Growing Pains: A Note to My Growing Children

One of the most painful experiences of life is the physical growth of our bodies. Teeth rupture our gums as infants and the pain can be unbearable. Our bones and muscles stretch so we become reflections of others who stem from our gene pool. We pop zits as we enter our teen years as hormones are released rapidly. Young ladies begin their menstrual cycles experiencing the pains that will ultimately lead to their journey through motherhood, which is probably the most painful part of growth as her body not only grows but her family does as well.

These pains are not much less important than the emotional and psychological pains of growing up, graduating high school and moving into adulthood. For many, this means moving away from home, leaving their comfort zones, having to balance finances while also dealing with the stress of new academic, military or work force responsibilities. It is difficult to become an adult.

For years I’ve had the pleasure of watching more than one thousand, yes, more than one thousand, of my children move from middle school to high school and ultimately to adulthood. Many now have masters and doctorates and have gained husbands, wives and children along the way. And, growing up is hard to do.

Even as I’ve entered my thirties recently I’ve realized that it doesn’t get easier. However, what I’ve also realized is the importance of growing up. As much as we desired independence since our inception, independence comes with a price and it is expensive! But, the one thing that I’d like to remind my children as they experience these growing pains is to keep your mind focused on the most important part of the cliche’ and that is, growth.

Will you miss seeing mom and dad everyday? Sure. Will you miss the presence of your friends’ when you’re having difficult times? Most definitely. Will you even miss the familiarity of the city every time you turn on your GPS because you now live in a whole new world? Yes. Trust me I’ve experienced it all.

But, it is these experiences that will shape you into being a greater human being, a better husband or wife, a better mother or father, and a better citizen of the world. With these experiences you will become a better you. Every bad grade, every financial mishap, every drunken night that you regret in the morning, every man or woman you date and you ultimately realize is not the one for you, and even the moves you make that you realize wasn’t the most strategic will make you a better you.

I’ll leave this with you. For many of you it may seem Mr. Prince has it all together. It may seem like I’ve achieved all my goals, that I’ve peaked and I’ve been successful in all of my ventures. However, I, too, still experience growing pains. I’m at a point of transition trying to figure out my next steps professionally, socially and personally. It’s confusing, to say the least. It’s difficult, but through these current growing pains I take my medicine, which is prayer and the words of my family, friends and authors who speak to my spirit (please read, it is the thing that will allow you to understand life so much more), and I get up every morning with hope because I know that what I’m experiencing will be the catalyst to fulfilling my next purpose in life.

Always remember that just like you, there is someone else who is experiencing what you are experiencing–the difference between you and that person is what you learn from the pain once you’ve gotten through it.

J. Prince, Princepality 98

You Shall Overcome: A Conversation About Life

I had a griot, a man we called “professor” in the classroom and “mentor” or “jegna” outside of the classroom, and he would often tell us stories of his travels around the globe. We would sit at his feet in a circle on the floor in our classroom space or at his home. And, he would paint these mental scenes for us with his words of Kenyan safaris, Chinese markets, and Ghanaian villages that housed our relatives who were born from those not captured to be chattel in the Americas.

One of the most elaborate stories I remember is his story of climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro while visiting Tanzania. It was an epic story that often plays like a film on a theatre screen in my mind when I revisit his tale. The details of clamoring over rocks as he looked toward the top of the mountain or his description of the temperature change as he progressed higher and even how he felt like giving up at every step because of the rough terrain made a major impression on the way I see life.

I had not thought about this story until the other day as I began to dwindle down the rabbit hole that we often fall into when things become difficult or our plans become null and we void them for new plans because the prior doesn’t seem to be working the way we planned. It seemed as if these obstacles had become mountains. These huge, massive land developments that seem so much larger than me.

For some moments I sat at the bottom of the mountain wondering how am I going to climb over it and once I climb over it the other hard part is climbing back down. And, I felt like walking away. I felt like saying “fuck you mountain, you got the best of me, I’m finished, I’m done.” Then, I remembered the one thing that griot, the one we call “professor,” “jegna,” said to me while he was climbing this mountain and that is “…just imagine the difference between how I would’ve felt if I never tried versus how I feel now that I’ve actually reached the top.”

