Exponential awesomeness.

Yes. That's Zachary running it in for that long touchdown. And no, that's actually the other coach holding up the goalposts not the BHE. And, of course, I totally agree with you that it would have made this already awesome photo exponentially more awesome if that was Harry calling that TD like that.

But still. It was a touchdown. A long one, too! The Tigers won. They sure did. And one Tiger mama who shall remain nameless may or may not have run full speed for all sixty yards along the side line during the touchdown captured above.

I said may or may not have. Ah hem.

And there were witnesses. V.I.P. witnesses, y'all!

And before you even ask--YES. This day filled with all of the men and manchildren that I love the most? YES--it was as awesome a day as it looks.

Wait, I take that back. No it wasn't. It was even more exponentially awesome than it looks.

Life is good, man.

***
Happy Friday.

Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle #16: Dedication for Motivation.

I have this colleague who is a marathon runner. Well, technically, I have several colleagues who are distance runners, but this one in particular did something that I always remembered when he ran the New York marathon a few years back. He'd just lost his mother and, though he'd run many long distance races before, his mind was in a different place for that race. New York was home for his family. This race would be more meaningful.

So what did he do? He took out a piece of paper and created a list. A list of special people who'd had a great impact on him in his life and then dedicated one of those twenty six miles to each of them. He kept that list on his person--and even memorized a lot of it---and you know what? It really motivated him.

Especially the "mama miles."

I'm not interested in running a full marathon. No ma'am, no sir, I am not. But this weekend will be a pivotal one for me. It's the Army Ten Miler and amongst the 35,000 runners out there, one of them will be me.

Yes, me.

Harry has run that race lots of times as a former Army guy. When I went to cheer him on in the past, I loved the energy of the race and always secretly aspired to be out there one day. I remember telling Deanna at my kitchen table that I wanted to do that race at some point in my life. And, of course, she said, "Then do it!" And then, in true Deanna form, she started sending me emails with contact information for friends of hers that had gotten into distance running. One of those friends was Crystal H. who I've leaned upon many times since I got more serious about this goal.

Yes, indeed.

So I thought of my colleague and that practice of dedicating miles to those who've inspired him. I imagined him exhausted on that fifteenth mile and pushing on with the image of one of his sons in his head. And of course I could see him powering through the toughest parts of the race-- those "mama miles"--with her love and encouragement getting under his feet like jets.

He adored his mother and was very, very sad when she passed on. I could see that pain that day when he told me about that New York marathon and knew that this practice of dedicating parts of the race to her would be therapeutic. I made a point of remembering the time of year that he lost his mom. And every year during that time I ask him something about her. I do. He always looks so moved when I do and you know? You can still see the hurt seared deep down into him. I now know that some parts of that kind of pain just doesn't go away.

It doesn't.

So me? I'm going to sit down and dedicate my ten miles. I am. I already know that miles three and five will be for Deanna for sure because three was her favorite number and the fifth mile of any run is always hard for me. And maybe I will dedicate mile ten to Deanna, Will and JoLai together. Either way, I'm going to write it down and memorize it. I'm going to visualize each person cheering for me on the sidelines for that whole mile. And then I'm going to give it my all.

My all, man.

I missed my sister terribly this week. It's like I saw her in every little thing and all of that kept making me want to talk to her. The other day I felt the fall bite in the air. While looking for a jacket, I touched one of the scarves she'd crocheted for me that I saw hanging in the closet. I thought about how, if she were here, she would have made me at least two more including one for Zachary's football team. Then I just dropped my head and wept. Hard. And this time it was mostly because there are so many days that I still can't believe she's gone and this was one of them. I still can't believe she's gone.

Sigh.

But I tell you. I get it. I get it when people find some meaningful activity to do after losing someone important. And, for me, something about that activity being one that betters my heart and makes me feel strong is a comfort. It really is. Knowing that I told her that this was something I wanted to do and that I have put in work to actually do it feels like I'm honoring her. And Deanna was all about celebrating and honoring people. She was intentional about these kinds of things and taught me a lot about being that way, too.

I don't know exactly which mile will go to whom. But I am excited about the idea. And, okay, technically my colleague got that mile dedication idea from an article he read about the Republican dude Mike Huckabee who'd done that when running a marathon. Though I have nothing against Mike Huckabee and am sure he's a nice man, I think I'd rather just let my colleague have props for my decision to put faces with miles instead Mr. Huckabee.

