The Stormy-Weather Fan

Looks like there's a storm a-brewin'.

E'rybody else has gone and found shelter,

but I reckon I'll keep on walkin'. It might just

get better eventually.

There's a nasty misconception about my beloved city of Atlanta. It is one of long standing, but it has recently been put on blast on the interwebs by an infamous (as of last Friday, anyway) journalist at ESPN, Rob Parker. Let him tell it, Atlanta has the worst sports fan base in America. The city is full of fair-weather fans who jump ship the moment things go ever-so-slightly not-North. The "fans" are too preoccupied with other things -- say, for instance, guzzlin' sweet-tea and eating Pork BBQ (I prefer ribs) -- to care about the fact that their sports teams have been performing at a respectable level as of late.

This sho is some good sweet tea. So good I don't

e'en care to look at the huge flatscreen above me

to check on the Falcons game...

I was all kinds of vexed at the foolishness I read in Mr. Parker's article, having the audacity to site piss-poor fandom as a reason why my beloved Falcons didn't deserve to win a playoff game, much less a Superbowl. I was enraged that anyone would talk about my city and my sports teams like that. However, I do have to admit that I'm angry partially because there is a substantial amount of truth to that article. There are indeed some fans here in Atlanta who have given him plenty of ammo for the extended clip he emptied on us. It hurts my soul as a fan to watch a Hawks game and hear the "fans" (I'm going to be using that term as loosely as bowels after collard greens) chanting "MVP" for the star player of the visiting team. I get tired of going to sports bars to watch Falcons games and seeing more people wearing jerseys and paraphernalia of the other team (I know this is due to Atlanta being a city full of transplants, but it annoys me no less). Despite my slight preference of football over basketball, I've been to much fewer Falcons games than Hawks or Braves games, but at the handful that I have been to, I am yet aggravated again by the fact that at kickoff, there are either an embarrassing amount of empty seats, and or too many visiting fans in the stands. I just can't stand the thought of the "fans" in this city allowing other fans to take over and embarrass our city when it comes to sports.

You may be able to tell already, but I pride myself on being true to my city's sports teams. I know, I know... I haven't been given much reason to up until the past decade or so, and even then some would argue that much with me. Thing is though, I believe in being a true fan --a stormy-weather fan, if you will -- not a fair-weather fan. I feel that if you're going to be a fan, be a fan at all times, not just when it it's convenient. All those people who became Heat fans once a certain Akron, Ohio native took his talents to South Beach? All the Clippers "fans" that we didn't even know existed that are coming out the woodwork now that CP3 is in LA? Y'all can miss me with that. I've been on the same bandwagons for years, even back when those bandwagons were in serious need of an appearance on "Pimp My Ride." (Is that show still on?)

Why did I choose to become a fan of Atlanta sports? It all got started about 20 years ago. It was 1992, and I had just moved back to GA after two years in NY. I was just starting to get into sports at the time and figured I should root for the local teams. It's stuck with me ever since. Hey, I guess I was naive back then and didn't now any better. And for some reason, I've always had a soft spot for the underdogs. Anyway, I figure, I've been on this trip so long, I'm not gonna turn my back now, or ever. When my Falcons and Hawks finally taste the gold, I want to say that I was there through the bad and sad times, not just when things were looking good.

Though not as bad as in the past, being a fan of Atlanta sports can definitely put your faith to the test. Not that I hadn't been through it before, but one such trial came on Sunday afternoon, "Wildcard Sunday". My Falcons suffered a humiliating loss to the New York Giants, only scoring 2 points the whole game, and none of them from the offense. They had flopped in the playoffs for the 3rd time in 4 years, once again failing to do any damage in the postseason. Once the game was over, to Twitter I went. Not to vent my frustration or curse my team as some other "fans" were known to do, but to make it known that I was still behind my team, 100%. I tweeted that, win or lose, Superbowl or 1st pick of the draft, I would support my team, and dared anyone to say something about it. Of course, someone did; a self-proclaimed Falcons fan "since before I was born" accused me of "sugar-coating" the inexcusable loss.

I explained to said fan that my saying that I'm dedicated to my team was not in any way synonymous with sweeping a loss under the rug. I also stated that regardless of the teams performance, I was not going to badmouth my team. During this argument, I thought about all the things that I've seen and heard other "fans" do that made me shake my head in disgust. Many of these things are what make me almost agree with what Rob Parker had to say about the A-T-L and its sports fans (don't get it twisted; I still think #RobParkerIsAnIdiot). Make no mistake, I am in no way the authority on fandom, nor do I proclaim to be the perfect fan, but here are just a few of my convictions that I hold to as a supporter of my teams; things that I am not going to do to my team...

First of all, I am not going to attack our players. Twitter has created a whole new dynamic to fandom, making players (and other celebrities, for that matter) accessible to the general public. This can be both a good and a bad thing. In regards to the latter, I've seen just how disrespectful, evil and nasty some people can be, people who claim to be "fans." This is in no way exclusive to Atlanta sports fans, but I've witnessed it here first hand. Now, I'm not saying that I've never had negative opinions of any players or coaches (a certain offensive coordinator comes to mind at the moment). What I am saying is that a true fan should not be blowing up our players mentions on Twitter, telling them how much they suck, cursing them or threatening them. I seriously doubt that a player would consider someone a fan if he received a nasty-gram in his Twitter mentions from them. What our teams and individual players need from us is support and encouragement. I'm not saying that we should coddle them and fake like everything is strawberries & cream when it's really not. By all means, please have your opinions of our teams, players and coaches; negative and positive. However, anything negative and disrespectful should be kept to ourselves and far, far away from our players' Twitter mentions. It is highly counter-productive to tear our players down. I compare such a thing to a man coming home to a nagging, ball-busting wife or a woman coming home to a demanding, belittling husband. Our teams and players don't need that kind of negativity from home.

