Let's Try This Again!

"Scandalous Thursdays!"

"Hi!  My name is Faith Margaret and I watch Scandal."  I enjoy it.  Thoroughly…and will blog  right here about all new episodes on Thursday nights beginning next week.  Oh!  Your theories about what is happening next in this suspenseful show are welcomed along with my musings.

Aww, Lawd Jesus!  I am almost afraid to say it for fear it’s just a tease, Father God in Heaven but…

This week’s season opening episode of Scandal was goodie, goodie, goodie, goodie, goodie, good!  Good enough for me to pull out the old MacBook Pro and offer a recap, even!  Chaka Khan belting out the lyrics to, “You’ve Got the Look” in her sassy, funky voice is a damn good way to begin the 5^th season to revive what I believe to be a show that is losing it’s sizzle, it’s magnetism, it’s “Girl, I have to go ‘cuz Scandal is coming on!” appeal.  Here.  We. Go.  

How.  Dare.  She?!?  I mean, the bold faced righteous indignation of the former Vice President, Sally Langston in her commentary about her nemesis, Fitz?  That mean old lady gave a scathing commentary of the elegant dinner President Grant (hereafter referred to as, Fitz) planned for royalty and the american princess, even going so far as to be pissy about a choice of 3 wines.  Riesling?  Chardonnay?  Cabernet Sauvignon?  Who doesn't like options?  Please.  I mean…this is the same woman that killed her

husband after what she knew to be true was cast right before he beady little eyes, for heaven’s sake! The old Cyrus (who we all should hope makes a reappearance and soon) cleaned that mess up for her she climbed right back on her pedestal to look down upon everyone else casting judgment here and there.  Plenty of that coming this election campaign year but I digress.

What An Imagination You Have, Shonda Girl!

Love scenes between Fitz and Olivia just don’t do it for me anymore.  First of all, e’rybody knows most sistah girls ain't getting fully dressed in couture, hair primped just so and makeup flawless only to disrobe for another quick sexual tryst.  Bye, Felicia!  Enough already.  Like, how many times have we seen these two completely exhaust themselves between high thread count quality sheets or on Persian rugs or even atop or against 100 year old antique desks or in media closets against all kind of ether net cords only for Olivia to put a hault to it all?  Wait.  Scratch that.  Those two and their romantic interludes are nothing short of inspiring! *fanning self* 

“Are you back?  You always fix me.”  Huck is still the complicated loving mess he has always been when we find him hunkered down in Olivia’s house waiting to be saved.  But, there is something unsettling about Olivia and Huck’s relationship, you know?  She saved him from being a babbling dirty bum in the subway.  He does whatever she needs him to do including torture bad guys.  She tells him not to do anything too bad though she knows he doesn't have the ability to discern bad versus too bad.  Not Huck.  He does really bad, confirms it's handled and she doesn't care to know the details.  She’s grateful.  And he needs to be fixed again.  Can he live, Olivia?!?  Can Huck just live???  I still am NOT feeling Jake but if he can help our boy, Huck then I guess he’s a’ight.      

Mellie.  Mellie.  Mellie.  *sigh*  Well, at least she’s back to her normal self instead of eating fried chicken (Really?!?) on one of the balconies of the White House while she grieved the untimely death of her son.  Hey, Mellie girl!  Right when she attempts to serve up one of those reads she’s so famous for to Fitz’s Chief of Staff, “I brought your bones back from the political graveyard and performed voodoo to make you somebody again and as payment, you stab me in the back!”  She tried it!  Oh no ma’am.  Ellen’s wifey served her a little straightenin’ of her own with, “…one can only be betrayed if there‘s loyalty.  First, I was never loyal to you and you were never loyal to me.  I don’t think you’ve ever been loyal to anyone.”  *insert blank stare*  Mellie just sits there looking incredulous with her mouth set like she’s eating one of those sour gumball thingies my mother would never let me buy.  Side note…I still can’t figure out where Ellen's wifey came from in the first place. 

