A Warped POV by A. Dacosta Brathway

I do not have a taste for American politics. I don't care about the process of it, the results of it, nor do I care that history is kind to it. It is a dirty process designed by dirty people who get quite rich from it. Right now History is being made in it. A Black man is running against a White woman for the Democratic nomination. I'm sure to most Americans is some big deal(?). I guess... But I'm thinking that no matter who gets the nomination and, lets say, one of those people wins the presidential election, I'm wondering how effective that person could be to exact change considering the mentality of the American people? Why am I even pondering this question? Well, I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about a woman named Valerie Benjamin who had a Hillary Clinton sticker on her van. She was waiting for a light when a man pulled up beside her, saw the sticker, rolled his window down to shout to her, "You can be for Hillary all you want, but there is no way that thing is going to win!"
Sure the statement is sexist. But is it wrong to say? America is supposed to be the poster country for freedom, but is it in good taste to voice your ignorant opinions, arbitrarily to people you don't even know just because you have the freedom to say what you want?
There is another issue here, as I see it, that speaks to what a black man or a white woman could do if they were in the White House? Would either one be able to exact change for the betterment of all races in America? By calling Hillary Clinton a "thing" clearly, to me, speaks to a population of bigotry that has not and will not go away willingly. (I can only imagine what Obama is being called to his bumper sticker face!) It's funny that there is a population of people who thought GWB was the answer for eight years. I guess he was if you like bankruptcy. Not only did he bring down a company and a baseball team, he has now managed to bring down a whole country! But hey, that's business as usual in politics in America. It seems like the attitude about politics is like what the character, Norman Gechco (is that spelled right?)in the movie "Wall Street," felt about destroying a business at the expense of the workers. Wreck it because it is "wreckable!" And with that line of thinking, maybe it is okay to be a bigot. Be one because you can if you want!

A Warped POV by A. Dacosta Brathway

I saw it! I saw the basketball documentary called Black Magic and I have to say that the intention of it being shown during the NCAA's big event added, yet, another reason to love basketball at this time of year. That being said, it left a sour taste in my mouth because of the timing of its showing. Why?/ Basically, "Black Magic" blended into the fabric of the bigger picture and disappeared. It was that "feel good" feature where we get to see some of the history of the game. Sadly, nothing has changed to right the wrongs that have taken place in the sport as it relates to black coaches being treated fairly and equally. Blacks basketball royality was treated very harshly but that can be blamed to the times. The Civil Rights Movement was the backdrop to the piece and it also served as the explanation for the many wrongs black coaches faced. But what is so different now? What, blacks are not being attacked by dogs at the extention of a police officer's arm? What, blacks can eat next to whites in a restaurant? What? We can all use the same water fountain and restrooms? What about the disproportionate hirings of black coaches at major universities? Oh, my bad, that has gotten better too?/ I don't know if I feel so good that a white coach took a bunch of black players and dared to challenge and beat Kentucky, which had an all white team anymore. And the title, Black Magic implies, to me, that black athletes seem to carry a chicken's foot in their socks or rattle bones in a plate in the locker room before a game. Black athletes train as hard as anybody when it comes to playing sports, in general, basketball in particular. Earl Monroe did not represent black magic as it were. He was a highly skilled player and his feats are diminished by calling him "Black Magic" or "Black Jesus!" Why couldn't he be Earl Monroe, one of the baddest ever? Same for Cleo Hill and Peewee Kirkland... And, what about Ben Jobe and "Big House" Gaines? How come they are not mentioned everytime a coach"s wins are mentioned? Dean Smith and Bobby Knight are always mentioned! At one point I thought that they were the only two coaches that won a lot of basketball games until Mike krzyzewski showed up./ C'mon... Stop screwing around with my head and do the right thing. Either show the documentary and pieces about black's contributions year round or, when you do show it, get me a Coke and some popcorn at your expense. The never seems to be a problem treating blacks like an afterthought at a black's expense!

A Warped POV by A. Dacosta Brathway

Well, well, well... "Oh how the mighty have fallen!" What kind of buffoon government is New York running? A self-righteous governor caught in a sex scandal while basking in the glow of having the rep for being a muckracker? Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on? I used to have faith in men in power in government. No, they have not done a damned thing for me, personally, but I marveled in the fact that they had the balls to run for public office and act like they are in charge. When 9/11 happened, the Mayor of New York City showed up, like he was supposed to and did what everybody else did. He stood there in wonderment just like every other New Yorker... Fast forward, he tried to use his showing up at the World Trade site, on that fateful day, as a platform to convince the American public that he is the right man for the Republican nomination to become the President of the United States because he had an astute point of view on terrorism! BALLS! It takes iron testicles to be able to even think that you can be that way and pull it off while getting the drop on the American public. (Is it a coincidence that he dropped out of the race early?) I could never even consider allowing my mind to wander in that territory. So now "The Governor" as it were, spent "cheddah" in the neighborhood of $80,000.00 for some booty when he had a perfectly good booty at home that he could have gotten for the price of... let's say... a bag of groceries? C'mon man, do the math! Am I the only one laughing? This is "real" reality tv comedy going on! If a sit-com is not developed from this premise, it is not even worth buying a new flat screen in HD. And, now we have "a brotha" vying for the Democratic nomination for President. I'm sorry but a blackman running for president is not as absurd as a governor paying $80,000.00 for a piece of ass! Damn, now I'm priced out of the market!

