You Ain't no Pastor

I was sitting in my car a couple of yards from my mother-in-law's house after having downed a big plate of Dominican food and some cake & ice cream we had enjoyed in celebration of my son's 11th birthday. I was full and extremely happy with the way everything turned out. It was a good a time as any to spark up my Sunday afternoon blunt.

With a spark of the lighter I was off to la-la land full of high hopes and pipe dreams. The haze filled the air around me with the sweet tangy scent of the kush I was burning with the sound of some soft reggaeton playing in the background.

A hand crept in through my open window and tried grabbing the blunt from my hands. I look over and there is Jim.

Jim is the director and preacher of one of the many churches in my neighborhood. Jim is the type that insists that everyone call him Pastor.

I switch blunts from my left hand to my right hand as Jim continues trying to reach for it questioning my motives for smoking "drugs" in broad daylight.

"Yo Jim, cut the shit man. Stop trying to reach inside my car, man." I tried to plead.

Jim kept on trying to reach for the blunt now in my right hand resting on the center console of my explorer, "It's pastor Jim to you young sir. you shouldn't- "

"Get yo' fucking hand out of my car!" I was starting to get hella annoyed at the audacity of this skinny little preacher.

I put the blunt out and stepped out of my car. Jim tried going on and on about example's and of why I shouldn't be smoking my blunt in my car in front of my house all the while insisting I call him "Pastor".

"Listen Jim, first off you're probably lucky I know you from around the block cuz anyone else would have knocked you upside your damn head for reaching into their car. Secondly, this is weed. safer than your morning coffee, so back the fuck off. Thirdly, I aint no sheep so there ain't no way you can be my pastor. Why don't you go preach to some of these niggas out here that actually want you to preach to them!" I began to annoyingly express while I poked Jim in the chest with every syllable.

Jim stood there trying to think of what to say next. I got back in my car and re-sparked my blunt, this time with the windows rolled up. Jim stood there for about 5 more minutes and walked away to bother the next guy.

Pastor Jim is on some other shit.

Father's Day: A reflection back on fatherhood

My eyes would just not cooperate with me. I was tired but my mind was racing a million miles a second. I look over and see my wife, whom had finally been able to fall asleep to the music of the beeping machines and the nurses walking in and out of the hospital room, and once again the fear crept up inside my head. 

For nine long months I waited. Having gone through the utmost fear (having to tell my mom and her dad that they would be grandparents) the fear that I had to day was different. Would I be able to be a good dad? Would I be able to fill these big ass shoes? Am I cut out to be a dad? 

You see, even tho I did know my father and he wasn’t exactly absent in my life; he wasn’t exactly there either. With sporadic visits and periods of years where I did not know where to find him he became more of a mystery than a Dad to me. Reflecting upon my own childhood that night and all I can think of were the things…the moment I was lacking in my memory. How could I long for moments that I never experienced? I fell asleep.

A life not yet lived flashed before my eyes. A life full of this person whom I had decided to bring into this world together with this woman. I imagined all the circus’ and all the games. I imagined the lessons, the tears, the hugs, and the smile of a child not yet born. A loud voice penetrated the skies above me and told me with the sounds that only your heart can hear that I would be a great dad.

Then, in that dream, a Lion walked through a field. a lion cub walked along side of it. They played as if hunting, the father letting his cub win at these hunting games as if to make the cub mentally sure of himself. As if uplifting the cubs self esteem. I dawned on me; the same way that no one has to teach a lion how to be a good father, no one had to teach me.

A scream jolted me out of that dream stage and back into reality. Suddenly the room filled with doctors and nurse. My mother in law and I looked at each other not knowing what to do but follow the instructions of the doctor who was there to deliver the baby. A couple of huff and puffs and 7 minutes later I saw the face of my son for the first time. I must’ve have cried for about 5 minutes. Just touching his hands; his little toes. I could not control the tears as I was overwhelmed with a feeling that I had never felt before. I was a father that day. 

“Do you want to hold your son?” said the gentle voice of the nurse who had cleaned off my baby and wrapped him like a burrito. 

I extended my arms and held that little boy. I tucked him in my arms and looked at a reflection of myself. I imagined that this too must have been what my own father saw the first time he looked at me. I couldn’t help but let strong feelings slide into that moment. I could not tell you if those feelings were negative or positive, all I can tell you is that they were strong. 

With these thoughts in my mind and these feeling in my heart I whispered into my son’s ear.

