Thursday, August 27, 2015

All Things Get Better.

Discovered this song on Saturday, have listened to it almost everyday since, and it lays me out every time. Can't get through a single listen without tearing up. Thank you Kirk Franklin, for continuing to use your gift of song and story (Lawdhammercy, those lyrics!) to heal hearts even after two decades. And thank you Geoffrey Golden, for coming out of the gate strong after winning Sunday Best. We young'uns need peers like you set the example that you're setting.

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

"Before we all perish." -_-

In today's episode of white supremacy/conservative paranoia/TakeAmericaBack BS at the bookstore:

Just before the end of my shift at customer service this afternoon, I was called over to the cash registers to wrap two books for a customer. An up-in-age suburban white lady. One of these books was Plunder and Deceit, yet another publication by an educated bozo, the value of which this up-in-age  suburban white lady made a point of impressing upon me while I wrapped her purchases. She's got grandkids in college, and is buying this book for all of them because apparently this book has the key to solving all our problems, and without it young people won't be able to save all 320 million of us from imminent doom due to government overreach:

 "This is the generation that's gotta turn things around. Before we all perish."

....Excuse you?

Explain to me, up-in-age suburban white lady, how your life is in danger when you have:
1. The resources to drive or be driven to one of the largest bookstore franchises in one of the whitest, richest areas of the whitest, richest county in Michigan.

2. The money to pay for hardcover and leatherbound books at full or even slightly discounted price.

3. The time to not only wait to have said books wrapped, but also to spout off your non-knowledge to a complete stranger and try to lecture her about the art of wrapping gifts because apparently she wasn't doing it right.

 (Well dang! If you know so much, why didn't you just ask for someone to cut the paper for you so you could do it ya durn self instead of slowing me down with your unnecessary input? I stopped what I was doing and left my post to help you. I am doing you a favor. I am not a child. I am no one's dummy. And I'm certainly not one of your lil pampered, sheltered, entitled, bootstraps myth-brainwashed grandkids. Fall. back.)

Access, money, free time! Oh the horror! Oh the peril!

You're worried about the government getting too much into your business? When there are people out here who can't even read, much less afford to buy a brand new book like you're doing right now? When there are people out here being abused/killed everyday just because of what they look like?

What you refuse to acknowledge is that you are the government. YOU! Most of the people in it look like, are in the same age range as, have a similar socioeconomic background as, and think just. like. you. The government, this entire nation, is working for people like you. YOU! And you call yourself saving the world with your dramatics? 

Eff outta here with that BS. "Thank you and have a great day!" -_-


Korean and Japanese men collaborating? Rapping to trap music? And goin' hard? You can't tell me that Black people, the hood, and the things we create aren't all things powerful and transcendent. This is all the proof you need. You're welcome.

Monday, August 24, 2015

Getting Rid of Our Own Warning Signs?

Currently listening to a podcast (The Black Dad Podcast's episode entitled "The Challenge of Black Fatherhood in America") in which a young Black father argues that we shouldn't be so quick to erase Confederate symbols because:

1) It'll be harder for people of color to know who our enemies are, and

2) Getting rid of things will only facilitate more willful forgetting and revisionist history, since people will look back decades from now and there'll be no more proof that these wrongdoings and strongholds of racism have lasted as long as they have (read: that there are real centuries-long problems that aren't going away so long as people twiddle their thumbs, persist in non-versations, and stick their heads in the sand).

I've never heard this particular argument before. Are POCs darned if we do, darned if we don't?

Everybody Comes from Somewhere - Straight Outta Compton.

As I did when I saw Twinsters, I gave myself a week to process the film before writing about my thoughts on it. Hoping that I won't say too much of what's already been said, although perhaps that's unavoidable. Over the past few years I've become more selective about which films I bother paying to see, but even with the great feats of cinematic storytelling that I've seen this year, I don't remember loving them at first viewing as much as I loved this one.

Seen Friday, August 14th: Straight Outta Compton

A biopic about N.W.A ("Niggaz wit' Attitudes") a rap group composed of five rapper and musician friends out of Compton, California. From a town considered to be "nowhere", these nobodies were  among the pioneers of gangsta rap and "reality rap" emerging in the late '80s and early '90s, using their art to express the cruelties of their everyday reality. While many (including white parents and the Feds) lambasted N.W.A. for glorifying violence, many more loved them and their music for keeping it real. N.W.A. made history, prized their integrity as artists, and their impact helped to inspire and launch the careers of many monumental hip-hop artists who followed after them. 