When your mountains seem insurmountable…when they look so big and so tall you think you could never reach the top…imagine if you began to climb and you got far enough that when you looked back you had no choice but to move forward. What if you had no choice but to motivate yourself to keep pushing despite the animosity of the cold winds, the jagged edges of the rock that hurt your knees, the deep ridges that bind to your feet like magnets and you have to pull them out to keep going, or the never ending sight of looking up without seeing the top? What if you endured all of that and with one step, after so many, you reach the top? Imagine how much more you will appreciate that feeling than the feeling of never trying at all.

Overcome…the…mountain. Be the David to its Goliath.

J. Prince, Princepality 97

To Be Born Again

Today is probably one of the best days of my life. I don’t say that in the way that people often say cliches to make a dramatic point. Today I was given the gift of watching a young man, one of my closest students, be reborn right in front of my face.

On the birth of El Hajj Malik Shabazz I recanted my “aha” moment, my black baptism, my moment of rebirth. The time in my life when my eyes were opened to the realities of race relations not only in this country, but the world abroad. That time in my life was such an enlightening, but emotional time that helped mold me into the man I am today. So, it was an awesome experience to visually see it happen, not just because he is one of my students, but because he is a student who I literally consider to be like a little brother.

Today we visited the International Civil Rights Museum located in Greensboro, NC. As I organized the group to prepare for three separate tours I noticed that my graduated seniors were a being a little rowdy so I decided to accompany them to ensure they behaved in a manner reflective of what I know I’ve taught them for these past four years. We began with a very basic exhibit that detailed the minute details of Jim Crow such as varying prices for a Coke for colored vs white and how hospitals, even once somewhat integrated washed the “black loads” of laundry separate from the “white loads” of laundry. As we moved to the next exhibit I happened to notice my boy became very quiet. He had allowed the spirit of his ancestors to enter his thought process as he critically analyzed the information given him not only by the exhibits, but by his tour guide who pressed upon the group the gravity of Jim Crow and its effect on the black psyche.

As we moved one of my other boys says, “this is crazy. We don’t never hear about shit like this.” (They didn’t know I was behind them.) And, he responded, “…so what is the use of black history month. They don’t even tell us about this type of stuff in February!” I said nothing. I let them have their moment.

As we moved on to discuss Brown vs Board of Education, the Voting Rights Act, etc. and entered the exhibits that detailed the horrific treatment of African people during the Civil Rights Movement like how the police used hoses to scatter crowds who rallied against segregation or how the dogs would literally bite into and ravage the arms and legs of young children beginning at 6 and 7 I noticed his eyes became red and he took off his glasses. I said nothing.

The tour guide then moved us to the names of just some of the thousands arrested, beaten and killed for taking part in the organizations like SNCC and showed videos of the abuse handed down from governmental officials who were supposed to “serve and protect.” I noticed he began to distance himself from the group and intently read the stories of these young men and women and I could almost see his third eye opening in front of me.

The final part of our tour called the “Wall of Shame” that details the lynchings, the beatings, and the burning of black bodies by white men and women in the pre-Civil Rights and Civil Rights era was the exhibit that encapsulated him in such a way I could feel how it made him feel. It was the same feeling I felt when I prepared my “pre-thesis” assignment for one of my favorite professors who assigned us the task of preparing a booklet about a particular era or topic in black history. I chose lynchings as my topic. And, as I listened to “Strange Fruit” cutting and pasting pictures of abused black bodies against my written commentary that detailed the horrific details of their deaths I literally had to stop and my spirit just gave into emotion. It was overwhelming to think about how it felt to have your penis cut off in front of hundreds of white men then hung to death and burned alive. He experienced that same feeling today as he walked through the visual history of that which we call this country’s shame.

After the tour was over I went outside to get a breath of fresh air. He soon followed. He couldn’t be around his playful peers, he couldn’t take himself out of the moment–he was now baptized in the fiery furnace of a history we all too well forget. I went to him and stood by him and he didn’t look at me, he only sighed.

I asked if he was ok and all he said is, “I didn’t know, Prince. I really didn’t know.” I shook my head truly understanding every word in the sentences he spoke because that was me some 15 or 16 years ago. And, I told him the story of my rebirth. I explained how two years after my rebirth I had to complete an assignment about the lynching of our people that happened so long ago, but often seems like yesterday, and he shook his head in silence while listening intently. He turned his head, breathed and said, “I think I need to take some courses about our history. If I’ve learned this much in an hour of time I can only imagine all the other things I don’t know.”

“Yep,” I responded, “little brother, you really don’t know!” He shook his head and we stood there. Him, now with the understanding of why I try to provide an education that the school system just won’t provide, and me with the confirmation that if you only reach one it is all worth it.