Second, I am not going to give up on my team until all hope is lost. By this, I am referring to individual games and the current season. Whether watching the game with friends and other fans, or reading the Tweets of others, far too many times have I seen people just give up and go to pieces over one or two bad plays. Honestly, some people just need to keep their cool and stop being so dramatic. Football games are 60 minutes, basketball games are 48, baseball has 9 innings. Anything can happen in any given game, and no game is won or lost off one play. I mean, we all get frustrated and have our "what the heck were you thinking?!?!" moments during games, but come on... The reactions I see from some people lead me to believe they are expecting perfection for the entire duration of a game, and anything less dooms us to another loss. Sometimes I just have to make myself stay away from twitter during games. I'm allergic to needless drama, and some of the "fans" provide plenty of it. People really don't realize how it makes us look as a fan base when they go off like that. People do the same for a season: one or two losses in the beginning and folks are ready to fire all the coaches and plan for a top-10 first round draft pick. (Now, in hindsight of the Falcon's season, I can understand the coaching part, but work with me here.) Again, I'm not saying I'm the perfect fan or that I never get worried, but dang, where is the faith for our teams? Can we please stop acting like the fat lady has already hit her high notes and shattered all the windows after every tough loss or early struggles?

I will wrap it all up by saying this: being a true fan does not mean ignoring a team's flaws and shortcomings. It's not being blind to the weaknesses. It's not a failure to acknowledge the things that need to change. I'm not saying any of that. I do believe that being a true fan does mean supporting, encouraging and standing behind your team in spite of everything that I just mentioned. Being a true fan means believing your team will prove all the nay-sayers and haters (ugh... how I hate that word) wrong. Being a true fan means being there regardless if they're 16-0 or 0-16 (I pray we never drop that low). I know for a fact that I am not the only true Atlanta sports fan. I'm glad I'm not by myself, but if I had to stand alone (there are times I feel that I do), I will. I will continue to proudly rock my Falcons #22 "SMOOVE" on Mondays, even after the Falcons lose. I will continue to weather the ridicule of my friends, family and co-workers as a result of my undying love for my teams. I will continue to be the change that I want to see in Atlanta until and well beyond the moment Rob Parker is forced to eat his words with a southern-style sweet-tea chaser. If I have to, I will be Atlanta's only "Stormy-Weather" fan.

F.I.L.A... Forever I Love ATLANTA. WHAT.

Putting "You" Into It

The other night, I received a compliment from one of my salsa buddies that really stood out to me. He had watched me teach several times, but had never actually watched me dance. He told me that, while he was very impressed with my dancing, he noticed something different about me. He went on about how, when he watches most dancers, their dance styles make it very obvious as to who their instructors were and which dancers they look up to. However, when he watched me, even having known the people I had taken lessons with, he wasn’t able to discern from my dancing who I had learned from or who I modeled my dancing after. He described me as “seamless.”

As I thanked him for the compliment, I explained to him why it meant so much to me, not just to get a compliment on my dancing, but to get that compliment specifically. Just as I did with him, I’ll take you guys back to my days as a "salsa scrub". I had been dancing and taking lessons since October of 2002, but it wasn’t until 2004 that I got involved in Atlanta’s salsa scene heavily. In the beginning of 2006, I was extra hungry and eager to improve, so along with taking as many classes and workshops as I could, I bought a video camera so that I could track my progress as a dancer. From time to time, I would have a friend record me dancing with some of my favorite salseras. To my dismay, I hardly ever liked what I saw. More often than not, I would bore myself when I watched the footage of my social dancing. "I look like that?!?! For real?"

After several months of cringing at the sight of my own dancing, I finally figured out why I was so discouraged with my personal performance. I realized that I was comparing myself to the dancers that I looked up to. I had subconsciously decided that anything I did that didn't stack up to what my salsa role-models could do just wasn't good enough. I was expecting too much of myself. I had to remind myself that, although I had been progressing, I had yet to put in the same years of training that those who inspired me did, so I couldn't expect myself to look as good as them (yet). But it wasn't just in that regard that I wasn't being fair to myself. Not only was I not on their level skill-wise, but I wasn't them. I had to realize that even if I ever matched them in talent and skill, I still will never be them. I will never be Gordon Neil. I will never be Joel Masacote, Sekou McMiller, Al Espinoza, or any other "salsa celebrity" I looked up to. At the same time, however, neither of them will ever be me.

You see, I came to the conclusion that, while I should still take inspiration from my role models and peers, I shouldn't try to be like them. No one will ever "do them" better than they can, and no one will ever "do me" better than I can. Yes, I may learn moves and techniques from various instructors and performers, but once I do them correctly, I then have to make them my own. I have to put "me" into it. This epiphany of mine gave me the conviction that a dancer should strive to find his or her self. I say this at the risk of being cliche (I hate that with a passion) but a dancer has to have his or her own dance style. I believe that we do our instructors and role models --and ourselves as well-- a huge disservice if we become carbon copies of them. No one should be able to look at a dancer and say "I can tell he's such-and-such's student" or "it's obvious that what's-her-face is her role model."