"The World's Most Dangerous Group" 

What I really like about this film: I love how the film depicts hood life without taking any dignity away from hood people. I love how Ice Cube's legacy is honored by his son's portrayal of him, nearly 30 years after starting on this journey, the outcome and impact of which neither he nor his fellow group members could have anticipated. Most of all, I love how the film celebrates black brotherhood. A group of  black men, brothas (literally, figuratively, and colloquially) being there for each other, igniting each other's artistry, backing each other up not only when it came to fights or police harrassment, but also supporting each other during their most devastating moments. Not afraid to cry for each other. Not too macho to tell each other "I love you" when it matters most. That's not something you see too often in Hollywood films, especially not in blockbuster ones ($55 million earned in its opening weekend, $27 million in its second!), and especially not in ones that are already poised to have their characters perceived as thugs and no-gooders. Oh! And of course, how could I forget! I love the film's message that people should be proud of where they're from. Not only has "Straight Outta Somewhere" been a wildly successful promotional campaign on social media, but as it concerns the film I also think it's a vital reminder that the members of N.W.A. weren't ashamed of their beginnings. They took the place that made them, repped it proudly, and used their work to change the world. Everybody comes from somewhere....

What I don't like about this film: Already there has been much criticism that Straight Outta Compton too conveniently portrays these men as good ol' boys, sweeping over the more unsavory details of their behavior and never questioning the way women are used (both around them and by them directly). To that I give the same answer I gave to a friend who questioned me about this: Those arguments are more than valid. But personally, I watched the film first and foremost to learn more about N.W.A. as people/artists with vision and integrity who made an impact, and in that vein I still think the movie is exemplary. With that said, the only complaint I have about the film is that I wish the audience would've been given more of an opportunity to become acquainted with MC Ren and DJ Yella. As someone who'd been vaguely familiar with N.W.A. beforehand, I hadn't even remembered there being members other than Eazy-E, Dr. Dre, and Ice Cube. Ren and Yella were plenty visible, but still somehow faded into the background, which perhaps also happened when the group was in its prime. I don't know. Regardless, I would've liked to know more about them.

Would I recommend it?: Absolutely! Not only that, I wholeheartedly believe that this film should be required music history viewing. Straight Outta Compton is a cinematic masterpiece and a phenomenal piece of history. Y'all know what to do. That is all.

Thursday, August 20, 2015


Before another Saturday comes around and I forget, here's a little blurb about my latest excursion. This past Saturday I got off work at noon, took a nap, and then headed to Canton to visit my friend Irene (alternatively referred to as "Ivy" in the past). She's an MSU student like I am (well was now, weird.), but I actually met her while studying abroad in Japan two years ago. She was back in her hometown, and I've been in my hometown this whole time, so I drove to her area so she could show me around. Now, did I have a good time? Hedgehog. Ikea. Cake. Put all that together. What do you think?

BOOKS! (The Good Shufu)

Last time I mentioned a certain recent Facebook post of mine: "When you read a book that's so good that you start reading another one concurrently just so you can make the first one last longer... I know, I know. I have a problem. ‪#‎bookworm‬." The first book was One Hundred Years of Solitude. The second book was The Good Shufu. The latter was something light to breeze through and balance out the draaamaaa of the the former.

The Good Shufu: Finding Love, Self, and Home on the Far Side of the World by Tracy Slater

The gist of the story is as follows. Tracy Slater is a Jewish, upper middle class, born-and-raised proud Bostonian writer and teacher with a PhD in literature. She takes a job teaching English to Asian businessmen enrolled in an MBA program for corporate executives. Her first post is in Kobe, Japan, beginning in May 2004. While there she and one of her students, Toru, take to each other. Three weeks in, he tells her he loves her. In 2005, Tracy visits Toru in his hometown of Osaka for the first time, after which she routinely splits the year living in both Osaka and Boston. In January 2007, she and Toru are married. Due to the language barrier, a lack of full-time employment on this side of the ocean, and a desire to settle well within her family and the rhythm of life in Japan, Tracy endeavors to learn how to become a good shufu (主婦; housewife, homemaker). By 2010 she is living in Osaka nearly full-time, all the while struggling to like Japan as much as she loves her husband. And now, in 2015 we have Tracy Slater's memoir, The Good Shufu (a play on "The Good Wife"). To paint a better picture of the mental highs and lows Tracy experienced while adjusting to her new life, she divides the book into six parts, all of which start with quotes from Paul Pederson's The Five Stages of Culture Shock.

