Day Three: Father – Son Tradition; the DJ and Me
Day three and I literally have no idea what day of the week today is. It seems that I completely lost track of time when I had to attempt to calm Naeem’s nerves and work him back up to reaffirming his commitment to our “He Man Women Hater’s Oath”.
Convincing him to stay the course was touch and go for a moment. You can’t imagine the pressure he was under from his mom, grandmother and aunt. Those women in his life (smile). My poor child was figuratively sitting bare bottom in the hottest of hot seats.
Lazy Spot
Speaking of seats, I hopped right out of bed this morning and went to the hotel’s fitness room. I can’t criticize the state of health and fitness in this country if I am not an example of good health.
However, my son the athlete did not move a muscle. When I returned from the fitness room, he was resting in the bed in the very exact spot that he was sitting when I left. He was in that position where one sits in the bed with their back propped by pillows which rest against the headboard.
That position is what I refer to as the lazy spot. You know that spot. The spot that is so comfortable that you could have all your meals in bed, fall asleep sitting in bed, watch TV in bed, read books in bed, listen to music in bed…do any and everything sitting in that propped up position in bed. I mean this is that spot which allows you to max and relax – be flat out L-A-Z-Y. And this is the position my son was in and would have likely remained had I not reminded him that check out was in 30 minutes.
When I offered some encouraging words to tell him he needed to get out of the bed, he sort of looked at me with a glossy eyed gaze. Either he was basking in the glow of the Lazy Spot state and his temporary reprieve from training or he was still suffering PTSD from the harassment of his mom, grandmother and aunt. I’m going to chalk up his delayed response to enjoying a break from training. I suppose even children/young adults need a mental, emotional and physical break every now and then.
Hotel Shuttle 21
It took some doing but we managed to get showered and ready to leave the hotel before the next shuttle bus arrived. The shuttle bus driver – unlike yesterday’s two cab drivers – gleefully welcomed us onto the shuttle bus.
Once we arrived at the airport, I gave him a $21 gratuity. (I do not share the amount of the tip to brag about my generosity or lack of generosity depending on your tip giving habits. There is a much greater universal principle that I hope to convey). Nonetheless, my guess is that our shuttle bus driver needed the money more than I did and his courteous demeanor – particularly compared to yesterday’s experiences – more than warranted the appreciative gesture.
Why $21? I know it’s an odd amount, right? Well yesterday prior to checking out of the Nashville Renaissance Hotel, I found $21 on the floor. The universe had bequeathed an unexpected gift to me. I put the $21 in my pocket but for some reason, I never spent it; probably because we were on the Megabus and there were no vendors selling blankets or portable heaters.
So as we were exiting the shuttle bus it dawned on me what I should do with the $21. I didn’t really need the gift. I already had the greatest gift I could ever receive – spending time with my son, my best friend. Thus given my present good fortune, it seemed only fitting that what the universe gave to me, I should give it to someone else. I paid it forward.
I remain convinced that the shuttle bus driver needed the $21 more than I did. He was working that afternoon while I was celebrating life, manhood and fatherhood with my son. The universe had seen fit for Supaman and I to travel together so giving away the $21 bequeathed to me seemed like the least that I could do to show my appreciation.
Remember the Alamo
Once we exited the shuttle bus, Soop and I proceeded to the Alamo Car Rental reservation desk at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Having already completed my reservation online through H-O-T-W-I-R-E-Hotwire.com, I assumed the process of procuring a rental vehicle would be easy. Boy, was I ever wrong.
To begin, there was the encounter with Junella. J-U-N-E-L-L-A (and yes you read that correctly, absolutely no misspelling on my part). Junella was the customer service representative who wanted everything but my first-born child to complete my reservation. I mean Junella behaved as if I was a total stranger asking for permission to drive her car.
If you will, let me digress for a moment. Look, I know what June is – it’s the sixth month of the year but I don’t have any idea why “L-L-A” was added to the name June. As an advocate for great parenting, I think we need to talk to Junella’s parents about the meaning and intent of her name.
Maybe Junella was named after two important women like June and Ella. If so, my question is why couldn’t her parents have just named her June (first name) and Ella (middle name). I know – a great question, if I say so myself. And if Junella is her first name – what in the world did her parents do for an encore with her middle name. Perhaps they named her Vianca. Yes, you read that correctly V-I-A-N-C-A. Vianca now that’s another name that will shall address at another time.
So back at the counter, where an extra plus size profusely sweating Junella was asking me for all sorts of questions. I had assumed that I already met the qualifications to rent the car when I submitted the request on-line but apparently Junella had additional terms that I needed to satisfy before I could rent the standard Alamo car. Boy was she sweating. I don’t know if the lights at the customer service desk were making her hot or if it was the activity of the two people trying to escape from inside her body – you know June and Ella. Whatever it was she was sweating like nobody’s business. You should have seen her, she was sweating like a wrestler wearing a plastic silver sweat suit – running in the sauna – attempting to make-weight for a match.