“I promise that with every moment I am alive I will be there for you. To guide you. To teach you. To show you the way. I promise to always be here, son.” a promise I would later on make to my daughter as well.

This father’s day I reflect on that promise and on the past 10 years of my fatherhood. Today I am once again full of wonderful feelings as I sneak in to my children’s bedroom to see them sleep there. So comfortable, so warm and unaware of any hardship.

Today I know what father’s day is all about. 

Where is God?

Where Is God?
Where is God?
**********
A rich man gets into his private plane to fly...
While a Haitian mother feeds her babies mud pies...
A toddler gets raped by a trusted adult...
A prisoner is executed and was never at fault...
***
A child is born at a brothel with AIDS...
A teacher gets fired, the rest underpaid...
A man kills his girlfriend, through the neck with a knife...
A man is poisoned with dinner in his house by his wife...
***
A child is pregnant and has nothing to give...
A fetus isn't given an opportunity to live...
A woman pays her rent for her home in her bed...
A teenager at a party gets shot in the head...
***
A one armed African is forced to pick rocks from a pit...
A government gets rich while the people eat shit...
A Hispanic looks north and yearns the American Dream...
From the north they look south as they arrogantly deem...
***
A man is imprisoned for migrating the Earth...
A child is addicted to heroin at birth...
A country spends billions occupying other nations...
But complain about spending on healthcare reformations.
***
While our country sends men into space and the moon...
A family in the ghetto doesn't eat well at noon...
I wonder if all of this is part of His plan...
The rich man's private plane safely lands.


~Jonmicol~

Boston Makeshift Memorials

First and foremost I am deeply sorry for the loss of our great city. Yesterday we lost yet two more firefighters to a fire. Two men who risked their lives every day so that our city was that much more of a safe place for the residents and our guests. I say thank you to these two heroes and I have their families in my prayers. May they find peace and comfort knowing that what these two men gave their lives for the great city of Boston.

With that said I felt some type of way when I saw the make-shift memorials that went up at the fire stations and close to where the fire was that took these two men's lives. I felt an aweful undescribable feeling seeing as to how hipocritical our city of Boston has become.

For YEARS the city has been trying to get people to take down makeshift memorials set up all through out the city for people who have been killed. Teens and young adults who have been murdered or died in some sort of freak accident have had memorials set up at stop signs and light posts all throughout the poor neighborhoods of our city by people who loved and cared for those who have perished.

The Boston Herald and Fox 25 have had articles in which they scrutinize the use of these makeshift memorials and many people in their comment sections have said very nasty things about the people for whom the memorials are dedicated and also the people who put them up.

Then the Boston Marathong bombing takes place. One of the biggest makeshift memorials since 9-11 was created a couple yards from the finish line and no one said a peep. Not that anyone should have had anything to say about that makeshift memorial as it is one of the biggest parts of Boston culture to commemorate the dead with some sort of memorial at or near the spot of their death. It is part of the fabric of Boston.

So isn't it a little hipocritical of Boston to criticize the memorials when they are for a black or hispanic teen murdered on the streets of Dorchester, Mattapan, or Roxbury and at the same time worshipping the memorials set up for dead firefighters and victims of a bombing?

TWITTER: @Jonmicol 

Little Miss Bossy

So I come across this article online about a new campaign that certain celebrities have against the word "Bossy". Huh?

I read on it seems like certain people from various industries; music, movies, etc have gotten together to try and get the word "Bossy" banned.

I'd love to be the first to call all of these people, whom are mostly women, a bunch of hypocrites. No one has ever picketed Lil Wayne for referring to women as "bitches" in all his music. I haven't seen anyone complain that Eminem has killed his wife a bunch of times on various dope ass albums. Tell a girl she's bossy and all of a sudden hollywood is PMS'ing.

How is calling a little bossy girl "bossy" a bad thing? My daughter is one bossy little girl when it comes to her toys and I love that about her. She show character and strength and it gives me a small sense of security knowing that my daughter isn't going to grow up to take any shit from anyone...hopefully. 

I don't want my daughter nor do I want my wife to be seen as anything other than some bossy ladies who must have their way because at the end of the day when a person is born a woman there is a huge chance that life is gonna be tough for them. When you are born a woman you are born in a world where there is almost certainly going to be someone there trying to tell you what to do constantly. When you are born a woman you have to be bossy in order to get your point across in a room full of men that won't even look your way at a corporate meeting. A woman has to be bossy at a club when a nagging stranger who bought her one damned drink has been lingering all night and is now somewhat pushing it and you have to tell him to back off. 

