About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Monday, May 7, 2012

Grandmother Grandmother Mommy May Lose Tonight

My kid doesn't get it.

Then again, what kid truly gets anything, right?

Let me break down my funk for you...and yes, I showered today.  Probably won't get back to it until the water bill is paid, but that is what scented lotion is for, right?

Anywho, my kid has all of his grandparents still avoiding the worm buffet, and he, I believe, still digs them all.  I had my final grandparent head over for the main course more than 10 years ago.  It is funny, because I see them every day.  No, not like Whoopi Goldberg stopped by and did a "Ghost" sort of deelio (besides, have you seen Whoopi?  That woman is like friggin huge like a dreadlocked balloon gone amuck on
"The View").  I have pictures of all of my grandparents on the wall downstairs on my soon to be removed home (another story, another blog; perhaps I'll call it "As The Shit Hits The Damn Fan"), and I seem them in all their coolness, blackness, struggles, history, and love.

My son, when he sees his grandmother, sees nothing but his iPod, games online, and perhaps an occasional board game.  Now, that is my wife's side.  The other side?  Umm...well, that is a little more complex...I'll leave that alone and call that "The Bastards."  Long story.

He doesn't know them that well, as that they live some 750 miles away.  It is interesting, because it was the same way with me when I was a lad (loser, lad, with me, very little difference.).  He has seen them about 8 to 10 times in his life, and he never really connected with my mother, and my dad, well, due to he being sick for most of his life (my son's), he really couldn't get down with being close with him.  Hell, he actually fears the man, due to his boisterous voice (and the fact that he is hard of hearing, which makes him a little, more, audial).

Now when I was a kid, I was not a big fan of my father's side of the family; I thought there were, well, unsophisticated, selfish, and a bunch of "blicks" (a combo of black folks and hicks; hell, never said I was original).  My mother's father was murdered; my mother's mom died too young.  These passings hurt me deeply.

My dad's parents?  I was upset, sure....but it wasn't devastating.

Messed up, isn't it?

History is a bitch and a stutterer, 'cuz here we are, my nearly decade old spawn doing the same thing, but here's the funkadelic twisty beat about this.

I wonder how broke up he would be when any of them going that dirt yard smorgasbord for the bugs of the world?

I think he'd cry...but he is a weird one; when his uncle's dog had to be put to sleep, he was quite upset; hell, whenever he sees a picture of the dog, he STILL gets upset.

Over something, and don't get me wrong, dogs I understand are like family (and are good with duck sauce).  But when I try to explain to him to enjoy his grandparents (none of who are in good health at this point)and the clock's midnight bell about to go "dong", he looks at me like, well, he'd look at paper when he tries to do his homework.

Blank and with no effort.

(Note, the boy is a solid A-B student; just as a child has no clue how powerful he can become).

I'd do almost anything to get 5 minutes with my Grandfather Brown, or enjoy one of my Grandmother Brown's cakes.  Those are TIMES of the day that will never go around again.

But I don't feel that strongly about the other side.

Messed up and cold, perhaps.

But I guess that I sort of understand why my son doesn't dig the entire 4 piece set that he has been blessed with.

My mother gets him computers and clothing and cash.  The few times she has seen him, she tries to bond.

But he won't even ask her for a glass of juice w/o prodding from me.

History, history, ain't u the cruel one?

Skipping back over like a damn piece of vinyl with the grooves (much love to the Late MCA for that idea).

So the time keeps going over the beat, each chord continuing to move in a different area, and I watch my boy...he'll be double digits in a month.  He'll go over to his grandmother mommy mom's again, and I will wonder if I can say anything at all.  My situation, I am sure, isn't unique.

But I wish he and I and the history of the groove played a different beat.

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