As a child, I thought Black boys grew up and went to college and became brothers in the Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Incorporated. I grew up watching my father, my Uncle that’s actually my father’s brother and other Uncles that became my father’s brothers through this fraternity reminisce about old times, discuss present times and teach us about becoming men. I was so proud of my father and uncles; so proud I used to wear a “My Dad is an Omega Man” t-shirt as often as I could.
I went to college but did not pledge Omega Psi Phi. I didn’t pledge at all actually. I missed out on having those relationships I saw my father and uncle nurture. But I did learn one thing from their experience with their fraternity that I find more value in my life now more than ever.
The motto of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc. is “Friendship is essential to the soul”. The older I get, the smaller the number of “friends” I have. It took a while to recognize the true difference between a friend and an associate and life experiences teaches you these things in the strangest way. Anyone can drink a beer with you. Anyone can smile and rejoice with you during good times. Anyone can sit down and eat dinner with you. But what happens to those people in crucial moments in your life when you need them most?
Here’s a test: List those that would be present at your wedding. Now from that list, who’d come to your funeral? Now from that list, who would you trust to raise your children in your absence? Those remaining are your true friends. Those are the people who know you best and will make sure your children grow up with the necessary tools you would’ve given them had you not have passed. Your associates aren’t bad people. They just aren’t friends. An association with people is as important to your well-being as having a Pepsi in the desert. Sure that ice cold Pepsi will be refreshing to have temporarily but how beneficial will it be in the long-run in that desert?
Friendships are essential to the soul…
I love tacos!
I could’ve just left this post after that exclamation point because I believe everyone who reads this would I agree that tacos are a gift from Latin Jesus. The deliciousness that is referred to as a taco makes me salivate at the thought of them. Even the preparation of them makes me smile; who wouldn’t enjoy the smell of marinated steak, chicken or shrimp soaked in garlic cloves, paprika, cumin, lime juice and cilantro cooking? Things that go with tacos are fun too. Cadillac margaritas, simple margaritas, margaritas with salt, without salt, beer. Mmm, beer.
Tacos are so damned delicious, you can supplement proper ingredients with lesser ones and still enjoy the savory thing-a-ma-jiggy that’s taco-esque. I’ve used Fritos Scoops with ground beef, lettuce, cheese, and canned salsa and called it tacos before and loved it. Please forgive me Taco Gods.
I love other foods like steak too and am a seafood fiend but nothing compares to a taco. When you come home and rave about the NY Strip you had for dinner, people ask, “What did you have with it?” most times. Not with tacos. When you say you ate tacos, that’s good enough.
A taco isn’t a sandwich. A taco is not a meal. It stands alone as a taco. Latin Jesus should’ve trademarked the taco and publicly traded stock in the likeness of it. The Church of Ladder Day Taco Lovers across the world would’ve been very grateful for that. We would’ve been paying NY Yankee salaries in tacos. Nonetheless, thank you Spanish speaking Jesus. Thank you for inventing this.
Man, I love tacos.
I’ve traveled approximately 9,376 miles this year in the beautiful US of A. Here are a few snapshots of my ongoing voyages.
It’s been a year and some change since my last confession…I mean, blog entry. You know this tune: “A lot has changed”, “I’ve grown up a little”, “I’ve met the love of my life”, and so on and so forth. So I’ll skip past all the back-patting and thumb away on my touchscreen keyboard.
I am not as smart as I thought I was.
Seriously, I’m not. I woke up today after a few hours rest and asked myself: “Self, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Self responded with some mumbo jumbo, politically correct answer because Self didn’t want to bruise his own ego. But I ignored Self and listened to Her.
I haven’t known Her for too long but it feels like I have. I hurt Her with little white lies that I thought were collateral for time I needed to correct insecurities about my Self (see what I did there?) without evaluating the ramifications of them inevitably coming back to haunt me. And man did they come back to haunt me tremendously.
Trust is earned through honest words and sincere, pure, non-confrontational actions that support those words. I failed miserably at doing this recently and in lies (ahem…) this confessional (I mean, blog entry).
A little white lie will most definitely lead to others. Sooner than you know, you’ve planted a field of white lies so thick it’s covered all of what’s true about yourself. And when those white lies blossom and die like all living things, your true Self is covered with wilted petals that give life to weeds. No one wants to plant roses in a garden full of weeds.
I tried to get away with that and the roots to the roses I was planting became suffocated. An “I’m sorry” isn’t going to repair the damages done to my garden. It’s time to put the gloves on, get down on my hands and knees and get dirty. Problem is, I’m not well versed in gardening.
I thought I knew a little bit about everything but I’m not as smart as I thought I was.