"How do I keep myself from becoming a clone of my instructor?" you might ask. It has a lot to do with what I mentioned earlier: putting "you" into your dance style. I know, I know... That's such a vague term, and I really have no way of explaining what exactly that means. I'd kick myself right now if I could, because I'm breaking a teaching rule that I live and die by, which is to not teach anything that you can't break down. Anyway, I digress... I suppose it's vague for a reason: I can't really tell you how to find yourself. Heck, I really don't even know how I found myself in my dancing. I do know, however, that once I realized that I could only be me and no one else, it eventually came out. I'm not sure if it's even something you can tangibly go after or take practical steps towards. I think it kind of just gradually comes about once you decide to be an individual. You absorb everything when it comes to technique of course, but as far as moves and persona, you begin to filter things out, keeping what you like and discarding the rest.

One thing that I believe will help is just knowing yourself, period. It's been my experience that a dancer's personality is reflected through their dancing, sometimes even amplified. If you're the type that loves attention, it will show. For instance, I recall one instructor who was around in my early days as a salsero, he was the prototypical "oozin' machismo", Alpha-male Latino. Everything about his dancing gave off a powerful, "look at me" type of energy. Me, on the other hand, I've always been a very calm, reserved person, and that shows in my dancing as well. I learned LA style salsa first, which tends to be more flashy and aggressive, but all the dancers that I eventually would look up to danced NY style --fluid, mellow and smooth-- which resonated with my personality more. Being blessed with long legs and arms as well (very little of me is torso), NY style also fit my body type. Once I learned the difference, I began to gravitate towards NY style salsa. My style is ever-evolving, but I would say that the dancer in me is very "smoove" and playful, or "tranquilo", as I was most recently described by a local Latin band member.

I had to express all of this to my friend (in fewer words, of course) because to me, it was confirmation that I had come such a long way from where I was before, and to hear it from someone else meant a lot to me. I hope that, through my teaching, dancing and blogging, I can inspire other dancers to have the same outlook on their dance lives. To be themselves and also to become better versions of themselves, constantly evolving and progressing.

Slaves To The Past

“Behind every B(expletive) is a man who made her that way.”

I found this statement while browsing the quotes section of an acquaintance’s Facebook page. While I have some sharp disagreements with this quote (more on that later), the main point does have some validity to it. We’ve all had our bad experiences, especially in the realm of love and relationships. These experiences can and often do have lasting effects on our lives and ultimately on who we become. While the quote I mentioned earlier specifically addresses scorned women, neither gender is immune to these life-altering events.

Closely related to the quote above, there is an old saying that once a “good girl” goes bad, she’s gone forever. A woman may start out as a nice girl. Fairly attractive, sweet and innocent. Somewhere along the line, she has one or more bad experiences with men. She gets her heart broken by her first love. Or, she gets cheated on and/or lied to. Or, she gets emotionally and/or physically abused. Or maybe she never has any experiences with men because the men always ignore her since she’s the quintessential “girl next door” who’s not “hot” enough, “sexy” enough, or “easy” enough. Whatever the case may be, the “good girl” changes for the worse. She gets tired of being burned, so she turns into a “bad girl.” She begins to use men the way that they used her before, making them pay for the pain she felt. She treats men the way they “deserve” to be treated. She puts up a fortress of walls around her heart and vows to never trust men again.

Though the story is not quite as familiar, the same thing can happen to men. Enter: the “Nice Guy”. A respectful guy and always a gentleman. Somehow or another, he also gets burned. He’s told he’s “too nice”, or “you’re sweet, but…” He gets strung along or always ends up in the “friend zone” due to his niceness. He gets passed over for or cheated on in favor of the “bad boys”. To protect his heart from being broken again, he also turns “bad.” He becomes a womanizer or “playa”, so to speak, to avoid love and get revenge on women for the one(s) who burned him. Or, being tired of finishing last as nice guys always seem to do, he becomes an a-hole, since they’re the ones who always seem to get what they want from women. They’re the ones who women always chose over him.

I can’t say that my experiences were anywhere near as extreme as what I just described, but I can relate to the “nice guy gone bad.” I was baffled by the fact that even though the women I knew described me as a sweet and respectful gentleman, I was always slept on in favor of the “bad” boys; guys who they would eventually complain about when they were mistreated by them. Sadly, this sometimes occurred with the same women who assured me that I was such a “good catch” (“Why aren’t you trying to catch me, then?” I wondered). Fortunately, I was mature enough to realize that being a “bad boy” wasn’t the way to go, and that those women were making bad decisions.

I say that, not to say that I have all the answers, but to say that we all have our own parts to play in what we become. That is why I have such a problem with the statement I mentioned earlier. To me, that phrase implies a lack of self-responsibility, as if you have no control over whether or not you allow the quality of your character to digress. A man cannot turn a woman into a “B” and a woman cannot turn a man into an “a-hole.” Yes, others may have caused or been apart of your negative experiences, but it is not them who makes you into whatever you are. Contrary to popular belief, you choose whether or not you become what you are. Many may argue this point, but if I were a betting man (and not quite as broke as I am), I’d be willing to bet that those same people who claim that the opposite gender made them the way that they are would have a huge problem if you tried to tell them that they have no control over their future; that they have no control over who or what they become. However, in saying that “a man made me this way” or “a woman made me this way”, that is exactly what they are stating, albeit inadvertently.

