Christmas 2005

And so on another year we are called upon to reflect. Aah, to reflect; that moving motion of existence, so human, so uniquely human. I think of my life in stages, never wanting to retrace the same ground twice. I am satisfied by growth, by this movement; yet, when I reflect upon some of my momentary darkness of the past year I recall images of times when life seemed much less complicated. But these reminiscences are doctored visions, brightened by forgetfulness and sprayed with rose petal perfume. Life Is, and this truth, so often antagonized by religious, philosophical and fearful theories – mere comfort candy – is what makes life worth living. “We are (magically), fearfully and wonderfully made.” We are not governed by lists of dos and don’ts or imprisonments within commandments. These serve as vehicles of disorder, stripping us away from the authentic gift of the Giver: joy shelled within destruction, order within chaos. Jesus’ birth was not an entirely glorious night for Mary and Joseph. It was centered around rejection and loneliness, fear and questions, three wise men and a dirty manger. His royal entry was anything but a royal entry. Still, this is where the miracle is: within the darkness, there is light. The two are dependent upon each other. I see my life much in these terms.


I am thankful for the gift of life, for the days that feel endless, but must one day end; for laughing children, despite their hunger, their pain; for “a wife who really loves me . . . and a little baby daughter who plays games around my feet”; for family, the good and chilling; for a mother, who in her simple way, just believes; for a father, so complicated, who tries to understand; for a brother attempting to remember the tune (“God knows the tears that you have cried . . .”); for a sister who is a mother laughing to make me laugh (I sometimes hear the laughter in my aloneness); a sister who I’ve always adored, always loved to see her growth (you are no longer two – and I am thankful for this – your mind and heart); my brother who I never met until I was in my 20s, but who holds so many similarities to me; for my dear cousin Kimani and our ability to make amends and peace, despite both feeling hurt by the other; for all my friends of the past and present – for those who never give up on me: who stand there with me when I fumble on the edge; for friends to whom I speak no more (you have shaped me as well); for a God who understands my heart (“And the Lord’s people said, ‘Amen!’) – who has standards that are so much more complex and grey than our linear thinking – a God who knows that none of us will ever get it right until we die, yet still loves us despite our lack of knowing the movement of the wind. I am thankful for this and so much more.



I am thankful for all who read this.

I send you warm love on this Christmas day.



cherished,

Michael

I recently read an article about my show. I found it to be one of the most thoughtful and thought-provoking I have ever read about my show. There were two criticisms in the article that I found to be useful. The one I would like to highlight at this moment dealt with a section in my show where I give the audience three challenges: 1. Find themselves beautiful 2. Find others beautiful 3. Smile and say hello to at least 10 new people. The article thought my suggestions were too simple, especially considering the edginess surrounding the rest of my show. I agree. My three suggestions are nice as far as nice goes, but I could take it up another level -- especially for upper high school, college, and adult audiences. I've been doing a lot of thinking about this . . . I still like my third challenge, however, I want to make some amendments to the first two suggestions.

We (human beings) take for granted our lives and the business of living, but what happens if we are told when we are to die? What happens if our date with death is much sooner than we anticipated? What if we were given a year to live? 6 months? One month? What do we do? What do we complete? What do we start? If you, my friend, were given one month to live, what five things would you like to complete, start, or do before your time was up? Well, what are you waiting for? Make that list -- today is the first day of your last 30 days . . . or 31 days. So, for the next 30 days, I challenge you to live as if it is your last days. Not only am I challenging you, but I am challenging myself.

You don't have to share your list with anyone, but I will share mine with you.
1. Begin learning to speak Spanish
2. Do a photo shoot of my cousin Kimani and my friend Lori
3. Complete two chapters of my book
4. Organize my fun room (It's a train wreck!)
5. Show Tessin my complete love, though we may walk separate ways.

These are the five things on my list. I'm taking a deep breath. I realize that some of these may not be completed, but I will make every effort to tackle these goals. Let's begin, my friends. Today is December 18, 2005. I will let you know how it goes on January 18, 2006. Whew!

