Our Brightest Stars
I've always been fascinated and intrigued by stars. No, not Ariana Grande or Ben Affleck, rather those celestial beings from so far away. In fact, that's where my intrigue begins. I've often asked myself how could something so far away shine so bright? The sun, the brightest star we see, is over four light years away. Amazing? Indeed. But I've learned that I don't have to look to the sky to see the brightest of stars. I see them every day.
Being coordinator of Bergen Family Center School Aged Child Care program for the past couple years as well as unit leader the prior
six years has given me the the privilege of seeing these stars begin their journeys. In fact, I'm blessed to say that my first after school class has joined me at DMAE, as they are now high school sophomores. The key difference between then and now are two fold. First, back then, things were more spacious, as we operated out of John Grieco Elementary, the district's prized jewel of facilities. The ginormous cafeteria made mass meetings convenient. There was a gymnasium and large playground for recreational activities. And of course, there were many classrooms which could facilitate diverse activities. We also prospered from New Jersey After Three funding, a great asset to any after school program. Sadly, we are no longer blessed with special funding or diversity of facilities.
We're thankful for Mackay Park but we are years removed from the In-house gymnasium or playgrounds. We appreciate 44 Armory St. but we don't have the luxury of science labs, music rooms or extra space.
We are blessed with great volunteers and special donors, yet there is considerable room for more. We are encouraged by movements like Lights on After School, as today the community can see what we see on a daily basis: our children shining as bright as the stars they are and will continue to be. Future Attorney Generals, ambassadors, scientists and entrepreneurs are developing right before us. I implore the community to pour into its greatest asset, its children.
We are part of a school district where almost 70% of its students are eligible for free lunch, certainly implying economic hardship. We are also a school district that academically ranks at the depths of the county. More so now than ever, education and enrichment are extremely vital to this community. The children of this program are not among those who compiled the dubious statistics. But they will certainly be an integral part of much needed improvement in the future. We urge philanthropists to continue to donate, whether time, resources, or even monetarily. We ask accomplished grant writers join our effort. We implore politicians to use their voices to help our cause. Any and all help is appreciated.
I'd like to take the time to thank BFC as a facility and as a family. I'm thankful for my staff who individually and collectively pour their heart and soul into our program on a daily basis. We will continue to serve this community as best we can. Thank you.
Sorry nigga, I'm tryna come home.
Let's define snitch. Well, first let's begin with what a snitch isn't. A snitch isn't someone who's 1) a civilian (a regular citizen) and 2) isn't involved in street activity whatsoever. Calling the police because you have Amber Alert information isn't snitching; it's vital information. Nor is a grandmother calling the man because niggas stay shooting up the block where her grandchildren play. Her babies deserve to play outside in the fresh air. That's concerned citizens angry about criminal activity outside their windows and in their buildings. If you hustle, get your money in the cut or stairwells, not where the babies play. But fake fuck ass niggas have distorted the game to the point where all types ignorance is allowed and even commended. Fuck you, you ignorant fuck ass niggas. I'm not afraid to speak up on it. I got street money for years. I stuck to the code. You niggas deserve to be hanged.
Now let's get to what a snitch really is.
I'm outchea every day grinding for mine. There's no rough hustling. I don't have the guns out playing war games in broad daylight. I don't bust stops or have the cheese line leading to my trap. I move in B staircases. I stay in motion, catching hand to hands on foot. I move in anonymity in broad daylight. And I feed the hood. You on the other hand...you're a lazy fuck. You choose to wait on a government check, your baby mama or even your mama for ends. You don't know what it's like to chase paper. You have no ambition. But you see me fall through the spot from time to time, shining like a fresh quarter out the US Mint. I make you sick to your stomach. I have everything you lack, including respect, but most important motivation. You don't have enough nut sack to go out and get yours. You pussy ass nigga. So what do you do? You drop a random call and point me out to the man. You snitch ass nigga.
You and me been down since back when. We came up moving candy together in seventh grade. We graduated to reefa in high school. Fast forward the clock and we're knee deep in yay (cocaine). We made it to a brick between us, 18 raw apiece on the digital scale. We split it down the middle, bottle/bag it up and hit our respective strip/trap. I move mine. I'm waiting on your text or call so we can Voltron with the paper and see Papí pronto. But little do I know that you got hit in midst your flip. The police have you under pressure down at the precinct right TF now. And not some squares in $200 suits. We're talking DEA, jack. They start throwing those football numbers at you. You start thinking about other niggas all up in that sweet pussy your baby mama swears she only gives to you. That pricey lean habit you have gon be a bitch to kick cold turkey. Those fuck boys all in your ear talmbout just give us something. They promise to look out for you. Sorry Nigga, I'm Tryna Come Home. That's a MF snitch where I'm from. Don't get it confused.