Excerpt from "My Life Sucked..." by A. Dacosta Brathway

I never thought of my life being rough, considering my high school experiences, until I was told that I had to be signed out of school. My mother, who was livid when she found out she had to sign me out, threatened to send me to live with my father. The trick was that we had to find out where he was to know where to send me!/ I remember it being a frantic search... My mother called every family member she had a number for to see if they knew of his where-a-bouts. When all else failed, she had me to scour every bar in the 'hood. After several days, I finally found him sitting on the last stool of the last bar I searched. He was drunk and did not know who I was when I raised his head off the bar. After a brief struggle, I finally got his house keys out of his pocket, then tried to get him to tell me where he lived. He must have given me about fifteen addresses before the bartender confirmed which address was the correct one./ When I got him home, there was debris everywhere. There were newspapers all over the floor... Damn near everywhere I stepped there were dead roaches. They were dead because there was no food in the house. There was no garbage in the garbage cans or in the refrigerator. The man did not eat... Nor did he feed his roaches! There was, however, plenty of empty liquor bottles laying around. Maybe that's why there were no mice around... All the booze was gone! I dropped him on his unmade bed and took his work boots off. Man his feet stunk! The race between his breath and his feet was a close one! After getting him in a position on the bed where i could be sure that he would not fall out of it, I started looking around his apartment for pictures, letters, or some sort of momento that would give me a clue as to who my father was. He left my mother when I was three years old so I never lived with him. Every now and then he would send my mother some money but I could see that most of his cash went to buying spirits and cigarettes. My dad smoked like a chimney in a farm house on a cold winter's night. He would light a fresh one with a spent one. I knew that because there was only one match, in the ashtray by his bed, burried under twenty cigarette butts! The apartment was sparsely furnished. He did not look like he needed much. He went to work, then the bar, then home. The cycle was endless... I did not find anything of real value in his apartment but I did notice that his work boots were all polished and lined up in his closet. His work pants all had sharp creases and were very clean. My father was an electrician and I was told that he was a very good one. He was known for his fearlessness around live wires, which was evident by the burns in the palms in his hands. He could pull cable with the best of them. He was a tall man with a strong build. His laugh was loud and hearty. He laughed like a content drunk! As I stood there and stared at him sleeping and snoring like a car with a busted muffler, I wondered... If I could live with my dad and keep him sober, would he teach me his trade because after getting kicked out of high school? I wondered because there was no way I was going to be able to go to college!

Excerpt from "My Life Sucked..." by A. Dacosta Brathway

As many an adventure as I've had, in high school, and as much fun as I had having those adventures, my high school days finally ended. The years blitzed by so fast... Probably because I did not live in the moment when things were happening. i was called into the Academic Dean's office and was warned that a letter was being to my house to advise my mother that she had to come to the school to sign me out! I was not going to officially graduate. SHIT!I knew that when my mother read that letter it would not matter that I did not graduate because she was going to kill me!/ My mother was a hard working single mother who did not attend any PTA meetings because she was wat too tired when she got home from work. Besides, there was no way she was going to ride a bus for an hour to go to my school. Oh hell no! I can remember always being nervous around my mother. I can also remember never being constipated and having to take a laxative because my mother was my laxative! My bowels were always loose. When my mother came home from work, my room always smelled like shit because the flatulence was overwhelming. I was quick, as a kid, because I was literally jet propelled!/ ...She read the letter and went off on me. Back then there was no such thing as a kid knowing the number to Child Support Services. If I did, know the number, they would have probably advised my mother to continue to kick my ass until I got it right./ Finally, the day came when my mother trekked up to my school and signed me out. The process did not last long... In fact, it was quite informal. It was sort of like "business as usual" for the black kids because all the kids that got signed out that day were black. It was sterile, surgical...therapeutic! I, to this day, cannot describe how relieved I was knowing that I did not have to return there after I mother put her John Hancock on that paper! So what if I did not graduate, had no high school diploma, and no future, I was free! Free from all the racial tension, the racial slurs, the race riots... I was not sure of what was ahead, but there was one thing that I thought of, in the moment of my joy, that I thought I would never have to go through again... I thought that I would never have to take another order from a white person for the rest of my life. And, whomever said "Be careful what you ask for!" Well, there were no truer words spoken!