With all the dirt Fitz and Mellie have done in pursuit of power, it baffles me how either one of them can say the other is the greater offender.  Who’s keeping score but:  Rigging ballots.  Hiding rapes.  Suffocating Supreme Court Justices.  Allowing a mistress.  Killing folks on planes.  Killing folks on buses.  The list goes on and on.  Fitz serves Mellie with divorce papers and promises to join her in the ruin of both of them (…cuz he ain’t trippin’ as long as he has the prize, Olivia...) should she not sign those papers.  Then he reminds Mellie that her major accomplishment to date is just waiving and smiling so she couldn’t possibly want it with him.  Bastard!  Hell, I was actually mad for Mellie after all of that!  If this was “Empire” Fitz would have caught the obligatory slap across his left cheek with the full force of all 5 stiletto neon painted manicured fingers.  #lovemesomecookie

Creating a story ripped from any number of headlines always worked for Scandal and tonight we reminisced about the tragic death of Princess Diana.  Five seasons in we all but forgot how much we didn’t like Quinn but now she’s like “Lead Gladiator” and should have a badge she wears pinned to her shirt that says so.  Quinn is the only one that shows up to work every day (where is the super fine black cat replacement for Harrison, anyways?!?) and seems to get better and better with each case she helps fix.  Olivia’s so damn clever when she goes about fixing the lives of those in power.  Cue good old David Rosen.  *trumpets blaring*  He still can’t tell Olivia to get the hell out of his office with all that s#!t and he is the United States Attorney General.  He reminds me of the smart kid in elementary school that was always picked last for the kickball team, knew that would be the case and waited to be picked last time and time again.  “Fine!  I’ll take David!”   He come through though with enough information to help Olivia prove the crash of the princess wasn’t an accident after all and then all the pieces come together.  Score for David!

And Olivia behaving like a…woman and confusing Fitz when he attempts to give her what she wants.  What is that?  “The minute the world finds out about us, we stop being you and me and we become a spectacle.  How can we make it work in public when we can barely make it work in private?  I wanna slow down.  I want our business handled.  I want our problems fixed.  I wanna be ready before the world is watching become once it is, once we’re in that spotlight being picked at and scrubbed and stretched in every direction we will never get the chance to make things right if we are broken going in…”  Hmmm…that’s a point.  Makes you wonder if that’s how we all should walk into commitment, huh?  Could this be the thinking behind quiet celebrity romances?  Bey & Jay wrote the book on that one.

B U S T E D!  The cameras are always watching.  “I see you, sir!”  Who took those pictures, though of Olivia sliding in and out of rooms in the White House adjusting ties and whatnot????  Caught Cyrus' attention and just might be enough to get him back in the game.  Put him in, Coach Shonda!  

Shonda got some act right and penned tonight’s episode.  Smart move, girlfriend.  Smart move!  Think she will find a way to introduce a character like Donald Trump?  That would be hilariously fantastic!

Side note:  That black and white coat was bad!  And that pantsuit?!?  Slayed.  Wonder if Limited will carry the Scandal clothing line again this season? 

Side note to the side note:  Is it just me or does Olivia's weave get thicker and thicker with every season?  Must be hell on the neck, though...

Until next week!

I Wonder If She Knows...

"We must find time to stop and thank the people who make a difference in our lives. "  

~John F. Kennedy

For as long as I can remember I wanted to "go to" Crenshaw High School.  In the 1970's Crenshaw was one of the most popular high schools in South Central, Los Angeles.  The band was good.  The football team was raw.  The basketball team was incredible.  You know, all the stuff kids are impressed with before they realize getting an actual education is the priority?  Mmmm hmmmm.  When I was a little girl I had an elementary school friend named, "Yvette Marie Nelson" (if you know her, please tell her I miss her, have been looking for her and would love to hear from her) who's older sister, Lizzie was a student at Crenshaw AND a varsity cheerleader.  Every chance we could get Yvette and I would tag along with Lizzie to cheer practice, Yvette holding one of Lizzie's big fluffy blue and gold pom poms and me holding the other.  We would sit in the bleachers and try to follow along while Lizzie and the rest of the cheerleaders practiced shouting out, 

Shaw City...Sittin' Pretty!

I said a, 1-2 who are you?  Crenshaw!

3-4, who's gonna score?  Crenshaw!

5-6, who do you pick?  Crenshaw!

7-8, who's looking great?  Crenshaw!

9-10, who's gonna win?  Crenshaw!

Say it again!  

Crenshaw!  

Who's gonna win?  

Crenshaw!