SPECIAL PRE ORDER: Our black hoodies with the UnB Pharaoh in athletic gold is in full effect mode. Be the first in the hood with yours. I already have the Wu Tang foams to match with mine. You figure your uniform out accordingly. Until next time y'all, it's your boy @tymonday. I'll see you when I see you. 115.
"To all the weed spots, niggas know I'm known to cop, all the good shit. Smell me nigga, I'm on some hood shit."
If my love series didn't lead you to Mr. or Ms. Right...sorry. Perhaps your shit might just be fucked up. Maybe your box is basic. Perhaps the dick is trash. Or it could be that you're too nice. It could be the bitch you fell in love with ain't shit. Maybe your nigga's an undercover meat glazer. Never forget the main event is you. It's your world. Love yours. The good shit will come.
I feel like telling a story.
Two kids come up from the young'n era, first meeting at age 9 in a hood summer basketball tournament. They enter as rivals but leave as friends. Not besties, not inseparable, but bonafide friends. You've met my moms I've been to your projects type friends. They ended up at different middle schools, but still competed against each other on the court. Every now and then both boys would get up to cop sneakers and watch girls together. Eventually, time passes and the two young men grow apart. They both attend the same high school, but nowadays one could care less about ball whom the other stuck with it, eager for the season to begin. As fate would have it, both men crossed paths the first Friday, breakfast to be exact. The baller was coming out the caf line with his French toast when he spotted his old pal, who was making his way from the seat to the top of the table where he was situated. Everyone, including the baller, stopped whatever they were doing and paid full attention. What they witnessed would set the tone for years to come. The homie, at the top of his lungs said, "Straight up, this a Wild 100s thing. If you ain't down with the Wild 100s...fuck you." He stepped down, and that was that. From then on, the Wild 100s boys was the squad to be. They kept to themselves, strictly. They were the largest, deepest clique in the entire school. 60 plus deep, and everyone stuck together. Half of them were money getters and there wasn't a pussy on the team. Of course, they instantly became fan favorites among the young ladies. They even had a rally cry. Their beloved and best known homie Tay Tay was killed the prior summer in a drive by, shooter never identified. Tay was the heart and soul of the Wild 100s boys, back when they were equally feisty, but only a third deep. They drew from his spirit. And from then on, it was a Wild 100s thing. And, for the record, the two young'ns who knew each other since age nine? They never spoke again in life. Things change.
#AtlantaFX is the shit. Childish Troy Glover is that nigga.
PS: #34BOS. We love you Big Fella. It's been one helluva ride. Respect, infinite.
SPECIAL PREORDER NOW!!! The Crew Love Pharaoh hoodie is now available for preorder. The hoodie is black, donning the iconic Pharaoh UnB in athletic gold. They're sure to go in a blink. Let your fingers do the walking.
And for the record: this is a Crew UnB thing. If you're not down with us then fuck you. 115.
"I love you so; I can't let go. You know it's real; the way I feel. I wanna stay. I tried to wait...on you my dear. My love's sincere."
I couldn't find a better way to conclude my love series than with the hook from my favorite song off my favorite Mary album, "I Love You" off her magnum opus My Life. Yes, this is my last in the series; not because I've struck gold with love nor because I'm disenchanted. We'll get to the reason in a few. And it's not to say that there won't be more love blogs in the future. But I feel it's time for that point eight in the 'rillo Monday, that du-rag with the cape open Monday (shouts to Mook), that East Harlem Jeff Houses raw dog, no condom Ty Monday. Look for a double up later this week. But for now...
Somewhere on my odyssey for love I was blessed with supreme insight. I was wrong for proclaiming that love doesn't love me. I put the blame on love when it was me to blame. Ultimately, I didn't love myself. I never hated myself. Rather, it would manifest itself in midst good relationships. I had significant others who truly loved me down to my dirty Polo boxers. But for some reason, I'd always find an out. I'd find a way to push her away. I ended up doing it two too many times. I managed to push not one, but two great ladies away. Two wives. Fuck a wifey. Forever plus one day status. Why you may ask? Honestly, I'm not absolutely certain myself. Maybe it comes from abandonment, first my father, then others whose strange love wasn't what it claimed to be. Perhaps it was that bullshit black men are fed about being players. You know, that keep a few in the stable dumb shit. Whatever it was, I missed out on two great ones. But that's my cross to bear. Such is life. But I did learn to love me along the way. I realized my worth, which is infinite. That means that if I remain faithful to my God, he'll bless me. That's more than good enough for me. Many blessings. 115.
P.S. I'm coming for you Gilda.