First of all, Tracy Slater deserves all the props in the world for exposing her expat trials and her relationship like this. Going to Asia for a teaching job, getting hot and heavy with one of her students within weeks of  meeting each other, and sneaking around for months before working to keep a long-distance relationship alive? Some of that's pretty scandalous, and that's only the beginning of their love story! But Slater lays it all out there, and I respect that. For the most part, what Slater reveals about Japan is nothing new for people who have been there and/or spent a considerable amount of time studying the language and culture. What's most engaging is how she handles trying to understand and adapt to it all, as well as oscillating between being a full-time professional in her home country and a part-time housewife in her husband's country. I especially enjoyed chapters 14 and 15 in which she touches on her hardships doing IVF for a number of years, as a foreign woman in Japan, approaching her mid-40s. I've read very little about how difficult infertility problems can be, nothing about how IVF is done in Japan, and nothing about trying to become a mother at a high-risk age, so that whole arc of her story was unbelievably fascinating for me to be privy to.

But I have to be honest. From the moment I saw the cover and read the jacket, I really wanted to love this book. And I just didn't. Liked it well enough, but didn't love it. Tracy Slater has a remarkable story and through it has demonstrated the equally remarkable capacity that one can have to adapt to unusual, cross-cultural, and bi-continental circumstances. But as open-minded as she tries to be, for the first half of the book she seems just...  just too naive, too attached to the world she already knows, too attached to that sappy form of American patriotism that only some people can afford to subscribe to anymore. Early on she talks about Boston as if it's the only place in the world, and can't bear the thought of living anywhere else. Later when she first starts visiting Japan for long periods of time, for a while she avoids learning Japanese (so as to maintain her identity and not become too engrossed with Japan) and purposely only befriends fellow expats (who are presumably easier to relate to because of their shared foreignness). Granted, self-preservation and feeling in control are important, but I just wasn't feeling it. 

I guess, because I study Japanese and have spent time in Japan, having the opportunity to start a new life and settle there would be a dream come true to me. Since I was projecting my preferences onto Slater, I ended up being quite judgmental and annoyed with her during the first 2/3 of the book because I felt like she was being ungrateful and too typical in her American stubbornness. But I had to check myself and remember that my acquaintance with Japan was born of genuine interest and my own initiative; Tracy's was born more of circumstance and necessity, and she changed tremendously because of it. Given how the trajectory of her life has veered so far away from the plan she'd had in mind, I think she's handling it extremely well and has been able to use her life to create something that not only entertains but also reminds us to love across boundaries, and not take our plans or who we think we are too seriously.

Favorite quotes: 
"Toru turned from the window to throw me a silent smile, seemingly unconcerned that he couldn't get my meaning. Then he swiveled back to the view. I felt equally unconcerned, and then surprised, as I suddenly though how many relationships would benefit from a lack of shared linguistics, from the absence of expectation that our partners would, or even could, understand us most of the time" (23).
"My dear, no one loves Japan. It's just that the country is so endlessly fascinating. That is why we stay" (210).

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Favorite Song of the Year (so far!)

Ugh, this song. YAAAS, this song! This song is a godsend!

When I'm unnerved from dealing with rude customers at work. When I want to get my mind right. When I just need to get my bones movin', blood flowin', and butt jigglin'. This song is there. It's just full of so much self-love, finesse, and bold dignity. It makes me want to look all my problems and all those rude people in the face, yell "BYE, FOOL!" and hit a smooth shmoney dance before waving them off like the stench from yesterday's trash and strutting away. The beat is one thing, but the lyrics! The lyrics are sophistiratchet gold! Oh, let me count the ways:

I'm a classic man
You can be me when you look this clean/

I got charm like a leprechaun, mummaf***a
Now y'all f***in' with the wrong mummaf***a/

I'm the- I'm the man, who are you, mu'f***a?
Shine bright like a jewel, mu'f***a
Even under fire I'm cool, mu'f***a/

The ladies on my elbow ain't for the show 
Every madame on my team is a top general, oh/

How can you not believe that you're the brightest, most beautiful, most capable, most resilient being to ever walk the earth after listening to this song? I sing and hum "Classic Man" to myself to keep me sane.