Recently, I was involved in a twitter discussion about this very same subject. I made the statement that no one makes you bitter; that you choose to become that. Another tweeter (we would eventually follow each other) argued that no one chooses to be bitter, but that they do what they have to do to adapt, protect themselves, and move on. To an extent, I agree with her argument. We don’t directly choose to be bitter. No sane person likes being bitter and mad at the world (or just the opposite gender). None of us want to be that way. However, we do have a choice in how we react to our experiences. Maybe not our initial reactions and feelings, but we definitely have a choice in how we adapt and protect ourselves from then on. We can choose to react positively, making wiser decisions and realizing that, no matter how many bad apples we've bitten, the men or women we've encountered don't represent the rest of the gender. Or we can choose to react negatively, blaming the other gender for our misery and viewing all of them as if they are the same person who hurt us before. We are ultimately responsible for how we allow our experiences to affect us, and when we choose to ignore that responsibility, it is then that we indirectly choose to become bitter.

The unfortunate thing about all of this is that it is so easy to take the low road. It takes less effort to just cast all the blame on others and choose not to view your situations objectively. I’m not saying that you are to blame in every situation that goes awry, and I’m also not excusing the other party in each of your relationships from any wrongdoing. However, we’d all do well to realize that in every relationship we have – good or bad, romantic or platonic – we are the common denominator. You are the common factor in every interaction you have. That may mean different things for each person and situation, but at the end of the day we have to look at ourselves as well as the others involved so that we can make the right decisions moving forward. We all must realize that when we allow ourselves be slaves to our pasts, allowing our experiences to control and shape us, we make things worse for ourselves and those who come in contact with us. When we feel entitled to treat members of the opposite sex harshly just because the same has been done to us in the past, we do nothing but feed the vicious cycle, adding gasoline to an already raging inferno.

Heartbreaker

Last week, one of my twitter buddies asked her followers how many hearts they’d broken in their lifetime. She stated that, to her knowledge, she’s only broken 1.5 (that .5 is questionable, she says). I thought about my body-count in the realm of love, and I can only recall one (that I know of), but that one instance was pretty hard on me. Ironically, it was around this time that year that it happened. Let’s hop in the time-machine and travel back to Tallahassee, FL, circa September-ish 2000…

It was early in my first semester at FAMU. I was making a routine trip to the mail room on a Saturday afternoon (when you’re a broke, hungry college freshman, you tend to check your mail like clockwork). I was pleasantly surprised by one particular piece of mail I got that day. It was from a young lady from my church back home. We’ll call her “T”. Here’s a little background on my relationship with T at that time:

I met T sometime earlier that year, though I can’t say exactly when. What I can remember is that I began to develop a crush on her sometime between mid-Summer and the beginning of my freshman year. The situation was one I was all too familiar with: I liked a girl who didn’t like me back. We were friends, but I could tell that she wasn’t really feelin’ me. As the time to head off for college drew closer and closer, I began to think about the possibilities of finding a potential girlfriend. I’d heard that the female-male ratio at FAMU was ridiculously lopsided. For someone who had never had a girlfriend up to that point, it was music to my ears. I’d heard that the ratio was anywhere from 3 to 1 all the way to a most likely exaggerated 10 to 1. Either way, it made perfect sense for me to wait until I arrived in Tallahassee to make any serious moves in the relationship department. However, I learned the hard way that no matter what you decide on in your mind, it’s hard to keep what’s in your heart from overflowing into your actions. As much as I tried to dial down my interest in T, she could still tell that I liked her. However, that didn’t change how she felt about me. Or so I thought…

Ok, so back to my special piece of mail. I opened the envelope to find a letter from T. This wasn’t just any old letter, mind you. She had written it on notebook paper, but only used the middle third of the paper. She cut the paper out and pasted it onto yellow construction paper, and used various colors of markers to draw hearts, stars, butterflies, and other lovey-dovey, girly things all over the paper. Due to all this, what would have been a 1.5 page letter was stretched out to a 4-page letter O_O. I can’t remember the exact words of her letter of course, but the “Cliff Notes” version would read something like this: “I didn’t like you when you were here, but now that you’re gone, I like you.” I was both elated and peeved about this at the same time. I was happy that someone I liked finally liked me back, but was annoyed that she didn’t begin to like me until I lived a four-hour drive away. Oh, how love has a strange sense of timing.

T also mentioned in her letter that she would be writing me a lot. This, my beloved readers, is a perfect case of “You think you know, but you have no idea.” Trust me when I say that there is no cockiness or arrogance involved in what I’m about to say, but the amount of letters (yes, this is the year 2000 when we hadn’t quite completely abandoned the concept of the hand-written letter) and e-mails I got from T bordered on obsession. I’ll give you guys an example of just how deep this thing went: I was on the infamous Blackplanet.com (the Myspace of its time) back then. I had numerous friends and had doctored up my page with all types of photos and animated GIFs and such, and I was a regular in the chat rooms. Shortly after T’s initial letter to me, she joined Blackplanet as well. However, every time I went to visit her page, no matter how much time had passed, she’d done nothing to her page. No bio, no profile pic, no background change, no nothing. Her page showed she had only one friend: me. I was the only reason she had joined Blackplanet.

