#MNR: THAT’S JUST HOW IT IS
“Adjust your pupils to see a dead bwoy walk.”
Tek of Smif-n- Wessun
Contrary to popular (my) belief, all Mondays ain’t Ty Mondays. I left the job early today. Yes. Yes, I did. I tipped my fat ass right TF on outta there. I took a head butt to the right eye/eye socket from one of our students ‘round high noon. Shit happens. I wasn’t concussed. I know because I have suffered a concussion in the past. I woulda stayed in the game if it were the playoffs. But it’s not. It’s summer league. I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow. I wonder if Amazon could deliver headgear and a mouthpiece before 19:00 tonight? My teeth aren’t as immaculate as the kid from Timmy Turner’s class, but they’re mine. I’m trying to keep it that way for as long as possible, you heard?
That’s 7:00 pm for those who don’t know how to subtract/add 12. I got y’all.
The show must go on. That’s word to my homie Nella.
In other news...I’ve been working my body out every (yes, every) day/night since 7.5. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time. I’m extra motivated to keep it going. I have my reasons. I’ll share them in time. But I refuse to quit. As for eating, I’m doing much better than in the past. I eat a fruit (usually strawberries and/or bananas) every day. I take my Flintstone Kids vitamins because I’m amongst the ten million strong and growing. I’m doing better with portions. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had pizza (pain face emoji). I am not happy to report that, actually. I could be the fifth ninja turtle. But damn it, I’m working. I want to see where I am this time a year from now. I have a scale built for large humans. I know my weight up to the tenth of a pound. I’ll fill you in as I reach certain personal milestones.
The Fuckboy of the Week winner goes to...Dr. William B. Allen, a “longtime academic,” former chairman of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, and member of Florida’s African American History Standards Workgroup. His workgroup is responsible for the new Florida middle school curriculum (spearheaded by Gov. Ron DeSantis) that asserts that enslaved people benefited from slavery, developing “skills and aptitudes which served to their benefit, both while enslaved and after enslaved.” He has doubled down on his stance. I’m going to debunk his dumb intelligent ass in an Eastside Harlem minute. I’m also going to put on my Brother Khalid Abdul Muhammad beret and step on this spider monkey...at the same damn time.
I really wish A.G. Warren were alive for this one. I believe pop would say, “Doc, you can always count on an intelligent, dumb [CENSORED] to do a [CENSORED]’s job for him.” I concur, pop. Thanks for the alley. I’m a Aaron Gordon this one in spectacular fashion. I guess you feel good about your eloquent defense of your insidious curriculum, don’t you doc? I bet you and your “workgroup” have your crimson chins stuck out extra-long (pause, if necessary). You feel that marketable traits were learned during and after being a chattel slave? I have a two-edged sword of rebuttal sharpened for you, doc. A slave didn’t develop skills. Develop means “to cause to grow or expand.” I don’t see the enslaved as having grown or expanded, good brother. They were exploited, abused, and murdered. That meant growth, but only for the white man’s avarice and lust. The enslaved survived by doing what a slave master DEMANDED they do. So, tell me, doc...what about the slaves who didn’t “develop” the necessary skills and aptitudes? Were they released from employment that day and sent about their merry way? Or were they beaten incessantly, scarred, castrated, and lynched? And what were the incentives and rewards doc? Having our women raped? Being buck broken by sadistic slave masters? Having our families torn apart for profit? Let me know doc. And for part two...I’m sure you are also a great mathematician, doc. I have some simple math for you. If slavery ended with the Emancipation Proclamation on 1.3.1863 and officially with the subsequent 13th Amendment on 1.31.1865, how was a slave born during the first two CENTURIES of slavery able to benefit from said skills and aptitudes? Were they compensated financially? Were they given land? Did they die as free women and men? I rest my case. Go tongue kiss an eel, you worthless, watermelon patch dwelling, buck dancing coon. Fuck you, your workgroup, Ron DeSantis, and any motherfucker who agrees with any part of this fuckery.
