I just finished Nelson Mandela’s autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, and throughout I kept asking myself, how did he stay true? How did he persevere? By his own admission, there were others who were smarter, bolder, and wiser. So many of the things that he wrote about himself sketched an ordinary man, but there had to be something extraordinary and I wanted to find it. And there is was on page 615, his secret weapon.
"I never lost hope that this great transformation would occur. Not only because of the great heroes I have already cited, but because of the courage of the ordinary men and women of my country. I always knew that deep down in every human heart, there was mercy and generosity. No one is born hating another person because of the color of their skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Even in the grimmest times in prison, when my comrades and I were pushed to our limits, I would see a glimmer of humanity in one of the guards, perhaps just for a second, but it was enough to reassure me and keep me going. Man’s goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished.
Nelson Mandela hated apartheid, but he never hated its agents.
We were watching CNN this morning. The morning show gave a brief introduction to Soledad O’Brien’s "Black in America" with a short report and a plug for the series.
Jaimito asked me,"Daddy? What means Black in America?"
"It’s kind of complicated, Jaimito, but let me try to explain." So I ran through a basic primer of just what it meant to be black in America since the days of slavery and why it was still an issue. Olaia helpfully pointed out that things had gotten better because Barack Obama was elected President. "I agree," I said, "and I think it says a lot that the majority of America has gotten past color as a qualification, but that doesn’t mean prejudice doesn’t exist."
And that was that. They asked, I tried to sum up years of legal and cultural discrimination over breakfast. They seemed satisfied and a few minutes passed until Jaimito, who was obviously still pondering something, asked.
"Daddy," he began, "am I black?"
Published Wednesday, June 10th, 2009 |
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I’m a whiner. Anybody who knows me, knows this to be true. But I really prefer to keep my whining verbal, rather than fix it in written word, so it is only sometimes that it spills out here. In any case, things have been kind of rough for us here for a while, for me personally and for the family. I’ve been in a funk, lost my mojo, and been a mofo. I could blame approaching forty, economic downturn, feeling like I’ve not accomplished what I’ve wanted to, stress, overworked, underpaid, blah blah blah. It’s just not that interesting. I’m sure we all have funks, no?
So here’s the scoop: I just had a really nice dinner made possible by the following:
- My new super duper outdoor kitchen grill. It’s an early Father’s day gift, a super awesome backyard propane grilling monster with rotisserie, external gas burner and 36,000 btus of gas grilling power. Hear me roar. I like to cook, and this makes me feel useful.
- Squash and churrasco cooked and grilled to perfection eaten on our patio that we tiled ourselves. It was a beautiful clear night. The wine was delicious, the lights added a cozy ambiance, and the dinner conversation with the niños was sparkling. Javier smacked my shoulder every time he had something to say. He’s boricua through and through, and it tickles his mommy so.
- Olaia’s iPod, loaded with my music because she knows I like it. Such a sweet little girl. Midway through dinner we jammed to the Digital Underground’s, Humpty Dance. It was a riot.
It just doesn’t get any better than eating under the stars, laughing with your children, cracking each other up, and jamming to the Humpty Dance.
Published Monday, June 1st, 2009 |
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Laura said she hadn’t had a tomato that good since Italy.
Doesn’t that look good? It was. I haven’t had a tomato that tasty since the ones we were forced to grow as kids. I never would have known what I was missing. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
Published Thursday, May 7th, 2009 |
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I finally got off my butt this year and planted a little vegetable garden. I have always loved fresh tomatoes, and I find the quality of grocery store produce has declined so drastically that you’re basically paying for tasteless fibrous water. Starting with Olaia’s science fair project on compost, we began our green journey to the perfect tomato. The vegetable garden is about fifteen feet long by two and half feet wide or so and has been stocked with nearly three cubic feet of homemade soil from compost.
Our compost is composed of yard waste (green grass and leaves), vegetable and fruit waste from the kitchen, coffee grounds, a bit of ash from barbecuing, some paper waste, and egg shells. You should not use meat or protein as it is said to attract varmints. Anyway, all that lead to the creation of this:
Lovely, isn’t it? Isn’t nature cool?
I planted two varieties, roma and these called beefeaters. Today, I was surprised to find that a third variety had sprouted from the composted seeds and was bearing a different type of fruit. I imagine that even though they are from tasteless grocery store tomato seeds, homegrown they will taste much better.
I can’t wait to eat it tomorrow on an egg sandwich with lettuce, fresh mayonnaise, and cheddar cheese on bakery bread.
And then I took this little picture for Olaia for a class project as we dined outside next to our garden in the cool night air.
Chee-bow-bow, the moon.