Don't you dare try to tell these young women that they can't be bossy or make them feel as if being bossy puts them in some sort of negative light because a woman has to be bossy in order to live in the modern era and its demanding society. Be bossy ladies. 

--------------------------------

 On a more serious note you always have to view it in terms of laws. Since when did this become a nation in which words are banned? Words represent ideas. Are we going to begin banning ideas and thus infringing on certain people's 1st amendment? 

Sure, its a silly word and if it were to be banned society wouldnt really change but how about other words? Does it not set a precedent for more words to be banned? Maybe certain words put together forming slogans might be banned. Maybe whole books of words are going to be banned? Where does it stop? Think about it people. 

TWITTER: @Jonmicol

Thank God for Monday

I feel bad for monday. Through no fault of its own its the first day of the work week. And just like every day after it, it has to exist in order for us common folk to earn a living and contribute to society. So why is monday the one that catches all the flack? Friday gets all the glory, but think about it…Friday is just like monday. You’re just more happy because the next day (the real hero of the story) is Saturday. Friday doesn’t do anything special, does it? 

Monday bears all of the brunt from the scorns of the wired-up-on-over-priced-corporate-coffee people and the resentment of those that work below them in the pyramid that is modern life. Monday has to play villain in a Saga in which all it does is arrive first in a line of almost exact days.

Well no more! I apologize Sir Monday and I thank you for existing for one thing that no one ever remembers when they’re at their cubicle trying not to cry is that you, kind sir, are the only weekday that sometimes says “fuck it” and acts like a weekend day to make the pleasure of the great mini vacation that is the weekend last even if just for one more day. Does Wednesday, with its silly spelled name, do that? No! Does Tuesday ever want to give you a break outside of when it falls on Fourth of July? Don’t think so. It is Monday in its chameleon-like skills of acting like an extra weekend day that puts a smile on your face when you happen to glance over it on the calendar. Today, I Thank God for Monday

TWITTER: @Jonmicol

Say No to the Voices

A woman was arrested this week after witness’ say they saw her driving her car into the ocean with her kids in the the car; the children begging the strangers for help. After some type of police action and some media commotion, the woman was subdued and arrested.

At the station the police questioned the woman as to why she took the actions she did and all she could say was that she heard voices that were telling her to do so.

Stories every year on people who commit atrocities because a voice told them to do so are becoming all too commonplace in our news rooms. From the woman who claimed that Satan himself was telling her that she had to drown her babies in a tub to the man who went on a shooting spree at a naval yard in DC claiming that the government was penetrating his skull with sound-waves with voices only he could hear and back to the old guy whom was lost by some elderly facility and is described as being “slightly demented and hearing voices”.

I can accept the fact that some people, for whatever the reason may be, hear voices that no one else can hear. Is it a chemical imbalance in the brain? Is it the government messing with certain people’s head? Or is it a more sinister plot by demonic entities to get into a person’s psyche? I can’t presume or assume to know. What I do know, however, is that I never understood people who follow the orders of voices telling them to kill.

Why not say “No, voice in my head! I will not murder people for you!” 

How weak must your mind be in order to give in to a voice? 

To be fair, I can come to the conclusion that we all hear voices in our head. We all have some sort of conscious mechanism that allows us to think and, in my case, the voice in my head sounds very similar to what my own voice sounds like to me. 

In that case then I, too, hear voices in my head. Sometimes the voice tells me to make sandwiches because; hunger. Sometimes the voice in my head tells me “Chill Jonmicol…no need to be angry at the guy who cut you in line at CVS.” 

Sometimes, however, the voice in my head says “You should punch this motherfucker in the neck for being disrespectful!” at which point I say “NO!” to my own voice in my own head. 

All your life you are taught to say no to things. Say no to drugs. Say no to violence. Say no to strangers with puppies and candies in the back of a van. So why don’t these people know to say ‘no’ to the voices in their heads?

TWITTER: @Jonmicol

Luncheon of the Gods

Walking up and down the aisles of Stop & Shop all I can do is wonder how poor people can even afford to eat. Everything just seems so expensive now a days. How can the heads of big families survive? 

I walk past many items I wish were in the budget. A succulent lobster teases me from the salt water tank. The shrimp in their pink shells gloating at the fact that it will not be me the one who is eating them tonight in a shrimp scampi or a delicious “pincho de camarones”.

