Note: If you missed Day One I would suggest you read that first.
Day Two: Father – Son Tradition Continues With Georgia on Our Mind
This morning Soop and I woke having to decide our next move. We checked the Megabus schedule to see the connecting destinations from Nashville. The destinations to choose from were Atlanta (GA), Chattanooga (TN), Chicago (IL), Indianapolis (IN) and Louisville (KY). Only two of those destinations allowed us to continue traveling away from home. Those two destinations were Atlanta and Chattanooga.
There was no way we were going anywhere in the direction of home. Thus, we chose Atlanta and purchased two one way tickets. Remarkably the total fare was $9 per person. I don’t know about you but Megabus is a great deal. With today’s gas prices, I can barely drive across the street for $9.
Fly Me to the Moon
At breakfast, I met a Southwest Airline pilot, Bill Willoughby (I believe that was his name although his name could have been Charlie Brown and it would not have changed this story). At any rate, Bill and I struck up a conversation before my only begotten son could find his way from our room down to the restaurant for breakfast.
The great thing about my conversation with Bill was him sharing the story of his childhood. When Bill was a child his father was a pilot for Pan-Am Airlines. During his father’s tenure as a pilot, Bill had the opportunity to travel the world with his father – seeing and exploring the world first hand. He believes those experiences made it possible for him not only to see the world in a very different perspective than his peers but it allowed him to be able to choose very early the way that he wanted to live his life and the vocation that he wanted as his career.
Bill compared Naeem’s experiences abroad, his introduction to other cultures and Naeem’s ability to speak several languages to his childhood. He applauded Naeem for his courage to expand his horizons at a young age. He also encouraged Naeem to do as he had done, dream audaciously.
Bill shared with Naeem stories of the many people who questioned his sanity – when as an 18-year-old he left home to attend an aeronautical school with the sole “do or die” intention of becoming a pilot. Bill has now been a pilot for over 26 years. Bill told Naeem, “one day you will do as I do when I rhetorically ask myself where now are all those people who doubted me now?”
They Weren’t Kidding When They Say Music City
After breakfast Naeem and I decided to again walk the streets of downtown Nashville. The heat was still sweltering. Fortunately, this time all that we had to carry was our own body-weight and the weather was helping to decrease the pounds we were carrying with every step we took in the unforgiving Southern heat.
Just about everywhere we walked there was someone strumming a guitar, playing a harmonica or some other instrument that country musicians play. Please don’t ask me to name the instruments. Its country music and I am from Gary, Indiana. Enough said!
Although I’m not a country music fan – walking those blistering hot streets and seeing all those aspiring musicians doing their thing was a great experience to share with my son. Not to mention, I was able to hang out with the King. Most importantly though, I was able to remind my son and he was able to witness first-hand the extent people will and should go to make their dreams a reality.
Sometimes the media would have you believing that people don’t want to work but playing an instrument and or singing in 90 degree hot sticky merciless southern weather in hopes of being discovered is without question work. It takes mental, physical and emotional prowess – the likes of which most of us do not have – to do this everyday with no guarantees of success.
These people, those who aspire to entertain and inspire us with their musical gifts, are often accused of being deadbeats. These street musicians are not loafers, they are working and without question they want to work. What we saw were not freeloaders. What we witnessed were people who simply just believe in their talents and don’t want to give up on their dream only later to find themselves doing what the skeptics who disparage them are doing – working a 9 to 5 job which they are totally dispassionate about doing.
C.C.A.C.W.B.
C.C.A.C.W.B. reared its ugly head once again. In case you were wondering what C.C.A.C.W.B. stands for, it stands for Can’t Catch A Cab While Black. C.C.A.C.W.B. is a first cousin of D.W.B. For now, we will only discuss C.C.A.C.W.B.
I hate to say it but the demise of racism in America has been greatly over exaggerated. Folks, it’s sad but true – this just in – we are not yet a color blind or discriminatory free society.
Evidence of this unfortunate truth was substantiated as Naeem and I had need – on two occasions – to catch a cab. The first encounter transpired when a cab driver unenthusiastically picked us up from the Nashville Renaissance Hotel with the assistance of the bellhop. When we told the cab driver where we needed to go, he looked at us as if we had said something blasphemous about his momma. Trust me, I know how to play the “Dozens” and I can assure you that I hadn’t said anything about his momma. Maybe taking a person to the Megabus stop was offensive enough and beneath him. Whatever the case, Naeem and I were confused by his begrudging demeanor. After all, he was a cab driver wasn’t he?
The second encounter with a cab driver occurred when we were leaving the MARTA (The Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority) station downtown Atlanta. After the Megabus dropped us off downtown, we needed a way to get to the Crowne Plaza Atlanta – Airport. Not knowing downtown Atlanta, we sought the assistance of a law enforcement officer.
