#MNR: SKYWALKER

​#MNR: SKYWALKER
 
“Please forgive me (please forgive me). Lord, forgive me (Lord, forgive me). For all my sins (my sins). But a man gotta do what a man gotta do.”
Swizz Beatz
 
Karma is undefeated. And, just like the works of the Lord, she too is timeless. She exists in a realm where time does not. We humans get caught up on the premise of time and how long or short the duration between an act of fuckery and retribution/atonement should be. That’s because we want “justice” to be swift, sudden, and costly. But good old karma – she’s a different type of bitch. Baby girl don’t mind dragging her feet – in your eyes. She’s not on your schedule. Mine, either. She may not come when you want her to, but she’s going to show up, word to God. And when she shows up, that hoe shows out.
 
A couple of years ago, I was introduced to perhaps the wildest song I’d ever heard, and that’s saying a lot, considering I’ve listened to Russell Ason Unique Jones (LONG LIVE ODB!), Marshall Mathers (Em will always be my favorite white boy; he earned my respect) along with D12, and Brotha Lynch Hung, easily the wildest Negro I’ve ever heard on a record. Ask Robert Glaspy if you don’t believe me. He put me on to that nigga. I really thought I’d heard it all, until I heard “Who I Smoke,” an “interpolation” of Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles,” by Spinabenz, Whoppa Wit Da Choppa, Yungeen Ace, and FastMoney Goon. These esteemed young men, all hailing from Jacksonville, FL, rapped bars about...who the fuck they smoked, over perhaps the most sentimental song of my adult life. Shit, I own the song (I DO NOT stream; I pay for my music). For further intrigue, the video was shot on a golf course, with all participants dressed for 18 holes (no Diddy) of play.
 
I want to say that I was incredulous. I want to say that I was almost subdued by disbelief. But in reality, I was partially intrigued and completely certain that these young niggas were wilder than the insane asylum on Riker’s Island. Fuck that, Arkham (IYKYK). So, in typical Tyrone Monday fashion, I did a deep dive. It immediately took me to a YouTube video about the Jacksonville drill scene and its deadly effects. The video, titled “Jacksonville Deadly Gang War,” has amassed 8.4M views in three years. Its creator, Trap Lore Ross (a blue blood), has become one of the preeminent oracles of the morbid reality of trap music. Almost two hours in duration, Ross documents the sordid history of several Jacksonville drill rappers, detailing their real-life beefs, which they conveyed to the world through music. I’ll be blunt; almost all the young men referenced in the video had been killed – by one another. Most were barely adults. But the focus of the documentary seemed to revolve around two young men: the aforementioned Yungeen Ace and another rapper named Julio Foolio. Ace was shot eight times in a 2018 mass shooting that killed all three of the men he was with, including his brother. He was involved in another shooting less than a year later, again surviving the shooting but losing another close friend. And who was there to troll him both times? None other than Foolio. I mean come on. You can’t expect anything less from a nigga named Foolio. Foolio was extra disrespectful though. He shot videos at gravesites. He made devastated mothers cry even more. But that bitch karma...
 
Yesterday, I turned my television on to find out that Foolio was shot and killed early Sunday morning in Tampa after celebrating his 26th birthday. He had hosted a pool party at an AirBnB but got kicked out. He and his folk left the BnB and checked into rooms at the Holiday Inn. Foolio and three others were in the car in the parking lot around 3:30 am when they were ambushed. He didn’t stand a chance.
 
In typical drill fashion, Ace released “Do It,” a Foolio diss track, hours after his death was confirmed. I just listened to it. That shit hard den a MF.
 
Lord, have mercy.
 
