Marathon Quick Impressions

A few hours into Marathon, and I say this will ALL respect, I REALLY want a Marathon single player campaign.

I waited a week before buying Marathon on the PS5. Not because I feared it would fail. As a fan of Bungie’s games since Halo: Combat Evolved on the Xbox, I enjoy the games and the “Bungie Gameplay” their first person shooters are known for. If this was a traditional shooter, it would be an automatic purchase. However Marathon isn’t like Halo or Destiny, it’s an extraction shooter.

Extraction shooters, the goal being to enter a world, get supplies/complete objectives, and leave before time is up, aren’t my normal jam. Save the Division games and Arc Raiders, I don’t have much experience in the genre.

Taking the week to read about the game and see people’s pros and cons, I made the decision to jump in. It’s also true I needed to have the coin to get the game. Stupid adulting and responsibilities… 🙂

In a time where everything is polarizing & too many scream doom and other fearmongering words I don’t care to write/type, the reports of Marathon being “horrible” is something I don’t share.Having played a micro-second of the pre-launch beta and nothing beforehand, many of the complaints and issues that were shared I haven’t experienced. I’m having a good time. 

Marathon plays as sharp as to be expected. Like with Halo and in Destiny, the gameplay is exceptionally crisp. Engagement with enemies is controlled chaos and at times uncontrolled chaos with other players and the game’s NPCs reacting to your actions. Many times they are forcing you to constantly alter the plans you made. 

When you drop in Tau Ceti IV, you’ll have the choice of seven classes. 

• The Assassin, spy class with the ability to turn invisible and a smoke bomb that gives instant invisibility in the mist.

• The Destroyer, combat specialist with a wrist mounted shield and missiles.

• The Recon class, armed with a tracker drone and can send out a sensor pulse to detect nearby foes.

• The Thief, your loot specialist with grappling hook and drone that can pickpocket others.

• The Triage, a field medic with a med-drone that can heal you & your team. The Triage can also can revive teammates or deliver an EMP on enemies.

• The Vandal, the “combat anarchist” with arm mounted disruptor attack and the power to amplify their abilities.

• The Rook, when you want to join a game solo without worrying about your gear or NPC enemies targeting you.

I find myself playing an Assassin to keep out of sight. My goal is to get to know all the classes and pick my favorites.

I find myself excited to drop in the Tau Ceti IV. Like I said before, the objective in Marathon is to get supplies, complete your contract, and leave. Alive. You may, as I have more than a few times, been extracted barely clinging to life. And that’s cool. As long as you make it back with air in your artificial lungs, that’s a victory.

Of course the downside is that for every success, you will fail. And fail often. And I mean, if you are like me, a lot. The enemy robots (all I’ve encountered so far save the nasty ticks) are intelligent and will come at you with everything that they have. They are sneaky enough to trap you with great tactics and will overpower you if you underestimate them. Should they hear a commotion, they will investigate. I swore a few times that one called for help and the help kicked my can.

Unlike the last two games, this Bungie title focuses a lot on stealth and keeping a cool head. Should you take part in combat, the rush of combat amps up the experience in the game world. Not paying attention to your surroundings or ignoring the audio cues can mean a win or loss. I want to give a huge thanks to the folks involved in the audio production in this game. I broke out my headset to deeply immerse myself in the game. From the lightning strikes and rain drops to the sound of combat in the distance that can quickly move in your direction, much of my enjoyment in the game is through my ears.

Keep your head on a swivel…

The world is also ripe with people who are also looting and completing missions. And there is one thing you must know, there is no safe space. You can play in a group of three or alone. I am a “solo” player. Groups are fine, IF people communicate and work as a team. Battlefield is built around working together and working smart (and more savvy) than your opponents. Call of Duty, a person can use no mic and be a valuable teammate. That was me, “Lone Wolf, Great Wet Work Kofi” was a problem. So far my experience in Marathon, you NEED to be a solid crew to be successful. No exceptions.

The one, maybe it was two times I was successful in a group was when all three of us talked to each other and had each other’s back. Something like sharing ammo can mean the difference between life and death. The other times were pretty rough. Being partnered with someone who ran off to start a firefight like they were in a Halo team deathmatch, people who don’t talk or communicate in the slightest, and another who disappeared when things got rough, I discovered playing with randoms isn’t my thing.

It’s truly dangerous to go alone…

And for me that makes playing Marathon thrilling. Solo is when my internal storyline about my experiences take center stage. I don’t have to worry about a random person not covering my six & I catch a hot one. I’m in control of myself, ultimately responsible for each time I play. And if I want to hop in and play to explore for a bit or loot for a few, I don’t want to worry about ruining someone else’s experience or someone doing the same for me.

Encounters in solo are extremely personal. Stealth is everything, even for the brute shell. Taking out a robot means another breath I can easily take without fear. When it comes to other runners, I have had moments when we tip our hats to each other and let each other go about our business. That’s rare. Most times we solve our problems in the most violent way. I take no joy in another Runner’s demise. At first I mistook them for a robot with my adrenaline on eleven. Lately when I do go after someone, it’s on purpose. At first I felt shame in taking down someone. However, completing my mission means more than someone’s loot or feelings.

What have I become?

Not every time out is a bowl of sunshine. This is a safe space and we are in the trust tree. Tau Ceti IV is a brutal world and life comes at you fast, death faster. When I press the square button, I understand I may not leave a winner. And my average right now shows it. I’ve been bumped off more times than I count. Recently I took out a building full of UESC robots, had a ton of great loot, set a path to the Exfil, only to be taken out because I didn’t look both ways when I exited a door. Another time I was collecting supplies, enjoying the art direction and forgot I was out in the open in an environment with other players who may have long range semi-automatic rifles.

That being said, a loss can still be as fun as a victory. Both are teachable moments if you allow them to be. For example, look both ways before leaving a building.

And finally, playing solo is as close to a single player experience that I’ll get. Like with Destiny while I played it, it’s how I like to explore game worlds like this. IF there was a single player campaign, in the vein of a Halo: CE, Halo Reach, or Halo 3: ODST, I would jump for a chance to play it. After unlocking the first three factions, having a title that would go deeper into their origins and personalities would be amazing.

Yes, any lore books will be bought.

The elephant in the room is Marathon being a live service game. In a time where so many videogames have some element of it, we have to be honest that the failure rate of these types of games is pretty high. Over the last year Concord and Highguard are two of the biggest games that opened and closed shop in record time. I do not feel that Marathon is in a space to fail. It’s also true companies are very concerned about the player count and the expectations of monetization. This will be a factor in the overall success of the game and in its future. Right now I’m enjoying the moment.

In a few I’ll pop back into Tau Ceti IV and take my chances. We’ll see how far and what I get done, maybe complete a contract. Most of all I’ll have fun. And that’s all that matters.

Random Thoughts at Three in the Morning.*

*Now close to 4:30 in the morning….

Takes a short sip of Zero Cola

I know I should have some water, but it’s 3:28AM and I need all the caffeine. Badly. 

“Elf needs caffeine badly.” With that I just aged myself. 

I’m at work, staying up all night so others can rest and have a wonderful weekend experience. It’s my fourth year doing this, not a bad way to spend time at work. After the lights are out and people are asleep or on their phones, no judgment, I spend the night and morning listening to music, maybe watching a movie or TV show, although most times I’m just drawing or writing until it’s time to go home.

Tonight’s drawing has been a bit of a mixed bag. I’m tired, I feel gravity pull at my eye lids, and I’m not satisfied with anything I’ve done. And that’s cool because I’m rarely satisfied with any drawings, like Prince’s Momma if she was a cartoonist. If I was home I’d be sleeping, or maybe just waking up as I do some early mornings. This is not my usual time putting pencil to paper. It’s unreasonable to think I’d be on my MD Bright or Jack Kirby right now. I did manage to play with some colored pencils and draw one of my favorite superheroes, Milestone Media’s Hardware. I’ll take that victory as coloring is not my strong suit and getting out of my comfort zone has been a major goal over the last few years.

