On the merits of stating the obvious: YOLO, for example.

The argument started in about Toledo. I had a plan for the music and fucked it up. I left it at all at home in the rush to make it to Brooklyn by 10. I was, in great anger, being subjected to a 9-hour road trip full of my brother's shitty mixtapes. Some place deep into Maybach Music's Vol. 232: Mafia Killings (I don't know, I just made that name up, but honestly would you know the difference?) I submitted to it and did what I spent my teenage years claiming to be able to do: separated the beat from the bullshit. Of course, in the meticulously orchestrated way that popular culture has devised, those silly, silly, batshit crazy, completely unbelievable—stupid metaphors (did you really just call your dick raw titanium? Please.) kept seeping past the baseline and into my head.

Bitches and guns and snapbacks. Tomfoolery. As we entered Pennsylvania I had to put my foot down and demand some mountain radio. It was short-lived. Alas, I am better able to manage the familiar grating of poor lyrics and cheap beats than I am the twang of country songs or the bash of loud, skull-cracking punk. Or Katy Perry.

He kept going back to one song. I suspect had to do with the clever buildup, the triple clacks of an electric snare and monster backline twisting into a crescendo that by the third play, had me excited too. The type of opening too unrefined for good MCs but delicious for mainstream rappers. The kind where you raise your head up until the moment the track opens and swallows you.

YOLO/if you don't know...YOLO/if you don't know...

That annoying ass chorus was the only thing to keep my daydreams from fully forming, involving a car nicer than mine and passengers more exciting than the craigslist riders in the backseat.

YOLO/if you don't know...YOLO/if you don't know...

Nigga I know. Shit. Let the beat build and shut your husky ass up.

But he's right.

I should've saved that money and paid back the IRS or bought a bed. 

But realistically and more critically I needed to come back into a space where I felt like I had helped build something and celebrate it with casual abandon.

It was partly the way Ryann and Sebastian reacted which was exactly the way I knew they would. One had that good, “OOOOOHHHHH!” scream; the one that often happens in chorus when an awesomely awesome or multo embarrassing or plain unbelievable thing happens. The other turned into mediaAmerica's schoolgirl and me into Diggy, held my shoulder, jumped up and down and scrreeeeammed at the highest possible pitch (I won't tell you who was who). Genesis, the only one who expected this, came like she often does, donning the face of a proud parent, full of love and yes-ness. A cool smile. I was standing like a tree with a shit-eating grin the way I tend to do when there is an overflow of excitement. Fontaine was off somewhere. She'd later freak out and cause the best possible scene in the backyard with about a hundred people around. All that.

An amalgamation of the seemingly shallowest shit possible. A turkey and cheese hero. The bois, the row of fantastic bridges and the thick-like-thighs skyline. A weekend of basically enough money for there and back, a dirty sleeping bag and a fucking dope ass party.

The party. Sitting on the stoop (take stoops for granted if you want to). Picking drunk assholes up and sitting them on the stoop. Walking away from what I rolled. Beautiful women (mercy). For the whispers mouthed to my ear and the looks exchanged. Flirting. Sleeping HARD. Genesis throwing a shoe at my head (early) the next morning like I didn't just drive all over creation and proceed to party until 5. The best type of exhaustion. Living this go-round of consciousness like it is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. It is.

For showing my brother who was introduced to NYC by me only a handful of years ago and who had only once been to Brooklyn, that yes, Brooklyn does indeed get down. For sending him off in the subway instructing that he call me later. Hours later, for the call at sunset; his ankles bloody from walking in his crispy, uncomfortable Jordan's—sounding ecstatic and lost in Union Square (it's a square). For thank-god, a lowkey argument at Benny's Burrito with a trifling' ass hostess. I miss that. For traffic.

For putting the car I just purchased at a bad credit premium (and wanted to wash and wax before pulling up because who doesn't like feeling 16 and boss) to its best use. Brunch and the perfectly contained foolishness of a whip full of grown ass folks, blasting Jigga down Marcy, all of us pretending like we didn't feel cool as shit, smoke oozing from the windows.

