Top 10

Top 10 reasons St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital and Enitra Jones are cooler than me:

10. St. Jude is in the heart of Memphis, and the doctors always have the option of eating good, finger licking bar-b-que and Alisha Tillery lives there.
9. The hospital's daily operating costs are approximately $1,220,004, (to be exact) and they treat the kids at no cost (politically correct) to their families. In our terms, the kids are cared for FREE, despite not being covered by insurance!
8. St. Jude makes giving donations to the hospital easy (www.stjude.org/donations), or just drop a few dollars in the bucket at your local grocery store.
7. The hospital has been successfully operating for over 45 years, (February 4, 1962).
6. St. Jude has treated God’s Angels, kids from all over the country and world (70 countries).
5. Enitra won Ms. Southern and after that she always thought she could still try to make it to class “low-key.”
4. Enitra kicked off the Up ‘til Dawn (St. Jude for college campuses) campaign at Southern, built up a strong foundation where Ms. King and Ms. Sweazie gracefully pick up and carried the torch. Now, Jasmine (2007-2008) will do the same.
3. Even though it’s been three years since she wore the crown, and she has a tougher course load, she still finds time to follow up on the progress of St. Jude.
2. These guys are our peers, the children are our future and we can donate because we never know who we will need. We are capable of anything.
1. The Prince of Peace, hasn’t made a mistake, yet.

I am going to continue my writings and charitable contributions. Which are; St. Jude, Breast Cancer Research and my own scholarship program for Black kids I’m trying to build. Sometimes I struggle to find something to blog about every day. Then Ms. Jones helped me out and gave me a new story (St. Jude). First, I smiled because she felt that I, a nerd, can give it justice. Up top is my list that I came up with. This one was special, because I believe it’s always great to give to someone else.
We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give. -Winston Churchill

Last Round

Editors note: This letter is a tribute to the 2007 graduates (Facebook Edition).

It’s truly a great accomplishment. You’re crossing over. When you go out in the “Real World”, try not to get caught into a complacent web . Always look directly at your dreams. Know that this may be the brokest time of your life. But don’t let it be the loneliest. Call your mom every day (tell her I said hello too). Last but not least I know everyone will be great. Just don’t forget from whence you came.

Pecans

On Sundays my aunt, 75, catches a ride with me to the morning service. Along our weekly route we pass a pecan-shelling shack. People can buy or sell pecans. I read a homemade sign advertising that the owner was paying 85 cents a pound.
As a kid I’d pick pecans from my uncle’s tree for what seemed like hours in the cold. My bony fingers trembled as I picked each seed, and for my hard work he’d pay me between $10-15 --though I gathered no more than two pounds, he was a kind old man.
I brought my half-full bag in to him grinning like I’d had a corker sack full.
Everyone usually has their own tree in their own yard.
I can’t remember exactly what the going price was for pecans then but that day the owner paid up to 85 cents. It sounded like a great deal. Today, I wouldn’t mind picking, but as a college student trying to juggle several jobs I just don’t have that type of time to dedicate myself to pick a great haul. $10-15 isn’t even a full tank of gas!
As if she read my thoughts, my aunt told me that Boon, the neighborhood handyman/drunk/panhandler picked ‘tween $300-400 worth of pecans.’
“Wow! That’s great, I’m very proud of Boon,” I said with the knowledge of whence Boon came from.
Boon used to be a petty criminal and people in the hood kept him around to wash cars, windows, nail a few things together here and there, small outdoor tasks just to keep his mind busy. (An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop) As long as Boon was out of trouble he did meager jobs to get a little money for his beer on weekends. A simple man, with bad teeth he wore ill-fitted rags and smelled from time to time, but that came from his hours of walking the streets with a hammer in his back pocket. I could see Boon now, maybe with the money I figured he could get himself a fresh sweater instead of the holey one he sported. Then I thought about how hard Boon had to work to get that many pecans. As I thought, my aunt praised Boon and I agreed.
“Boon did a really great job. That’s hard work,” I said.
I’d even considered adopting his work ethic for a minute. Until my aunt added;
“Yeah, he made plenty money picking and don’t got ‘nah tree.”