Anyways.

So the huddle today is about adding some meaning behind what you do. Set goals with you in mind but also see if it might help to dedicate some part of the goal to a special person. Or special people. No question: This goal of running a long distance race has been 100% dedicated to my sister Deanna. And her inspiration has made me stronger and more diligent. I will see her face smiling and hear her voice cheering. I will.

And then? I'll win.

That I know for sure.


***
Happy Thursday-almost-Friday. Wish me luck! Wooah!!

My linesister Glencia was also inspired by Deanna when she did a triathlon on my sissy's birthday. She finished strong and I love knowing that Deanna helped her.

The original grill.

At least my excuse was being in second grade.

***

Happy Wednesday. And Nancy, you know I love a good challenge. Come on, sista!

Oh me, oh my.

I was talking to a friend recently who has been going through some tough times. These tough times put some hard decisions before her and she was talking to me about what she should do. I was mostly listening because this friend is wise. I know she's wise because I've been on the other end of her advice.

"What would you tell a friend?" I asked.

"What?" she replied.

"A friend. If this were me or a good friend, what would be your advice?"

And when I said that I knew I'd struck a cord. She pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow. I could tell those wheels were turning. A few days later I received a text from her telling me what she'd decided to do. And she told me that she advised herself as she would a friend. Which really, really helped.

That got me thinking. Isn't it funny how liberal we are with our good advice and kind words to our friends yet stingy with them when it comes to ourselves? Like, so many times I find myself sitting with a girlfriend sipping wine and hashing through some sort of issue. Sometimes I'm the hasher and other times I'm the hashee. Either way, someone at some point speaks a good word that convicts the other. And after that we pour one more glass of wine and clink glasses in honor of having great and wise friends in your corner.

Yeah.

So today I was sitting on the couch chatting with Harry. I was fretting as I often do about the kids and school and social interactions and anything else I could think of to fret about. So I'd stored up all of my monkeys to put onto the BHE's back so that I wouldn't have to worry alone.

"I need you to calm down, babe." That's what my man said to me matter-of-factly. "Everything can't always be so heavy. We have great kids."

"We do. But this note from school said this. And I don't want anyone misunderstanding my son. We are raising black men."

"You don't think I know that we're raising black men? I do. But worrying only makes you crazy."

I sighed. "I do feel crazy sometimes."

"Babe. You are right about a lot of this stuff. But some of the stuff you get all worked up over are little day-to-day things. With some stuff you have to let kids just work that shit out. You can't go overanalyzing every single thing your kids say every single day. Some shit you just have to let them live through and figure out."

And yes he uses the expletives. What can I say? He's an ex-military dude.

Anyways. My point is that I spend a crap-ton of time hoping and praying that I'm getting parenting right. I constantly pray that my kids will remember and embrace every good thing I've done and have amnesia for the not-so-good things. I ask God to show me what to do and ask for forgiveness when I say and do things that I don't think are so good.

Yeah.

So today, despite my admonishment from the BHE, I found myself in a fretful do-loop again. This time it was in response to yet another shenanigan of some sort that one of my sons was involved in while at school. And. I will say that in no way did anyone make a huge deal out of it but me being me, I did. I started applying it to my son's future as an adult and started already preparing to lecture him about the perils of poor choices. Then I tossed the monkey over to Harry (again) who listened but then reminded me (again) that everything that happens is not some wretched foreshadowing of a tainted future.

Okay, okay--those are my words. But you get the picture.

Anywho. There was a point in all of this. My point is that I know for sure that I often give my friends good and thoughtful advice. And I even thought about me suggesting to my friend that she provide counsel to HERSELF as she would a friend and had to say, "Hmmmm. That's a damn good suggestion."

Yeah, man. So tonight I decided that I'd take my own advice. I'd be a friend to me and talk to me like a girlfriend. And see, the good thing about girlfriends is that they know all the background so they can pull it out and apply it where necessary. As opposed to, like, Dr. Phil or somebody.

Not that I have a problem with Dr. Phil. I'm just saying, that's all.

So yeah. Today I sat down with me and talked me off of the ledge. As only a sisterfriend can. And you know what? I think I'm going to do this more often. 'Cause me? I'm a damn good sisterfriend.

Yeah, I am.

*****
Me talking to Me today:

I'm kind of freaking out. I know I shouldn't be but I am. 

Now what?

