#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 @ firstname.lastname@example.org for any feedback: positive, negative, or indifferent. I love it all.
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