Since leaving social media, save Messenger in case someone wants to reach out or LinkedIn for the articles, I have been enjoying my day-to-day life. The first thing I noticed is that the annoyance levels are pretty low. Not seeing a lot of doom and gloom is wonderful for your day. Even when people aren’t posting it directly, the constant bombardment of chaos is a lot. Not to mention how nearly everything is designed to raise your stress level at the same time designed to give you weak dopamine fixes. Once I have a few months under my belt, I’ll circle back on this.

I felt like Bruce Banner on Sakaar. Everything is designed to stress me out. But look, it’s a party over there!!!

Takes another sip.

Another benefit is feeling like I don’t have to consume. Information, “news,” photos, fake social media lifestyles, and the urge to buy things… I’m good just being. I can research the news instead of seeing a square box with BREAKING NEWS telling me what I should feel. There is no celebrity junk clogging my timeline, IDGAF about the majority of those people and I was learning about things without my consent. I miss seeing people’s art work. And it’s also true that I don’t have as much “imposter syndrome” as I once felt. And I’m watching TV and films without a phone in my hand. 

The biggest bonus is I’m writing up a storm. Hand writing, I like the feel of putting pen to paper.   It makes it feel real. Some were just random thoughts that turned to a topic. Another is a pretty lengthy essay (is it an essay or a think piece?) on live service games and the impact it has on the industry. Once I get the numbers I want to use a source, I’ll type it up and put it out for the world. 

This I’m typing. I have zero trust in my handwriting right now. 

This is around the time, four something in the morning, I switch my energy to watching something. That’s the plan, watch something until 6 and then coast until it’s time to go home.

Take it easy.

“THESE ARE HIS ONLY KIDS!”

A few weeks ago the person on my birth certificate as my father died. I never knew him, he never reached out to me, and my attempts to reach out to him were one sided. How did he pass on? I have no idea. While I did connect with my “brothers” and “sisters,” and thought there was some understanding, never did they attempt to my knowledge a meeting between us. While they openly mourned, I stood in the shadow wanting to be respectful to them while dealing with my emotions. My valid emotions.

What I know for sure is that my Mother and he were involved in a relationship. I know when my birth certificate was created, his name was there. I know he’s never made an effort to reach out to me. It would have been easy as we both lived in Baltimore City. The closest I came to him was seeing “my brothers” one day. Ma pointed them out as they walked down a street, possibly where they lived. I suppose seeing him in a commercial for a college he ran, and connecting with “family” on Facebook. At least that part was healthy, until a couple of weeks ago.

Growing up without him was a mixed bag. Ma let me know early he wouldn’t reach out to me. And that was fine until the sixth grade and all the emotions that come with middle school development happened. For some time I felt bad not having a father. While my Mom did her absolute best, there were moments in my childhood where this subject was a horrible wound. And it’s true she carried a weight, that she never said but I recognized it as I got older, that for everything she did for me, there is a piece she wasn’t able to complete. Her struggles internally and raising me alone, Ma’s back was stronger than many “grown ass men” I’ve met.

The week after his passing I kept still. I offered condolences and all. I gave space and silence. Meanwhile I wondered if anyone would ask me how I was doing. Still, I shielded his name, family, and how he is seen in the community. More than that, I was adamant that I would and will always shield my Mother from anything. Even before her passing, I have zero problems adjusting attitudes or bones for any slighting. If pushed I will crack jaws like we crack crabs open in Baltimore.

Then I saw his granddaughter’s post a couple weeks after. The one sentence, all caps, listing all “his only kids.” That was the moment it went atomic. Granted she knew and even insisted that he’d one day talk to me and he “is really nice.” I didn’t believe it nor did I put any weight behind it. I felt tossed away, ignored, dead. Not even dead, I just didn’t exist.

That was the tipping point. That single sentence was the final straw, the final, final, final, final times a few hundred times over. The back of the camel was broken. Decades of frustration, anger, and hurt boiled over like the contents of a saucepan. The bottled emotions of the eight year old who asked his mother about his father exploded across from my phone. And since lashing out in anger is indeed a white man’s luxury, shout out to Giancarlo Esposito, I again bottled it up and sat with that anger.

What I did do was remove myself off social media. After removing all of them from my friend’s list. I took a break because I was overwhelmed and the constant barrage of “breaking news,” negativity, and AI Slop already was a stressor. I resisted the urge to “clap back” and type something slick and highly inappropriate. Like cracking jaws and crabs, I can crack hella slick and cut to past the white meat and into the bone. Each time that energy came up, I thought of my Mom and looked at her pictures. She would want me to be better than that. My Uncle Gary and Grandparents as well, all my direct Ancestors must have laid hands on my shoulders and on my Spirit.

After some time I’m not as angry as I was. I do feel like I have closure. I’m not only done with this last name, this stupid burden and ugly weight on my shoulders, I am also done with him. There was a man who had every chance in his grown ass adult life to be respectful and responsible, and didn’t. While people praise the educator and community whatever he was, I see a small man who was fragile like a baby bird recently hatched. At least the bird would eventually leave the nest and fly. He didn’t.

I hope the Ancestors greet him as warmly as he did me.

Tribute to My Jedi Master.

Hello, my name is Kofi Jamal Simmons. I stand on the shoulders of Katie Heard-Gladney, my Mother. We stand on the shoulders of Howard and Luradell Heard, my Grandparents. I also stand on the shoulders of Gary Heard, my Uncle.

Growing up with Uncle Gary, I had someone who “got me.” He was one of the first adults to reach me where I was versus expecting me to be at a level I wasn’t yet. Our mutual love of science fiction and superheroes was used when he wanted to teach a lesson or talk about anything. When dealing with emotions of not having my father in my life, he took Luke Skywalker’s plight with Darth Vader as a backdrop for our conversations. When I told him I knew Vader was Luke’s father, Uncle Gary called me a “Jive Turkey” (something he called me when joking around). I explained that I “felt it inside,” he turned this in a lesson to trust your “Inner Voice/God”. He was one of the first to apologize to me (I had bumped the kitchen table as he was attempting to record a song off the TV) and explain the “why” of the apology; something I make every effort to do with my son and at work.

Lessons were big with Uncle Gary. There was always a lesson to be learned or thought to be shared in any conversation. He took his time explaining his thoughts, even if sometimes Young Kofi just wanted to play with his toys in peace. I memorized, “If you do good, you get good. If you do bad, you get bad.” He’d give me .50 cents or a dollar, I was happy to see him happy & the coin wasn’t huge for me. It wasn’t an exact science, he warned me. Yet I tried it; learning that sweeping the kitchen floor doesn’t mean I’m getting a comic book at Rite-Aid the next day. He was teaching me about giving out the energy that I want to receive and want to have in the world. This would stick with me throughout my life.

“If you do good, you get good. If you do bad, you get bad.”

As I got older I saw less of him. Uncle Gary moved out west, to get away from the “Baltimore BS” as he’d say. I like to believe he left to find himself and set his roots on his terms. He came back to see his parents off as they returned to The Essence. He still had the same smile, hearty laugh, and plenty of thoughts/lessons. We kept in touch via the phone and through the Internet. Like him, I love my “Me Time” and value being able to reach people on my terms. The learning never stopped. Often he would say or post something that touched me when I needed it, yet he didn’t know ahead of time. 

Since Uncle Gary’s passing I found myself going to Star Wars as a source of comfort. I must have watched each film two or three times, even the ones I’m not too fond of. In one scene Yoda says to a struggling Anakin, “The fear of loss is a path to the dark side. Death is a natural part of lie. Rejoice for those around you who transform into The Force. Mourn them do not. Miss them do not. Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed that is.” At that moment I let go of so much sadness inside of me. He has returned to The Essence, he is with The Universe. I am happy for him as he continues his journey.

I want to thank Aunt Barbara, cousins Kevin, Rose, Yian, and everyone who were in my Uncle’s life. It means the Universe to me to know he was cared for and loved. The Jedi Master is not with us physically. He will ALWAYS be with us. 