J. Prince, Princepality 96

The Rapper Evaluation Form

Disclaimer: In this post I use Hip-Hop, Rap, Emcee, and Rapper Interchangeably. If you feel, like I often do, there is a certain political correctness when using these terms to separate what is Hip-Hop and what is rap that ideology will not be expressed in this short, but pertinent post.

I’m up for my yearly evaluation at my place of work. During this process my boss evaluates my performance as it relates to achieving the goals and objectives of my program. He’ll ask me questions about what I’ve accomplished in the past year and the strategies used to accomplish these goals.

And, I began to wonder. What if rappers had to do the same? What if we had to evaluate the content of their music? If you know me, of course, you’re thinking I’m thinking that this evaluation of content would be measured by how much the rapper dealt with political and social issues on a global scale. Well, much to your surprise, I don’t even mean that. I just mean, how much work, time and effort does an emcee put into his lyrics to produce thought provoking and lyrical content that proves he actually took some time to make his poetry 16 bars over produced instrumentation. That’s all.

If you had to evaluate your favorite rapper or any emcee for that matter, what would he score on his evaluation? Do this exercise whenever you’re bored and don’t have much to do but listen to music.

Rate the artist by these categories and see how he measures up:

Scale- 1. No, not at all. 2. Sometimes, but not often. 3. Yes, most of the time. 4. Yes, all the time.

Lyrical Content-Does the emcee use complex sentences and advanced word usage that would allow the listener to learn something new while also keeping them entertained IF HE WERE TO PERFORM THE SONG ACAPELLA?

Lyrical Style-Does the emcee use various speeds throughout his music displaying a diversification in his lyrical style?

Growth and Maturity-Can the listener listen to the artist, in both his own musical works as well as featured productions, and identify growth and development from year to year?

Artistry-Does the artist use words that enable his audiences to visualize themselves throughout his music? Can a listener be transported through time and space through the artist’s work?

Word Usage-As Hip-Hop uses literary devices, just as poetry, can the listener identify literary devices such as metaphors, similies, hyperboles, etc? If yes, are these devices used in complex ways to make his or her audiences think differently about various issues or the relationships between people, countries and nations?

Sustainability-Does the emcee demonstrate longevity in the music industry because of his ability to use his talent to diversify the previous categories?

How to determine your results:

24-18: Above Average. The emcee has displayed the necessary skills to continue in the industry.

17-11: Average: The emcee sometimes displays the skills necessary to continue in the industry, but may need improvement.

10-5: Below-Average. The rapper does not often display the skills necessary to continue in the industry and should be given another review before the next year to check for improvement. The rapper may want to invest more time and effort in developing more sustainable works.

4-0: Unfortunately, this rapper should be fired immediately!

J. Prince, Princepality 95

She Can’t Be Their Father

I would like to take the opportunity to apologize on behalf of all men who understand the importance of fatherhood to all the mothers who have to provide more than 50 percent of the support to her children.

The Creator, just as he made soil and seed, provided us with sperm and egg–one of each being donated by either sex. One of the best creations God ever made was sex. It’s enjoyable and pleasurable. It is the human act that we, even if retarded or have developed diseases like Alzheimers, do not forget about. In today’s world there are many ways for one to get him or her self “off,” but the most pleasurable way to enjoy an orgasm is with a mate.

And, I say that to say to the single mothers “…you did not bust that nut alone.” And, it is understandable to be angry that after he’s entered your sacred womb and enjoyed you, you could possibly bore a child with a man who can enjoy busting a nut with you, but cannot enjoy raising a child with you.

It is unfortunate that we live in a system where many of us have become 21st century “bucks” who are trained, just like the black men who white men used to breed more Africans to enslave, to fuck and make babies without having the responsibility of raising them. However, this is our reality. It is a system created that is dying hard, if at all.

But, no matter the fact, it is important to understand that a mother is just that–a mother. Someone who nurtures her children and who can provide all the love and support to a child that she can, from a feminine perspective. And, although, you can show him how to catch a ball or pee standing up, you can never claim to be his father. You can, in your heart, want to be both parents for your child, but it is important to recognize how confusing it can be for a child when you tell him or her that you can take on both roles. I believe it can be a detriment to the child because, whether a female or male child, he or she will begin to believe in that fact and then produce children who will also be born into a one parent household.