In conclusion, I’ve mentioned this in a prior #MNR, but I’ll say it again. Irrespective of whether you are raising a Black baby in Duvall or Dade Counties, Fulton or Gwinnett Counties, Halifax or Henrico Counties, Bergen or Middlesex Counties, New York or Bronx Counties, or wherever. YOU SHOULD BE YOUR CHILD’S FIRST HISTORY TEACHER. It is paramount that you teach your child CONTEXTUAL history. NEVER leave it in the hands of your school system. That’s just common sense. Thank you, pop, for being my first history teacher. Much love and respect to the retired Jose Garrigo, formerly of the Englewood Public School System, for being the best educator of contextual history that I’ve ever learned from in my lifetime. For clarity, I was not his student. I was a one-to-one in his class one year.
I think I’ve said enough. I could go off on some other “You wanna know what scuffs my Nikes?” type of rant, but not tonight (Bernie Mac voice). Go ‘head on and marinate on that. I’m out through the back door, just out of the vision of the haters, tattletales, y la policia. Puercos coolitos.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
#MNR: JOURNEY OF A VIRGO
“‘Cause baby I am – the opening act – the headliner…at the after party.”
I lost my father, y’all. Tyrone Thompson Sr. passed away on 5.2.2023. He was 65. We went through what we went through. He wasn’t always the best human. But those who loved him loved him. Our relationship was ok, although I hadn’t spoken to him for the last decade or so of his life. It is what it is. Irrespective of all the drama, he was my father. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. I loved my dad. Our relationship was complicated. Sometimes life is like that. Sometimes the hard road is the only one life has left us to travel. I’ll see you on the other side, pops.
I am no longer in a relationship. There’s no vitriol or ill will. She’s an amazing lady. We’re always going to be good because love is indelible. I’ll keep it private from there.
After 17 or so years (there was that time I left after I almost Letrell Spreewell’d a middle school kid and the year after they outsourced us), I left the Englewood Public School District. Look…if the price is right, I’ll come on down (you young niggas wouldn’t understand that pop culture reference, but your grandparents do). I now work for an autism center in Chelsea. That’s the area just below Madison Square Garden for the unlearned. I don’t want to make it a numbers thing, but I make more than twice what I made working on the Jersey side – FACTS (Harlem Legend voice)! I stopped being sentimental after I lost Shareon so there wasn’t a tear shed when I George Jefferson walked out of DMAE for the last time. I love damn near all the kids and plenty of the good folk I’ve worked with throughout the district over the years. But when it’s my time to go…I’m gone. And I’m gone.
In contrast, I boohooed (kind of) the last day of my ABA therapist work with my young fella FG (I refuse to call him a client). I love my guy and his family; they are amazing humans. I felt like I was at home from day one and it never changed over the course of the two years I was blessed to have worked with the family. They showed more love than you can imagine. They’re a part of my extended family for life. And I’ll definitely be in attendance for my guy’s 20th earth day party next month. I already have his gift picked out. It was hard walking out of that house for the last time, but I had to did what I had to did.
RIP to my folk Roderick (Boo) and my girl Meek (Tamica). I lost two dear friends from my alma mater within the last couple of months. Two great humans. I can’t even properly express the pain I share with so many of my classmates. You two will forever be in my thoughts. I’ll see y’all on the other side. 1865 Virginia Union Panther Pride. Forever plus one day.