We asked one of the “dedicated” (or at least that’s how they are described on MARTA’s website) MARTA Police Officers where we could catch a cab and he halfheartedly mumbled something about “down the street and I don’t know”. Under my own breath, I inaudibly retorted, “thanks for nothing, Paul Blart Mall Cop – Atlanta is so much safer knowing that you are on the job”. But I digress.
Down the street to the corner Soop and I went per the mumbling, bumbling and stumbling directions of the Mall Security Man. We tried unsuccessfully numerous times to hail a cab before a cab finally – yet hesitantly stopped to pick us up.
When I say hesitantly, I’m not exaggerating either. The driver drove past us and then slowly reversed as if he still wasn’t sure it was advisable to pick us up. You would have thought we were wearing hoodies, eating Skittles and drinking a can of Arizona Iced Tea.
After picking us up, he drove us to the hotel as cab drivers tend to do – driving the speed of sound and talking to someone on the phone in a foreign tongue.
Before going to bed, Naeem asked without any prompting or tainted cynicism from me, “do cab drivers have a problem with African-American men”?
Baby It’s Cold Outside
Actually, on the Megabus it is cold inside. Outside the bus it’s an oven, inside the bus it’s a freezer. If by chance, you have been wondering why your home or automobile air conditioners are not as cold as you would like, I suspect that the Nation’s supply of Freon has been hijacked by Megabus.
When I tell you that it was cold on the bus, I’m really not kidding. How cold was it you ask? Well let me tell you. It was so cold that I saw a man and woman who before boarding the bus were laying outside sun bathing. When they boarded the bus, she was wearing a Victoria’s Secret string bikini and he was wearing a pair of speedos. However, 60 seconds after boarding the bus that same couple was wearing Under Armor Cold Gear and North Face coats and snow boots.
As an aside, I don’t know how the people at the Megabus do it but the White House needs to take some fiscal lessons from them. A bus ride for $9 from Nashville to Atlanta in 90 degree weather and 33 degree temperatures inside. I don’t know how Megabus can afford to keep a bus cool/cold, afford to fuel the bus and take passengers several hundred miles for $9 per person but they do it. What they are able to do for $9, now that’s fiscal responsibility American’s can believe in.
Forget Democrats, Republicans, Tea Party or Independents. Can you say Megabus 2016?
Fashion Nonsense
When we arrived at the MARTA station, I saw a collection of outfits that would make my sister absolutely lose her mind. To borrow a phrase from my sister, the people standing outside the station were looking a hot mess.
Color combinations that would make even Rainbow Bright close her eyes. Pants and tops two and three sizes too small. Flesh seemingly leaping out from places that the clothing never intended flesh to leap. Cracks here, muffin tops there, Dunlap everywhere but where they should have been – reserved exclusively for the sidewalks, bakeries and tire stores.
Not only does America need real Healthcare reform we apparently need some fashion reform. I believe this is a job for my sister and Fashion Cents TV.
He Man Women Hater’s Club
Oops, I forgot to mention before embarking on our journey, Naeem and I took the He Man Women Hater’s Oath. The oath is not new. The oath is very old in fact (much older than me thank you very much). The oath originated with Spanky from the Little Rascals.
The oath states “I, (state name here), a member of good standing of the He-Man Woman-Haters Club, do solemnly swear to be a he-man and hate women and not play with them or touch them unless I have to and especially never fall in love and, if I do, may I die slowly and painfully and suffer for hours or until I scream bloody murder.”
Well we didn’t actually take that oath. The Little Rascals oath was too arduous for even the most hardened man to follow including Spanky. So in the spirit of the softer gentler Alfalfa, we took poetic license and revised “The Oath” to fit our 21st Century Father-Son Annual Tradition.
Instead of swearing to hate, not play with, never touch nor fall in love with women, we swore to: act like two independent grown men needing to answer to no woman; choosing to get out of bed at our own discretion; electing to shave and shower if and when we wanted; refusing to provide any woman with an explanation about any subject matter; sporting whatever we felt like wearing even if we wore the outfit the previous day; deciding for ourselves when and what we would eat; and electing only to reply with “in my skin” if any woman had the audacity to ask our whereabouts.
Gotta Go
I must go now. I think I might have gotten my son in trouble. His mom is calling, his grandmother is trying to play “Words With Friends“ with him and just spelled the word “BELT” and his auntie is sending threatening texts.
Now he is acting all scared like he wants to reconsider “The Oath” and maybe cancel our Father-Son Annual Tradition. I know he’s recently 18 but maybe I pushed him too hard. Some fatherly example I am setting. Let me see if I can’t get this journey back on track.
Until tomorrow…
Have you given any thought to the traditions that you might establish and share with your child?