“Everything’s on time.

Like dawn when the daybreak shine,

Like stars so bright each single night,

That skim across the sky,

Everything’s on time.”

Granddad. The Master Carpenter.

I wrote this 11 years ago.

As I get older I remember times and places that meant the most to me.  Events that really shaped and changed me (for good or bad) to the person I am and the person I am evolving into today.  One event was the last time I spoke to my Grandfather.

I am a father of a healthy and wonderful eight year old.  Not having a Father growing up, my “father figures” were all based on television and movies.  George Jefferson, James Evans Sr., Archie Bunker, Heathcliff Huxtable, Andy Griffin, Fred “G” Sanford, Darth Vader, and Captain James Kirk were among those I learned “fatherly” lessons from as a child.  For good or bad (Bunker and Jefferson showed me in many ways what I didn’t want to be as a Father, even if it was funny to watch), I learned from these gentlemen and others.

Not to say I didn’t have father figures in my life.  I just didn’t see it at the moment and the two that stand out were my Uncle Gary and my Grandfather, Howard Heard Sr.  The lessons I learned from these two gentlemen would help me years/decades later in nearly part of my life.  The greatest lessons were the things NOT spoken, what they did and how they carried themselves as men in this world.  My Uncle learned to tap into his “Greater Him” and how that lead with his journey to being who is and being at peace with himself.   Before I learned about “Mindfulness” and “Being in the Moment” at work, I learned this from my Uncle.  Taking the metaphors and lessons from Science Fiction (“Do or Do Not, There is No Try”) and making me memorize “If you do good, you get good.  If you do bad, you get bad” are things I carry on to this day.  

My Grandfather always stood tall and was the man of the house.  No, it doesn’t mean my Grandmother was “subservient” to him or didn’t have a voice in the home.  But he worked hard and made sure the family was never in need.  He provided love and sometimes it was tough, but it was fair.  While I was a good boy around him, I wanted zero parts of my Grandfather’s spankings. He told me flat out that if he came home and my toys were in the walkway, they would get stepped on and destroyed.  When it happened, poor Scrap Iron, I couldn’t get upset or anything, I accepted it and moved on.  He spoke to you in an easy going manner, yet was very direct and didn’t play passive aggressive games that some men today do.  At times it came off as very stern and it may have rubbed people the wrong way, however there was no mistaking him and what he meant. 

With as stern as he came across, he was a loving husband, father, and grandfather.  He put the needs of his children and their children first.  Even when they may not have done right or what you'd like them to do, that's when you should help the most.  Back then I knew of the things going on in my family, I am pretty darn smart, and yet I saw my Grandparents help out whenever and however they could.  I remember him “chastising me” over sitting in his chair (but really, DON'T sit in his recliner!) and laughing at me and my “Space Men.”  I was a child that believed in Superheroes and Science Fiction.  I had no real interest in sports or stereotypical “boy stuff.”  I can not recall a time when Grandpa or Grandma EVER made me feel bad about it.  I'd try to watch his favorite types of movies, but I couldn't get into Westerns.  They were “old” and there was no real action.  Decades later I found myself watching a marathon of Westerns (“The Outlaw Josie Wales” was a favorite of mine, however Clint’s political junk mess that up) and wishing I could have seen how awesome they were and sat with my Grandfather watching them more attentively.  Now when I watch I imagine him next to me, cheering on the good fight.

I don't remember the exact moment when I found out my Grandfather was ill.  At this point I was a teenager who was “living it up.”  I was all over town and hanging out, the once fun and amazing spot became the place I'd drop in on every so often.  I still enjoyed their company, but as a teenager I suppose I was “too cool” to spend the night like I did as a kid.  I do recall my Mom telling me he was sick, but not going too far in detail.  The one thing my Mother did was protect me from various things.  Some for good and for bad, Mom's overprotective nature may have been one of the biggest reasons I'm still here.  However in this case I think she didn't want me to become overly distraught. 

When she told me I was very heartbroken.  I didn't know what to say or do.  I didn't know how to address it or what questions to ask.  She told me that he would be returning home from the hospital and I should see him.  I haven't seen him in awhile and didn't know how bad it was, so I made plans to see him on my day off the next day after I took care of a few things.  At that time I only knew of two people who had cancer and died from it, a close friend of my Mom and I saw how that impacted her back then and my then best friend's Grandfather.  I had a lot of questions and got answers to most of them, save the question I didn't want to ask.  “Was Grandpa going to be ok?” 

At that time I was very heavy into music.  It's always been a staple in my teens, but with new found disposable income, I was able to go out and experiment with new genres and artists.  This was the time I was very eclectic with my music and loved to pop in one CD and go from genre to genre; the new flavor was “Alternative” or “Grunge Music.”  Nirvana, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots and the like were in rotation as were Ice Cube, Cypress Hill, Prince, and Public Enemy.  I became a fan of Nirvana from it “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”  To be honest, some of what Kurt Cobain was singing was a mystery to me.  It felt like awesome ramblings, the music drew me in and kept me around.  “In Utero” was an album that I kept in my Discman and jammed too on the daily.

I was out the door pretty early and with a reminder from my Mother to stop down The House.  I can't recall every stop I made, I paid some bills (my pager was always on the hip) and I know I picked up a new shirt (I believe it was my Beavis and Butthead shirt I wore until it was full of holes).  Something led me downtown, maybe Geppi's Comic World was still there, but I know at some point I put in the disc and hopped on the number five bus.  It was still tons of daylight out and I knew later than night I was going to hang around my friends.  Best to do it and have that time to myself right?

As far as bus rides it was pretty uneventful.  Unlike what you read and hear about now as far as fights and such, the most I dealt with on the MTA bus or trains at the time were crowds and people being too loud.  That's the reason I always and I mean ALWAYS carried my Discman.  I was never without it because I can't stand to hear people talk.  To this day my music is always with me.  A healthy mix of seeing Baltimore and daydreaming, the ride to my Grandparent's house was a smooth ride.  I do remember a young lady, about my age at the time, she had a septum piercing.  I thought it was cool because at that point I never saw a woman of color with one.  I wanted to sit next to her and pick her brain and learn more about her, but my shyness kept me in my seat.  I gave her mental high fives when she brushed off looks she received from people.  I admired that bravery to be who you are.  So where you are Miss, I still salute you.

My stop came and I got off the bus.  I've been around Pulaski Street recently, but more just hopping out my Mom's car and straight to my Grandparent's house.  Everything was the same, but different.  I knew some people and a few flagged me down, but there were people I didn't know.  Still kids running around, but now some had designs on doing things I would never had thought of at the time.  I went to the corner store, and a new group of people owned it.  I didn't get the usual greeting, I was a regular in the 80s and early 90s, but I still picked up my juice all the same.  It was all the same, but so different.

Just as I walked up the marble steps, “All Apologies” was ending.  I thought it was a pretty slick how when I rang the bell the song ended.  I took off my headphones and my cousin Tia opened the door.  It was awhile since I saw her and we greeted each other like no time had past with us.  Walking in I spoke and hugged everyone.  There were more people than I expected and it caught me off guard a bit.   I gave my Grandmother time and we talked about how everything was going.  Not seeing it then, she was very guarded on how things were REALLY going on.  Either way it was good to be there and feel the warmth I missed at 905.  Everything was just like it was, even Granddad's seat was empty.  No one was sitting there, as it should be.

I made my way up the steps and turned to the first door on the left.  I lightly knocked on the door and saw my Grandfather lying down.  I was taken back for a second.  This wasn't the mountain of a man that I was used to seeing.  He still carried his presence and aura, however was smaller in size.  His features were a bit shrunken in, but I could see in his eyes.  He was there and happy to see me.  I gave him a hug and sat on the side of the bed.  He asked me how I was and I told him all what was going on in my life.  He listened and laughed a bit with a few things I said.  I asked him what was going on and he told me all he wanted me to know; he was sick, but happy to be home.