The warmth. The love. Feelings are the realest memories we have.

Trust that most Friday nights find me tucked soundly in my bed. I am inching towards fully embracing the glorious quietude of Saturday mornings and the productivity that comes with being an adult who is about shit. Weekends of the aforementioned proportions are dwindling to a critical few and far between.

All things fade.

On the way back my brother asked for silence, which is ridiculous. He can't even drive to the Big Kmart in his little town without trying to blast something. He slept heavily and every time he opened his eyes it was to share some memory that everyone who wasn't there will neither appreciate or understand. Unclogging the toilet at headquarters. The genuinely funny homeless man. Learning that McDonald's is possibly the only other reliable place to pee in Manhattan (first source: Starbucks). Then he'd go, as I realized later, back into his daydream. As we merged onto the final highway that would lead us home, his eight-hour hiatus from sound abruptly ended. 

Triple-clacks.

Electric snare.

Monster backline.

Rozay breathin' all heavy into the mic. No complaints from me this time.

Cause it is true and I know it. You really do only live once.

-Mo

 --

Morgan is the Head Writer for bklyn boihood. Check out her website here or join the twitterers @momannwill.

Dear Dad

Mother's Day, Father's Day, other's day. Shout out to the parents who struggle and love and give their children, above all...permission to be. Thanks to Kai for his openness. Feel free to add your own letters of response. -Mo

Dear Dad,

I love you. I love you. I love you.

You have taught me to be courageous and to be unafraid.

You have always been a sensitive guy, you have always longed for love, and you have always longed for the laughter of others. Dad, you taught me how to do my best cooking. You taught me how to taste for flavor. You taught me how to adjust those flavors based on my own palate. When you were home with me and mom, I remember the mornings when you would get me dressed. I remember always liking those mornings better. I remember how mom never could do hair, but you, you could braid, you could do some of the smoothest ponytails. You taught me how to look in the mirror and pose, cause we were some good-looking people. You always had your wave game on point. Yes, you have a permanent crease in your forehead from the wave cap and I love it, cause nobody had waves like my Dad. You are smooth. When I got braces and closed my gap, I didn’t think anything of it. These days I miss my gap because that was something we had in common, it brought me closer to you. But there are still so many other things that made us alike; our love of music, our dreams of happiness and freedom, our curiosity for people, all people and the streets that we live on (I walk around my neighborhood now and think of you and how you would walk from Hayward to Berkeley, you'd walk all over).

I loved our walks together. You taught me how to pee on the side of the road. You’d take me places that no child should go, but I was there and you took me to teach me something. I didn't know what the lesson was then and maybe you didn't either, but I so appreciate you. You’d show me shortcuts. I remember being near the Bart station, under that overpass where the grass was high. You parted the way and I followed. I remember now, you were taking me to some office that helped teens get summer jobs. I remember now, the people I saw lived under that over pass. I didn’t say much. I just listened and watched as you told me not to ever come here alone. I never went back because I trusted you, I trust you.

But I remember what I saw. I remember thinking about all the worlds you knew about that I never knew existed. You showed me pain, you showed me life in pain. You showed me survival.

Thank you.

The things I am learning to love about myself these days are qualities that I got from you. It was hard for me to embrace you because of your addiction, because of the times you promised to show up and you didn't, because of the things you stole. There was a time when I wanted to be nothing like you and I hated how everyone said it looked like you just spit me out and Mom had nothing to do with it. It took me a while to forgive you. But I remember that moment a few years ago now when I hugged you and I mean I really hugged you. I felt how you had gotten much bigger than the father I had known as a child. You were

different and in that hug I felt something shift in my body and in my heart. A healing had taken place in you and now it was time for the healing to happen between us.

I embraced you and I’m now learning to embrace all the amazing qualities I got from you without shame or self-doubt or judgment.