I don’t merely work with autistic learners; it’s my calling. I’ve been blessed to work with children since I was a child, literally. I entered the workforce part-time at age 13, working the chain gang for youth football, under the tutelage of my mentor Brad Ballou (I miss you Big Fella). I’ve been in education for two decades, 18+ in the public school system and 1.25 years in the private sector. I’ve worked AND run summer camps. I’ve worked AND run SACC programs. I’ve had kids call me everything other than a child of God. I’ve wiped tears and asses. There have been times when I’ve questioned my efficacy as an educator. There have been times when I wanted to walk away from education and never look back. One thing has always remained steadfast – my love for ALL my babies. There was my kinship with the AP kids on their way to universities much bigger than my alma mater. They were drawn to my charisma and respect my acumen for journalism, politics, and popular culture. As a paraprofessional, I never sat in a class with them. But I was an AP student in high school. I could relate to what they were going through, especially the pressure. Their eyes would pop out of their heads when I asked them how crazy it was to learn that Advanced Placement exams have five (5) multiple choice answers: A, B, C, D, and E. These encounters happened in lunch cafeterias and gym bleachers, but bonds were forged, nevertheless. There were my future felons. I developed bonds with those young men during my time in middle school. It was clearly apparent that they’d chosen to endeavor upon that path. I told my middle school hard rocks in training that I believed that they had the ability to be anything they wanted to be if they were willing to work for it, and I meant it. However, since you’re stuck on going down that road, there are a few things that you need to know. I’ve got a young man doing life. I’ve got a young man who was slain in prison (LONG LIVE JOSH), I’ve got young men currently incarcerated in New Jersey AND New York state corrections. I’ve got young men who’ve done their time and are productive citizens. And then I have my most precious learners, my autistic learners...
 
I spent my last two years in public school as a one-to-one for an amazing young man named William. He was a transplanted New Yorker whose mother moved to Bergen County in hope of finding a school in which her boy wouldn’t be bullied for his constant scripting (when a child repeats things they see/hear, usually their favorite cartoon or YouTuber) and his high-pitched voice. They placed him with Mr. T. (I hate referring to myself in the third person). William was a blessing to my life in so many ways. The kid was brilliant, in his own way. His parents worked for the airlines, so he had a fascination with airports. He knew the three-letter abbreviation of EVERY airport in the world (well, damn near). He could recite old Nickelodeon, Nicktoons, etc. commercials flawlessly. He inadvertently reminded me that Nickelodeon and its sister channels went black for three hours every Worldwide Day of Play prior to the pandemic. It reminded me of the respect I had for Nickelodeon and the fact that they were willing to sacrifice three hours of getting paid to encourage kids to go out and be active. He scripted the commercial flawlessly. He is an amazing human being. I’m blessed to have had him as my 13th and final one-to-one in public schools.
 
During the same period, I worked part-time as an ABA behaviorist in Bergen County. After a disastrous first assignment, I was blessed to work the same case for the next two years with one of my favorite people on this planet, a now 20-year-old young man named Felipe. My first [of four] BCBA (Board Certified Behavior Analyst – the big dog) told me when I began my journey with Felipe to not expect much (the nerve of her). Boy was she wrong. My guy achieved so much in our time together. He made so many strides. He also made me a better human being. He allowed me to share his world for three hours a day, a serene world oblivious to the evil of this world that you and I are forced to endure (Hawk spoke to my soul at Will’s commencement). I could go on and on about how brilliant Felipe is. It still wouldn’t be enough. I love that guy. And I miss him. I’ll be through the crib for his 21st. He’s a part of my family, and I am a part of his.
 
Pardon my rambling, but if you haven’t picked up what I’m putting down, I’m letting you know I love these kids. All of them. Unconditionally. They are all unique. They are all worthy of being loved. We have no idea what they go through when they’re not in our care, but we know exactly what they’re going through when they’re with us. We have an obligation to teach AND nurture. Anything less is unacceptable. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what position you hold. What’s done in the dark will eventually come to the light. Trust. Lest we forget...karma is undefeated.
 
I love you Lynn. Thank you for being you.
 
I’ve been typing forever. This was all one contiguous thought, opening paragraph aside. I’m tide. (Slick Rick voice) Goodnight!