Isaiah was horsing around in school today. And I need him not to be doing that. I mean. . . .he's at a new school and I just. . . yeah. I don't want anyone misunderstanding him, you know?

What do you mean by that?

I mean. . . like. . . misunderstand him and think he's a not a good kid. He's such a good kid, you know? And then I don't want him not realizing that there is a time to work and a time to play. He's going to have to understand that someday or it's going to be hard for him as a man.

He's eight, Kimberly. Eight.

So what? You're suggesting I just blow it off? I mean, that's not the answer either. 

No, I'm not saying that. I'm saying that there should be a consequence for his actions. But him horsing around today doesn't mean you need to brand him with a scarlet letter. Damn.

But these things add up. Some of the stuff both of those boys do I find myself saying, "Dude. Seriously?" And I just really don't want my boys growing up making a bunch of dumb ass choices because they don't know when to be serious.

Uhhh, okay.

What's that supposed to mean?

It means relax. You love them. Harry loves them. And they have a ridiculously huge village helping you and Harry out. They will be fine. Even people who make dumb ass choices in elementary school grow up to be upstanding adults.

Not always. 

Yeah but what could be more dumb ass than swallowing a tack? *(explanation below, just keep reading)

Oh see. Now you're playing dirty.

But you have to admit--that was exponentially dumb-asser than what you're worried about today, wasn't it? Like. . . what were you thinking?

I was. . . .

You were. . . .horsing around. In elementary school. Precisely. Uhhh. . . DOCTOR Manning. See? You turned out okay.

I forgot about the tack-swallowing incident. That was pretty dumb. 

Uhhh. . .yeah. Imagine how psyched your mom was to get THAT call from school. "Hey! Your dumb ass daughter just swallowed a thumb tack!"

I know, right?

Right. And let's not forget the day you cut the girl's hair on the school bus in sixth grade. How dumb ass was that?

Awww man. That was so, so dumb. And I was just trying to be funny, too. That girl had a crap-ton of hair. I only pretend snipped a teeny weeny bit of it as a joke but accidentally really cut it. But it was funny, though.

Yeah. And I'm sure your mom was like "Ha ha, hell" when she had to come up to Frank D. Parent School to talk to the damn principal about it, too.

Yikes.

Yikes is right. You owe your mama an apology for being such a dumb ass.

Hey!

My point is that you turned out okay. Some things are going to be dumb ass. They just are. It has to be that way. You remember. There were consequences for all of those things but you are living proof that with love you can still turn out okay.

Yeah. I guess you're right.

Calm down.

Okay.

They're awesome kids.

I know.

You're an awesome and imperfect mom.

So imperfect.

But nobody loves them like you and Harry. Nobody.

That's true.

Relax.

I'll try.

Just keep on loving them. And loving Harry. And especially loving yourself. It will be okay.

Will it?

Yeah, dumb ass. You swallowed a tack, remember? And cut somebody's hair to be funny, remember?

Hey. And Deanna dyed her hair in the water fountain with Kool-Aid. How dumb ass was THAT?

Super dumb ass. See? You dumb asses turned out fine.

We did didn't we?

So chill.

Okay. I'm chillaxing.

Sigh.

What?

You're soooo lame with your lame slang.

So lame, I know.

But I love you, girl.

I love you, more. 

Then act like it sometimes.

Sigh.

***

Us randomly dressed up in cub scout gear one day with our cousins.

*Background information for clarity

Dumb ass thing number 1:

In second grade, I was working on a bulletin board with my class. Instead of doing what I was supposed to be doing on the project that morning, I decided I'd make people laugh by putting a thumbtack in between my teeth. Why, you ask? Well CLEARLY a thumbtack held just so between the teeth bears an uncanny resemblance to a silver tooth. OBVI. Yeah. So I walked around with a dead pan face and just when they least expected it. . . TING! I'd unleash my grill and bring down the house. Or in this case, the table.

Turns out that laughing out loud with your head back whilst holding a thumbtack in your mouth is not the best idea.

Whoops.

"Hey! I can't wait to rush up to my child's school to take her to an emergency department in case she perforates her bowel from swallowing a sharp metal object!"

Yeah. Said no mom EVER.

That was a dumb ass thing to do. (Ask my mom how she confirmed that the thumbtack was out of my system and then let her tell you how AWESOME an experience that was. Or not.)

Easter Sunday in our clothes sewn by our mama.