For the male child he may believe that if his mother could be both mother and father he then can produce a child and not be a father because ultimately, the woman he created that child with, can do the same as his mother. And, he can do the same as his father, walk away without enjoying the wilds of fatherhood. For a female child she may choose a man who is a reflection of her father believing that if she does get pregnant she can, just like her mother, raise that child without the support of the child’s father.

If you have Facebook and you take a moment to read the posts by many of your friends, you may see “fuck the deadbeats, I am both mom and dad, Happy Father’s Day to me.” The word father implicates a male figure who provides a masculine perspective of love, care, strength and teaching. Males have been found to have a different perspective than females, most notably that of emotion versus logic, and although both sexes have the capability to be both, there is a difference in the way a male would rear a child versus the way a woman would rear a child. When the two perspectives join it provides a unique balance for the child in question creating a more well rounded child.

So, no, woman, you cannot be both mother and father, but if your child’s father is not active in his life you can provide ways for him or her to gain a male perspective in the rearing experience. And, vice versa. A single father can provide ways for his child to experience rearing from the female perspective.

It is difficult, but not impossible. I know it is hard to be a single mom. I don’t know your experiences, I can empathize with your experiences, but I cannot attest to the fact that I know what it is to be a single mother, just like single mothers cannot know what it is to be a father to a child.

I would behoove any single mother to not claim to be their child’s father, but I do encourage single mothers to admit to their children that they do not know how to be a father to their children, apologize on behalf of the man you chose to have a child with, and provide alternative ways for that child to gain the experience of having an adult male who can provide the same types of love his or her father could’ve provided had he not chosen to walk away.

We always say, it takes a village to raise a child. Well, you live in the village, it is just a matter of finding the other men in it who care enough to help you raise them.

J. Prince, Princepality 94

Are There Intentions Good?

Imagine being a little boy. Now, imagine being a little boy with bright blue eyes that reflect the innocence and purity not yet knowing the ills of the world, not yet knowing that there is a such thing as power, racism, classism or even what discrimination means. Take a moment to vision being that same little boy walking the halls of elementary school for the first time excited about playing and socializing with other kids your age–the stories of lunch time and recess being joyous events that allow you to break from the toils of coloring in the lines, arithmetic, and spelling tests. Imagine being that little boy when all the other kids destroy his dreams by knocking his books out of his hands, calling him ‘punk’ or ‘stupid,’ and leaving him to sit on the edge of the monkey bars with no invites to play along because the other kids ostracize him because of what ever reason because kids will ultimately be just that, kids!

Take another second to imagine that same little boy growing up enduring the pains of being powerless against his peers who value him more as a physical and/or verbal punching bag than a friend.

What you see is what I believe is the story of a great deal of police officers. Men, who ultimately lost their power throughout their lives, who choose to join the police academy, not because they want to protect and serve, but to yield power over citizens because they lost that power throughout their educational careers. Now, pack on whatever racist or prejudices the nation and his parents have formed for him throughout his life time and you have what I call a “pig.”

By all means, my assumption maybe wrong, but from the conclusions I’ve drawn about racial profiling and police brutality this is the answer that I’ve found. And, what is unfair is that because of their life experiences these men spend months in military style training giving them the power they’ve always looked for throughout their lives to yield small police states in black and latino communities across the country.

This week I hosted an orientation for my students. After orientation was over I was walking to my car and saw three of my black male students standing by one of their cars casually having a conversation. As I got closer the discussion included how they were going to handle the work load I’ve provided for them and how they were going to balance their athletic training with the academic expectations set out for them. A very mature conversation for 17 and 18 year old students. I joined the conversation, of course, and it was simply four brothers “shooting the shit” about their summer experience and going to college in the fall. After a couple of minutes a cop car passes by patrolling the area. Nothing out of the ordinary as University police are always driving past.

But, when the white male cop saw us talking he made it his duty to come by and “check on us.” I knew he was going to stop because he began to brake as he approached and I decided to keep quiet to see how these three young black men would handle the situation. Please note that in this particular parking students and gym attendees of other races have communed with no disruptions from the police.

This was the conversation:

COP: You guys doing ok tonight?

STUDENT 1: Yessir, we’re doing good.

COP: Having a little car trouble? I saw he [me] was on the phone and I thought maybe your battery died. I have jumper cables.

STUDENT 1: No sir. Just talking.

COP: Oh ok.

The police officer begins to let his foot off the brake and stops again.

COP: You guys USC students?