I said a, 10-9, who's so fine?  Crenshaw!

8-7 who's going to heaven?  Crenshaw!

6-5, who don't jive?  Crenshaw!

4-3, who are we?  Crenshaw!

2-1, who's number one?  Crenshaw!

Lizzie was smart, popular and so incredibly proud to be a Crenshaw Cougar!  As a little brown ashy girl I wanted to have that kind of high school experience and I just knew that could only happen at Crenshaw.  When the time came I convinced my mother to send me from Audubon Junior High School right on to 5010 11th Avenue.  Little did I know back then attending that inner city jewel would be one of the best decisions of my life and a desperately needed safe haven for me when my world outside of Crenshaw was chaotic and lonely. 

While I was in high school I bounced from foster home to foster home while my mother fell victim to crack cocaine but no matter where I was placed, I made it to Crenshaw every morning for first period.  You could not pay me to miss one single day!  Yeah, I was late many a morning but still managed to convince Homer to let me through the front gates.  Once inside those gates the reality of my home life faded into the background and I was able to focus on good things and just be a kid, you know?  Crenshaw was the best thing in my life back then.  Grabbing a greasy egg sandwich from the truck that sat outside the school every morning before the first bell rang.  Rushing to "nutrition" to get one of those tiny orange juice boxes and that delicious warm coffee cake.  Passing notes in class to boys answering their question, "Will you go with me?  Check "Yes" or "No."  Getting my groove on at the noon dances and rushing back to class sweaty and musty from actually dancing (most kids don't do that now).  Just making it past the classroom door in time to avoid Pozzo and Kiehl's "tardy sweeps."  Submitting song requests for the "Campus Top 10" on KDAY, "Crenshaw High That's Where I'm From!"  Dressing for cheer practice after school (JC and Varsity, baby!).  Asking for bogus hall passes to go to the bathroom just to walk slowly by the classroom of some knuckle headed boy I liked.  "Pssst.  Pssst."  Partying in the "Cougar's den" to DJ Reg on the turntables during basketball games where we would BLOW out the visiting team.  'Dem Shaw ballers were b a d!  Spilling outside the front gates with everyone else just in time to see the car show that would be waiting for us.  Nissans.  Bugs.  Caprice Classics.  Suzuki Samurai Jeeps.  

In the 80's my classmates and I were not unlike any of the hundreds of brown kids growing up in the inner city.  Most of us were living to not get caught up with the local gang sets, fall victim to a random and senseless drive-by or become teen parents.  There was very little question back then that we would graduate high school, though.  We even talked about what we would wear graduation day which included dress pants, ties, dress shirts, dresses and "pumps."  None of that foolishness we see now a days with kids dressing super casual under their cap and gown or way too "grown."  Nuh uh!  Back then you dressed up for graduation because it was an expectation and cause to be fancy and proud.  But!  Discussions about college were few and far between.  A lot of us would graduate and move on to get a full time job making what the old folks called, "money," remaining right in the neighborhood we came of age in.  Some even went to the military.  But if we went to college?!?  Many of us would be first generation in our families to do so and to make that happen, we needed help.   

"Faith, you have been summoned down to the counselor's office."  That's what my teacher told me back in 1987 in the middle of class.  Now, because I was constantly getting into this or that because of my slick tongue and plots to get over on the faculty I figured my latest caper was discovered.  Dang!  I trotted down the steps of the main hallway, made my way past the main office and readied myself for the fanciful story I would weave to get out of trouble.  I sat down in the counselor's office and waited for what seemed like forever.  I looked up when my name was finally called and standing before me was this tall older white woman.  "Oh, Lord...I must really be in trouble now!", I thought.  She called me further into her office, pulled out what had to be my cumulative file and asked if I had plans to go to college because I most certainly could with my GPA.  College.  That woman's name was Mrs. Goodman and that simple question completely change my life.

UCSB Class of 1993

From that day when Mrs. Goodman called me to her office, I busied myself preparing for a bigger future than what I ever imagined on my own.  See, I knew after graduation from Crenshaw I would be expected to leave my foster home and live as an adult.  I was 17 years old.  Desperate for some kind of stability and determined to not rely on someone else to take care of me ever again, I resigned myself to the fact that I would probably have to join the military. If nothing else, I would have a roof over my head and food in my belly, right?  Not sure if I would have stayed in the military because the idea of taking orders from somebody else never quite appealed to me, but I was desperate.  My other option depended on my foster mother allowing me to remain in her home after the state stopped sending those foster care checks.  Highly unlikely.  Mrs. Goodman's insistence that I could go to college...and do well...was a God send and there was no turning back after I chose to believe her.

