My two-cents worth and then some. An online journal by LP Brown.

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Will Casey Anthony Have a Happy 4th of July?

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Fireworks in the sky won’t be the hottest thing smoking this weekend. Unless you have been in solitary confinement or living a monastic lifestyle on a secluded mountain for the last three years, then surely you have heard something about the Casey Anthony trial, which I have been writing about on my Potpourri101 blog.

Anthony is the 25 year old woman charged with first degree murder for allegedly murdering her two year old daughter, Caylee, three years ago. 

Closing arguments on the case begin this morning. If convicted Anthony could receive the death penalty. Depending on whether or not you have closely followed the trial, some of you will look at Anthony and see an attractive, innocent, girl next door. Others will see evil and pretty poison. The jury will decide Anthony’s fate. But whether she coldheartedly killed her daughter or accidentally caused her death is ultimately between her and her maker.

When I look at Anthony, I recall a line from Cherie Carter-Scott’s book titled  If Life is a Game, These are the Rules and I wonder if precisely as the verdict is being read will Anthony be thinking about those words, “In the game of life, why am I the only one who doesn’t know how to play?”

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A Reflection on Father’s Day

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Many boomers have reached the age when our parents are older than we ever imagined they would be – just as we are older than we imagined we would be. That bit of introspective humor aside, Father’s Day is one of those serious occasions when children of all ages, who are fortunate enough to know and love their father delight in spending time with him or sending tokens of appreciation; and those who have lost our dads reflect on Father’s Days past.

I reminisce about the happy times that my siblings and I shared with our WWII Vet dad over the years. Whether he was playing chef, as bar-b-que king at our backyard family cook-outs, fixing up a bushel of crabs, or slapping palms with his partner after “going to Boston” while playing Bid Whist, we had good times. 

I delight in remembering the weeks before Father’s Day, when I would search frantically for just the right card or gift. Do I get him another tie or a bathrobe? Shirts or cuff links? My dad liked music, so back in the day I sometimes bought him a couple of 45 rpm records or cassette tapes featuring his favorite, particularly blues, recording artists. (For Generation Xers or your children who may be reading this — No, your eyes did not deceive you. And yes, I said records — as in vinyl — and cassette tapes.) Even when some of dad’s buddies were switching turntables and cassette decks for CD players, dad rejected the idea of  fumbling and frustrating over such contemporary devices.

But Father’s Day isn’t all about giving material things. Sometimes an offspring gives dad something more precious. Joseph Mies gave his father the ultimate gift. 

The inspiration behind Father’s Day is to honor, appreciate and celebrate our dad. And if we had a loving relationship, we cherish the memories and do so for as long as we live. In recognition of every decent, hard-working father who lovingly and dutifully fulfills his obligation to his children, I share with you a favorite quote by writer Clarence Budington Kelland, “He didn’t tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it.”

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My BBB – Biggest Blogging Blunder

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Whenever someone asks me why I write, my frequent lightheartedly reply often draws a tilted head and puzzled look from my questioner. “I write because I cannot paint.” I would love to have the skill to brushstroke a scenic turquoise and orange sunrise above shadowy buildings, zigzagging across a city landscape. But I believe that my God-given talent lies in coloring the imaginary canvas of blank, white pages with black key-stroked words. Writing — creating insightful poetry, thought-provoking essays, and personal stories that inspire, encourage, and entertain.  

Speaking of writing, is there a learning curve for bloggers?  Surely, there must be, because while I am an experienced author I admit that after months of blogging, I am still a novice when it comes to on-line writing. I know how to make my posts impressive with current topics, relevant pictures and properly placed links. Or so I thought until I committed a blunder worse than an atheist signing up for a subscription to Christianity Today. Wouldn’t you think that by now I would have familiarized myself with the tricky spots enough to avoid the BBB?

There are two things that make me feel bad after writing my heart out and publishing my creations on my blog. In reverse order, they are learning that only a few people who I really care about – that would be family and close friends – take time to read my blog. Then, there is the primary and by foremost the worse thing that occurs. After I publish a post that I proofread in draft form no less than 30 times, I discover a major goof. 

It happened with my last post. If you are thinking that typos or misspelled words took the wind out of my sail, you are wrong. I found none. My blunder was much bigger than that. Straight to the point – I failed to properly insert the links. Did I hear someone say, “Oh, no you didn’t?”  Oh yes, I did. I cluttered my metaphorical “painting” with cumbersome URLs; strings of gibberish, in places that should have contained tidy links.

The problem has been corrected, and that’s my true confession. If you are thinking that blunder will cause me to shamefully abandon my blog and enroll in a twelve step program for Embarrassed Writers Anonymous you are so wrong. I don’t cave like that. I am not easily discouraged by a temporary set-back. In fact, if I were a captain, I would likely be one who goes down with her sinking vessel instead of abandoning ship. Now hand me a pail so I can start scooping the fast rising water and fling it overboard.