STUDENT 2: No sir, we are USC Upward Bound students, though. We just had orientation.

COP: Oh ok. What’s that?

STUDENT 1: It’s a program that helps us go to college among other things.

COP: Oh.

STUDENT 2: We had a meeting over there.

COP: Oh, BTW?

STUDENT 1: Yes sir.

COP: Hmmm. Ok.

Dead silence.

COP: Ok. Well, y’all have a good night.

Now, most of you will read that and say, “that is so sweet that he stopped to check.” Well, in the words of Animal, his intentions could be misunderstood. However, the hood of the car wasn’t up, we weren’t fishing through the trunk of the car looking for tools, and there were no signs of distress. There was no evidence of any car trouble and again, I note, I’ve often seen others commune around campus with cops patrolling without questioning.

After the incident I smiled at them, proud. Proud because at their age they handled it well. They spoke with solid voices, the stood up, they looked him square in the eyes as they answered each question, and they didn’t overcompensate to justify them talking by their cars in a public place. I told them that as they go onto college, especially for two of them who will be attending predominantly white institutions in the fall, that they may incur that situation again. I reinforced their tactics–not showing fear or cowering during the conversation, answering questions directly and establishing that they are men just as the cop was a man. Of course, the incident kind of got their spirits down and the next move was them telling me they were off to head home and I nodded and they all traveled to their separate vehicles as I monitored.

For some reason, I saw the little boy in that cop. I don’t know his life story. I don’t know his past. But, what I do have the right to assume is that his job enables him to feel more in power–to feel he can question these young men about who they are, what they are doing and why they were doing it when I personally know this doesn’t happen to their white counterparts. It was a confirmation, for me, about those who take the oath that they will protect and serve. And, that is many of them use the excuse of “protect and serve” to profile and yield undue power.

I’m thankful this incident didn’t turn into a battle between us and him, but I’m also thankful that if it had they were prepared to properly handle themselves in the situation. It’s tough trying to raise young black men in a nation that doesn’t value them even though propaganda often tells them that they are as equal as their white counterparts. But, we have to train them to stand up, be men, and yield their own powers as individuals who have rights.

Because for the cop it is not an issue of if their intentions are good, its an issue of the police force often assuming that our young black men don’t have good intentions. And, our children shouldn’t have to pay for the treatment of these police officers that still hold onto the pasts of their childhoods.

J. Prince, Princepality 93

For My Team of Pros

 

The class was separated on most days with half of the desks and chairs on one half and the other on the other half with an aisle in the middle. I remember always walking in that classroom with an air of excitement with a hint of fear. Excitement because I would be around my peers who understood me despite me being the short, smart kid who had a slight arrogance and a teacher who became a mother in weeks time because of her ability to make you understand life without the traditions of what the world thought a teacher should be. Fear because although accepted by them, I wasn’t absolutely sure if I had accepted myself, and because mothers have the ability to discipline. And, she knew effective ways of being a disciplinarian. But, I always walked in with a bravado because nobody could know that part of me–maybe that is what many would coin the Napoleonic complex.

There was a couch in the corner and the cultural decor would overwhelm one’s African spirit and you couldn’t but succumb to the continued knowledge of self that resonated in that room.

From practicing for Oddysey of the Mind asking and answering question after question to preparing for step performances where the girls learned how to use both their bodies and become one body, her legs at the bottom, the other’s torso at the top–a signature move of black sororities at the time to having deep conversations about why life–is.

That classroom on the other side of the second floor facing the neighborhoods from which we grew and the cemetery we often said Jonny Watermaker “got kids” in will forever be a happy memory. It is a happy memory not only for me, but for all the Pros who made an awesome Team where the knights learned what it meant to be royal.

Because it was ProTeam that shaped so many of our lives and one of the reasons why we are the people we are today. Ms. Sharon Caldwell created not just a team of pros, but individuals who are making pros in their own adult lives. We’ve moved on to be leaders in education, military, civic service, artistry, medicine, law, and the list continues as we, who have been taught to utilize all of our talents, transition from career to career to place to place.