Grandpa then started giving me advice on various things.  Money, women, family, and various other things.  Nothing heavy handed, no biases or anything, but general advice on life.  At the time, I didn't see how amazing this moment was.  I was so focused on my Grandfather's moral shell, I didn't truly absorb the Blessing his Spirit was giving me.  It would be years before I could start truly digesting this true SOUL FOOD into my system.   He spoke from the heart and meant every word he said.  I listened and nodded, my eyes never left him even when I wanted to cry.

“Be good and stay away from them bad boys.”

That always stuck out.  The “bad boys” were clearly cats who were doing dirt in the neighborhood and city.  Not that I was into that, but his message was clear.  Don't go near and stay away.  Either to join in or more importantly my personal safety.  He saw me as a young man, just he still gave me the warmth and comfort he did when I was a child.  The respect he gave me while addressing me was huge and made me feel like I was as close to being seen as an adult than I have been in some time.  It may have taken so much energy for him to talk to me, but he did without a complaint or showing signs of pain or distress.

I gave him my final hug and went down the stairs, I didn't have much to say after that.  I made small talk and shared a laugh or two, but that upstairs wore me out.  My Mother came down and after some time we went back home.  I'm not sure if I finally cried in the car or when I went to my room, but the release of energy was pretty big.  I didn't go out that night, I stayed home and read comics and listened to music.  Maybe I should have been around people, but I needed that time to myself and gather my thoughts.

Soon after my Grandfather was gone.  It was warm in the Spring, I didn't feel sad or anything, I was happy he wasn't suffering.  Suffering with illness is what hurts me the most.  The funeral was good, as far as funerals go, not that I judge or even like going to them.  I think I've only been to maybe five or six funerals in my life, that is by design.  My Grandfather's funeral was “good,” not sure what that means.  When I saw a large group of people from the Native American/First Nation side of my Grandfather's family.  I wish I had talked to them more and gotten their contact information.  It would have been amazing to explore that side of my family's history.

Weeks later I was out and about again and I started listening to “In Utero” & “All Apologies” and I felt good.  Not just because I was listening to a great album.  This was the last thing I listened to before talking to my Grandfather.  Since then listening to Nirvana brings out more good memories and cemented them in my musical rotation until the day I stop listening to music.  When I have the Zune on shuffle and Nirvana comes up, I don't skip, it will always get a listen.

Now I'm a father and I'm using all the knowledge and wisdom I've picked up over the years with my son.  As much as I think I know, there is so much I don't know.  I'm smart enough to know that.  When I have a question about Noah, life, things in general, I wish I could talk to him and get advice.  I wish I could sit back and watch a Western, talk about the topics of the day, and work on a carpentry project with him.  Mostly I want to introduce my Grandfather to my son.  To see Noah and “Great Granddad” talk, laugh, play...  That's what I want.  For now I'll take comfort in knowing I'm sharing all the lessons from my “Fathers” and “Teachers.” And I know he would be proud of me.  Thank you.

Snikt.

Snikt.

I cannot remember a time when I didn't have a comic book in my hand.  I was introduced to the medium very early.  Between my mom giving the random Spider-Man, Richie Rich, and Archie comics then the family friend who gave me my early collection, my youth has always had superheroes in it.  They sparked my interest in art as well as helped develop my literary skills.  I still credit comic books, especially The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe, for my reading and comprehension.  But I was really it for the characters.  The grand stories, the more personal tales, and everything in-between.

One of the first books I gravitated to was Marvel’s “The Uncanny X-Men.”  They were “mutants,” people born with special powers and were often outcasts from the rest of humanity.  These heroes were trained, usually starting in their teens, to use their powers and then to protect others.  The X-Men fought other mutants, bigoted humans, and other threats to humanity.  It was the “outcast” element that brought me over to them.  The fact they have awesome powers and used one of the greatest planes ever created (a modified SR-71 Blackbird) didn’t stop others from fear and hatred.  I often felt that despite how nice I could be and how I rather talk about superheroes, Star Wars, and whatever latest action figure was out, it wouldn’t stop people from having issues with me or my feeling like an odd duck.  This kinship started three decades plus friendship.

I didn’t have a clear favorite at first.  The X-Men had a wide spectrum of characters and so many cool powers.  Cyclops could shoot ruby red concussion beams from his eyes, often using geometry to angle his blasts to make them ricochet off various surfaces with the power to level parts of a mountain or gently move a pool ball.  However he couldn’t control his power and if he didn’t have his special goggles on the beams would fire uncontrollably.  Storm was a mutant who could control the weather, at one point losing her powers with a device invented by a lover.  This “weakness” only made her stronger.  Nightcrawler looked the part of a demon as he could teleport with his signature “bamf” and ability to blend into darkness.  Nightcrawler has the heart of a swashbuckler of old and is one of the nicest people who will meet.

Soon I found “my guy,” Wolverine.  The Wolverine.  Logan was a man of mystery.  No one knew how old he was or his origin.  We did know he was a soldier in various wars and did train in the martial arts.  Logan is deeply devoted into the Bushido Code (my first introduction) and modeled himself after the Samurai of old.  Wolverine has a healing factor, his mutant ability, he is able to heal from nearly any injury.  His senses are super humanly strong much like an animal and from his arms three claws are housed.  His bones are covered with adamantium, a fictional metal that is unbreakable.  Wolverine’s foot long claws are also covered with this material as well.  With his healing factor, his unbreakable bones & claws, as well as his fighting skills, Wolverine is one of the most feared combatants in the Marvel Universe. 

But with all of this going for him, Wolverine has a weakness.  Like all good heroes, Logan’s Achilles heel is related to his strength.  Wolverine’s berserker rage.  At times Wolverine will get caught up in his anger and go into a fury that evokes fear in his enemies as well as his allies.  The healing factor has also been a problem for Wolverine.  At times Wolverine's overconfidence allowed himself to get hurt beyond the point his healing factor can help him, pushing himself and his powers to the limits at times hurt Logan in fights  Pushing himself to the limits is what makes Wolverine a formidable warrior.  However he has many times rushed into a situation or underestimated an opponent and found himself in deep waters.

This is why Wolverine and I connected.

“Sensitive.”

“Sensitive” was often used as code for anything other than the definition meaning.  “Sensitive” was used as code for things like “soft,” “weak,” “punk,” lame,” a term used when you didn’t want to out and out call someone “gay.”  I was never an aggressive young person, I’d rather play with my action figures or read than do anything else.  Back in the 1980s, it wasn’t the norm or expected to show any sort of feelings other than what stereotypically ones boys “should” display.

So I was the young guy who was that “sensitive” at times.  Call it a high level of empathy or call it what you want, I figured I was just a child attuned with my Inner Self at an early age.  Add that to the teasing over my name, being quiet, reading comics, the way I talked (the dreaded “talking White”), I often lead with my emotions.  Sometimes that leads with mixed results.  Elementary school was a great time.  It wasn’t until middle school where everything fell apart. 

We are (Work) Family...

“Friends. How many of us have them?” Whodini

When I heard the classic song from Whodini back in 1984, it was the jam to breakdance to and sometimes background music to when I played with my GI Joes and Star Wars figures. Having people we can call a friend is important to all of us. Proper interactions and connections with others are key to maintaining a healthy life. In my life I’ve gained, and “lost” people I call friends. 

Most came from school and people who lived near me. Mutual interests brought me close to people and those connections lead to friendships. Some lasted for moments in time, others lasted for years into decades. Time and distance will pass, the majority of the time the bonds will remain. It may not be “best friends” level or the like, but we keep those bonds in person or via social media & the like. 

While I have connected with people at work, I never was concerned about “making friends” at work. Since my first job at 13 or so, work was a place for employment and to get paid. I learned early that doing my job, being on time and committed to the tasks given, and being pleasant (being a good person, not kissing ass) would lead to me connecting and building bonds with others. It doesn’t mean that I was indifferent or did not build bridges with people, “friendships” wasn’t a factor in getting my employment and paychecks.

