedules and distance and whatnot.
So I was left to hang with the old folks on the drive down to Myrtle Beach.
Said old folks include: my mom, her parents, and her aunt.
What I expected to be a boring ride was;
I slept the entire way down.

However once we pit-stopped at my sister's house in North Carolina, the laughs rolled.
This is mainly because anytime my sister and I are in the same room
we pick on our mother or just crack joke after joke.
My mom is dorky and funny most of the time too.
The real surprise came from watching my grandparents interact.
They've been married for over 50 years and still act like kids sometimes.
My grandpa'll make a crack at my grandma or poke her and she'll start to jokingly fuss.
When my grandfather fell asleep in the car himself,
she poked him until he woke up.
Little things like that made me feel like I could talk to them.

Once we got down to Myrtle Beach,
we were joined by my uncle,
a few cousins my mom's age,
and a couple of my grandma's siblings.
When I tell you we kept to ourselves, we kept to ourselves.
The way the reunion was set up
each family just did whatever until the banquet on the last day.
They didn't even have a proper meet and greet.
You could have been standing in line at a water park
and not even realize the family in front of you were your distance cousins.
After a while you kinda just assume anyone black is related to you. [hooray for enforcing stereotypes!]

Now even though my immediate family was either born in Newark (and its surrounding areas) and/or lived there for the latter part of their life,
we are still a pretty bougie, highfalutin bunch.

"Don't trust them new niggas
over yonder..."

We expect things to have class and order.
So when we went to the banquet, we came through in nice summer dresses, linen suits, and shirt and slacks.
In return, we were greeted with stank eyes aplenty.
I looked around the ballroom
and saw negroes in shorts, tees, raunchy attire.
I judged them so hard as they stared us down.

You see, this reunion was so extended that my grandmother's maiden name wasn't even on the program.
I'm guessing it was her mother's side of the family.
Well, they suck.
Damn southerners.
I felt so unwanted I didn't even stay for the dance portion of the evening,
and ya'll know how much I love to show out on an actual dancefloor.

But being so excluded from the rest of the family
kinda made my immediate relatives tighter.
We banded together and had our own damn fun
without being bothered with the rest of them.

So while I've been focused on only relying on my friends these past few years,
it's nice to know I have family I can actually reach out and talk to when I'm ready to.
Because as much as I tried to deny it in the past,
in the end you've got nothing if you don't have family.
Word.

46) Try seafood again and not die

The past four years I've stayed in Baltimore
there have been countless crab feast,
not to mention the copious amounts of fish fillets served at any occasion.
Have you any idea how much this sucks to a guy with a seafood allergy?
I mean, I can still smell that shit.
It's fucking delicious from what my nose can gather.

It's not as if I've never had seafood, though.
What, you thought I was told by a doctor I had an allergy?
I'm black, my mother ain't have money for no damn allergy test.
Anything she found out I couldn't eat occurred through trial and error.

I don't remember the first time I ate seafood, but my mother says I have a different reaction each time.
I accredit this to her subjecting to me to a different species of fish each time.

The last bit of seafood I remember having is shrimp.
I was about ten or so.
There was butter sauce.
It was delicious, pure ecstasy.
That was until the swelling in my face and throat began.

Every since then
I was the kid keeping a group from going to Red Lobster.
It's not like I didn't want to go to, though.
I mean them cheddar biscuits are to die for, man!

My father has wanted me to try seafood again for a while now.
"It's probably just shellfish," he tells me. "You gotta at least eat a tuna fish sandwich."
Out of all the fish, that's the one I don't want to try.
It looks like cat food for goodness's sake.

But he was right.
I felt I needed to try seafood one more time.
I had out grown my other allergies as a kid:
meat, dairy, tomatoes, chocolate.
Yeah, I could only eat fruits and veggies until I was about four.
So who's to say I wouldn't outgrow this one.

Well Saturday I had my opportunity to try fish once again.
My mother grilled up some tilapia and offered me a piece.
If I was to try fish again anywhere
it would be in the comfort of my own home
literally two blocks away from the hospital I was born in.

She cut me a bite-sized piece
and lifted it to my face with a fork.
I was wary of the dead sea critter, nervous even.
I sniffed it like a suspicious dog.
Then I peaked it, attempting to see if it would be the kiss of death.
After 5 seconds, nothing happened.
I licked it for extra measure before finally chomping down on it.