While I did enjoy the attention I was getting from her, and relished the fact that someone actually liked me back, I knew in my heart that I didn’t want to start my first relationship ever with someone who was close to 300 miles away, not when there was the possibility of having someone closer. Yet, I still had feelings for her and was attracted to her, and didn’t know how to suppress that in my interactions with her. I’m ashamed to admit that I allowed my actions to lead her on to think that we were going somewhere. After a few weeks passed, I began to give this situation some deep thought. I didn’t feel right about it. That weekend, I returned home along with my roommate, his girlfriend, and several of her girlfriends for the annual FAMU vs TSU classic. I had bought T a ticket to come to the game with us, but for reasons I can’t remember, she wasn’t able to make it (I can remember, however, that ma dukes wasn’t too happy about it and felt she could have made more of an effort to come, but I digress). While I was at home, I talked with my dad about what I was feeling. He gave me some advice that I held on to up to this day; advice that I think all men should heed to. He told me that a big problem that many men have is not being up front about how they really feel, and that I should let her know what was going on with me at the very next opportunity.

I took my dad’s advice to heart. The next contact I had with T was when we were chatting on Blackplanet (in retrospect, I realize that this was a pretty whack way of going about it. Honestly, I really can’t remember if I purposely started the conversation there out of fear of conflict, or if I went for it out of convenience since I just happened to see her online. Anyway, the current version of me would have called her). I tried to ease into the topic, and I can’t remember how I started it off, but somehow T knew exactly where this was going. The conversation went downhill from there. She was upset, to say the least. Her parting words will forever be etched in my memory: “Let me get off of here ‘cause I’m not about to sit up on this computer and cry.” I left that conversation thinking to myself: “What have I done?”

I couldn’t stand the thought that I had broken someone’s heart; that I had lead someone on. I had always seen on various talk shows how men got a bad rap for cheating on women, dogging them out, and otherwise mistreating them in relationships. I had vowed to myself that I would never be “that guy,” that I would never give a woman any reason to think of me as a “dog” or “cheater.” Before I knew it, I had done just that. I felt horrible about it. It felt like a breakup, and we weren’t even together. If I didn’t already feel bad about it on my own, T made extra sure that I would. Over the next week or so, I continued to get emails from T, but they were no where near as pleasant as the ones she sent before. She told me how she used to have a picture of me in her wallet, and when others asked her who I was, she’d reply that I was someone who’d be “very close to her” very soon, but since our conversation, she had taken it out. I thought to myself, “Why even mention that now?” She also went on about how she thought I was different from other guys, but I proved her wrong. Feeling depressed about the situation, I called my mom and told her everything. Mom acknowledged where I messed up, but told me that although T was sincerely hurt, she was being immature and manipulative about the situation, trying to get me to feel as bad about it as she did (hey, it was working). She assured me that I really wasn’t like those other guys, and that I did the right thing once I realized that what I was doing was wrong. I wrote T back, telling her the same thing. I told her that “other guys” would have continued to lead her on, possibly even cheated on her while having another girl locally. Needless to say, Mom’s words were very timely. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders after her pep-talk.

So, there it is, my first and only time breaking someone’s heart. I learned a few valuable lessons from it. I learned that I have to keep careful watch over my words and actions when hearts and feelings are involved. I also learned to be very clear about my intentions when it comes to relationships so that I don’t give any false direction or hope. Finally, I learned how to not allow a woman to drag me onto a proverbial “emotional roller-coaster” with her. As for my own heart, I have chips, bruises and few fumbles here and there, but for the most part, it remains in-tact. Hopefully, I’ll be smart enough about who I allow to hold it so that it won’t sustain any unnecessary heavy damage.

The Lost Art of Forgiveness

If you grew up in a religious family like I did, you’re probably familiar with Matthew 6:9-13. Even if the passage location doesn’t ring a bell, the words themselves most likely will. It’s often been referred to as “The Lord’s Prayer”:

“‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,

your will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 Forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.’

I've heard and read this passage numerous times in my life, and probably will continue to. However, it was a while before I ever realized the true significance of verse 12. Jesus instructs us, in our prayers to God, to ask him to forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. In Luke 11, Jesus gives similar instructions to his disciples in response to their request to teach them how to pray. He uses “sins” in place of “debts,” but the point is pretty much the same: to forgive as we are forgiven. Once I took time to think about it, I realized just how convicting that statement is. Verses 14-15 drive the point of verse 12 home even further:

14 For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But if you do not forgive men their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.

Basically, God is going to forgive us to the same degree that we forgive others. That is a very convicting and scary thought, once you really think about it, especially due to the fact that most of us humans aren’t too good at forgiving. Sure, it sounds easy enough, but there’s a reason why God commands us to forgive others (Matt 18:20-22, Mark 11:25, Luke 17:4, Ephesians 4:32, Colossians 3:13). Of all the commands that I’ve read in the Bible, very rarely have I seen God command us to do something that comes easy or natural to us. It is the things that seem unnatural to us that he commands us to do. This makes sense to me, though. There’d be no need to command people to do things that they’d do anyway. Again, anyone could sit here and say that they don’t find it hard to forgive others. When it comes down to it, however, most of us fail at forgiving during those times when it really matters. It’s no big deal if your friend “borrows” loose change out of the change tray in your car, but what if they stole your rent money? It’s easy to forgive your spouse for a “little white lie,” but what if you caught him or her cheating on you with your best friend? In other words, it is those offenses that hurt the most that are the hardest to forgive, but these situations are the reasons that God gave us this command in the first place.