The second challenge to audience members is this: Think of one small thing you can do that can create a positive change for others in your school, workplace, or home.

This is what I've been thinking about these days.

I just saw the movie -- RIZE. Highly recommended. On the surface, the summary can seem like just another inner-city movie that utilizes some form of art to save the youth from self-destructive paths. This is not the case. Yes, it is about inner-city youths and young adults who transform the pain of their lives into something healing, spiritual. The movie is a documentary set in the roughest parts of Southern Los Angeles. It is about Clowning and Krumping -- two forms of dance birthed out of the Rodney King misadventure. It's not just dance, though. It is an art form, an expression. African ancestors are called upon through their movement; the tribal movements that express the pain, the anger, the loneliness, the struggle.

I was deeply moved. The film was beautiful. I give a shout out to all you Krumpers and Clowners! Express yourself. Transform your negativity into positive energy. Live the dream . . . and rize!

Aah! What a disturbingly wonderful day I had yesterday. I did two performances in Cedar Springs, Michigan, a historically blue collar, farming town. Ethnically: Mostly hodge podge American white or Western European dissent; socioeconomically: very poor to middle class. I knew going into it that there would be tons of stories . . . I spent six years in a town somewhat similar to this one when I lived in Massachusetts. Bellingham! Oh, Bellingham! Wherefore art thou, oh Bellingham?

Bellingham was historically a mill town that sat on the Blackstone River. The people in my neighborhood were mostly blue collared workers, from the postman to the factory foreman, from the policeman to the construction worker, from the fireman to the woodsman; to our family. My dad was an engineer. On some theoretical, social level he had the most prestigious job of the lot . . . but, he was black. The first question he was asked when we moved into the neighborhood came from the postman (who later became very warm to my family): "Why do you people want to move into our neighborhood?!" -- Reminds me of a song -- "Oh, the postman is a person in your neighborhood . . ." Mr. Rogers, where were you then?

And in these neighborhood, lots of secrets happen behind closed or not-so-closed doors. Most of the kids I knew, including the Fowlin clan, were getting smacked around by their parents, and I don't mean the occasional spanking either. I mean punches and belts and brooms and walls. You get the picture. You didn't blink your eyes to this . . . and you didn't really talk about it either. It just was. It was normal. And there were the other secrets, too; the sexual ones. The secrets we never mentioned in broad daylight: the 10 year olds having sex with the 13 year olds; the boys with boys -- purely attempting to understand how boys are supposed to be with girls; the brothers with sisters; the fathers with daughters; the forced sex play of neighbors with neighbors; the 17 year old boy molesting the 11 year old boy. And the list goes on.

But back to Cedar Springs. Yesterday was a flashback of Bellingham. The many stories that were shared were disturbing in a way that I have not felt in a long time. So many kids who had been hurt. I probably spoke to at least 100 different kids in this high school, 95% had been abused in one form or another. Four separate girls spoke about their brothers forcing them to have sex. One girl got pregnant by her brother. She had an abortion at age 14. The other stories of fathers raping their daughters; girls pregnant at age 14, not knowing which of two guys was the father; seventeen year old girl pregnant with her second child -- so strong, so beautiful, wanting nothing more than her mother's approval and love. The physical abuse. Awful. Just awful. Is there hope for people who have suffered so much? Is there hope for them not to repeat similar patterns or be with men who resemble their perpetrators?

I spent the entire day just talking to people. I was emotionally exhausted, yet oddly, I felt satisfied. I had helped begin the healing process. I was deeply touched by all the stories, all the hugs, all the tears. I prayed with a group of students. We prayed for God's strength for a student who had to tell her parents that she had been repeatedly raped. And God wept. We were all bonded together by our stories of pain, and it was painfully beautiful.

So, thank you, Cedar Springs, Michigan. You have made my life more beautiful. You are BEAUTIFUL!