A Hug for O

The thing about hugs is; you give one and you’ll get one right back. I watched Oprah yesterday, like I’ve been doing for the past 20 plus years of my life and most of her guests give her hugs. Or some will shake her hand. She’s Oprah. Enough said. I just noticed the hugs. Hugs are the only things other than words and food that reach down and touch people souls. I know I’ve been lifted up a many of days by hugs. (And by the way I appreciate all the people who give me hugs.)
The people invited to her show, who usually give hugs, walk up smiling and kind of gently pats Oprah on the back. She’s Oprah. The last thing people could do is put a soft hand on her back. Besides Elmo and Susan, Oprah was like the third person in the world I knew. My daily schedule was to watch Sesame Street, Oprah, naptime then meet my mom at the door. That’s how I learned to tell time. I sometimes say I’m lil’ Oprah, because I respect her work ethic and accomplishments. She’s done great things for a lot of people. You don’t just half ass a smile or hug at Oprah, or anyone for that reason.
Now, I’m a hugger. When I see my family or friends I always give them hugs. I’ll give bear hugs to people and really mean the hug. Like, I just took all the strength in my heart and connecting veins and hugged you. Then I’ll remember to breath.
I love Oprah. And if you’re watching the show and I’m on it, I won’t give Oprah’s back a small tap. I’m going to actually hug Oprah. I’ll give the same bone-crushing hug I’ve been issuing. I’ll just be there a moment. I may lift her spirits. You may see military-like security in the background shooing me away. I won’t be crushing Oprah. It’ll just be a real hug.

Booty Bounce Music

In this moment I’d like to take the time out and thank some Hip-Hop rappers. I’m not a huge rap fan, I’m a fan of music and country out sells everything anyway. So if you listen to rap and just rap you’re missing out. I listen to everything else because I get tired of hearing corner boy stories, booty, booty and shake that thang. But I do listen to rap and I love the hits, which these brothers are currently creating.
Shawn Carter, Mr. Jay-Z, the Ace of Spades lover rapped on “30 Something”, an ode to his aging gracefully off his album, “Kingdom Come”:
Young enough to know the right car to buy, yet grown enough not to put rims on it.
HOMERUN, Sir Jigga! Loved that line and the color Jay-Z Blue!
Then one of my all time favorites André Lauren Benjamin made an appearance and blessed Unk’s “Walk it Out” remix with such a grown up verse. Matter of fact, he was the only rapper on the track to actually say something. 3000 poetically went:
Your white tee, well to me, look like a nightgown
Make your momma proud, take that thing two sizes down
Then you'll, look like the man that you are, or what you could be.
HE HIT AGAIN! Damn, we keep this up we might become that race which starts a moment and stays ahead! Actually make MLK’s dreams come true, or become what we could be.
Now, when I first saw Rich Boy I said, “that dude is ugly.” He’s my last choice.
After listening to his album, self-titled Rich Boy I loved the song “Let’s Get This Paper.”
In young Marece Richards’ chorus a guy preaches:
“Yeah when you look at us just think about it, we don't own nothin'. If we get money, we got a lil' few dollars, but our whole family tore up ni**a, you gettin' money for the people in ya family that ain't got nothin'. When it's all said and done, what do you own? You don't own nothin', you don't own you... The ni**a playin' basketball, he don't own that jersey, he can't even be in a commercial wit' his name on the back, so when it's really all said and done, what did you do this for? What difference did you make?
OK. THAT was driving the point HOME.
These brothers rhyme intelligent lyrics and make it look easy. Then the world isn’t so small after all. I’m not knocking rap. This is my props to rap section. Just don’t make rap you’re only choice. There are more lyrics like stop, drop, roll and lock, bounce booty, booty. Booty. Booty. Booty. More Booty. Check out some other lyrics and genres.
Because if you don’t listen at all you’re missing a real important message.