Dumb ass thing number 2:

Sixth grade, packed bus. This girl who was named after a season--her name was like Autumn or Winter or Summer or something--had the world's STANKEST attitude and always sat on the second row near the driver. She also had the world's thickest straightest hair. On this day I thought HOW FUNNY would it be if I sat on the third row behind her and used my school scissors to PRETEND CUT like two or three strands? I said PRETEND CUT. Well. How was I to know that PRETEND CUTTING can sometimes accidentally become REAL CUTTING if you hit a bump on the highway?

"Hey! I can't wait to meet with the principal and some freckle-faced kid's mama who is demanding to let her child cut MY child's hair to teach her a lesson for the DUMB ASS thing she did on a school bus the day before!!!"

Yeah. Said no mom EVER and especially not mine.

I will spare you Deanna and the Kool Aid hair dying incident. Yes, I will. Just know that it was a dumb ass thing to do.


Okay. So my point? Um. I sort of forgot it. But yeah. Just be a friend to yourself. Talk to you as you would a good friend. And remind yourself of all of the DUMB ASS things you've done in your life so that you'll feel reassured that your children will turn out just fine. And if you need a smile just imagine this:

TING!

That's all I got.


***
Happy Tuesday.

P.S. JoLai didn't do a single dumb ass thing. But we made up for her lack of dumb ass choices.

Team S.J.G.R. Thursday Huddle #15: The Workout Snackémon.

Man. I have a confession to make. Last week I fell prey to what seeks to take down well-meaning worker-outers all over the country every single day. The stealthy little saboteur that rears its ugly little head right around the same time EVERY time.

Mmmm hmmm.

Oh. You haven't met him yet? Chile, please. Every man or woman who has ever kicked their workouts into higher gear has been introduced to him. And if you haven't, it just means you haven't been working out hard enough or running far enough.

Who is he, you ask? I'll tell you. He's what I call the Workout Snackémon. 

Yes, people. He's a nasty little hater who wants to see you gain weight instead of lose weight after running a bunch of miles or doing a Zumba marathon or going Crossfit crazy. And you know what? He tapped me on my shoulder last week and whispered softly in my ear. Because, you know, that's how the Workout Snackémon rolls.

Mmmmmm hmmm.

So check it. Last weekend, I got it in, man. I mean, here I was feeling like a BAWSE after surviving a 8.3 mile run around hellaciously hilly Stone Mountain with Crystal H. last weekend. I had gotten up early and met her up there at the appointed time -- and let's be clear -- I don't even live near there. But, yes, I went and stuck with my running mate like it wasn't nothing.

Okay, well not like it wasn't nothing. But still. I stuck with her.

Anyways. I stretch with her and then get in my car feeling like THAT CHICK. I am resisting the urge to go tweet it on the mountain for all to know. So I sip my water and sing with the radio because I'm feeling all super proud of myself. And, you know? That's the furthest I've ever run in my LIFE so that was a big effing deal for me. So, yeah. I drove on home feeling great.

And when I got home, it was still early. I walk on in and Zachary and Harry are just getting ready to go to Zachary's football game. Which made me feel even more like a BAWSE since I'd actually gotten my butt up early enough to have run and come back home BEFORE his game even started.

Yeah.

So I start getting dressed so that I can drop Isaiah at a playdate and then hightail it on over to Zachary's game. And all was well mostly. Until the Workout Snackémon started brushing his lips up against my ear.

"Hey girl. You know you just ran 8 miles. Go on. Have you a couple of them Oreo cookies that you bought for the boys. Go on. Wit' yo' fine self."

And can I just say that I am usually quite disciplined when it comes to separating kid foods from Mommy foods and that something like some Oreos are generally easy for me to refuse. Because usually the dialogue in my head is stern and realistic. So yeah, an Oreo cookie? That's a no.

Usually.

"Come on, girl. You know you fine. Look at you in them compression capri pants looking all fine. You ran 8 miles. EIGHT POINT THREE miles, actually. Eat you one cookie. Matter fact, eat two. And go on. Eat that hot dog that Isaiah thought he wanted but changed his mind about. You know ain't nothing better than a ol' juicy Hebrew National. Go on, girl."

And I need you to know that the Workout Snackémon talks like Billy Dee Williams talked to Diana Ross in Mahogany. All smooth and sultry-like. And how can you say no to that? How can you?

"Hey girl."

So you know what happened? I ate three Oreos with a cup of soy milk. Then I ate a hot dog. A HOT DOG! And damn, it was good, that hot dog. But a HOT DOG, y'all. A hot dog. Ugggghhh! It's all The Workout Snackémon's fault. It is!