Alas, I collect a couple more items from my grocery list and proceed to check-out.

As I stand there at register #17 I notice how some of these people have two carts full of snacks and food and all types of great goodies. 

“These people must be lawyers or engineers.” i think to my self as I reluctantly look at my measly rice and some cans of beans plus my avocado.

I watch as they sluggishly throw the items on the conveyer belt and bicker amongst themselves as to what brand of cereal is the best. 

“That’ll be $378.56.” said the voice of the passive-agressive teen behind the register.

Without giving it a second thought the obese lady, owner of the two full carts of food, pulls out her little blue EBT cards and with a diligent swipe the account was paid in full. 

My eyes almost bulged out of my head. 

As a working dad; a tax payor, I am required to forfeit a big chunk of my salary to the government for their various projects and programs. On top of that I have to pay a full rent and all of my bills…in full…every month. 

I know that many people are going to argue that the stereotype is only perpetuated by a few people and that some people really need the service. Other people might argue that corporate welfare takes away from the tax payor significantly more than the EBT (or any other food assistance) program in America. 

The fact is that I don’t see corporate welfare in real life settings on a daily basis. I do, however, see plenty of people in my daily affairs who not only perpetuate the stereotype of “the fat american on food stamps who doesn’t want to work” but rather they work the system in a way to receive without having ever to put into it. Instead, assholes like me go to work 50 weeks a year to keep this system of feeding the lazy alive and kicking. 

In my opinion, the EBT system, as it is administered right now, is a slap in the face to the everyday american who gets up in the morning to get on their hamster wheel 5 or more times a week only to find themselves in line with a half full basket behind a bunch of overweight unhealthy bunch who were able to afford the luncheon of the gods due to the hard work and contribution of others…in fact, it IS a proverbial slap in the face. 

TWITTER: @Jonmicol

Carnaval de Pensamientos

Toda la jodía mañana bregando con el “thermostat housing” del carro que no a parado de gotear. Al fin pues por lo menor ya se que es un tornillo q se le partió y no hay nada que pueda hacer sobre el asunto ahora mismo ya que los domingos no abre el departamento de piezas de la ford.

Subo y me siento en la sala tratando de pelear con el impulso de maldecir y sentirme como mierda cuando pega a pitar el celular. 

Le contesto a mami que me llama por facetime y veo que está en pleno carnaval de Ponce. Carroza tras carroza de bachata, salsa, merengue y reggaetón. Me quedé ahí mirando los diferentes personages, carros decorados, y sobre todo me gocé el ambiente tan feliz que se estaba viviendo allí en mi natal Ponce.

Así mismo como me comenzó a invadir la felicidad de poder ver el carnaval de Ponce en vivo y de saber que mi madre está allí en medio de todo el espectáculo pasándola de maravilla, también me dió un algo de sentimiento al saber que yo nunca e podido ir a un carnaval ponceño al siempre haber vivido en Boston. 

Tanto que los Boricuas desean venir a los estados unidos y yo que siempre e vivido aquí me quedé con las ganas de poder vivirme los vacilones que se viven allá. 

Hoy me siento a ver mi television plasma queriendola cambiar por un carnaval caribeño.

TWITTER: @Jonmicol

As I'm driving down Route 1, I get the sudden urge to rant and banter.  My wife and I had spent a week planning a trip to an indoor water park that's not too far from the city only to be told that all their tickets were sold out. We had gotten there just an hour after they opened but the kid at the front counter made sure to use his "authority voice" to let us know that it was our fault that we didn't know that they sell all their tickets online.

The long-face walk was exceptionally long as we drudged back to the truck. Looking at the kids' faces made me feel like shit. It was like the smell of anti-freeze in the air was...wait...anti-freeze?
I popped the hood and there it was. The thermostat housing on the truck had sprung a leak. A small little leak, but a leak nonetheless which is probably gonna cost me some money.

"My mechanic is gonna be happy." I thought to myself as i closed the hood and headed back to the steering wheel; the wife continually asking why there was smoke coming out of the motor.

I couldn't help it any longer and I did what any good Bostonian does in a time of crisis. I headed to the nearest Dunkin Donuts and indulged in a caramel latte. I sat there for a while too. Staring out at the chemtrail laden sky.

There at that moment it hit me. I should go back to blogging. I had forgotten how great it used to be to release and organize my thoughts through writing. Making order out of the mess that is my mind at times. With that said I welcome you to my new blog.


~TWITEER: @Jonmicol