Just like any other command God gives us, I truly believe that he knew exactly what he was doing when he gave it. Not only did he realize that it would be something we’d have to learn to do, he also knew that not forgiving comes with many consequences. When we choose not to forgive, it is usually because we are either angry, bitter, or both. I recall seeing a couple of interesting quotes on these two feelings:

Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured – Mark Twain

Bitterness: Drinking poison and hoping the other person dies – Unknown, paraphrased

See, God knew that if we chose not to forgive, we would actually do harm to ourselves. Anxiety, stress, high blood pressure… the list could go on. The ironic thing is, not forgiving someone rarely does any harm to the person that needs to be forgiven. Heck, that person usually doesn’t even know that he or she did anything wrong, much to the chagrin of the offended person.

I used to be one of the people I described earlier; someone who didn't find forgiving to be such a hard thing to do. Then again, I probably don’t need all ten of my fingers to count the amount of grievous offenses that have been committed against me. On top of that, I've always been very easy-going and have a long, damp fuse. Add all of that together, and you have a young man who hasn't been burned much in his life. If I do want to consider myself having been “burned”, my burns are probably cigarette lighter burns as opposed to the 3rd degree burns of others. It’s so few and far in between when I hold grudges (I’m too lazy for that) or am embittered that I guess it was hard for me to realize when I actually did feel bitterness in my heart. I’ll share with you all one of my rare cases of bitterness:

Several years ago, I was in L.A. for my first salsa congress. That weekend, I met a young lady from my Church’s sister congregation there. She was beautiful, sweet and loved salsa just as much as I did, so naturally I developed a crush on her. I wasn't too fired up about the possibility of a long-distance relationship, but I was open to it. We swapped info and, at least at the moment, there seemed to be a mutual desire to keep in touch. Unfortunately for me, she began dating someone else only a few weeks after I returned to Atlanta. I still remember the day I saw her Myspace profile pic change from a solo shot of her to one of her and some other dude. I already knew what was up, but I still went to her page and checked the relationship status to confirm. Anyway, I kept in contact with her. I tried to keep the contact as light as possible, as I didn't want to disrespect her boyfriend, but I didn't want her to think that I just dismissed her because she had a boyfriend, either.

A little over half a year later, I caught wind that she and her boyfriend parted ways. I began to gradually increase my attempts at contacting her so as to not come on too strong. She would respond back, and seemed at least a slight bit upbeat when she did, but to my frustration, I could only get her to respond via Facebook, Myspace, or text. As a matter of fact, I hadn't been able to reach her on the phone since the weekend that we met, and I had never received a return phone call from her. All of our communication was online. Needless to say, I was annoyed by this. “She’ll Facebook or Myscpace message me all day long but can’t call me?" I thought to myself. "Can’t even call me back once? She can’t be that busy. There’s no way she’s missed all my calls and voicemails. What’s the deal?”

I had all but given up on contacting her. By this point, it wasn't about me liking her anymore (ok, maybe a little. I can’t say that I wouldn't have been all smiles to see her name on the caller ID); it was about me wanting her to know how I felt. I felt disrespected and ignored. (Of course, had she been someone I didn't like, you’re probably not reading this blog right now.) However, I felt that what I had to say to her was better said at least over the phone, if not completely in person. Given her current track record of not picking up or returning my calls and the fact that I probably wasn't going to L.A. anytime soon, I figured it was pointless to try anymore. However, one night I was chatting with a mutual friend who also lived in L.A. at that time. Lo and behold, she asked me about her and I gave her the whole story. She encouraged me to try to reach out to her again, possibly by sending her an email. I wasn't too fired up about that, but I figured, “Eh, what the heck. Maybe she knows something I don’t know.”

It was at this point that I began to realize just how bitter I really was about the situation. As I began to type my email to her, I realized my statements were filled with attacking words and resentment, not with compassion. I had no idea why she hadn't returned my calls, or why she would only respond to me online. As much as I doubted it, she really may have been just that busy. Maybe she doesn't like talking on the phone. Maybe she has trust issues. Maybe I came across as a creeper to her, despite my efforts not to. While all these things were definitely tell-tale signs that she was just not that into me, I realized that I was holding a grudge against her over a bunch of uncertainty. I've always believed that you shouldn't fill in holes of unknowns with negatives, but I was doing just that. No matter what the reasons were for her lack of contact, she didn't deserve all that negativity from me. So, I started my message over. In it, I expressed an interest in getting to know her, and that I had been trying to call but couldn't seem to reach her or get a call back from her. I also asked if there was a good time to call her. To my dismay, she somehow was weirded-out by my message and misinterpreted it as me wanting to start a relationship with her (not that this wasn't true, but that wasn't the point I was trying to get across to her). Just to make sure I wasn't trippin’, I had other close friends of mine read the letter I wrote, and none of them came to the conclusion that she did. We were able to diffuse the situation through our mutual friend, but that was the last straw for me. I wasn't angry at her anymore (or so I thought), but I was done trying to contact her, let alone resolve anything with her.

As much as I told myself I had put the situation behind me, I realized I really hadn't. I couldn't see her profile pic randomly pop up in my Facebook news feed without having to fight thoughts of resentment. I eventually had to think to myself: “Have I really forgiven her if all I've done is just choose to not think about her?” I considered how it would be if she lived in the same city. If I had a problem with a brother or sister at my church and simply chose to not speak, say hi or give a hug, could I really consider myself having forgiven them? I couldn't bring myself to say yes. I wasn't sure how to proceed, but I knew that I hadn't truly forgiven her. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how petty my beef with her was, and the more I was upset at myself for having been so upset over something so trivial.