So I drop Isaiah off with his buddy. Then I head up to the game. But my mouth felt parched. It did.

"Hey girl. You don't want that water. You just ran 8 miles. 8 freakin' hilly miles, babygirl. Look at you with yo' fine self in those jeans. You look good, girl. And you 43, too? Go on and get you one of them big azz electrolyte drinks. Go on. I know that one bottle has four servings. But you have to be dehydrated from running that far. With yo' fine self."

Sigh.

So I stop up in QT and come out with this gigantic blue Powerade. Which I commence to drink up. And me? I try not to EVER drink my calories. But the Workout Snackémon had me thinking I deserved them and could easily handle them.

Yep.

And you know? That happened two or three more times that same day. It did.

Now. Let me tell you. The Workout Snackémon is the reason why you see significantly overweight people running marathons and long distance races. He is the one that tells you to eat a big plate of pancakes after that run or a ginormous burger on a patio after that race. He tricks you with that voice. Woos you. Lulls you.

And oh, yeah. Did I mention? If you prefer women, the Workout Snackémon has that soft and sexy Jessica Rabbit voice.

"Hey big daddy. Look at you with that six pack. I see it trying to bust through that last layer of insulation. I'm so impressed with that bike ride you did. Wow. And is that your bicep? Oh my. Go on, sugar. Have you a milk shake from Chik fil A. You know you deserve it. And you're a growing boy. You need to go on and order the whole number one. Those fries won't hurt you since you work out so much. With yo' buff self."

800 calories later, she turns back into a pumpkin. And so do you.

Look, people. The Workout Snackémon comes fast and furious. He comes after workouts but also after fasts, illnesses and anything else that you can imagine that might make you think you can have "just a little more" than usual.

So me? I got GOT. I ate stuff I shouldn't eat because I made a bunch of allowances due to my strenuous workouts. And I KNOW that I am not alone. I'm not.

But half way through munching on a bag of REGULAR popcorn on Sunday it hit me. I was being wooed by the Snackémon. And if I didn't stop right then and there, I'd have a few extra pounds to show for it.

Late that night, Snackémon was trying to spoon me talking about:

"Hey girl. Go on and have you a bowl of cereal before you go to bed. Girl, you know Fruit Loops can count as a carbo load. With yo' fine self."

And me, I just gave him the stiff arm and said, "Back it up, homie. You ain't getting me this time."

And, see, the Workout Snackémon doesn't like rejection so he keeps it moving when you dis him.

But know this: He (or she) always comes back. That is, if you get in a really good workout.

Have you fallen prey to the Workout Snackémon? Have you tricked yourself into high calorie alcoholic beverages, guacamole and fried tortilla chips after a really good one? Have you?

Well consider me your homegirl in the dorm who warns you about the bad guys who are only out to break your heart:

"Girl, he don't love you. He just wont one thing." (Yes, I meant to say "wont.")

Mmmm hmmmm. 

Stay strong, Team. Don't let the Workout Snackémon TAKE YOU OUT!  Remember:

We get fit in the gym. We lose weight in the kitchen. And the Snackémon is determined to try to make you forget that. But on this team, we know better. So we do better.

Plus, he don't looooove you, girl. He just wont one thing. 

Now, raise your right hand and repeat after me:

"I CANNOT"

(I cannot)

"OUTEXERCISE"

(outexercise)

"CRAPPY FOOD CHOICES."

(crappy food choices.)

"I CANNOT"

(I cannot)

"OUTRUN"

(outrun)

"A BIG BEHIND"

(a big azzzz.)

"TO DO THAT I MUST"

(to do that I must)

"PUT DOWN THE FORK WHEN I'M SATISFIED"

(put down the fork when I'm satisfied)

"AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PANTRY."

(and step away from the pantry.)

"AND THE REFRIGERATOR."

(and the refrigerator.)

"FOR REALS."

(for reals.)


Yes, people. Shit just got real. Again.

That's all I got for tonight. Holla.

***
Happy Thursday. Check in, people.

Celebrating Poopdeck, Part 2.

 

Okay. I'm still on the high of my dad's birthday so had a little more to share. I meant to post this a bit earlier but I've been on the phone with him all morning. Oh--and for those wondering why I call my dad "Poopdeck," here's where that comes from:

The old Popeye cartoons. Yep. One day I started calling him "Poopdeck Pappy" like Popeye called his dad and it just sort of stuck. I then abbreviated it to just "Poopdeck." So there you go. 