I love being on stage, in front of people, I like to perform and I learned that from you. I learned it from going to your rehearsals at Brother Turner's house. You could sing soprano and play your bass guitar at the same time. You could sing all the parts if needed. I learned from you how to be smooth and to take pride in how I dress. No one will ever be able to iron a shirt or slacks like you. I learned from you how not to judge. I remember my walks with you down East 14th. It was so different walking that street with you than walking it alone. I remember all the friends you had, street people, people I would judge when I was alone or with Mom. These were the people I was angry with because I knew those were the people you’d be with when you weren’t with me and Mom. I wondered why you just couldn’t get saved and be the upper middle class Black man I wanted you to be (what dreams). I wanted you to be Bill Cosby mixed with Denzel Washington, but you were always more like Easy Rawlins, a character from Devil in a Blue Dress (Yes Denzel did play that character in the movie, but I love the books). Mom told me to pray for you. Told me that maybe if I prayed long enough and hard enough, I could save you.

I couldn’t have known then that you would be the person to come and save me. There were always signs though. I remember the first transgender person I can recall meeting. I must have been around 10 or 11. We were walking to the store and at the bus stop on the corner a dark transwoman sat on the bench. I had already been staring before we even reached her. I would have stared and continued to walk on by, but you

greeted her like you did everyone else on that street, with smiles an upbeat “What’s happenin'?” (I can’t emulate your speech here so I won’t try, but it’s poetry and I love to hear your voice). I was afraid. I judged her. I didn't see her. I didn't want to see her. But you held my hand and looked at me and told me with so much love, “It’s okay. I have all kinds of friends and that’s okay.” I hold on to that moment. I held on to that moment then not knowing why it would be important.

Now as I go through my own gender and other kinds of transitions, I realize that it is your voice, you, my father who gave me this strength. You gave me courage. With you, I never felt too small or too young, or too anything. I was always enough. You always loved me because I was your only child, but also because I believe you have been given a gift of loving people. Thank you for passing it down to me. I realized this morning that part of my sadness comes from trying not to feel. Trying to keep bound feelings, emotions, because I’m afraid to be overwhelmed by my own love for others. But you love fiercely. I see how sometimes in you and in me that fierce love of others can lead to neglect of self. When we don’t love ourselves no matter how much we may want to give, it won’t come out right. I watch you today as you model recovery from addiction. One of the best gifts is that I get to bear witness to you loving yourself. You deserve it. You teach me that I deserve it too.

Every Sunday morning I can expect your call.

This Sunday, this morning I decided to tell you about top surgery. I knew that you’d be fine. I don’t know why I waited so long to tell you. Perhaps it’s because Ihave enjoyed getting to know you so much these past couple of years that I didn’t want to risk losing you again. When I told you, your first response was with laughter "Well, I guess I'm gonna start calling you bro," (funny because last time I was home you started using male pronouns for me and we hadn't even hada conversation). I thank you for your encouragement this morning. You told me to do what makes me happy. You told me that if anyone, any religion, anything tried to tell me that I was wrong or going to hell, you told me not to believe that. You told me to stand firm and to you I’m always and forever your baby. I listen to you and follow you. I trust you. I appreciate you. You asked me “So they’re just gonna cut them off?” and I said jokingly “...kind of. I’ll have a chest like yours now, except less flabby,” making fun of the recent weight you’ve gained. You joked back, “Man what you trying to say? You bet not come up here trying to flex;)” I love you, Dad for being yourself for taking the time to learn how to love yourself. I needed to see you model that. Thank you for teaching me how to be a queer Black man. Thank you for showing me how apology is not given in words but in deeds. Thank you for teaching me to be courageous.

I’m so glad you are my father.



Love,

Kai

--

Kai M. Green  completed his B.A. in American Studies with a minor in Africana Studies at Williams College (2007). Kai is a graduate student in the department of American Studies and Ethnicity (ASE) at USC. He is also a spoken word poet and documentary filmmaker, and is currently working on a project that examines the role of documentary filmmaking in the production of images of Black Lesbians. Additionally, Kai is currently working on a film that examines and documents the experiences of Masculine of Center women and Transmen of color in Bathrooms and Barbershops. If you’d like to contact him about this project or anything else email him at butchesnbathrooms@gmail.com.