“I see us as family.” Management everywhere

Five words I hate to hear at any job. Usually after that sentence comes talk of doing “more with less,” “keeping focus on the big picture,” and various other buzzwords and phrases that mean how we are cogs in the machine.But don’t fret, the machine “loves us.” Having worked at places that had great comradery, my connection to my coworkers came from us building a rapport with each other. That rapport was built on working together, getting to know each other, and it all building organically. Not because someone in an office that never worked on the ground level/frontlines says so or in an attempt to pacify the staff and ease legitimate concerns that they don’t want to deal with. That person does not get to dictate how a group of people see each other. I’ve dealt with this scenario way too many times.

The problem with the “work is family scenario” is that the same people who speak about employees as family at times will also not hold certain people accountable. In many ways, it’s a lot like real families and how the “favorites” get special treatment. Work should not be like that, you come to work to do a job for compensation.  When leaders want to bond with their employees, the worst thing that can happen is giving special privilege and leadway to certain people because of any bias they have for them. I have witnessed and been a part of situations where people were more family than employee and accountability was thrown out of the window.

“Like me or not, I didn’t come here to be liked. I came here to get paid…” New Jack

That is a big reason why I do not go to work with the mindset of “making friends.” Recently I told someone at my job this and it felt like they were puzzled. It wasn’t to be standoffish or to be rude. My intent was to let him know that at the end of the day, I am here to work and get my coin every two weeks. My bills have never been paid based on how good of a friend someone was with me. The grocery store does not provide additional produce for the amount of “people you are cool with” at any given time during your employment. I know I’ll naturally gravitate towards those who are like-minded. And it’s ok if it doesn’t happen.

Instead of worrying if people “like me,” I make it my goal to do what is asked of me the best way I can, learn as I go, hold myself accountable and to a standard that is reasonable and attainable. Being a good coworker/employee makes that happen. “Friends,” not being a friend has nothing to do with my work ethic. This has worked out for me since I was 13, I see no reason to stop now.

“I call my Brother ‘Sun’ because he shines like one…” Method Man

Having said all of this, that doesn’t mean you can’t have people you call friends (or Fam/family) at work. Over the years I’ve built great friendships with people, many of them I am still in touch with today. Some people are “reasons or seasons” as many wise people have said to me. We connected for a certain time and it was genuine & meaningful. Of course as you move you, you also may lose contact or not talk as often. That’s where social media comes into play. 

Ultimately how & who you connect with people at your job depends on your comfort level and where you are in life. I have no problem having “levels” of how I socialize with folks. And I am ok with not being invited for drinks after work, I rarely drink and it’s not my vibe. One thing I do make sure is that the respect I give is equal to the respect given to me & my time/energy. Just know I am not here to be a “buddy.” I can possibly (and it’s NOT a goal)  work towards that, I am however totally dedicated to being a great employee.

6th Grade, A Whole New World and Same ol Stuff…

I want to apologize for the extended wait time. I have started classes with the goal of getting my Bachelor’s at Morgan State University. I am also working on practicing my MIndfulness and easing any anxiety I have with starting classes. As I tend to focus on the future that isn’t here, I know that if I don’t have myself centered, my excitement for school can lead to crippling anxiety and depression. Thankfully, I’ve not only managed to work through various hiccups, my first week has yielded great progress and news. Yay me!

And now, back to the blog…

From what I remember, 1985 was a pretty good year. Hip Hop was coming up as the music of choice. While Star Wars was fading a bit, GI Joes and Transformers were in full effect. Michael Jackson was EVERYWHERE and Prince was my favorite artist. And comic books were inexpensive and you could get one nearly anywhere. Yes, even supermarkets. 

I graduated elementary school in June. It was bittersweet, I was looking forward to moving up to the 6th grade. However I wasn't going with most of my friends to All-Saints middle school. Normally most students moved from Rosa Parks to the All-Saints or they went to the public middle school. My Mom found another Catholic school, St. Charles in Pikesville. Located in Baltimore County, it was a straight shot from my house to school. Maybe my Mom thought a change of scenery would be good. Good intentions…

This would be the first time I’d take the bus this far. The farthest I’ve traveled on the MTA was Reisterstown Road Plaza or closer, my grandparent’s home on Pulaski Street. Thankfully the M2 (I’m old school) would take me directly where I needed to be. Back then, the MTA had “zones.” For each zone there was an additional cost. Zone one was the standard price, I think we’re talking 60 or 75 cents. Then you add ten cents for each additional zone. I thought it felt kinda classist and racist, but I was the young person who didn’t trust a lot of things based on what I read about this country.

My first few days and weeks I couldn’t tell you what it was like. I know I caught the M2 everyday with little issues. A friend from elementary school and the neighborhood Demetrius would sometimes be on the bus. We mostly saw each other in school and the occasional times we’d walk from school to a 7-11 to play videogames or Reisterstown Road Plaza to “pick up” some toys. This would also happen when I was 10 cents short for the “zone two.”

What I do remember is the honeymoon with St. Charles was over quickly. I wasn’t a bad child. I did have imagination, I would get bored easily, and like most folks, I rather read my comics than listen to a long winded lecture. The first major offense was when I pulled out a loose tooth in the middle of class. I was sent to the office, I’m thinking I’ll see the nurse and come back to class. I was told to go into the principal's office instead.

Sitting in a chair that was a bit too big for me, I was told that they were “told about me” and I needed to behave. Something clicked in me. I felt threatened and put in a corner for no reason. It wasn’t like I pulled my tooth out and flung it around the class. I didn’t make any noise or make a scene. What should have happened is the nurse sees me and then I go back to class. At that moment my favorite superhero Wolverine clicked in and I decided to “fight” rather than “flight.”

At Rosa Parks, I had my share of being mischievous. Getting in trouble for “transforming” from the hallway into class, reading comic books (even when my work was done and my reading level was “advanced”), being a Black boy happened often. In the lens of the early 80s and how many young Black boys received punishments for minor things, this wasn’t seen as unusual. Add the “Board of Education,” the paddle we’d get hit with by the principal (or rulers depending on if the Sister did capital punishment), elementary school had its share of “discipline.” Discipline that never worked with me. Just made me mad and when I got mad, I usually made it worse.

I couldn’t imagine THIS would be my introduction to the principal. St. Charles was supposed to be a brand new start. This wouldn’t be the last situation I’d have like this. However it wasn’t all bad. Before everything went to crap, I found one the best places in the world, the Baltimore County Library.

Before 86

Before I go on, I wanted to look at life before ‘86 and the “Four Pillars” who helped make me, well me. Overall, I had a pretty unremarkable and “normal” childhood. Of course everyone has their own idea of what “normal” is and that is fine. For some, what is “normal” is the standard “nuclear family” of two parents, a house, a picket fence. Someone else traveled all over because their family was in the military or living overseas. A few were born into wealth and never had to deal with the day-to-day things many of us had to do and deal with.

I was raised by my Mother in a big house in West Baltimore. From an early age I knew that she had my back, sides, and front. My sister was several years older than me, my first memories of her was graduating high school. I was Blessed to have my grandparents, cousins, some aunts & uncles (by genetics or family friends), and great friends. Never thought I was missing anything or “lacking” when I was little.

Ma was big on keeping me away from the streets. Seeing how it impacted her brothers and sisters and the changing climate, years from the “Crack Era” and the much-failed (on purpose) “War on Drugs,” I was the poster child of a “stoop kid.” It wasn’t in my Spirit to run outside, Ma made sure I was involved with various things. I attended a Catholic school, for all the positives and negatives, that might be one of the best things that happened to me. St. Ambrose Outreach Center was where I attended an after-school program and also my summer camp. That summer camp was where I had my first job, volunteering after I aged out and was too young to get a summer job.