Too Much Information

I just need to know why the clerk in Wal-Mart felt the need to tell me all of his business. Or anyone I don’t know for that matter. On a recent trip to the wholesaler, I picked up at least 15 items. Ok. I lied, it was more like 20, but I didn’t count the little bottles of cat food. The clerk, a guy about 40-50 years old talked to the customer in front of me about how his line is a 10 items or less. And that explained the short length of the checkout counter. I didn’t count this time. The lines in Wal-Mart are brutal on your feet and patience, on any given day they always snake around through the aisles leaving you standing and waiting. Anyway, I didn’t move I just knew I’d be his next audience and prepared myself accordingly. He started by reading the writing on my t-shirt.
“You think you know but you have no idea,” he read.
I smiled politely.
“Yeah, you know that’s funny because it explains a lot. People think they know you but they have no idea. Like people would talk about you but they don’t really know you.”
“Um, hummm,” I responded, with another smile, halfway this time.
Really, I thought ‘dude if you really knew me, you’d just check out my groceries and let me go.’
“Ohhh yogurt,” he grinned with delight as he scanned my Yoplait. “You know what? You should try Breyers. That’s some good yogurt and it’s helping me loose weight. Go get you some Breyers,” he said.
“I. Don’t. Like. Breyers.” I said as my patience wore thin, with him scanning and reading every item in my basket and making a conversation about it. I was glad my shopping list held Just grocery items.”
If I wanted Breyers, I would have picked it up. I bought what I liked.
“That’ll be 49.52, cash or credit?” he said.
Buzzz….buzz…my cell phone went off.
“Hello,” I answered. “Mother?” … “Ok. I’ll get it for you.”
“Excuse me, sir can I just run and get something for a second?”
“Sure,” he said.
I ran to the next aisle. He worked at the counter behind tobacco, so the pharmacy stood on the next aisle over.
In no time flat I picked up a bottle of Imodium AD and kept my word and ran back to the counter, as to not hold up the line.
The man took the bottle then scanned it. Instantly, I figured what he was going to say so he didn’t catch me off guard.
“Everybody’s sick,” he said.
“I guess so,” I replied.
That dorky attempt at a conversation didn’t get me; it was what he said next that got me.
“Oh yeah, I just had an upset stomach, and my cousin had it for six weeks. He was real sick. Girl, let me tell ya’” he went on.

….Too Much Information

My Momma Did That!

Tupac’s song “Dear Momma” is like the official soundtrack for Mother’s Day. I sing that song to my mom whenever it comes on the radio, though I can’t carry a tune. He put the song together like a genius. Susan is nothing like Afenia because she didn’t fight with the Black Panthers, my embryo wasn’t incarcerated and she didn’t use drugs. ‘Pac said he was hurt more than anything when he’d found out his mom used drugs. He still took the song and honored his mom for her great attributes. The descriptions he sings about her, I just change the words and make them fit for Susan. Like, I didn’t hug her from a jail cell, but I hugged her on my way going into in-school suspension. I hugged her bye. I landed into trouble from time to time and I know it hurt her. We fell on hard times too and she always managed to feed us. Susan didn’t exactly kick me out at 17, we go shopping together and I would be like her mini-shadow. I make my own words for her. Makaveli sang from his heart so I’ll play the song and sing my own version. My mom’s a flower child and deserves every bit of niceness that comes to her. So if you want to know what I’m getting her just know that it’s not going to be jewelry, any man can do that. Its not going to be candy. She’s sweet enough where sugar gets jealous. It’s not going to be flowers, because she planted four rose bushes by her house, representing my siblings and me. Just know that I will be conjuring up something from my heart. And that Tupac song. Every day is mother’s day for her from me.

‘cause it ain’t a woman alive that can take my momma’s place.’

Hope Saved Me!!

After all the stare downs. After all the threats. After all the fights. After the all the chases of cat and mouse. Hope finally saved me! Then all in the same day she injured my ankle, but that’s a different story for a different day. Here is a story of her heroism. The afternoon sun had just made its crest and started to heat up the day. I walked into the kitchen to get a turkey sandwich on a fresh French loaf of bread and medium mayo. As soon as I saw it I stopped dead cold in my tracks. A huge grass and dirt colored lizard lay on the leg of the table trying to sun. I’m terrified of the reptilian creatures. I even lost part of my appetite. Now, on any other normal day I can’t stand Hope. And she feels the same way about me. So we’re even! About an hour earlier, I’d let Hope inside and fed her a nice crunchy meal of cat nibbles. Her favorite pastimes were going outside to pounce on innocent insects. I’d figured she’d help me out since I was nice to her. I called her name.
“HOPE.” …No response. “HOPE.” …No response. “HOPE.” ….Nothing. I didn’t even hear her heavy paws hitting the floor to run and see what I wanted. I walked around the corner to see her relaxing in Susan’s king size bed. She stretched out very comfortably and yawned. I looked and sighed, then pleaded with her to follow me. To my amazement she did! We went back into the kitchen and the poor, stupid lizard tried to stand his ground. He never matched up. As soon as Hope saw him cut across the open floor she snatched him up in her sharp teeth and toted him away.

My hero.