Jidenna, our resident classic man. Many thanks and blessings to you, sir! Walkin' round dressing and carrying yourself like somebody's smoothly distinguished uncle or grandpappy. Go 'head on!

Friday, August 14, 2015

BOOKS! (One Hundred Years of Solitude)

About a week ago I posted a Facebook status that read, "When you read a book that's so good that you start reading another one concurrently just so you can make the first one last longer... I know, I know. I have a problem. ‪#‎bookworm‬." This is that first book, the tortured and multi-faceted history of a fictional Colombian family which, in addition to being a classic novel, also contributed to its author earning the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1982.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel  García Márquez

First there's the patriarch, José Arcadio Buendía, who leads an exodus to establish the town of Macondo. His de-facto leadership of Macondo cements the Buendía clan's status as a prominent family in the town. His obsession with gaining knowledge, outlandish inventions, futile experiments, and being on the cusp of modern science eventually causes him to lose his mind. Always keeping people in line is Úrsula, the matriarch and businesswoman who protects her family at all costs, letting no one and nothing get in her way. She puts her everything into raising her children and grandchildren, only to be shamed and bewildered by the decisions they make as adults. She spends much of her later years mourning her dead loved ones and endeavoring to not be an aging burden on her family.

Colonel Aureliano is the dreamer turned cynic. He is the younger son, the middle child who has powerful premonitions all his life. The quiet, timid, thoughtful and curious boy who finds joy in poetry and silverwork leaves home a young man and returns a revolutionary. A war-making, baby-making legend who can't die even when he tries and who, embittered, no longer has any hope or feelings upon returning home for the last time. José Arcadio is the first-born son. This prodigal son and well-endowed oldest child impregnates his secret lover and then runs off with gypsies, only to return home over a decade later and make a living by prostituting himself to local women. That is, of course, before marrying his adopted sister and using his family name to steal land from the poor. 

Rebeca is said adopted sister, brought to the family after her parents have passed away. At first she is a shadow of a child who refuses to talk and eats dirt out of anxiety. Over time she transforms into a passionate woman who trades her long-term engagement to one man for a fling and hasty marriage to her newly-returned adoptive brother José Arcadio. And then there's Amaranta, the youngest child and only biological daughter. As a young woman she vengefully schemes to steal the affections of Rebecca's fiancé, only to continually reject him once he becomes hers. Her rejection pushes the man to suicide, from which point she refuses to marry any man and concentrates on raising her family's children for the remainder of her life. One of whom, her nephew, becomes a warrior and her on-and-off lover for a period of time. 

Whew! And those are only the first and second generations! The book takes us through each branch of the Buendía family tree (which coincides with Macondo's history from founding to flourishing to collapse) through seven generations, or 100 years. And it is full of almost anything one might expect in a disturbing yet compelling story. Family drama, love, sex, bitterness, war, incest, infidelity, secrets, tragic twists of fate, remarkable feats of endurance and ingenuity, violent pride, the destruction and revival of hope, the recycling of names and curses, blemished family legacies, the detriment of neglect and willful forgetting,  and various instances of people being weathered by life and the passage of time... It's a saga. One that is also shrouded in fantasy with hauntings, resurrections, flying objects, telekinesis, meetings with the dead, ascensions to Heaven, and premonitions. García Márquez creates this world with such artfully descriptive and yet subtle language that the dark nature of its events pierces the heart but doesn't make the reader feel weighed down.
García Márquez also never lets us get comfortable in the moment for too long, always reminding us of Macondo and the Buendías' impending demise as he takes us through the steps leading to both. Solitude obviously plays a large role in such doom, as each member of the family has their own experience of disappointment and detachment from the world around them which leads them to suffer through life and mitigate their dreary circumstances in one way or another. Each character lives a passionate life,  but no one dies happy. From what I can tell many are turned off or even sickened by this novel due to its content. And admittedly, the descriptions I've given above do make the characters seem like horrible people. But as I read more and more of this family's mess, I just could never write them off. Some eye-rolling and head-shaking here, a few tsk-tsks there, but I was consistently enthralled by the richly muddled lives these people live. Perhaps I'm in an oddly non-judgmental moment right now, but I think more credit is due to Marquez's ability to paint characters as relatable people and lay out all their flaws and icky "stuff" without either glorifying or condemning them.