Everyday I think about three things from my experiences as a child/student under the tutelage of our school mother at the oh so beautiful Alcorn Middle School, where the Knights reign:

1. When me and my cohorts were eighth graders and were preparing for our promotion ceremony she created a folder and a gift for each of us. On the front of my folder it said “SCHOLAR.” I looked at it somewhat confused. Not because I didn’t think I was smart, but because so many other of my classmates achieved more than I did. Weeks before I got this folder my classmate and good friend, Jessica, was speaking to someone behind me and said, “I’m going to cut my hair.” Now, me being the arrogant SOB that I was in middle school I turned and said, “my momma said God said that a woman’s hair is her worth.” I won’t tell you what Jessica said to me, but I will tell you that the story got back to Ms. Caldwell. After I glanced at the folder and saw the attribute she had given me and she saw my confused expression she said, “you are the most curious and inquisitive little man I know, but you should be concerned with learning more about yourself than delving into the affairs of others.” She peered at Jessica, raised that eye brow, peered back at me and I was forever humbled. And, did I learn knowledge of self throughout my high school and collegiate careers.

I still have a bit of an air of arrogance, but by all means, it is an arrogance that is laced with the beauty of humbleness. And, I did become a scholar, I would like to think that I, too, encourage my students to become scholars as well. Every year, for the past three years, students have received an attribute from Mr. Prince.

2. I remember one day I was late to class and I walked in and one of my classmates Joe, who was and still is the closest to her, was laying on the couch. She had a meter stick in her hand with her hands on her hip with her neck leaned forward toward him and she yelled, “JOE! WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?! AND, I’M NOT GOING TO ASK YOU AGAIN.” Joe leaned forward a little, pillow and all, and said “I don’t know, man. I just feel bad.” She responded, “well, if you can’t describe the pain then you don’t have any pain. Sit…in…your…seat.” And, from that day forward anytime anybody asked me how I felt when I was sick I had an explanation.

3. Right before practice after school Ms. Caldwell and Ms. Mazzie, who became our other school mom, were outside and they were peering down into the parking lot. And, as I passed by I remember Ms. Caldwell saying something about not having some girls tear up her…stuff (?-hehe). When she came back in the class she began explaining the process of “pledging” for a fraternity or sorority as her sister was crossing over soon at her college. She had explained that she and her sister traded cars because the pledge masters were trying to use her sister’s car by force. And, how, her sister didn’t have the finances as a college student to keep up additional maintenance should the pledge masters do something to break or wreck the car. I learned that day that if I pledged to not drive my own car.

Before I started writing this I was a little teary thinking about how I could reflect on the life of our angel, and as I end I am smiling. Not just because of these three memories, but because of the hundreds of memories she allowed us to make with her. I regretted not being able to attend her last event with our group, but I have to say I can see her just as if she is still here with that beautiful fro, often raised eye brow, and the smile that shined bright like the sun after it rains.

To my classmates and others who may read this I offer this as a means of comfort as we go through the process of grieving our loss and I hope that you have memories of your own that will allow you to find, not closure, but peace knowing that the Creator gives us life, allows us to be the inspiration in the lives of others in the body, and then admits us into the spiritual realm to serve as ancestors who can continue to guide us through the spiritual realm like visions and dreams.

Love all y’all! Be blessed!

J. Prince, Princepality 92

Putting the Spirit of David in Our Young Goliaths

There is this beauty I see in the story of David and Goliath.

The beauty doesn’t lie in the story of a small man defeating a giant who could have ultimately broken him to pieces in a physical battle, the beauty lies in the courage of the small man to take on the challenge of defeating a man who was twice his size.

I know a young man who is 6’5. Many of his peers, I’m sure, never challenged him because of the assumptions made about a black male who towers over his peers. But, despite his stature I saw the fear he had of himself and his potential. It was scary for me to see him so afraid of what he could do and what he could manifest.

And, for the past year my staff and I have been battling with him to accept that fact that although he may look like Goliath on the outside, it is important for him to have the spirit of David on the inside. Because, ultimately, it’s not about how big you are, but how big your spirit is.

For the years I’ve known him I’ve battled with him to work toward attaining his diploma and ultimately going to college. His mother pushed him, his coaches pushed him, and I’m sure his other family members were pushing him in the same manner we pushed him. And, with every push he would take a tiny step forward. But, I got to a point where I was tired of pushing and I wanted to literally bulldoze his ass in the direction I knew he needed to go and I did that a couple of weeks ago.

I, literally, had to talk to him like I know I will talk to my future children. No filters, no regard for professionalism, no “Mr. Nice Prince,” just plain old “get your shit together and make it work.” For those who know me I know it seems I do that all the time with my students, so you can only imagine what was said in that conversation. I’m not sure if he had to see the David in me to allow the David in him to be revealed, but with that tough love and support, not only from me, but my staff who fell in line in their delivery, a young David was born in my big ole Goliath.