I’m a keep it tall with y’all because I always do. My brain has been all over the place the last four months or so. I’ve experienced so many changes. I’ve incurred so much loss. It’s weird. I don’t want to come across as some apathetic, emotionless human who is impervious to all calamities. That wouldn’t be a genuine reflection of what I feel. At the same time, I don’t want to be a bleeding heart who listens to “Shed So Many Tears” on repeat for like 1.5 hours every day, either. That too wouldn’t be genuine. The truth is, on any given day, I’m either of the two. Some days it’s, “put the la in the air, sometimes I just don’t care.” Some days it’s, “Lord, I suffered through the years, and shed so many tears.” But candidly, most days are somewhere in the geometric center of the two. Some of that time is spent trying to find my way, emotionally. I try to avoid slipping into apathy. In contrast, sometimes anxiety kicks in out of nowhere. It’s usually overwhelming at the moment because it’s so hard to interpret. It’s impossible to predict. I wear sunglasses to keep MF from knowing that I’m as high as a NJ monthly bus pass AND in case an anxiety attack barrels into my haystack of emotions. I can’t let ‘em see me drop a tear. Ironically, transit has been the scene of an attack. I was blessed to have my Ray-Bans and a COVID mask on. I’m pretty sure I had my hood on too. I also had a dear friend who helped me through from the other end of the phone. Ju know who you are. Ju are appreciated. I’ve been pretty solid since then. Jon-Jon checks in on me. Brandi texts me words of encouragement. I’m thankful to have a support system. I’m thankful that the Lord is yet merciful. I suppose that if I were some other male my pride would prevent me from keeping it one circle circle. But fuck that. I’m too old to fake, too old to front. Some days are better than others. But every day is a blessing.
There are also those days when I want to kill the entire world. But that’s neither here nor there.
tRump is cooked food. He’s cooked in Florida. He’s cooked in Fulton County. He’s 32 Truth Social posts away from being indicted for his role in J6…If I were on the jury of that white boy who choked out that crazy MF on the train, I’d vote not guilty. I’m amongst those crazy MF every fucking day. You’re exiting earth stage left directly to the upper room before me, fucker. Not guilty…The House GOP has lost its racist, ever-loving mind. What a shitshow…Mark Zuckerberg versus Elon Musk? Fuck boffum. I’d pay to see the fight if the ring announcer stabs both before the fight begins, followed by Wile E Coyote actually having a successful Acme anvil drop, smooth on both those pieces of pig feces. The impact of the anvil would send shit (yes, actual shit) flying into the entire crowd. The crowd would start vomiting on each other like in Stand By Me (peace to Lard Ass)…My support is with the writers and actors. Get what you deserve, writers. Make these Scrooge McDuck ass producers come up off that paper. Wait a minute. Scrooge actually turned out to be a cool dude. But anyway, remember what Chuck D. said: you gotta party for your right to fight. Stand on what you stand on. I respect the actors for standing tall with them…Finally, yes, FINALLY, Errol Spence and Terence “Bud” Crawford are going toe to toe to see who’s the best pound-for-pound boxer in the sport. My prediction will be on the blog the week of the fight…The Yankees are a big bag of mid, all shake, with a bud or two buried in the middle…I saw a kid this morning stepping in the green camo foamposites. They were extra wavy. They are my penultimate bucket list/holy grail shoe. The UNC 11 is the ultimate (I heard they’re coming back either Holiday ’23 or ’24 – I could be lying)....Have your rollie and elixir on deck every Monday night, you heard? That’s right bitches – I’m back.
This blog wouldn’t have come to be if it weren’t for one individual in particular. Big ups to the homie Alex (@alexjuli6n), who hit me on the Twitter over the weekend. I’m paraphrasing the exchange, but the good brother basically let me know he’s DMAE class of 2015 and that he’s been reading my blogs for years. Yes, years. He was checking in to make sure everything was good with me and when the next blog was going to be on deck. He said #MNR had become a part of his routine. Alex, that meant a lot. The truth is this: I’ve attempted to write this blog at least five times since I left Dwight Morrow. I swear. But for a few reasons, the words just didn’t flow the way I wanted them to flow. I felt like Mos that time when he said, “it didn’t mean enough.” So, in turn, I trashed each attempt. But as soon as Alex reached my Twitter, in an instant, everything came together…like the zipper on a butter soft leather. Those words of encouragement were everything. Salute to my guy Alex. Thank you for being the catalyst that inspired me to find my way.
We’re back, got damnit. You heard? New blog next Monday. And the Monday after that. And the one after that. Pencil me in for your Monday night reading pleasure – in perpetuity (or until I say fuck it again). Let’s get it. Salute to all my folk. Email me @ email@example.com for any feedback: positive, negative, or indifferent. I love it all.
tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG
crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG