V.I.P.

So my little town is celebrating 200 years of existence this summer. One of the events of the bicentennial is an exhibit showcasing the history of the Black community here in good ole Washington, Pa. There will be old photos, memorabilia, choirs singing, and a guest speaker. That's all relatively normal and uninteresting except for who they decided to call upon as the guest speaker. Yup. You guessed it. Me.

When the person running the show called me, she said they were hoping to get someone who was young and contemporary, yet still a pillar of the community. And then there's me looking around trying to figure out who she's referring to. Kinda like that moment at the club where the finest girl in the room is staring in your direction with the come hither eyes and you're going, "Wait. What? Who me? Seriously? You're looking at me?" Forget about the fact that you went to this club because you knew she'd be there. Never mind the fact that you've been staring at her all night. When she stares back, its nothing short of confusing.

I've been working in social service for the past twelve or so years. I've been in music and the arts since I was a teenager. I started my first business at age 21. (I sold printing supplies, like business cards and letterhead.) I got national distribution and major radio station airplay for my own record label while sitting in an office across the street from Shorty's Hot Dogs. Everything I've done has, in one way or another, been an attempt to let my light shine. I have been attempting to be an example for the young black kids of my town for a really long time. I refused to leave Washington when pursuing the music business because I decided long ago that if I were going to make it in music or anything else, I was going to do it right here. Why? I just believe it can be done. I want to show all those kids who don't have hope that there is a reason to have hope. I have dedicated my career in psychology to the study of the phenomenon of role modeling and how it effects young peoples beliefs and choices. Make no mistake, I am where I am on purpose. I didn't just end up at this club. I waited in line a long time to get in. But now that I'm here, I'm left scratching my head trying to understand when and how I arrived.

I hear stories about my father and the things he did for people here. The way they talk about him and others of the "old guard" make them sound a little bit like saints. I have this image in my head of what a leader looks like. I have this idea of what a role model might FEEL like. I can tell you, I don't feel like that. I'm just a guy. A regular guy. I'm broke. I'm struggling to make my dreams come true. I'm piecing things together in an attempt to be a good dad and a good psychologist at the same time. I make mistakes. I do stupid things. I think I imagined that one day I'd wake up and realize that I'd "made it." Apparently not. Or maybe today is that day.

It was with great honor that I accepted the invitation to speak at the bicentennial event. But giving a speak is easy for me. Accepting that the pretty girl was staring at me and is now walking over my way is gonna take some time. I hope she walks slowly.

Deep Breathing and ADHD

I started pre-production on a short film today. Its a film I wrote a few years back and never really had the nerve to move forward with until now. Its exciting and at the same time scary for me, because film is brand new. Every time I venture out onto these limbs I tend to climb onto, I have the same fear: will they get it? Not so much in the sense that I fear people might not like the film. Some people will. Some people won't. More than that, though, I wonder if people will ever truly understand my purpose in all of this.

I remember having a conversation with my daughter once where I was attempting to explain to her my master plan about making music and photography and movies, and writing books, psychology, and so on and so forth. I was excited to share my dreams. I was excited to be so bold as to dream my dreams. Her reaction.... "Dad, why do you wanna do so many things?" The question is fair enough. Its one that has been asked of me by so many and on so many occasions that I am beginning to think my answer doesn't make sense. But the answer is simple. I can't help it. Its like creative Attention Deficit Disorder. One minute I'm knee deep in music, the next I'm taking pictures. Then, all of the sudden, writing poetry. And now I'm making a movie.

When you do one thing, and do it really well, one of the problems that can arise is that your talent becomes your identity. Michael Jordan IS a basketball player, in most peoples eyes. He's not a guy who happened to play basketball. The problem with that is that when you stop doing that thing, it kinda looks weird. Like when Jordan played baseball. People thought of him as a basketball player attempting to play baseball, not an athlete that switched sports. What we might not realize is that perhaps he liked both sports equally and just happened to make it big in basketball. On the other side of that coin is the person who does many things. What do we call him? Jack of all trades, master of none. It implies a lack of commitment and focus. Anything he does in one genre is automatically compared to things he has done in others, whether the comparison is reasonable or not. So, unless he's a master of ALL trades, he is criticized by default.

When I see old friends, it's inevitable that they will ask, "Do you still play?" They are referring to my trumpet, of course. I never know how to answer that question. The simple answer is no. I rarely play my trumpet anymore. Even though I write music often enough, it rarely calls for me to play my horn. But when I give the simple answer, I can see their eyes sink. Its as if I've disappointed them by letting go of what they knew to be my dream. What many don't realize is that I did not give up on the dream. I expanded it. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being a trumpet player. I became an artist. I'm a poet. A photographer. I musician. A writer. And with any luck, a filmmaker. I love them all equally. Because most people I know have heard my music but never seen any of my other work, they tend to see this as a silly idea. The scatter brained musician that can't focus. But for me, the title of musician does not apply. I'm just a guy. I love to create. Its like breathing to me. If I stopped, I'd die. If I only did it one way, I'd feel suffocated. So, as I begin this new endeavor, while somehow still working on several others that I've got going on, remember this. I'm just trying to breathe.

Broken Hearts and Shattered Dreams

Broken hearts and shattered dreams
That’s all he’s got, or so it seems
From years of loving hard and true
And doing things not easy to
Romantic kid, ambitious fool
Heart wide open, world so cruel
Broken hearts and shattered dreams
That’s all he’s got, or so it seems

A heart that breaks but always mends
A will that only slightly bends
But will not break or be deterred
Even by a dream deferred
A masochist with foolish pride
And strength that will not be denied
But broken hearts and shattered dreams
That’s all he’s got, or so it seems

Remove the heart, for pities sake
For one won’t have, then one can’t break
Erase the dreams and clear the mind
There is a bliss in being blind
But take those things and what would be
For this is his identity
Its all he’s got, or so it seems
Those broken hearts and shattered dreams

And so it is and shall it be
He walks this path religiously
Never a stop along the way
Ask where he’s going, he will not say
What’s in that bag he holds so tight
The one he grips with all his might
Its all he’s got, or so it seems
His broken heart and shattered dreams

Move Up Day

My daughter is a junior in high school. She'll only be so for a few more hours. In our school district, they have this tradition called move up day. Every grade sits in their designated spot in the gym. Freshman sit in one corner. Sophomores in theirs. So on and so forth. Then, after some pomp and circumstance, everyone gets up and "moves up" to their new spot. So in a few hours, my daughter will be a senior in high school. She's a bit nervous about it. I suppose I should be too. Surprisingly, though, I am not nervous as much as I am grateful.

My daughter, who is currently a junior in high school, was born when I was a junior in high school. So, in a lot of ways, life came full circle for me this year. My daughter reached the age that I was when she came into my life. They say that having a kid makes you grow up faster. I am here to tell you that this statement is not entirely true. When I was 16, I was a boy. When I was 17, a child was born, but I was still a boy. The child being born didn't change me much. What did change me, though, was having a little girl watching me live my life.

I remember driving her around one day. She was about 3 or 4 years old. Just old enough to form sentences. Someone cut me off in traffic, and I reacted the way I normally would. "What the *&%! are you doing?!" Then a little voice whispered from the back seat, "Why did you say that bad word?" It hit me. Someone is listening.

I remember having an argument with my wife one day. This was not odd. Before she was my wife, we argued. When she was my wife, we argued. Now that she's not my wife, we still argue. But the arguments changed at some point. See, before my baby girl was old enough to pay attention, I wasn't the nicest guy in the world. But I remember arguing with her mother one day and thinking to myself that I had to at least be relatively nice. After all, baby girl is listening. Thats when life changed. That's when I realized that my job as her dad was to teach her what men look like, sound like , and ACT like. So, in order to do it right, I'd have to act like a man. Not a boy. Actions speak louder than words, right? And thats how this boy became a man. Not at age 17, but somewhere along the way.

Over the years I have gotten better at it. And every step of the way, she has been there to point me in the right direction. Not by saying so, exactly. She's still a kid. She doesn't even know she's directing my steps. But that little voice that I heard in the back seat of the car that day rings in my head an awful lot. Before I do any dumb boy thing that I might wish I could do, I always hear that voice saying, "Daddy why did you...." Its usually enough to talk me out of it.

So as I look at my little girl, who is about to be a senior in high school, I think of the boy that I used to be. I think back on the last 17 years of my life. I can't pinpoint the day that it happened, but somewhere in there my little girl taught me to be a man. One of those days, I'm not sure which one, but one of those days was my move up day. For that, I have to thank my baby girl. Good luck today, my love.