And, within two weeks he has completed all of his work to get his diploma so that we can officially send him to college in the fall. Now, by all means, I don’t take full credit for his new found success because I don’t live with him neither am I able to be in his ear every day, his mother does that, but I think with that last bulldoze of a push he came to realize that people were really there to support him and he would disappoint those who cared about him if he didn’t show and prove.

Today, I had the opportunity to attend an eighth grade graduation. A good friend of mine asked me to attend to meet a couple of his students who will be going to high school to discuss how my program could benefit them as they matriculate as freshmen. While there the administration asked my homey if he could speak to an eighth grade male student who was in the office upset about how he was treated regarding participating in the ceremony. This dude had to be at least 5″10, 11 in the eighth grade.

After speaking with the student it was found that he wore a cream shirt to graduation as opposed to a white shirt, the uniform the administration wanted all male students to wear for the ceremony. The young man argued that other male students had on black shirts and creme is not that different from white–a valid argument if you ask me. In addition, he was upset because his mother, his father, nor any other family member or adult family friend attended the ceremony and he commented that no one was available to pick him up after graduation as eighth grade classes ceased today.

After having a conversation with the administration explaining the young man’s side of the story they allowed him to walk with his classmates. When he asked the young man to go into they gym the young man said he didn’t want to walk again because of the way he was treated. My homeboy asked him if he and I were to stand in the back of the gym and root him on would he walk. And, he finally agreed.

So, we walked him back in the gym where he took his spot and when they offered his promotion certificate he smiled valiantly at his accomplishment. My homeboy had to put the spirit of David in that young man before he realized he was worth more than the creme shirt, worth more than the fact that his mother and father either chose or could not be there to support him and he faced his fear of walking down that gym floor despite not having familial support because he had the support of two brothers who had his best interest at heart.

We are raising a generation of chicken fed young people who have these Goliath bodies, with so much physical prowess, but their spirits are easily defeated. And, the reason why they are so afraid of themselves is because they don’t have a support system who tells them every day that they have the mental stones to make successful shots in life. These kids only need love, guidance and support and I promise you they will be awesome, humble individuals who will have spirits of triumph and not defeat!

Will you take the challenge of putting the spirit of David in someone?

J. Prince, Princepality 91

Our Black Shining Prince (Not Talking About Me [Although I Am a Black Shining Prince Myself])

One of my classmates from back in the day wrote this on his wall today (and I hope he doesn’t mind me using his words):

“MY MIDDLE SCHOOL TOOK A FIELD TRIP TO WATCH THE MOVIE MALCOM X. I DIDN’T KNOW AT THE TIME, BUT A SEED WAS PLANTED IN MY HEART AND MY LIFE EXPERIENCE HAS WATERED IT.. THATS WHY I AM THE WAY I AM..” -Silas Palance

His comment made me remember when I was at the edge of the rabbit hole with an arm sticking out that belonged to one of my best friends who was offering me the red pill. I took the pill and that was the beginning of what James Baldwin would say was the paradoxical moment of my education when I began to examine the society in which I was being educated. The amazing thing about taking the pill and jumping down the rabbit hole is the path of enlightening others can often be so dark for the one who is trying to be the one who enlightens. And, it is not an easy thing to ask others to jump into the hole. And, often, once in the hole not everyone who took the red pill sees everything the same because it is one’s experiences that shapes his or her consciousness.

But, to take a minute and think about the very beginning of one’s learning process about our society especially in regard to the marginalization of various races, classes, and genders is exciting. Not exciting because it is our true reality beyond what the media matrix presents, but exciting because one can evaluate what he has learned and how he’s taken that knowledge and applied it to his life and the other lives he has inspired.

And, I did.

Senior Year. 1999. C. A. Johnson High School. Lakeyta Bonnette, 3 year friend, offered me “FROM NIGGAZ TO GODZ.”

I’m sure you were expecting some long story the way I began, but really, that was all it took. That book then led me to “FROM NIGGAZ TO GODZ 2” and when I completed that I re-read “Malcolm X”.

Malcolm X, I believe, is the quintessential example of growth and development in a black man who cares about and is dedicated to his community. It is his legacy that has allowed so many others who live in the rabbit hole of consciousness to enlighten others because he set the precedent for our generation with him following those who came before him.