Month after month after month, Mrs. Goodman shoved college brochures into my hands, told me to read them and come to her with any questions.  She bombarded me with this paper and that paper and made sure I understood what deadline was coming next.  She demanded that I get a good night's sleep before the SAT and have a solid breakfast the morning of the test.  She proofread my college admission essays that went along with those pesky college applications.  There wasn't one fee waiver for a college application I did not apply for and get because of her diligence. She hounded me to compete for every possible scholarship to go along with grants I would need to even afford college.  Shout out to Delta Sigma Theta for that large scholarship!  She made sure to encourage me to talk to graduates from the Class of 1987 that were thriving in colleges she pushed them off to.  You should have been how proud she was to greet them with warm hugs and pats on the back when they came back to Crenshaw for homecoming covered head to toe in their college paraphernalia!  I wanted to be like those kids and grew more and more enthusiastic about the idea of going to college.  And then we waited.

Slowly and I mean slowly, college acceptance letters started coming in.  All the fear, anxiety and worry that sat in my belly about what would happen to me after graduation faded away with each letter I opened that said, "It is my pleasure to inform you of your acceptance to..."  When it was all said and done I was able to decide what college I wanted to attend from several options since Mrs. Goodman made sure I applied to damn near every university in California.  Ultimately I went with my first choice, University of California at Santa Barbara and I was so very excited.  I WAS GOING TO COLLEGE!!!  Just 2 months after graduating high school I would be a freshman living in the dorms with a meal plan at the dining commons and my entire first year covered through grants and scholarships.  A place to live.  Food to eat.  And an education!  The transition into college wasn't easy for me, though.  After a tough freshman year where I felt way out of place and unsure, I settled into the fullness of college life more every year and graduated with new found character, plenty of hustle and a real opportunity to do and be something great in my small part of the world. 

Some 26 years later, I still think of Mrs. Goodman when I reach some educational or professional goal.  I wonder to myself if she would be proud of me and what I have made of my life thus far?  I can't remember if I properly thanked Mrs. Goodman for all of her hard work on my behalf.  I mean, I would like to think I expressed my appreciation while I was a student sitting in her office but let's be honest...gratitude does not come easy to most teenagers and expressing it certainly is not a priority.  A recent post on Facebook by a fellow Cougar (THE Bruce Herron) inspired me to attempt to reconnect with Mrs. Goodman one more time and wouldn't you know I found her?!?!  I was able to tell her how amazing she was to me then.  How incredible it was that she swooped in at just the right time and guided me to a brighter future.  How fantastic her willingness to push me towards goodness was and it helped grow my trust in people that do not look like me.  How her dream for me inspired me to practice dreaming for myself.  And...how that tiny seed she planted in the late 80's has blossomed into a vibrant, flourishing flower alongside countless over vibrant and flourishing flowers that are thriving in a beautiful garden Mrs. Goodman helped plant back at THE Crenshaw High School.  We are lawyers, nurses, educators, social workers, entrepreneurs, government employees, veterans and well adjusted adults.  And of course, we are THE mighty, mighty Crenshaw High School Cougars!  Thank you, Mrs. Goodman.  Thank.  You.  

Who do you need to take the time to thank 

for their presence in your life?  

So You Think You Can Dance?

"Scandalous Thursdays!"

"Hi!  My name is Faith Margaret and I watch Scandal."  I enjoy it.  Thoroughly…and will blog  right here about all new episodes on Thursday nights beginning next week.  Oh!  Your theories about what is happening next in this suspenseful show are welcomed along with my musings.

There.  She.  Is.  Mama Pope is back looking all disheveled and diabolical.  “Thank you, baby!  Thank you for getting me outta there.”  Apparently she believes Olivia is on her team and will “handle” them.  Or nah.  Three The Hard Way (Olivia, Fitz & Jake) need Mama Pope to inform them what the hells is goings on with Daddy Pope but she ain’t having no parts of that.  Olivia tries to press the issue and Mama Pope is unfazed.  Doesn’t even flinch, really.  “You have a PhD in his crazy.”  I am going to save that for clever use when one of my good friends is crying and losing her damn mind over some cat that means her no damn good.  Mama Pope has good sense and advises her child to get her life, stop sleeping around with powerful men and get over her crazy daddy.  “Look around, Boo…”  Mama Pope is the cold one.  Daddy Pope is the loving one.  I, for one am ready to see the real showdown between Daddy and Mama Pope.   

Oh, Huck.  Poor Huck.  Little Huck saw his Daddy do a horrible thing to that pock-faced man and now there is nothing Huck can do about it.  Except maybe further traumatize his baby mama with B6-13 files that detail the horrible things that happened to him causing him to disappear.   I guess it could work...    

Command is distributing Kill Cards around town and cleaning house of B6-13 by knocking them off one by one?  That gross cat, Charlie makes my skin crawl and is carrying a Kill Card for Quinn. These two get to get throwin' ‘dem bows after some of that nasty bumping and grinding they like to partake in.  Must admit Quinn got mad squabbles, Yo and puts them paws on old Charlie.  But, c’mon, son!  Who the hell sits with their mortal enemy while nursing their wounds and catches up on family drama after a damn beat down?!?   Quinn is just so…random with her lust.  Always lurking around.  Ugh…I still do not like her and wish Shonda girl would get rid of her already and replace Harrison with another hot black man.  

Looks like O-Wishia has picked herself up, dusted herself off, adjusted her power suit and is ready to start all over again after the drama with her abusive ex husband.  She is always caught off guard in the Press Room at the White House.  The last to know e’ry damn thang!  Well...except for poor, poor David Rosen.  Just like last week and the week before that and the week before that, David has a big “L” for loser stamped on his forehead.  During his deposition of O-Wishia he gets to hear her say she was sleeping with that Leo Bergen cat.  Cue “Endless Love.”  Somebody give this cat some game, already.  *exasperated sigh*

All of Cyrus’ hot steamy and passionate love is in everyone’s living room for commentary, thanks to Ellen's Boo and the philandering Vice President.  That is a crisis the Presidency can’t afford right about now.  Pillow talk is something else, ain’t it?  Olivia figured the White House could get around that drama by Cyrus marrying the boy toy because everyone loves a good love story.  “I was in the closet for 40 years.  I only slept with 2 men.  One was the love of my life.  The other was a prostitute.”  Cyrus refuses to dishonor James’ memory by marrying the boy toy to avoid the scandal.  But he will quit instead.  “Damn! Damn!  Damn!”  Where is Florida Evans when you need her?  Forget Flo.  Summons Olivia to give Cyrus some straightenin’.  Olivia basically told Cyrus to put his big girl panties on, stop being a bitch baby and get back in the damn game!  I soooo want to have that kind of moment with somebody.  “Oh yeah, so you’re not a bitch baby?!?”  Love.  It.  Cyrus said, hell naw he ain't nobody's bitch baby but is one of the most powerful men in the world.  Just like that, he's back in the game.  That’s my man!!!

The Vice President has a fetish of sorts with the ladies, wouldn’t you say?  A signature move, huh?  Mellie smoothed played receiving that news off like a pro but she has got pissed off to the highest level of pissivity!  Fix that by telling old girl she better watch herself for STDs and get on the right team because her husband, the POTUS is the ticket to bet on.  Womp.  Womp.  Womp. 

Daddy Pope loves a good glass of red wine, don’t he?  He waits for Olivia at her dining room table with a damn Stevie Wonder album to start another of his masterful monologues.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Command...