Shakesphere and Mr. Ecklund

I was just reading the blog of a friend of mine. She's a teacher. From what I can tell, she's a good one. I make that distinction because they aren't all good ones. But the good ones make all the difference. At least they did for me. See, I was that kid. I was that sad case. That little black boy who's father died when he was seven. That kid who had so much potential. You know the story. You've seen the after school special. The kid that could go either way. Smart as a whip, but doesn't much care. Seems a little distracted, but look at that smile. That was me. Mom's working hard just to feed me and my siblings now that dad is gone. I'm getting into mischief at school. Nothing serious, mind you. Just talking loud and saying nothing. Skipping class. Not doing my work. You know that kid. That was me.

I remember always wondering why people looked at me the way they did. It took me years to realize what that look meant. It was the "oh poor kid" look. That look of pity that you give someone when you don't know how to fix them but you really want to. I got that look a lot. People used to say, "If you would only try harder, you could do anything." People say that, you know, and I'm not convinced they really even believe it themselves. But they say it anyway. The idea of potential is an interesting one. But, lest I get on some psychological rant about the infinite potential of a child, I'll save that part for another entry. I digress....

So there's me. That sad case. Flirting my way through high school, good at girls and not so good at geometry. Skipping English class to practice my trumpet. Not caring at all that the only subject I got an A in was band. And then there was Mr. Ecklund. Dennis Ecklund. English. Senior year. By about November of my senior year, I had already been awarded a scholarship to go to music school, so Mr. Ecklund was lucky to have ever met me. I tended to not be in class my senior year. The band director and I had an understanding. I needed to practice. I didn't need much else. So, I got a lot of late slips and other teachers got a lot of excuses. But Mr. Ecklund saw something in me. I suppose they all did, but he decided not to JUST give me that look and that "potential" speech. He decided to make me a bet. He bet me that I couldn't get a B. Me being a cocky little so and so, I never backed down from a challenge. Of course, I was too stupid to know it was a trick. That quarter was Hamlet. Hamlet is not easy for a 18 year old that pretty much only reads music. So I had to go to class if I intended to know what the heck old William was talking about. Of course, I thought it was stupid. It was a waste of my time. That's actually where the bet came from. I was mouthing off in class about how I didn't need blah blah blah. Mr. Ecklund saw an opportunity. I fell for it. We had to learn a monologue. That was the graded part. He bet I couldn't earn a B on it. I chose "To be or not to be."

And so it was that for a few weeks that quarter, I actually paid attention. Of course I was doing it out of spite. Who's the old white dude to tell me I CAN'T get a B on some 5 trillion year old play?! I'll show him. Well, I suppose I did. I worked. I read. I went to class. Along the way, I started to like it. Until that moment, I had not liked anything other than music. I had not cared about anything but me. And for a couple of weeks, I was pushing myself to something different.

Here I am, 17 years later. I look back on that moment in time and I can honestly say that it changed me. It took years for me to realize how and why. But it did. I got my B on the monologue. But that's not the point. The point is, Mr. Ecklund was one of the few people that didn't look at me with that pity look. The smile he gave me after I stood in front of him and acted out Hamlet's famous speech was not one of pity but of pride. In that moment, I had REACHED the potential. It changed the way I saw myself. It changed what I thought of my abilities. Years later, after I had left music school, I enrolled at the University of Pittsburgh where they allowed me to design a major for myself. I studied all kinds of things. Film. Dance. Photography. Poetry. Fiction writing. And.....yup, literature. I wrapped them all into a behavior modification system for helping wayward kids like me. When I really think about it, I can say for sure that I wouldn't have done any of that without learning that monologue.

Everyone knows a kid like that. The kid with all the potential. Everyone gives him that speech. "If you'd only just try......." People say it, probably not ever realizing what would happen if the kid listened. I mean really listened. But I am that kid. And I listened. I've got two college degrees, and I'm working on a third. I've helped more kids than I can count. I've lectured on my own research at a major university. I've had my music on the radio. I've had my photography published. In a few years, I'll be Dr. Brock. My daughter, who was born around the same time I learned that monologue, is graduating from high school next year. I play ball in the backyard with my son every chance I get. I'm that kid with all the potential, only I am reaching it. I truly believe that I can do anything. I prove it everyday just by being and doing all that I am. And in a strange way, I owe it all to Shakesphere and Mr. Ecklund.