One of the biggest ways I stayed in house was my interest in comic books, action figures, and cartoons. I may not be able to tell you what I had for dinner the first Monday in October of this year. I can tell you exactly when I got my first Transformer. Who my first GI Joe was, the day I got Optimus Prime on my birthday. In elementary school, I would read comics and my vocabulary grew to where they put me in the advanced reading class. Comic books had so many “big words” and my Mom refused to tell me what words meant. “Go get the dictionary” was her battlecry.

Unlike Ma, my father was not in the picture growing up. I knew I HAD a father, someone who helped make me, however I never met the man. It didn’t bother me early on, to be honest, my Mom was more than enough for me. She shouldn’t have been that, but life dealt that hand. We played it as well as we could. 

I spent a lot of time at my Grandparents house, they lived not too far away from me on Pulaski and Edmonson. It was my second home, where I was able to get “the good cereal” as my Mom was NOT a fan of the sugary stuff. My Grandparent’s house was full of good times for me. When not playing with my action figures, hanging out with my cousins, and going to the corner store, I would sit silently and watch whatever was on TV. 

Grandma had the Price is Right and her stories. Gilding Light, As the World Turns, etc were watched every weekday. I can’t remember much of the meals I ate, I do know I never left hungry and I loved the green beans. There was never a problem with me staying over and I made sure to not give my Grandparents a hard time. Grandma was gentle, very nice, and understanding. She would ask about my little “space men” and often remind me in my more self-centered moments to include my cousins in play. I felt protected and Grandma made sure I was comfortable whenever I was visiting; which was often. It wasn't until I was older that Grandma played a buffer between my adolescence and other elements that she or my Mother didn’t want me to be near. And for that, I’m so thankful.

My Grandfather was a giant of a man. Grandpa was the first man I saw as a “father figure” and the ideal of what a man, husband, and father should be. I believe he is where I have my “stern face” from. A man of few words, Grandpa did not tolerate any foolishness. True story, when he came home from work, a master carpenter, he would come home, wash his hands, and sit to watch the news. I knew to not have any toys in the path from the front door to the living room. The one time I did, he crushed my GI Joe without so much as a stutter step. I saw Chuckles’ broken body and knew I failed him. 

Rounding out my “Four Pillars” is my Uncle Gary. Uncle Gary, THE Jedi Master. He would teach lessons on Mindfulness, Reflection, Universal Truth way before these words meant anything to me. Uncle Gary was a master of “reaching you where you are;” he would use all the things I was interested in to speak with me. Not “to me,” he’d speak “with me.” Two very different things. For example, Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back (my favorite movie) was ripe with moments Uncle Gary took and spoke on.

Who's Who and the Marvel Universe Deluxe

The deep dive into being a comic book/sci-fi/toy enthusiast came way before 1986. “Enthusiast” as I’ve given the title of “nerd or geek” back to the world; those words limit and at times demean the user & I shall not have that. I was the child that memorized file cards of GI Joes, could tell you in detail what I read in The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe, and was visibly upset when Roy Fokker was killed in action.

I began getting comic books at local supermarkets and from a friend of the family who’d drop off comic books while driving his delivery routes. You’d think that early on my favorite comic books would just be superheroes. I was a HUGE fan of the Harvey Comics of Richie Rich, Casper, and Wendy fame. They were fun to read and a joy to look at. For my Mom, this kept me in the “child wonder” place she worked hard for. And I’m forever thankful.

As I grew older and with various toy and pop culture pushes, Marvel and DC Comics were my main jam. Spider-Man was a favorite of mine. I related to the “guy next door” Peter Parker and wished I had Spider-Man’s powers and webbing. Another comic I loved was The Uncanny X-Men. A group of “misfit heroes” who want to save the world despite how humanity treated them would play into my perceptions of myself and how I saw myself in the world.

Batman made me a fan with his rogue’s gallery, gadgets, being a “normal guy” (before I discovered being incredibly rich IS a superpower), and having a sidekick. I wanted to be a superhero so bad that I thought being a hero’s sidekick/partner would be great. Then I looked at Robin’s color scheme and figured I’d be a walking decoy. Not keen on that nor Robin’s underwear and elf shoes. Thankfully, they moved beyond that over the decades.

In 1985, Marvel Comics released The Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe Deluxe Edition. I caught on to the previous OHOTMU late, was able to get the first issue of the Deluxe Edition and was floored. I loved learning the “how and why” of the characters and took to learning about all my favorites. This also gave me new heroes and villains to look up and get interested in. I studied the books like I should have studied my schoolwork. Ha! DC Comics had its own series similar to Handbook of the Marvel Universe, “Who’s Who: The Definitive Directory of the DC Universe.” Not as detailed as Marvel's series, I did enjoy learning the origins of lesser known characters and discovering characters I’d later be fans of, such as The New Gods. By the time ‘86 came around, I was a fully invested comic book fan; sealed by these two series.

Music and Me

I was told that our musical tastes really begin in middle school. That is when we discover music outside of what is normally played around us. We seek out the music that connects and moves us. I would catch all the music on the radio and in the neighborhood. My Mom listened to the music she liked, and I was fond of them as well, but it wasn’t hitting me like UTFO or Prince. My tastes ranged from Pop/Top 40 through R&B, classical music (thank cartoons), classic rock, Motown, and “the music that wouldn’t last a few more years,” Hip Hop. 

With my introduction of music videos before 1986 with “Friday Night Videos on NBC and cable TV (Super TV before Comcast), I was exposed to a whole new world and also being able to see what the artists imagined in their music. For Young Kofi, cable and Friday Night Videos changed everything when it came to music. Being able to see the visuals to the music you heard on the radio was amazing. Giving credit where it’s due, Michael Jackson MADE music videos an art form. It feels like there was before MJ and after MJ when it came to videos. You saw how people would begin to take it seriously and beyond just making a static production. Everyone had a good to great video for their music, all the boats raised the water.

1986 is the year I fell in love with Hip Hop. I was a casual fan and was still a “casual fan” up until ‘88-89 with Public Enemy, Big Daddy Kane, NWA, and others. People ask, “Where were you when you first heard Criminal Minded?” For me, it was “When I first heard Peter Piper?” They both came out in 86, but I clearly remember hearing Peter Piper first and how sonically it blew me away. The opening, with Rev Run and DMC rhyming and the beat dropping… Listen, that might as well be me seeing the Ark of the Hip Hop Covenant. Of course the same year that LL Cool J, Salt “N Pepa, Boogie Down Productions, Eric B. and Rakim, DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince, Beastie Boys, Stetsasonic, among others dropping would make anyone become a fan. “Raising Hell” was the first Hip Hop I remember asking to borrow, I didn’t get it, but it was in rotation constantly with friends.

86' Was the Genesis

At 49 years young (and a little bit of change) and on the cusp of a “New Year,” I’ve reached a point where I walk a fine line between youthful nostalgia and stark reality. The childhood I’ve had was pretty great. Despite various growing pains and some issues I’ve had to process and work through, and still working through to be honest, being surrounded by comic books, toys, cartoons, and all sorts of fun things makes for good memories.

When I think of my youth, I believed that 1988 was that year that “everything clicked.” That was the year when everything started to come together, the building blocks, my foundational year. In reality, I’ve discovered that 1986 is truly “The Genesis” of who Kofi Jamal would become. Not to dismiss the years before, they meant something and I can make the case that 1984, when I was 9 and 10 years young, was more important. It’s just that in my mind, 1986 is when the cement dried and I began to build, for better or worse, into who I am today.

I’m going to look back at 1986 through 1988, seeing how those years came to make the Kofi Jamal that was, is now, and hopefully will come to the future. This is the “middle school era” and when I developed into me. As fun and sometimes awkward as it was. At first I will speak on what moves me that day. But I will begin to talk about key moments and situations. Often bouncing back and forth through the years.

Disclaimer, there was a time I didn’t believe I’d make it this far. I couldn’t see a future that far and at times, I didn’t know if I would make it. This is to say there will be moments of reflection that will not be particularly fun and happy. Never lying to myself, I’ll expose my life for what it was. So if you are expecting some “always joyful romp,” it’s ok if you move elsewhere. I will, however, enjoy any company that decides to stick around. And now, let’s begin.