“COULD YOU BE MORE UNGRATEFUL?!?  You're my flesh.  There would be NO Olivia Pope if not for me.  As difficult as it is to admit, I have failed as a father.  And it saddens me because I bled, toiled and allowed myself to be hated all for your protection.  All so you could believe that you are truly special.  But instead of gratitude I get scorn, ridicule, mockery and worst of all a daughter who sends in her clan of good old boys to kill me.  Your own blood.  Every.  Chance.  You.  Get.  It is your life that is sad.  It is you who cannot be normal.  It is you who has no comprehension of love.  So what?  Your stomach turns every time you look at me?  Well let me be the one to break it to you, Oliva.  You are simply looking in the mirror!”  He.  Ain’t  Neva.  Lied.  And Olivia thinks she has the guts to shoot her own father?!?  Girl, bye!  With a gun he easily laid down on the dining room table to tempt Olivia to take the kill shot when it first presented itself to her, their fate is sealed.  “Olivia.  Watch yourself."  Everybody knows what that means when your parent tells you that.  They.  Are.  Pissed.  "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?  Are you kidding me?!?  You just shot you own father.  You just shot me.  Never, never in a million years did I think that you would be willing to pull the trigger.”  Olivia broke his heart with her willingness to kill him and in that moment I am certain Command aka Daddy Pope would never ever ever kill his child.  He loves her so and is steadfast in his commitment to give her the best life possible even while being the menacing shadow that lurks around the corners.  “No matter how hard you try to deny it.  You will miss me when I’m gone.”

I want that black shawl, robe thingie Olivia had on when she put Stevie Wonder on the record player.  The same album Daddy Pope lovingly referred to right before she tried to kill him.  Let me find out Kerry Washington can get down with the get down!  Go Jake!  Go Jake!  Go Jake!  Am I the only one that gets tickled watching white folks get their groove on?  You never know if they are going to delight you with soul that keeps them right on beat with everyone else or leave you wanting to turn the music off to offer a free class on staying on beat.  Bless their hearts.  I still don't understand why soul and rhythm aren't distributed evenly amongst all of us?  I digress.  Jake did alright for himself, though.  So, finally Olivia admits she wants Fitz AND she wants Jake AND she ain’t choosing.  Not today.  Not tomorrow.  Today it’s all about pleasing Olivia and she wants to be happy and free.  G A M E.

Lovemaking on the piano will have to wait for now, unfortunately.  The Vice President is playing hard ball and kidnapped Olivia to manipulate the nation's foreign policy to his liking.  What a waste of a good generous glass of red wine.  

Until January 29^th in the year of our Lord 2015, gladiators…

 

Side note:  If Joe Morton does not get an Emmy nod he better, dammit!

Side note to the side note:  I might just put that last black and white coat on my list for Santa.  I mean...I have been a good, good girl this year.  

We Can Always Go Home

It's still there.  I mean, not that I thought it wouldn't be.  But...it's still there. This is the last home my family shared some 30 years ago. My mother. My middle sister.  My baby sister. Her father.  My grandmother.  And me.  All six of us in that small 2 bedroom house owned by a man named, "Big Daddy" on the east side of town just beyond South Central, Los Angeles.  I was so happy when we moved into this house because my young and ever hopeful mind imagined we would be stable.  Finally!  No more moving from pillar to post because we couldn't make the rent.  Nuh uh...things were going to get better for us with this move.  I was too happy to invite friends over to visit because with this house I had no embarrassment about the paltry conditions of our home.  All the utilities were on.  We had a house phone (remember those) that rang all the time with calls from my friends for me. Every room was furnished. My baby sister and I even had our own beds.  Things were good!  Until they weren't. 

In the 7 months we lived at 5510 San Pablo there were some good times before things became difficult for us.  I remember coming home to the comforting aroma of red beans and rice (again) cooking on the stove.  Or the sound of fried chicken sizzling in a cast iron skillet and the smell wafting through the house causing me to ask again and again, "Time to eat, yet?"  Oh!  There was that time my friends and I snatched the sheet from under my baby sister while she slobbered away on her pillow, making her wet her pants she was so damn scared.  And that time I found $20 outside somewhere and was finally able to buy a "moo moo" from National's for my mother as her Mother's Day gift.  She cried.  I even remember the time my baby sister's father taught me how to iron a pair of pants within an inch of my life!  I still can press a pair of pants as good as any cleaners in town, too.    