That senior year experience, with the influence of Malcolm X and Akil (the author of FN2G) has been the driving force for my passion for black studies, human equality, and what Hip-Hop and other scholars have coined “consciousness,” but I realize that it was all of my life experiences that created my thirst for knowledge–from playing Robert Smalls in a play in elementary school to having a dynamic teacher in middle school who was dedicated to ensuring we learned about our culture to those events aforementioned my senior year.

We all have starting points and we can all reflect on when we came into ourselves. When events happened that shaped us into the men and women we have become. And, if I had to do it all over again I’m not sure I would change a thing.

So, along with all of my other brothers and sisters who followed the white rabbit and swallowed the red pill, I say Happy Birthday to one of the greatest men who ever lived who helped shape me into who I am today.

J. Prince, Princepality 90

 

A Kaleidoscope View of African-American Culture

You see that little boy in that video with his staunch bravado? His overcompensation of masculinity? His determination to be heard by deepening his little five or six year old voice? That little boy has generated over half a million comments on Facebook. And, I must say, I don’t like what the majority of those comments said regarding him or black culture.

To be perfectly honest, and I admit this as someone who is both conscious but understands that a man who knows nothing knows nothing at all, I laughed at the little guy. Many comments condemned him to a grave before his teenage years, many comments gave him a prison number, and many .gif documents labeled him an atrocity to black people. However, the resounding comments accused this little boy of making an entire race look bad and most of those comments were written by African-Americans.

As African-Americans we often fight against being seen as a monolithic group of people. We often argue that all African-Americans should not be seen through one lens, because just as other races are valued as individuals who encompass an array of talents, beauty, morals, values, etc. we want to be seen the same way.

We continue to say we want a kaleidoscope view of African-American culture. That means when we are evaluated as a race we want everyone to see the various designs, the various body types, the various backgrounds, the various attributes, etc. that detail African-Americans as a race. Because, indeed, we are very different people who have various types of backgrounds and experiences. But, when one little boy exudes the attitudes and bravado of what he has learned in the same communities from which some of us stem, we say he makes US look bad.

I have a problem with that because we often take a unified approach when something “negative” is presented in regard to race such as when a homeless, black person who has missing teeth and broken English is seen on the news, but when asked if you (you referencing the general idea of the Black race) will donate to a cause such as a non-profit organization that will assist black males with skills that will help them be successful you neither have the cash nor the time.

We often jump to criticize the reality of our race, but do not often put in the work make the change we want to see. And, by no means, is what I’m expressing here today news to anyone; however, sometimes it’s good to be reminded of the things we think we know.

When I saw this video I saw a potential black leader in our community. He has learned how to be confident, he understands what it means to take control and he explained to the young girl he was speaking with (as that was NOT his mother he was speaking to) his position as a father, if he were the father (assuming they were playing house or whatevs [insert Zach Galifianakis joke here]). Albeit, all of the attributes I saw in him may have been misguided by his parents or those around him who may not understand the dynamics of the sociology of family and gender roles, but he still had an understanding that as a man he wanted to be in control.

A great deal of young black men take a backseat to being husbands and fathers, leaders in their communities, and/or leaders in a career field because when they are young and they act out such as this young man they are beaten or told not be so aggressive–to shut up and sit in a corner. Often, that happens because mothers understand what happens to aggressive young, black men. But, no one couples that message with how to effectively exercise masculinity and leadership. Every man, even at the age of three or four or six or ten, should be able to effectively exercise his masculinity and show aggression through leadership, but it is our responsibility to show them how.

Don’t denigrate. I was about to end that sentence to say without providing other ways for them to exercise it, but that sentence is enough. DON’T DENIGRATE. Those comments should’ve said, “WOW! That young man is really powerful and he has learned some great aspects about gender roles, but hey, maybe his parents need to fine tune how he does it.”

Well, something to that degree, but you understand my sentiments.

If we don’t have a kaleidoscope view of our culture, how do we teach others to do it. If the expectation is that we are not a monolithic group of people, we then cannot address issues, especially those that may encourage negative reviews, as a monolithic group of people.

Kaleidoscopes are beautiful beams of light that show so many different shapes, colors, and the way they interchange with each other to provide the viewer with an experience of awe should be the same way we are seen around the globe.

For we are such an amalgamation of variousness (I’ll send my definition to Merriam Webster for this particular word I coined) and it should be appreciated just as kaleidoscopes once were.

J.Prince, Princepality 89