Excerpt from "My Life Sucked..." by A. Dacosta Brathway

I only liked one sport- basketball! To hell with baseball! (I never got picked to play with my "so called" friends when they struck up a game.) Football? Oh hell no! I was not even trying to catch a concussion! If I wanted one of those I would have joined one of the neighborhood gangs. Basketball seemed to make the most sense for me. I dug the movement of the game. Running up and down the court, with a ball, trying to put it in a hoop with a torn up net had a certain appeal to me. When I started learning the game, of course, I sucked at it. But that did not deter me. I kept trying and trying and trying... I was always in the park playing pick up games. I always got picked! It had a lot to do with being tall for my age. I don't remember if my junior high school had a team... Wait a minute... Come to think of it, the school did have a team. I just didn't know when tryouts were. I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would play high school basketball! That was it! End of story! I was going to play./ Before I knew that I was going to be bussed out of the 'hood to go to high school, I was headed to the great Boys High School. Now Boys had a reputation for winning that rivaled some of the pro teams in the NBA at that time. Lenny Wilkins and Connie Hawkins went to Boys. There were more guys but I just cannot remember their names at the moment. When it was my time to go, a kid named Mel Davis was going to Boys. Mel was 6'5", about 240 pounds and had the reputation of being a mean SOB. Shit, Mel would dunk on his mother if she stood in his way to the basket. (He probably got his toughness from her which means she would have probably blocked his attempt!) There was no way I was going to make Boys basketball team. But as FATE and the Civil Rights Movement would have it, I got shipped out to Madison High School, which means I had a shot. When I got there I inquired about when tryouts were for varsity. I was told that freshman had to play jv ball. I have to say that I must have smoked a ton of weed before I got to high school because I do not remember playing jv basketball nor do I remember being disappointed if I did not play. However, by my junior year, I was good anough and tall enough to play varsity and that is an experience I will never forget! It wasn't playing for the team that I remember fondly... It was what happened off the court that gives me nightmares. I had the pleasure or curse to play for a "legendary" coach named Jamie Moskowitz, who sure as hell did not like me. I don't know what I did to draw his fire but he never let up on me. I don't know... Maybe it was my teenage alcoholism, which caused me to be late for practice most of the time that pissed him off. Or, maybe it was the fact that I never listened to him when he was trying to make a point. I don't know where he got that idea from... I hardly made eye contact with the man! I remember, on the way to a game on the school bus, we were passing over a bridge. There was a gigantic cemetary we were passing over and Coach asked me, loudly, how many people were dead in the cemetary? I did not answer right away, which gave him the impression that I was trying to count the head stones. He broke the silence by saying that they were all deads and he postscripted his comment by calling me a "dummy." Yeah...yeah, he called me a "dummy" in front of the whole team. Everyone laughed at me because they wanted to stay on the squad. That had to be it because that shit was not funny... to me! Somehow I managed to stay on the team. I wasn't the greatest player but I wasn't the worst either. And, I got to exact some revenge on my coach. I remember getting a plaque for being the best freethrow shooter on the team. That was my last laugh! Imagine the irony. A teenage, black, alcoholic basketball player, in a predominately white high school, becomes the best freethrow shooter. Got 'em!

Excerpt from "My Life Sucked..." by A. Dacosta Brathway

...As a part of my socialization process, my mother introduced me to jazz music. This was significant because I was diggin' music that my peers could not even get to (which made me hipper than them!). My mother must have been in entertainment in another life because she was always singing and dancing around the house. She talked about her days when she hung out at a dance hall or the movies or a concert. Her album pile consisted of Dakota Staton, Nancy Wilson, Billie Holiday... All smooth singers that hung out in Harlem back in the day. To be honest, I didn't really care about that style of jazz but it did motivate me to get into cats like Miles Davis, Oscar Peterson, Ornette Coleman, Sonny Rollins, Byrd, and Coltrane (when he went into his transendental spiritual meditation bag! There were others... Bobby Hutchinson, McCoy Tyner, Andrew Hill, Greshen Moncur, Dizzy... I was so far gone at 15 years old, it wasn't even funny. I actually wanted to become a jazz musician but I didn't have the one main ingredient a musician needed to have... I couldn't play an instrument worth a shit! And gettin' high did not help my plight. But I had everything else a jazz musician had. I had the look, the voice (you know, low and raspy), the walk and the drugs. I wanted to be down so bad, I thought about joining the school jazz band and strapping a kazoo to a tenor sax just so I could be down! It probably worked out for the better though. If I had got down the way I wanted to, I wouldn't be writing this now. I'd be dead and, probably, would not have become world renowned the way my idols did. And, in retrospect, I would have gone overboard. I would have so cool, I would have been too cool for my peers and they would have shunned me anyway. But, now that I know what I know, I should have done it because my life is really fucked up now and I didn't have a blast getting to this point!