Ha.

JoLai made this really cool collage of photos that you see above. How awesome are these snapshots? The top left quadrant has photos of Poopdeck with all of his kids--biological and by marriage. The top right quadrant is a walk down memory lane. My favorites are his little boy pictures and, of course, the super smooth Omega frat boy shot with the swanky Raybans and lapel pin.  Bottom left quadrant is the family including his whole brood of grandkids. And the lower right includes him and sweet Tounces (my mom), him trucking on one of his many power walks, and then a perfect example of him looking lovingly at JoLai both as a baby and as a law school graduate. 

Yep.

So if you read my top 70, just use these pictures as a supplement, too.  Oh! And this. 

Kimberly and Daddy, StoryCorps from Kimberly Manning on Vimeo.

This is from when I interviewed my father for StoryCorps. I'm sure many of you have heard of StoryCorps and have likely cried while hearing it on NPR. I cherish this so much and I count it as one of my very best life experiences. What a gift not only to me to just listen to my dad in this way, but also to get a reintroduction to some of the people that made him who he is. 

I recommend that everyone consider doing a StoryCorps interview at some point in their life. I can't wait to let my boys hear this as men and love imagining them letting their kids hear it, too. 

I made a few minor edits to it, but it is mostly in the raw. Dad gave me his permission and, in fact, was eager to have it shared. More because he liked the idea of getting people talking to people they love. We now appreciate having things like this even more and love knowing that it might inspire someone else to do the same. 

Even if it leaves us a bit vulnerable. And this? It totally does.

But you know? Our loved ones--especially the older of them--have stories to tell. Even when we think otherwise, they have stories to tell that we've not yet heard or known.  And as the folks at Storycorps say: "Listening is an act of love." It so very is, isn't it?

This interview is the perfect punctuation to celebrating my father. He is simply wonderful and I am better for knowing him.

Happy 70th, Poopdeck. Again.

***

Learn more about StoryCorps and get information on doing your own here.

70 reasons for 70 years.

My dad (aka Poopdeck) turned seventy today. Seventy, y'all!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POOPDECK!

Man. I don't even know where to start. (Obviously since I'm just getting this up at damn near midnight.)  But technically it is still his birthday so relax already, people.

Ah hem.

Look. Let me just say this quickly before I end up a blubbering, ugly-crying mess of snot bubbles and violin string spit in my mouth. . . .

I absolutely LOVE this man.

I recognize how deeply fortunate I am to have been raised by him. I am fully aware and appreciative of the fact that it was him and not some ill-equipped or selfish person in his place. I know that this has shaped me--perhaps more than anything else.

Of course,there are people who slug it out and make it without good fathers or father figures. But I also know that having one is like someone giving you a giant boost over the big fence of adult life.

Yeah.

Well. At first I started to put together of top ten in honor of my Poopdeck. Like the top ten super awesomely awesome things about my dad. But then I realized that ten just wouldn't cut it. And so. Instead I bring you something even better:

THE TOP SEVENTY (YES, SEVENTY) REASONS WHY MY DAD IS TOTALLY, TOTALLY, TOTALLY AWESOME AND WHY IF HE WEREN'T MY DAD I WOULD TOTALLY, TOTALLY, TOTALLY WISH HE WERE.

Like to hear it? Here it go.

#70    Nobody tells better stories than my dad. Except for his dad before him.

#69    He goes to the gym every morning and then walks five miles.

#68    He proudly wears a fannypack and doesn't care what you or anyone else thinks about it.

#67    He taught me how to drive on a stick shift Volkswagen van. Knowing how to drive a stick makes me always feel like a badass analog girl in a digital world.

#66    He doesn't mind talking to me on the phone while I drive to work.

#65    He drove with me from Los Angeles to Tuskegee, Alabama and settled me in my first dorm room.

#64    He drove with me from  Los Angeles to Nashville, Tennessee to settle me into my first apartment when I started medical school.

#63    He drove with me from Nashville, Tennessee to Cleveland, Ohio to settle me into my new apartment when I started residency.

#62   He flew in to Cleveland, Ohio from Los Angeles, California to help settle me after moving from my old apartment on the west side to my new apartment with a roommate on the east side.