2020 Was a Whole... Part 2: Covid-19 and His Raggedy Ass.

This is the second in my series of posting on the year that was. While my year did start off with issues, I want to assure everything that 2020 was not as a whole a bust or terrible. However the facts are that we it was a most unusual and challenging year. And to not address it, and how we found victories in it, would be a disservice to us.

The Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter of Covid….

As I begin this entry, there have been 92,879,513 confirmed cases of the coronavirus COVID-19 in the world. And 1,989,118 deaths in that time. In the United States of America, 23.1M cases and 385K deaths have been reported. In the state I live in Maryland, 315K cases and 6,404 deaths. Looking at Baltimore City, 34,699 cases and 752 deaths. As of January 14th, 2021.

I gave these numbers to hammer home how serious Covid has been in 2020. This one thing impacted and changed everything in 2020, EVERY SINGLE THING. Doesn't matter who you are, your social status, occupation, name the demographic, we all have felt the impact of this. Lives were changed, uprooted, and altered forever. Even if you hadn’t caught the virus, everyone was touched. I was no different than anyone else.

My earliest memories of Covid was reading about what was happening in China. And like many Americans, my first thought was this is another situation that will come and go. I wish them the best, Positive Energies, and all that good stuff. However more disturbing news came out. I gave it more attention, but at the time my son was my only real focus. Soon we heard of it spreading and when the numbers of deaths started to come out, I felt this was going to be much bigger than what I had thought.

While I focused on my family, I (wrongly, and frankly I gave them too much credit) assumed the Government would be paying this much more attention and prepping for it. WRONG. I would watch the news and see our (the US, I don’t mean to insult any International readers) Government act like bad guys in a bad 80’s horror film. At best the Mayor from Jaws (and Jaws 2, how he stayed the Mayor after the first film… Yikes.) I felt it was important to keep us informed, but not in panic. Listening to friends who are in the medical field, know what they are talking about, and understanding how viruses work, I braced for the inevitable.

We had just picked Noah up from the hospital. Our Lyft driver was a very nice woman and I was struck with how powerful the smell of Lysol was. She apologized for the smell and me, my wife, and son all thanked her for caring about us enough to spray. We laughed and joked the whole time back, talking about Covid in a way to not alarm Noah, but it didn’t matter because he understood everything we said and had some smart insight himself. As we were being dropped off, she apologized again. This time for spraying as soon as we got out, which we laughed at and said, “No please do!” After that moment, Covid because as much a part of our household as the TV, Xbox, and uneven creaky floors.

Like the rest of the US, my job was slow on the uptake in dealing with and handling Covid. I can’t get into specifics or great detail because of HIPAA Laws (and out of respect for people I’ve worked with & for), but I will say that at times it felt like those who were “Essential Employees” were given the shortest in of the stick. A nurse left Sheppard Pratt and shamed them on Facebook before we were allowed to wear masks. The school I worked at shut down, now all the students were on the units 24/7. That posed several sets of problems as far as teaching and general order of things. Staff found themselves at odds with leadership and at times each other. AND Covid flexed in our program.

It’s a simple science: The youth are in a locked door facility. The only access to “outside” is either if they have sign outs back home, when the program goes on outings, and when they come in contact with us. This isn’t to place blame on the staff, many people did their absolute best to be safe and careful at a time many of us had little real information about Covid. However when a unit had cases, I felt that the people in charge would form a plan of action that would be swift and secure. Not the case.

I would go into work and deal with youth who wouldn't conform to the rules of safety, even though it was to protect them. Masks would not be worn, youth would still spit on us, at a time we didn’t have enough PPE to go around. I recall before it came to the unit I worked on, there was a staff call for a physical altercation. We came down to the unit, however we didn’t have any PPE to wear. Because of that, more than a few times we wouldn’t be able to assist our coworkers.

Then with the rise of Covid in the program, there were staff who either refused to follow the CDC guidelines on being safe (social distancing, wearing a mask when in public, etc.) or, when they found they were working on a unit that had Covid cases, would walk out or refuse to work. On one hand I understood the frustrations of my coworkers and friends. We were learning more about Covid daily and there were so many unanswered questions. On the other hand, I felt that being a “team player” only went so far. There were times I was left to deal with situations that needed more than just me. I felt horrible for my coworkers who would get sick and everyone knew it was because of this job. Rarely did I feel that it was a clear cut answer on if someone's actions were good or bad. It was a spectrum of issues, reasons, and causes. I just figured I’d do the best I can before I could do no more.

Outside of work, everything stopped for me. There was no hanging out with friends. I had planned on having one of my best friends come over for every AEW Wrestling PPV. That stopped after one PPV (the invite is still open once everything chills out). I would tell people that they should “forget the summer, forget the fall,” just forget whatever holiday they were looking forward to. Everything would be closed. I was right. One of my FAVORITE things are the Comic Cons I and the crew at Art Way Alliance would attend. It was a way to see friends who lived far away, and also I was able to teach, and make money from my art. With Covid, that was gone. There was no sadness at first. By no means my happiness is more important than anyone’s health. However, at times I’d wish I could look up and see a friend making a sale, or find us laughing at some random bit of pop culture.

At home we developed a tight ship. Shoes were left outside of the apartment. Whenever I came home from work, I would strip off everything to my boxers and shirt, (yes some folks got a show), and place my clothes in a plastic bag. Then when full it would be washed separately. When we bought anything into the house from the outside, it had to be wiped down. EVERYTHING. And soon we’d just empty boxes of things we didn’t need to save time and valuable cleaning supplies. Home was literally the one place I felt “safe.” Given what we all were dealing with, that was the major house rule we had. Home would not be a place of stress. I like to think we succeeded.

When friends and coworkers would talk about doing things in the future, I’d often reply, “You can cancel that.” People expected things to “slow down” or stop by a certain date or time. Summer vacations, the start of school for children and college, Halloween, Thanksgiving… “Cancel it, nothing is happening.” I wasn’t being a pessimist, I was being a realist. When you have a Government totally half-assing this situation, people ignoring the CDC's advice on how to stay safe, many more believing what they see on YouTube, and the lack of items and PPE for companies and citizens to be safe, there was no way this would be over in time for your favorite event. And when you are doing the right things, I found it hella hilarious when you can’t get to do what you want. 

But people be people, and they stay peopling.

Fast forward to 2021: Eventually the stress of Covid at work led to me leaving my position at my job. In a few ways, Covid actually helped me in it’s sick way. It’s far to say that without it, I might still be at my old job and have not moved on to where I am now. We are still treating Covid seriously, when work has a potential outbreak, the clothes will still be removed. Things are wiped down when they are brought home. And I have made a point to not be around anyone unless I have to. This is the hardest thing for me. I’d often get invited to go to concerts or parties, get togethers, and the like. I’d much rather be at home. “I’ll go to the next one. Tonight I’m tired, but later on I will…” Now I can’t, and I miss my friends and Fam. 

We are still dealing with Covid and the numbers have risen since I started this. Late December I received my first Covid vaccine shot. Unlike what some may have been told on YouTube, I have not gained any superpowers, I did not grow wings, and I haven’t gotten sick beside my arm being sore like with the flu shot. I am hopeful that 2021 will be a huge pivot with this pandemic. I do not want “normal” back, as “normal” did not prepare us properly for our current state. I do want for us to be free...to live our lives and be with our loved ones without fear. 

Be safe everyone.

2020 was a whole.... Part One.

I sit here in the break room of my job, my 9 to 5 (today 3 to 11:30) that pays my bills, and instead of enjoying this Subway sub and getting reading for the evening, my mind is on 2020. 2020 AD was to have been the year a lot of things I’ve been working on sprung to life and I’d have the success I’d dreamed of. When people would know me for the talents and skills I have versus “the guy that draws really good that should have a comic book out.” The year I let go of old fears and embraced new change.