One day, we had a guest speaker at Church whose sermon was on this very same subject. The whole message had my attention. He expressed to us that forgiveness has everything to do with yourself and nothing to do with the other person and, contrary to popular belief, it has nothing to do with an apology, either. Regardless of what the other person did or whether or not the person even knows or acknowledges their wrongdoing, our forgiving is completely on us. We have to “take the needle off the record” and choose not to continue to entertain the thoughts that caused us that pain in the first place. Of course, there will always be those moments that trigger that pain for us again, but that is why forgiveness is not a one-time thing. You have to decide that you won’t continue to treat that person based on their actions. What stuck out to me most, though, was his explanation of the differences between forgiveness and reconciliation. Forgiveness is not reconciliation. (Below is a great video I found explaining many things that forgiveness is not. This may help point those who are confused in the right direction.)

Reconciliation involves both parties working towards a resolution. Reconciliation is good if you can accomplish it, but that’s not what is commanded of us. God commands us to forgive. I realized that I had been looking for reconciliation the whole time, not working towards forgiving her. I didn’t care if she apologized or not, but I wanted her to know how she made me feel. I felt that if I could just get it off my chest, I’d be ok. But what if I never got to talk to her again? What if I never got the opportunity to express to her how she made me feel? Would I be willing to hold on to all of that and decline to forgive her because of that? Was I willing to go to hell over something so small? I had to realize that when I’m judged at the end of all this, God isn’t going to ask me about her lack of returned phone calls. God is going to ask me why I wasn’t willing to let go. God allowed his son to die for all of our sins, and both of them forgive us for repeated sins every day. Jesus lived his whole life as a human with full knowledge of the fact that his best friends would betray him, and still treated them as his beloved brothers. He did this not only to save us from our sins, but also so that we would have no excuses when it comes to forgiving.

I won’t say that I’ve completely mastered the art of forgiveness, but I’m much, much closer than I once was. I’ve realized why it is so very important to learn to forgive, especially in those painful moments. Some of you reading this may have had experiences that were much more painful than mine, both emotionally and physically. Whether it’s something petty and trivial or something that most would regard as unforgivable, we must all realize that none of us are in a position to refuse forgiveness to another, and doing so only hurts ourselves.

Put Some STANK On It!!!

Several years back, I saw an Old Spice commercial where two women were chatting in a doorway at a party. This guy walks through on his way to the kitchen and has to squeeze past them. As this happens, the announcer states that smell is “the strongest sense tied to memory.” A few short seconds after the guy passes them, the ladies smile at each other, as if they are both thinking the same thing. One takes off to go find the guy, with the other only a split second behind her.

The more I marinated on the announcer’s statement, the more I realized just how true it was. Certain aromas, just as much as or even more than music, can take you back in time. The smell of fried chicken and collard greens takes me back to Sunday dinner at my grandmother’s house (forgive me for not being inconspicuous about my roots). The smell of beef on a grill takes me back to the downstairs lunchroom during my first two years of college at FAMU. Of course, nostalgic smells are even more powerful when they come from and remind you of people. Anytime I smell a particular bottle of Garnier on a woman passing by, it reminds me of my ex-girlfriend’s beautiful long, spiral-curled hair (I blame her for my attraction to big, long, curly/wild/messy hair lol). I can remember every woman I’ve ever smelled “Chanel No. 5” on. Needless to say, I have a weakness for good perfume -- Chanel, “Angel” and “Euphoria” to be exact. Wearing either of these is the equivalent to calling my name in a sexy voice. They have a similar effect as the guy in the aforementioned Old Spice commercial did on the two women he walked past. Funny how those addictive smells always catch you after the wearer is already about 5 ft past you. Fortunately for me (and my neck, can we say “whiplash?”), I have enough discipline to keep this effect from getting me into any kind of “trouble,” but I appreciate a good-smelling woman all the same.

As you can probably guess, I also pride myself on smelling good as well. Not just because of my appreciation for it on the opposite gender, but I feel like I have to live up to my name. You see, “Myron” is derived from the Greek word “Myrrh”, a fragrant sap that comes from a tree native to Somalia & Ethiopia. For those of you familiar with the account of Jesus, it was one of the gifts given to him as a baby. “Myron” has also been translated to mean “fragrant balm or oil.” In other words, it’s not so much of a stretch to say that my name means “cologne.” At one point in time, between getting a few bottles as gifts, hand-me-downs from my dad and buying my own, I had about nine different bottles of cologne. I’ve since downsized to a rotation of about three or four. My weapons of choice (I call them my "Stank-goods", as opposed to "Smell-goods") are normally "Burberry Brit", "Bvlgari BLV" and Jovan "N-R-G". Burberry is not currently in the rotation, as I didn’t have money to burn when I ran out and had to bring an inexpensive yet effective Cool Water off the bench as a temporary replacement. My unexpected fourth weapon came as a gift after doing a salsa lesson at a health-fair run by my mom’s sorority sisters (a big “OO-OOP” to any Deltas reading this). It was a bottle of Curve Connect (of course some Deltas would give me something packaged in one of my favorite colors). So I normally rotate which bottle I wear, never wearing the same one twice in a row to keep things new. Also, adding this to the fact that I don’t wear cologne every day (no use wearing it at work, my co-workers are mostly men) means I don’t run out of cologne very quickly.