#61   Yep. He helped settle me again when I moved from Cleveland, Ohio to Atlanta, Georgia. (Although that time he met me in the ATL.)

#60   He always looked at me like he was happy to see me when I was a child.

#59  He still looks at me like he's happy to see me now. And his whole face lights up when he sees his grandchildren. No matter what.

#58  He made all four of us feel like his favorite. And does the same for his grandchildren.

#57   He curses better than anyone I know and drops an f-bomb like no other.

#56  He loved my mom in front of us as kids.

#55   He gave me a blueprint for the kind of man I wanted to marry.

#54   He helped me to love myself enough to receive the love of a man like Harry.

#53   He loves my husband and my sister-in-law, Fran.

#52   He believes in my dreams and those of my siblings.

#51  He has a beautiful smile and smiles often.

#50  He has an infectious laugh and laughs constantly.

#49  He has always stood up for the underdog and used his powers for good when he was in corporate America.

#48  He helped me to be proud of my heritage.

#47   He played Donny Hathaway's "Young, Gifted and Black" for me when I was in middle school and told me to listen to the words carefully. That day changed my life and my self image.

#46  He was a good son to his parents.

#45  He is a good brother to his siblings.

#44  He was a consistent disciplinarian and taught me right from wrong.

#43  He always role modeled a life filled with regular exercise and has worked out for as long as I can remember. Even before it was sexy.

#42  He told me I was beautiful in seventh grade. Which was a total lie. Ha.

#41  He reads my blog.

#40  He is my mom's best friend even though they are amicably separated as a couple.

#39  He taught me how to stay levelheaded in a crisis.

#38  He loves, loves, loves his grandchildren.

#37  He sees about the elders in the community.

#36  He isn't lazy.

#35  He gladly hosts Camp Papa for five weeks every single summer.

#34  He potty trained BOTH of my kids.

#33   He would potty train YOUR kids, too, if you don't mind an old school approach.

#32   He loves peanut butter like me.

#31  He mows his own lawn.

#30   He was on the School Board when I was growing up and did the right things.

#29   He takes my kids to cool places like LegoLand and SeaWorld in San Diego.

#28  He taught BOTH of my kids how to read. Yup. First the potty, then literature for the potty.

#27   He takes care of my mom even though they are no longer together as a couple.

#26   He grew up in the height of the civil rights movement in Birmingham, Alabama and tells me all about his experiences. I feel privileged to hear about it from someone in the first person. And especially so since that person is my dad.

#25   He paid for our wedding.

#24   He understands social media better than me. (Not very hard to do.)

#23  He's not too tough to cry. And cries often.

#22  He helps anyone he can. Personally and financially.

#21  He is passionate about the things he does. Like really, really passionate.

#20  He used to make us listen to Martin Luther King, Jr. sermons in high school as punishments and required us to write essays on what we learned. I was mad then but am ever grateful now.

#19  He used to do Jane Fonda aerobics and was the only man in the class. Awesome.

#18  He tutors neighborhood kids every single day and wants to see them do well.

#17   He looks out for my sister JoLai and she looks out for him.

#16   He laughs at my jokes. Like really, really hard.

#15  He bought a minivan in preparation for Camp Papa and still drives it. Oh, and he named it "Snowflake" which the kids refer to it as like it's a person or a pet.

#14  He has always been there for the important things. Always.

#13   He keeps his word.

#12  He writes me sweet things filled with typos. I love his messages and love his typos, too.

#11  He made me partial to the Omegas since he's an Omega man. And it's cool that he's The BHE's fraternity brother.

#10  He's not a liar and doesn't try to one-up anyone. Ever.

#9   He knows who he is and recognizes the importance of using his gifts.

#8  Because of that, his children are the same way. And someday his grandkids will be, too.

#7  He comes up with awesome nicknames for people like "Plinko" his nickname for Deanna.

#6  He gives me his hand-me-down Apple devices. Woo hoo!

#5  He's an amazing leader and is my guru for all things leadership (next to the BHE.)

#4  He does the driving on long drives. (Yay.)

#3  He knows how to fix shit. And if he isn't sure, he'll study the manual until he can.

#2   He puts his money where his mouth is. And his time and effort. (See #30)

#1  He loves me for me and accepts me the way I am.

Yeah, man. My dad pretty much is THAT DUDE.

Happy birthday, Poopdeck. You rock for an old dude.

***
Playing this for you this time, Dad. Listen to the lyrics and know what you gave me by asking me to do the same.