Supposed to have been…

Truthfully, I was still stinging from the passing of my Uncle Gary. I swore I was doing a good job in processing and understanding his death, I wasn’t. Secretly, I was scared of this future without him. Granted we didn’t talk on the phone often (a family thing as we all are great at keeping inside our turtle shells) and the majority of our communication was done via Facebook, I always felt good knowing my Uncle could be found and at any moment I could reach out to him. And that was now gone. With came the very stark reality that I’m looking at less time on this planet than more time.

It hurt, I still hurt, saying goodbye. Saying “until next time.” I always said proudly that since my Grandparent’s passing I am mentally ready for all my loved ones to leave. And that, Maury told me, was a big ass lie. I couldn’t finish my statement at my Uncle’s memorial without breaking down. I left Washington feeling baptized, renewed and refreshed, yet there was that part of me that missed that “goodbye.” And no videos, audio, or pictures of his last weeks could replace me sitting there with him.

So I entered 2020 with this bravado that only action heroes could muster up. I had stories written and in the process of being finished. I felt like this would be a great year. And for a short time it was. I believe it was. I honestly can’t remember anything about the start of the year save when my son had his first anxiety attack. I haven’t gone into details about it because I’m a private person and should someone crack slick about it, I may get extremely violent. However, what I say next, I hope that it may help another parent or guardian. As I never thought in a million years it could happen to us, yet it did, and I don’t want it happening to anyone else.

Noah was struggling in school. He often has highs and lows, his testing scores are always through the roof. Yet school was always a challenge at the time. His teachers said unlike last year, he really became isolated and withdrawn. Even from his closest friends, the very few he’d associate with. With his grades plummeting, we had a parent-teacher meeting. Not to punish, but to see how we could help him. I know my 8th grade was rocky, that time was rocky in general, so I felt I had an understanding of what I might be able to do to help my son.

The meeting started and ended extremely rocky, with Noah becoming more and more defensive and angry. After the meeting we all agreed to meet Noah downstairs while we talked to his teachers. When we went to meet him, my son was gone. I became frantic and worried for him. On a hunch I went home and found him trying to open the front door, which is a door we normally don’t use. We talked for a second and I noticed his eyes. Noah’s eyes were dark, completely dark. I didn’t recognize him at all. His body language was different and when I came close to hug him, he smelled different. Not in a stink or funk, he was another child and not the one I know and love.

My wife came in after and attempted to talk to Noah. He wasn’t listening and then told me, “You are always in my way.” I asked what he meant and he repeated it and explained, “You are in my way, I want to get a knife and kill myself.” I told him I wouldn’t let him and I loved him. Suddenly, Noah ran towards the cabinet I was standing in front of. In hindsight, I didn’t realize I was standing in front of what he wanted. And had he thought about it, he could have darted to above the refrigerator and get a knife much quicker and sadly might have gotten his wish.

I grabbed Noah and quickly understood this wasn’t my son and I need to go into “work mode.” At the time I was a Residential Resource Specialist at Sheppard Pratt Mental Health Hospital (or whatever they are calling themselves). At the Mann RTC School (or whatever they are calling themselves), my job was about deesculation and at times restraints. Right now, I attempted to calm the situation down, now it’s about stopping the situation from getting worse. I placed him in a hold, where I had one arm across his body and gripping him with both my arms, a Mandt Restraint. While she called the police, I held him. For 15 or so minutes. It felt like a whole day.

Soon we were in an ambulance and off to John Hopkins Hospital. By the time we got to the Children’s Psychiatric Room, Noah had calmed down and started to sound and look like himself. We sat and answered a variety of questions and I repeatedly thanked The Creator that I had “good insurance” from my job. Late in the night, Noah was admitted, a huge weight was lifted off my chest. I hated leaving my son there, however I knew it was the right thing. As we started our way out of the hospital, I drifted off to thoughts of my Mom. When she made the difficult choice to have me admitted to John Hopkins when I was 14 (or 15). What a Father I was, passing down my depression, anxiety, and anger. And this was only January.

The next few weeks were tough on us all. Noah was away from us and at times he liked the structure of the program, however he didn’t like talking about his feelings and missed being home with us. At work, I would bounce between my thoughts of him and doing my job. Feeling terrible when I didn’t want to visit him because I was tired from work. Days when I’d literally be physically worn down, I had to make a choice of going home and resting or seeing Noah and being exhausting the next day. After getting the help he needed, we decided it was a good time to come home. We rejoiced and were happy in the moment. Noah wanted to go to school, yet had hesitation over it. We assured him things would be fine.

I was at work and had just made a joke with one of my favorite residents (we aren’t supposed to have “favorites,” but yeah I had favorites) when I received a phone call from Catherine. She was frantic, telling me the school called the police on Noah and if we didn’t come down, he would be taken away. My supervisor drove me (I think, my mind was a blur) to his school and I went in expecting the worst. I went to one of his classrooms and it looked like an atomic bomb hit. As I stepped into the door I caught one of the teacher assistants, one who assured me that they would look out for Noah and had experience with youth with high anxiety, talk about Noah as if he was some monster. I would have addressed it properly, but I wouldn’t be able to address it in a manner that would benefit Noah or myself at the time.

I told me the short version, some child messed with Noah and he blew up. When I finally found Noah, he was talking to two police officers. I was then told that the child was messing with Noah all day, finally telling him to “kill himself.” Noah then decided to do that and destroy the room. Again we went to JHU, this time he wasn’t Noah but someone else. Constantly attempting to provoke me, the police officers, other drivers… Again we signed the paperwork and again I thanked The Creator for my insurance. This time I was worn down, I felt defeated in a way I never knew in my life. Again he started the process of inpatient treatment, followed up with outpatient services. I could care less about school, opinions of people who don’t matter, or the world; I just wanted my son back.

Fast forward to 2021: Noah is doing much better. He left the hospital just before Covid swept through the country. Noah has an AMAZING therapist, Mr. Adrian is a Black man he sees he’d like to be like in tone and temperament. He responds well to his sessions; he's growing more confident in himself as the days and months go on. Now in the 9th grade, he’s able to express himself in a way that doesn’t cause conflicts at home or in school. The “Year of Covid” has taken away his freshmen year, however I am glad the events of 2020 didn’t take away my son. Yes he has “teenage moments” and at times the fear of failure gets the better of him, however I wouldn’t trade him for anything. I see the growth within Noah and believe his bump in the road will lead to smooth driving for years to come.

Next: The Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter of Covid….

I begin this year exploring the year that was in 2020. Between the lows and highs, it was a year of growth. In between my blogging of things on my mind, I will examine this year and the ways in impacted me, the ones I care for, and us as a whole.

It's August 22nd, 2020 and I still don't have my flying car or supersuit....

There is no need to say, “What a year,” or “In these uncertain times,” or whatever catchphrase we’ve all heard before. Repeatedly. Ad nauseum. We all know what it is and has been. Anyone with a lick of sense knows how messed up this year as been. And yet we continue to stand and keep moving. That’s the best advice I’ve been able to give to people. You keep pushing. Keep moving. Don’t stumble because of the actions of some morons and don’t let COVID stop your spirit from soaring.

As for me, it’s been a struggle and a half. On a personal and professional front, 2020 has been full of lows with few highs. I’m healthy, my family is healthy, and for that I’m happy. I do have it better than a lot of people and again I’m blessed and thankful. I suppose if this was a film, I’d be at the part of Empire Strikes Back where I just heard Darth Vader tell me I’m not a Jedi yet. Wishing and praying my hand doesn’t get cut off by October… Wait, I should be listening to my own advice from earlier! How silly am I!!

Enough of that talk. It’s the 22nd of August and I have breath in my lungs and I still have the tools and imagination The Creator blessed me with. It’s time to stop sitting around and get moving. I have some drawings to share, some stories, and talk my junk. Instead of giving everything to other sites and such, I need to put all my energy into mine.

It’s August 22nd, 2020. It’s kick some ass.