Favorite quotes:
"But the lucidity of her old age allowed her to see, and she said so many times, that the cries of children in their mothers' wombs are not announcements of ventriloquism or a faculty for prophecy but an unmistakable sign of an incapacity for love. The lowering of the image of her son brought out in her all at once all of the compassion that she owed him" (249).

"There was no mystery in the heart of a Buend
ía that was impenetrable for her because a century of cards and experience had taught her that the history of the family was a machine with unavoidable repetitions, a turning wheel that would have gone on spilling into eternity were it not for the progressive and irremediable wearing of the axle" (396).

Thursday, August 13, 2015


Shaking and weeping right now. Thank you Wondaland. Peace and power be to all our fallen brothers and sisters, and to all of us currently and perpetually in the struggle.

 #‎HellYouTalmbout‬ ‪#‎SayTheirNames‬ ‪#‎BlackLivesMatter‬

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

"POP!" - Twinsters

The last time I went to the movies, I saw the poster for Twinsters and immediately recognized these twin sisters from a different documentary by DANakaDAN, who had also been adopted out of Korea as in infant and returned to Seoul in 2013 to meet other adoptees and find his biological family. I'd seen his documentary last year and remembered the twins for being really cute together, and for one of them being French. However, I hadn't known that the twins were also shooting their own documentary at the same time as his! Usually the good indie films don't show anywhere near where I live, but I was in luck this time, and Ma and I went on an evening date to the cinema!

Seen Monday, August 3rd: Twinsters

After seeing a YouTube video featuring an actress who looks exactly like her, fashion student Anaïs Bordier (raised in France) uses Facebook to get in contact with the actress, who turns out to be Samantha Futerman (raised in California). Now aware of each other's existence and resemblence, the two women search for answers together to ascertain if they're related or not. They discover that they're identical twin sisters who were separated at birth. A miraculous story of twins finding each other after 25 years apart.

"Two lives. Changed forever. With just one click."

What I really like about this film: I love how the film uses social media (texts, Facebook messages, Skype conversations) as documentary evidence to restructure the progression of their relationship for the audience. Of course it's only fitting, given how they found each other. It's amazing how they take to each other so quickly and form such a fierce bond even before meeting each other, When they finally meet in London, they love on each other as if they're kindred spirits reuniting after a short absence, not two young women from opposite sides of the world meeting each other for the first time. Also I love how French Anaïs is! I mean duh, she is French, raised in Paris and all but─just watch the film and you'll see what I mean.

I also appreciate that while the film showcases how similar the two sisters turn out to be─from physical appearance, to likes and dislikes, to that annoyingly cute "pop!" sound they like to make with their mouths─it also recognizes how the girls have experienced adoption differently. Unlike Sam, Anaïs was an only child and had a hard time coming to terms with having been adopted. She often felt like she had been abandoned and was unloved, and as a result she had trouble managing her anger and seeing her adoption as an overwhelmingly good thing. That part of the film is essential in acknowledging that though they're identical twins, they're not the same person, and adoptees don't all deal with being adopted in the same way. Plus it makes the story even more compelling when Anaïs realizes that she had been loved all along, even before she was adopted.

What I don't like about this film: Nothing. I've been trying to come up with something to critique in the week since I've seen the film, and I got nothing. At first I complained internally that we see and hear more from Sam than Anaïs. Of course this was just my francophone/francophile bias kicking in, and I realized that since Sam is the filmmaker of the duo and took the initiative on this project (director and writer, this is literally her film), so naturally we would end up getting slightly more perspective from her than her sister. So yeah, basically my point is that I have nothing substantial to complain about.

Would I recommend it?: Without a doubt! Absolutely! Go see it with a loved one and have your hearts warmed, shed a tear or two.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

A Customer Apologizing?! What is this?!

This afternoon, for the first time in all of my two months and one week of working at the bookstore, a customer came to me and apologized for their own rudeness.

I was alone as "head cashier" for a couple hours today, and early during my post a considerable line kept forming, receding, and forming again. At one point when the line was particularly long, a woman set her purchases down in front of me and mentioned that she also wanted a certain e-reader device. I tried to explained to her as kindly as I could that we had a digital section for that (just a few paces away), and if she didn't mind she could have the customer service people get the digital person for her so he could give her exactly what she was looking for. But after realizing that she'd have to get back in line afterward, and incensed that I wouldn't just magically produce the e-reader from my pockets ("You can't just hand it to me?"), she made it clear that she definitely minded. She snatched her purchases back and stomped off with intentionally pointed silence, a grimace, and what appeared to be a faint eye-roll.