 

BOIS OF THE MONTH!!

Every month (kind of...) bbh posts submissions by family, friends, lovers and loved ones, shouting out bois from all over who are doing their thang.

THANK YOU to the people submitting; for taking a few mintues to give love. Y'all know I believe in activism-as-living and this is a great way to give face/voice to our community. -mo

If you've submitted but don't see your submission yet, don't worry. Since we got so many, we'll stagger to give each star their shine. ;]  

Presenting...BOIS OF THE MONTH! 

Renee Favard

Renee is an amazing woman with a heart of gold, integrity of steel and a smile that's golden. She carries herself with poise, class and certainly dresses like the grown and sexy woman she is. Everyone I know who knows her is better off for it. She's definitely a boi of the month----AND designed the layout for the Bois Will Be Bois Calendar! 

(Submitted by: C Sphinx)

Owen Karcher

Owen is my boifriend of one year and I am madly in love with him.  He is a Youth Violence Prevention Educator in Boulder, Colorado.  He teaches youth about social justice, building community, and building healthy relationships through art and other forms of creative expression.  At work he gives trainings about LGBTQ inclusivity/safety and serves on a community that is working to create safer and more accessible services and facilities for trans and gender non-comforming folks.  He is a community organizer, an advocate, an educator, and an all around inspiring human being.  He is also a full-time graduate student in the field of Art Therapy.

Owen is also a big fan of ties, vests and newsboy hats which makes him pretty damn adorable.

(Submitted by: Chelsea O'Neil)

Fabian Romero

Fabian Romero is a Queer Chicano poet, performance artist and community organizer. They co-founded several writing and performance groups including Hijas de Su Madre, Las Mamalogues and Mixed Messages: Stories by People of Color. Their sincere poetry and stories arise from their experience as as Economic Refugee, speaking two languages, Queerness, gender-queerness, brown skin, time as a migrant worker.and childhood in poverty. They were born in Michoacán, Mexico and came to North America when they were seven years old. Since 2007 they have performed throughout the Pacific Northwest, California and New York City. Often times you can hear them spit poetry at Palestinian Solidarity and Immigrant Rights events. They are finishing their BA at The Evergreen State College in Olympia, WA with a focus in writing, social justice and education.

Fabi just returned home from a crazy Greyhound adventure after co-facilitating a workshop at the Queer People of Color Conference in LA last weekend just in time to make it to class this morning! Though they are always on the go, Fabi is always actively contributing to their community via their art and poetry and they're quite talented (Their work will be published later this year in an anthology with other trans and gender queer writers and poets). Fabi is sweet, kind, down-to-earth and sincere. Even with their busy schedule, they still make plenty of time for their friends and family and are a dedicated, supportive and amazing partner.

I think they'd make an excellent boi of the month :)

(Submitted by: Caylo McNeal)

 

bklyn boihood Nominated for a GO Magazine Readers' Choice Nightlife Award!

Hey Fam! bklyn boihood was nominated for a 2012 GO Magazine Reader's Choice Nightlife Award!

Join us tonight @XL nightclub! Advanced Tickets available here.

check out the other nominees here!

Featured Project - in(HER)view a conversation with black women

"There is a stark contrast between what the world sees and what we actually experience as black women...I wanted to portray black women in an honest and truthful way." -Charla Harlow, Creator in(HER)view

(photo: Jasu Sims)

The eight-part series asks five black women the same eight questions about their lived experiences-from what they love about being a black woman to the challenges they face. The first episode of in(HER)view premieres May 7 on HarlowProject.com.

Series premiers May 7th on harlowproject.com

--

Harlow is a director, producer and photographer. The Syracuse native is currently based in Brooklyn, N.Y. Harlow Project's mission is to produce projects that create a community of consciousness. The goal is to talk to everyday people and give them a platform to share their stories by creating a space where we can talk genuinely and truthfully.

Watch the in(HER)view teaser on HarlowProject.com. For more information, email info@harlowproject.com.