But the memories that are seared in my consciousness as clear as day are much more sinister and depressing and sad that those glimpses of happy.  To be honest, during the entire 7 months we lived in that house I was mostly sad and afraid and confused and embarrassed.  Behind the securely closed and locked door and tightly shut windows covered with curtains, my adolescent mind worked overtime to make sense of the anger, intimidation, anxiety, sadness and fear that covered everything inside like a dense fog.  My mother struggled to find the motivation to actively participate in life without popping Valiums several times a day just to quiet her mind and dull the back spasms she endured.  My grandmother drowned her feelings of shame from running her answering service business at 819 Santee Street in downtown Los Angeles into the ground with can after can after can of Budweiser.  She and my mother would 'cuss each other out like they didn't even know one another during her drinking binges that seemed to happen every Friday like clockwork.  They would both awaken the next day as if nothing happened and we stepped around that tension in the house like it was a toy left behind by a child.  My baby sister's father controlled everything behind those doors with heavy hands he used to beat my mother into submission and mean and hurtful words he spewed with the full intention of crushing her spirit.  He was masterful.

Behind that door I was the parent that tended to my mother's busted lips, blackened eyes and battered and bruised limbs.  Behind that door I was the voice of reason that dressed my baby sisters, put my grandmother's car keys in my mother's hands and hurried us all out the door as my sister's father slept off his latest nasty and abusive mood.  And behind that door I was the one that tucked my sisters into bed when we returned a few hours later because my mother could not imagine her life…and ours…were worth more than the pitiful existence that was our reality in that home.  There was no time for me to be a kid behind the door of 5510 San Pablo.  And I absolutely hated that.        

We all left that house never to return in 1984 when my mother quickly succumbed to an addiction to "crack" cocaine that destroyed our fragile and dysfunctional, yet intact family within 4 short months.  My sisters and I went into foster care in separate placements that were a great distance from one another.  My baby sister's father vanished.  My mother and grandmother fed their addictions together roaming the streets of South Central and were ultimately not able to get my sisters and I out of foster care.  My baby sisters and I spent the remainder of our childhoods in foster care moving from placement to placement before exiting foster care upon our 18th birthdays.  And with all of that, 5510 San Pablo was the last home my sisters and I had as children.  

Everyone in my family struggled mightily as a result of our family circumstance.  Every.  Single.  One.  Of.  Us.  As far as I know my mother is still feeding her crack addiction 30 years later somewhere in South Central.  My grandmother suffered serious several debilitating strokes requiring total care while her mind deteriorated into dementia.  My baby sister's father died alone and very very sick from years of intravenous drug use.  And yet my sisters and I are still here today doing the best we can as adults that survived poverty, depression, drugs, domestic violence and utter chaos in our childhoods.  While my sisters still live in Los Angeles, I chose to create the life I wanted further away.  Rarely do I visit Los Angeles…for obvious reasons.  But a recent trip to Los Angeles to see about the most important person in my life forced me to go home.  

During my last day of this quick turn around trip to LA, without much thought I found myself driving towards 5510 San Pablo after 30 years.  I just needed to see it, you know?  To breathe it.  I made the block several times slowing down to take it all in as I got closer.  I was back home.  Alllll of those memories flooded my mind and my heart raced with the sheer overwhelm of it all.  Those same feelings of sadness and fear and confusion and embarrassment settled in my stomach just like when I lived in that home so many years ago.  I circled the block several times.  Slowly.  Again.  And.  Again.  Eventually, I slowed down long enough to snap a quick picture of 5510 San Pablo from the vantage point of the driver's seat of the rental car.  I pulled over and stared at the image and slowly the difficult feelings started to fade with the assurance that I am now in the driver's seat of my life.  I control what happens to me.  I choose what I allow to happen around me.  Looking at that picture affirmed for me that my sisters and I are the miracles that survived living in that home.  Indeed our lives are sometimes complicated and messy...but we are here!  Fighting to have what we want and desperately wanting to live authentically.  Using our past to propel us towards our futures.  Finding no shame in the home we came from and using our testimonies to encourage someone else…even ourselves…every now and then.   

I had had enough.  After a few drive-bys and before folks became suspicious of my circling the block staring at this house, I put the car in drive.  I took a deep cleansing breath, tossed my iPhone in the backseat, turned the radio up and drove away from that home.  I turned the corner satisfied with the journey thus far that led me to come back full circle.  I wiped the tears from my eyes and chose to dismiss the sadness that usually comes with tears and instead rejoiced for the journey thus far.  See...I was headed back to the home I have created for myself far, far, far away from the home I once knew.  And I was comforted right in that moment knowing we can always go home.  Thank GOD for that.

*Head Up.  Shoulders Back.  Face to the Sun*