Junella proceeded to demand the origin of my name, my address in Swahili, the total of my social security numbers added together, my driver’s license, name of my place of birth assuming I had known my African ancestors, my parents name spelled backward, my parents’ blood type, the total calories in my last meal, my shoe size and a hair sample (which by the way I could not provide as I am follicle challenged).
Finally, after what felt like an hour, Junella approved my reservation but not before she tried to sell me prepaid fuel and an additional insurance package. Good grief. Had I known renting a car would be this trying, we might have stayed on the Megabus.
Here Comes the Men in Black
Considering the interrogation that I was subjected to by Junella, I was half expecting Zed from the MIB to enter the room and not only tell me that the clammy Junella was an alien but to explain that I just passed the test to be a member of the Men In Black. Alas, Zed did not enter the room and the jury is still out on origin of Junella’s home planet.
As a consolation prize for surviving the third degree interrogation, Naeem and I were assigned a black Chrysler 200. Let me state this in advance, there is unequivocally nothing special about the black Chrysler 200 which in hindsight might explain why the car was purposely allocated to us. The car looks like a standard government issued vehicle. Just the type of inconspicuous car Agents Kay and Jay would drive.
Maybe we really did meet with Zed. If we did, you’ll never know! For now, I need you to focus your attention on the flashy thing in my hand so that I can give you an eye exam. Now let me warn you, you are going to see a series of flashes and those flashes mean that what you think you saw/read, you did not see/read…
The moment we were settled in the car, Naeem informed me that we needed to make a few stops before we hit the road.
Our first stop was to Best Buy so that we could get an automobile phone charger and an auxiliary cable. According to my traveling companion, the aforementioned items were must-haves for the next leg of our journey. I needed the phone charger to ensure the GPS worked and we didn’t get lost. Naeem needed the auxiliary cable so that he could be the unsolicited-official DJ.
But before, Naeem was able to put the items from Best Buy to good use we stopped at an old stomping grounds for lunch, the Olive Garden. The Olive Garden – the place where the toddler/pre-school Naeem and I shared an insurmountable number of meals.
Back in the day, Olive Garden was our version of fast food. Yes, I have always been a bit of a fanatic about my health/fitness. As such, I refused to take my mini me to McDonalds, Wendy’s, Burger King or any of the similar fast food establishments.
Olive Garden was the place he was able to put into action the things he learned at home. How to eat with a fork and knife. How to place his napkin in his lap before beginning his meal. How and why he should bless his meal. Why he shouldn’t talk when chewing his food. Why eating vegetables before and with a meal was a good thing. How and why we tipped those who served us our meal.
Olive Garden was also the place where we shared many early conversations about life and manhood, my expectations of him as a man and my commitment to him as his father. So it seemed ironic that soon after he recently turned eighteen we were sitting in an Olive Garden sharing a meal like old times and still talking about life and manhood, my expectations of him as a man and my commitment to him as his father.
The time spent with Soop in Olive Garden was as delightful as the after meal chocolate mints Olive Garden serves. Sweet to be with my beloved son and refreshing to learn that even at eighteen he still respects, admires and needs me in his life.
Oh and before I forget, this is where I was supposed to tell you about our waitress Vianca. Again, you read that correctly. V-I-A-N-C-A! And again, there is no misspelling on my part. I’m deducing Vianca is a blending of Vivian and Bianca or some similar combination.
Again, as a proponent of great parenting, I imagine that we would need to check with Vianca’s parents who are probably Junella’s aunt and uncle. Yes, my guess Junella and Vianca are cousins. What other explanation could there be?
He’s the DJ and I’m the Driver
Naeem and I finally hit the road around 3 pm. The road was now leading us to Hilton Head Island, SC.
Naeem plugged in the electronic utensils that we had purchased from Best Buy and began to program his Google Nexus 10. Shortly thereafter, we were listening, humming and singing to his Palmetto State playlist.
While many parents lament having to listen to their children’s music that has never been an issue for me. Naeem has always been eclectic and his musical tastes have been equally diverse. During our drive we listened to Rap, Hip Hop, Jazz, Afro Caribbean, Neo-Soul, South American influenced, R&B and Pop music. He played music from his grandmother’s era to today.
Listening to the music that appeals to him has always provided some great insight into who he is, what he thinks of others and how he feels about himself. I have never had to warn him about listening to music that was excessively violent, profanity laced or misogynistic. I surmise that this is why I’m cool with him being the DJ while I serve as the driver.
Listening to his programmed Palmetto State playlist was like listening to the soundtrack of his life. Easy, rhythmic, pleasing to the ear with only a rare missed beat. God I love my son!
Are You Sure This Is Where You Are Staying
We arrived at the Hilton Head Marriott Resort and Spa around 7 pm. There were some interesting looks as we walked up to the hotel. More about those looks later.
Speaking of looks, you are going to have to keep a watchful eye out for the continuation of this story and the next installment of Every Father and Son Should Have A Tradition.
It’s been a long day, I’m exhausted and just like Naeem earlier today – I need to find my own lazy spot.
How comfortable are you listening to your child’s musical playlist? Would you be able to listen to your child’s music with little to no objection? What does the music your child listens to say about them, what they think of others and what they think of themselves?