So far, my rotation approach has worked pretty well. I get “Ooh… You smell good!” compliments on the regular. However, I’ve been giving it some thought after a good friend of mine mentioned that she likes to have a signature scent that is her “me” scent and likes the same on a guy. I then thought about how I’ve smelled my favorite scent on particular women and how my nose would look forward to seeing (smelling?) them. One of my co-workers when I worked at my last school (DeVry) would always wear Egyptian Musk. She wore a lot of it; not enough to make me sneeze when hugging her but enough to get stuck on my shirt. It was also enough to where I’d know she was at work without having seen her. (Unfortunately, my nose was heartbroken once I discovered that Egyptian Musk was unisex.) One of my salsa friends wears Angel, and I can always tell when she’s on the floor because I smell her before I see her. I began to wonder, would it be better to have a signature smell? A smell that says “yep, that’s Myron right there” when people smell it?

I decided to take a census on this. I even got fancy with it and decided to put a survey up online to see what people think. (LADIES ONLY: CLICK HERE) Should I continue to keep a rotation going, or should I just stick to one scent? Of course, if it turns out that I decide to stick to one smell, I’m most likely going to come back and add on another survey to this blog, as I’m going to have a hard time choosing which cologne I want to use to represent “Myron.” But we’ll spray that bottle if and when we come to it ;-)

***UPDATE***

It's been a little over a month since I posted my "cologne" survey. As of right now (9.27.11), the online results are dead even. 42.9% said that I should continue to rotate colognes. 42.9% also said that I should keep a signature scent. The "other" votes were, more or less, for me rotating, but being specific about the rotation. One person suggested different fragrances for different occasions. Another said she wears the same thing for 6 months straight, then changes it up.

I've decided to continue with my rotation, but designate each fragrance to a particular occasion or situation. Once I decide which colognes to rotate, I'll have one for church, one for dancing, and one for dates or going out. When that special someone arrives, whoever she is, I will allow her to choose her favorite, then dedicate that one to whenever we go out.

The PRKD (Puerto-Rican Kitchen Dancer) by Richie Deguia

Today marks a special day in the history of "Random SMOOVEness." For today, I'm featuring my first ever guest blogger, Richie Deguia. @RichieDeguia and I share a common love for salsa dancing and putting our random thoughts on the internet. About a year and a half ago, he posted a note on Facebook that resonated with countless salser@s in our overlapping circles. It recently began to get some buzz again, so I decided I'd share it with you guys. There's not much, if anything, in his article that I don't agree with. So, without further ado, here is Richie's wonderfully expressed blog, "The PRKD-- The Puerto Rican Kitchen Dancer."

Before I start this blog, I would like to say that I know several Puerto Ricans that can dance their (butts) off. They put in the time and work and are phenomenal dancers that one day I strive to become. With that being said, our community has been invaded by what we have deemed the PRKD. The Puerto Rican Kitchen Dancer. Why that name you ask? Well, I will be more than happy to explain. Our Latin community has exploded over the last decade and is continuing to grow. Mostly Mexicans and Puerto Ricans. We didn't call it The Mexican Kitchen Dancer because most of them that do dance don't pat themselves on the back on how great of dancers they are not. Most of them wait for the next merengue or bachata song, pick out a target and proceed to molest them on the dance floor. I respect that. Now the Puerto Rican Kitchen Dancer sings to a different tune. First of all, they swear up and down that they can dance but have had no formal training whatsoever. I am assuming they feel they are blessed to dance due to lineage or by just being latino. All of my friends that can dance know very well that dancing is earned through hard work and sweat. We have to put ourselves through (crappy) drills that train our bodies to react a certain way when we want it to. When asked "Can you Salsa?", the common response is "I'm Puerto Rican, of course I can". Their dancing background usually consists of lessons taught in their mothers kitchen when they were the ripe age of 6. Family reunions or get together's are also another form of learning salsa as groups of non dancers teach other non dancers how to non dance.
Timing is never explained and everyone is taught to "feel" the music. Pronounced pausing while they dance, especially on counts 1 and 5 are very common to the PRKD. Dance floor etiquette is non existent when sharing the floor with a PRKD. Best believe you are going to catch a stray heel from the woman he is leading or a flailing limb, even though you are staying in your space. The PRKD is notorious for his overwhelmingly strong lead. Technique is thrown completely out of the window. In it's place, retard-like strength turns accompanied by off balanced footwork that becomes a recipe for sore shoulder soup (for the ladies). If you don't follow this limb destroying machine, he will look at you like you have no reason being on the same dance floor with him.
The PRKD is not limited to men. Women suffer from this disorder as well. A PRKD woman is VERY difficult to control on the dance floor. Be prepared to feel the burn if you are dancing with one of these women. One female PRKD is equivalent to dancing with 8 women that can dance well. Get ready for mad fits of frustration if you decide to embark on this dangerous mission. Because Puerto Rican women can be stupid hot, we tend to throw ourselves into the fire every so often. Have you ever tried to stir a pot of molasses with a toothpick? If not, that's what it's like to try to give a PRKD a left or right hand turn. As a lead, make sure you increase yours in order to get this female juggernaut around on the dance floor. And forget about fingertip dancing. Use hands. These women will easily snap a finger without hesitation and go about their merry way, as you scream like a little (girl) in agony. Keep it simple when dancing with these women or you will exert more energy than needed. Even that in itself can feel like a triathlon.
With all that being said, just be honest with people in life and don't brag about a skill you don't have. Skills are acquired, not passed down like a family heirloom.

Well said, Richie. Well said. Let the salsa-church say "Amen."