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Dimwit of the Year Award

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Redskins defensive tackle, Albert Haynesworth, following his alleged comments after a recent indictment on sexual abuse charges, is a prime candidate for the Dimwit of the Year Award. In an incident that occurred in February, Haynesworth, allegedly caressed a waitress’ breast, and then reportedly stated that the waitress was just upset because he had a white girlfriend. To further his own ill repute, he added that the waitress only made the allegation against him because she was “a little Black girl” and furthermore “I don’t even like Black girls.” Oh, how I would love to say “N-word, please!” but I won’t.  Instead, I will ponder how any man – especially one birthed by a Black woman – can make such an asinine statement.  

The issue of interracial relationships is a never-ending subject. On Thursday, it was a hot topic on The View. That discussion concerned a statement made by sultry singer Jill Scott in a recent Essence Magazine Commentary. After learning that a close male friend of hers had married a white woman Scott said “I felt my spirit … wince. My face read happy for you . . . but the sting was there.”  Scott further explained that her inner reaction was not one of racism, but the unforgettable memory of the American history of slavery, when Black women were raped and maligned in numerous ways while the white woman was revered as the ultimate prize.

One of The View’s co-hosts, Whoopie Goldberg, remarked that “I find it extraordinary that in 2011 people still have this issue… that slavery stuff.” Well, Whoopie — WAKE-UP CALL! In spite of how far our nation has come on race relations, we still have miles to go. And as unfortunate as it is, the matter of race and interracial relationships is still an issue. It cannot be erased like chalk on a blackboard and closing our eyes, crossing our fingers, and wishing it away won’t make it go.

The truth hurts, but the worse lies are the lies we tell ourselves. Even a blind person can see the obvious. When men with a Haynesworth mentality date or marry a white woman, even if it means demeaning all Black women with blatant, ignorant statements like those he allegedly made, they feel that they have arrived. And Black women cannot help but feel the sting while wondering if men like him are still putting white women on the metaphorical pedestal, and imagining that they have won the Superbowl. Landed on Forbes List. Bought the Lamborghini.  

The issue is not whether there is really a chance for a heart-to-heart connection among Black men and white women or Black women and white men. Love happens and it can be colorblind. However, Black women are tired of being offended by disparaging remarks and blatant disrespect. Regardless of what may be said privately among family and friends, you rarely hear a prominent Black woman publicly lambast all Black men. Men who direct such contemptuous statements at Black women either don’t care or fail to realize that public condemnation is a bitch, and it is as bastardly an act as dissing an entire race of women including one’s own Black sister, daughter and mother.

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Facebook Friends: Are They Real or Memorex?

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Do you know your Facebook friends? Are they people with whom you are actually acquainted or some folks you met through a mouse click? Some Facebook members claim a thousand or more friends, but if truth be told they don’t actually know all of the on-line friends they’ve acquired. Some of their friends are nothing more than still shot photo strangers. And how often do you hear about a Facebook member who, whenever anyone sends her a request to be added as her friend she accepts, even if she doesn’t know that person?  She should be afraid – veeery afraid.

Facebook or otherwise, are your friends the real deal? I’m not talking about drinking or shopping buddies, casual or co-worker acquaintances, or pleasant next door neighbors. I’m referring to close girl or guy friends, the true blue ace boon coon got your back friend. It doesn’t matter whether your friendship formed early in life as you grew up together, or if you met in adulthood and subsequently bonded. There is no friend like a true friend, a confidant with whom you currently have, or at some point had, face-to-face communication, shared history, and common experiences. “For good times and bad times, I’ll be on your side forever more.” As sang by Dionnne Warwick, that’s what friends are for.

Many of us have real friends, but we also have some surrogate friends – people in our life that we refer to as friends out of courtesy, convenience, or merely to impress others with our perceived popularity. Somewhere in that mix is the ambiguous pool of people who we meet through social networking sites like LinkedIn, Twitter, or Facebook. We may eventually become real friend with our cyber acquaintances, but in the beginning they are just surrogates. True friendship is more than a one-dimensional, on-line hook-up via a social networking site. Speaking of which, do you know that there are several “Real Friends” sites on Facebook? Don’t take my word for it, go to “Search” and key in Real Friends.

As providence dictates, some friends remain in our life indefinitely, while others come and go. Even “best” friends occasionally set-aside their counterpart when dealing with the demands of a career, relationship, marriage, children, or life in general; and like anything else that does not get nurtured, a neglected friendship could wither on the vine. That’s why true friends go to great lengths to sustain their friendships. They make sure that they stay connected by visiting, phone calls, sending notes or emails, and remembering birthdays, anniversaries, holidays and other special occasions.

Real friendship can cross the boundaries of class, economics, and race. Many Baby Boomers certainly know and appreciate the importance of friendship. Growing up during the Civil Rights Era, we experienced integration in schools and other public facilities. That social transition led some of us to be the first in our families to become real friends with someone of a different race.

In Patti LaBelle’s book, Patti’s Pearls, the soul singer describes friends as “the people who would not only ride the bus with me if the limo broke down, but would walk home with me if I was too broke to afford the fare.”  She further wrote, “You don’t need a certain number of friends, just a number of friends you can be certain of.”

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