Eh well. Another rude one. That's unfortunate. Next! That's all I thought about it in the moment that passed between the lady grumping away and the next costumer stepping up for their turn.

Some minutes later, after the line had dissipated and the digital guy had rung up the lady for the device she'd wanted, she came back up to my register to speak to me even though I was already busy helping another woman. Oh. no. What could she want now, round two? To rub my unhelpfullness in my face? Jesus be nerves of steel, an internal hug, and a box of tissues for the ride home! I know I chose to work in retail, but I can only take so much in one day! I was prepared to get chewed out. But then the lady, now in a reconciliatory tone, said something that shocked me and almost made me cry. And I paraphrase:

"Excuse me. I just wanted to apologize for my attitude earlier. I am so sorry. I was really jerky and it was so uncalled for. You didn't deserve that. You are wonderful and appreciated, and I just wanted you to know that. Thank you so much."

And as annoyed as I'd been at her rudeness, I couldn't even fault her for it anymore. Whatever that lady had been going through today, she got over herself and took the time to come back, recognize her wrong out loud, and apologize to me. In front of other customers! So I told her that I appreciated and accepted her apology, and encouraged her to have a great day (as I tell all my customers). All the while simultaneously on the verge of tears and wondering if the sky was about to fall, because things like this never happen in the store.

Y'all, I'm telling you. Humility is so becoming, and it can truly work wonders. Try it sometime and always remember to be kind! :)

Friday, August 7, 2015

168 Asian Mart!!!

About two months ago, largest Asian supermarket in the Midwest just had its grand opening 20-some minutes away from me. It's called 168 Asian Mart and it's the best. No, for real, the best! It's not only got your grocery needs (Asian goods as well as cheap produce and cheap almost everything!), it's also got a bakery, a boba/ice cream counter, a gift and trinket shop, and a modest food court where you can get dim sum from 9am-3pm or bento from 3pm-9pm. So you can shop, shop and eat, or just come to eat. Like I did, after I finished snooping around all the aisles of course. My curiosity and my afternoon hunger have been satiated, and I'm so satisfied! I only took a few pictures, but follow the link below to take a look!

The Happiest Place on Earth, a.k.a. 168 Asian Mart

Monday, August 3, 2015

Things People Give Me #21 and #22

Haven't done one of these in a while, and coincidentally both of the items are work related.

Yesterday I rang up a customer who bought a small journal to add to his collection because he uses them to "jot things down at work all the time". I heard that and didn't think anything about it, until he continued to tell me that he's a chef, he used to work for The Food Network, and he's trying to spread love for bacon and cooking around with his new book, Bacon Man!. He even made a point to show off his faded bacon wallet, which I hadn't noticed at first. Then he handed me this card promoting his book before thanking me and leaving. Now, I'm not much of a bacon enthusiast, and since I don't have the Kindle app I probably won't be checking out this book as I'd promised. But that's no reason for y'all not to, if y'all are interested! It's cheap ($1 ebook), and contains 20 recipes−ranging from breakfast to dessert−all of which include bacon! I'm sharing this because I liked the clear photo of bacon sizzling used for the card, and because I appreciated this customer's pleasant attitude and tenacity. Thanks Jay, and good luck to you!

The next one is pretty self-explanatory, just read the note below. Every week someone on the bookstore staff is recognized by a co-worker for demonstrating any of the seven core values listed at the bottom of this nomination form. And I guess this week was my turn! Thanks, Steve! And thanks to the lady I helped last week who called! It's not too often that we get people calling just to say good things, so you are very much appreciated!

PostSecret Hope

via PostSecret.


When he bases your salvation and your goodness on whether you talk to and "respect" him or not, as if he's God's privileged personal assistant. When he can't conceive of you having your own mind and refuses to accept that he's not in any way necessary in your life, no malice intended. When he endeavors to remind you that you are where you are because of his donation, as if 1) you don't know basic biology and 2) you owe him something. When he tries to make you feel bad for what he's done wrong. When he tries to go behind your back and ask your mom if your mind's being poisoned and made obstinant by the "Queen James Bible", as if you and your mom don't already spend hours sharing and cackling over the evidence he keeps sending both of y'all to incriminate himself...

Your dad might be a hotep, among other things.

And listen, you don't have to accept any of that mess from anyone, including your parents.