My initial impression after swallowing it?
Tilapia: the pork of the sea.
It wasn't bad at all...
until my tongue started to itch.
Then my throat joined the party.
My upper lip was fashionably late,
showing off its new boils.

My mother gave me two Benadryl and watched me like a hawk for the next hour,
making sure I downed bottles of water as if I were a fish myself.
Sure enough, my lip and throat slowly got better.
A trip to the hospital had been averted,
but I would still have to decline the invitation to my next fish fry.
...least I didn't die. That's always good.

Part of me still wants to try shellfish though.
Mainly because I want to fully participate in a crab feast, really.
Swinging a mallot at a dead animal: who wouldn't enjoy that?
Word

I Actually Don't Mind Them

There have been multiple cases,
and I'm sure you've experienced this too,
when I'm around a group of people
and they will collectively shit on a person's life.
Usually it's behind the person's back
but most have no qualms with doing it to their face either.

Now to each their own.
As long as you stand by your opinions and beliefs at all times
I have no problem with you.
However, I have a problem with those who don't.
In this case I had a problem with myself.

You see, while I never said anything to degrade a person
I would nod along and "mm-hmm, yeah" while others did.
I went with the group just to go with the group.
I had no reason to dislike the person they disliked.
I was a phony, and I felt sick about it.

I have this irrational disease a few weak-spirited people have,
that wanting to be liked by everyone shit.
And I felt that if I aligned myself with the wrong people,
others would dislike me by association.
Well, that's stupid.
If people were to do that,
the fuck do I need them around me for,
to bring me down?
I'll pass.

It wasn't until about the middle of my junior year in college
that I finally figured that out
and said, "Fuck it, I'mma hang with who I want."
Granted, I did it secretly at first,
but I found I was happier.
I almost let other people keep me from a person
I shared common interests with,
more common interests than with those previously mentioned.

Basically, all I'm saying is don't let other people
determine how you view other people or the world, even.
Come up with your own conclusion
before you shut yourself off from something you might actually enjoy.
Otherwise you could end up a depressed, lonely fool
among a sea of people you don't even care about.
Word.

So You're 22 Now...

Having just turned 22 less than a month ago,
I find myself faced with the same problem day after day:
I keep seeing teenagers on the street and follow them with my eyes.
Eventually I'm gonna land myself in trouble.

I mean, I won't lie.
I often find myself still thinking like a teenager:
thinking in the moment, worrying about the future when it comes.
Something like that is hard to break out of
when you don't pay the majority of your own bills.

To me, liking a 17 year old when I was 20 seemed totally acceptable.
...not that I ever actually did it.
I'm just saying, I wouldn't have stopped myself.
It's only an age difference of three years,
and they'd be legal soon enough.
But now that I'm 22 (and back in Newark),
I find myself looking at 15 year olds,
and I instantly feel like a creep, a pedophile [pronounced in an English accent].

How the hell did I get older
and shoot for even younger suitors?
I can't even begin to comprehend this mess.
Usually, I like to go for older peeps.
That way I feel as if they're in charge.
[You should be seeing a trend by now.]
I suppose I've been eyeing teenagers lately because
1) I'm used to not worry about a person's age after living on a college campus for so long and
2) the lust for youth and irresponsibility still calls out to me in the dead of night.

22. Do you know how old I feel when I say that to myself?
Like I'm fuckin 30. Oh lawd, I'm going to be 30 someday.
See, that's it!
22, it means the rest of your life you have nothing to look forward to but your body breaking down, losing friends (between arguments, lost connections, and death), year after year of work, bills, a shitty economy, possibly no social security or retirement.
The shit is daunting, man.
What I wouldn't give to be 21 again.

Actually in retrospect, living on this earth as a 21 year old was very shitty.
I thought that was supposed to be my best year ever.
I think... I think that's it.
I was promised such fantastic times during my high school and college years,
but I've realized they were either terrible or wasted.

But, I have to remind myself that there's no way to go back.
I have to just learn from the shitty mess I've made of certain circumstances
and be ready for the ride that life has planned for me.
I mean, the bitch only moves forward.

So, here's to fucking the anxiety of becoming an old geezer.
Here's to welcoming the responsibilities of the world,
no matter how unwelcome they are.
May we venture forward together, helping each other along the way.
For alone, we may become overcome with depression.
Word.

P.S. If you're 18 and interested, hit a brother up.
P.S.S. I'm not serious.