Pee On Him

Now and again, I am viscerally reminded of the fact that yes, indeed, I am an animal with built in biological impulses that sometimes create random and often times hilarious urges.

I was at the gym this morning with Keith, as we are wont to do in the a.m. Now, for those of you that haven't seen Keith, he is a stunning specimen of the male figure. Walking around in public with him is an exercise in patience and self-control...in two ways. There is the patience and self-control around not mounting him in public and putting on a live sex show...if you'd seen his butt you'd understand what I am talking about. And there is the self-control of not sticking my foot through the throats of some of the gays that practice their x-ray vision when looking at him.

I have to remind myself what my Aunt Lilly told my sister Jasmine at Honey Bun's funeral, "Girl...don't nobody want a man that nobody else wants."

But back to biology.

There are two gentleman at our gym that, according to various online sources, practice the world's oldest profession. They have a friend that we call, "Hooker's Friend." We have all kinds of names for folks at the gym: Vintage Gay, Porn Booty, Onesie, and Shark Eyes to name a few. Now Hooker's Friend LOVES Keith. I mean goes out of his way to say hello and goodbye to him, and today he was standing behind Keith staring a hole in the back of Keith's head.

I thought it was hilarious at first. And then I found myself wanted to do something to stake my claim to Keith. It was more than just a thought...it was a deep seated impulse. I resisted the impulse and it went away, but a moment later, when we were done with our exercise in that area, we got up to walk away, and after walking about ten steps, I realized that I had, without any thought, interposed myself between Keith and Hooker Friend and I had literally swollen up and was walking like a stiff legged cat protecting its mate and territory.

I almost choked trying not to laugh at myself.

I realized that I absolutely had gone to a primal place. I wasn't jealous at all by situation. I wasn't feeling intimidated by the other person. I didn't feel inadequate or off balance. And I wasn't attracted to the other man at all. Those things (minus the last) usually lead me to some really not fun jealousy feelings. This was something else. This was my instincts telling me to "protect my mate from a potential predatory rival." I consiered peeing on him for a second (he's not into that).

Score one for natural selection.

In the end, it was a hilarious reminder that, in fact, humans are animals with instincts...and when those instincts come out in a gay showdown at Gold's gym....it is better than Christmas.

Family=Love

Anyone that knows me and/or reads my blog or has been to one of my poetry readings in the last two years or is a Facebook friend knows about my Honey Bun Aunt Sis. Anyone that has stopped by this blog in the last week knows that last Tuesday, Aunt Sis left this world for the next one. She had bone cancer, which is incurable, but she fought it tooth and nail for two years. When the end came, she went in peace in her sleep. My Dad, though technically her nephew, was one of her sons...considered such by Honey Bun as well as her four biological children. He was listed as her son in the funeral program and it was my Daddy that was by her side most often for the last two years and even before that. I knew that when she died, he was going to have a hard time. Daddy tried to keep his game face on, especially with me, but I knew he was hurting, and he let it out in his own time, surrounded by people that loved her as much as he did.

Now she's home with Jesus. She was a woman of faith, and I know that her faith and love was rewarded. I've written before that I believe God sends angels to walk amongst us...unpresupposing folks that come into this sometimes hurtful, harmful, painful, crazy world to remind us that there is always love. That was my Honey Bun.

Last week, I was in rough shape. There was a three day gap between when I received the news and when I would be able to get to my family. I am still unemployed and David was scheduled to work out of town on Wednesday and Thursday. We needed the money, so I had to wait until he came back so that we could pack and leave. The reality of the living is that we need to keep working cuz the dead have no needs. I was soul weary and heart sick on our drive from NYC to Ronceverte, WV. I was anxious to get to my family, and my Daddy, as he always does when we are travelling to get together, was texting me about every 15 minutes to check on our progress. When we finally pulled up to the Holiday Inn Express in Lewisburg, I basically bolted from the car. My Dad came around the corner, and up the road came walking my great-aunt and uncle Lilly and Sherman and my cousin Buddy. Right then I knew what I needed. I needed my family.

Like my Aunt Sis, my family is crazy as Hell. As we walked from the car, I looked in the window of the hotel lobby and saw a room full of black folks. I knew they belonged to me and that I belonged to them. My sisters had arrived from Atlanta about 15 minutes before we got there, and I walked into a room of familiar as well as unknown faces. But even the faces I didn't recognize were clearly people to whom I was related. Aunt Barb, Aunt Bud, Aunt Sister Mary Jerome, my sisters, my cousin Wendell and all the others had the stamp of those hills on their face. And damn if they weren't all beautiful.

Over the course of the weekend I became re-acquainted with family I hadn't seen in years, met family I had never met, and met at least 100 people who weren't biologically related but were people that loved my Aunt Sis. The church was packed, the service was rockin' and even though there were tears and sadness, hearts broken and fences to be mended, at all tims and every step of the way there was someone telling a story to make folks laugh. The Lacy's are a folk built for joy. We are an entire family of story tellers and flame keepers. Eloquence is a family trait as is a wicked sense of humor. And we are beautiful, so so so beautiful from the octogenerians down to the infants, the Lacy's, as my sister says, have good genes. Genes or not...it was the laughter and the love, the soul food and the singing, the praise and the memories, the open doors, open homes and open hearts....the family...that made us so damn beautiful.

I am sad that my Aunty Sis has left us. I am sure there will be tears in my future, but I left those beautiful emerald hills with so much joy, and a committment to knowing those kin more deeply, and that is a gift that I know my Aunty Sis wanted all of us to walk away with.

Family equals love.

Honey Bun, NYAC, and Osama Bin Laden...and it's only Tuesday

Yesterday morning when I woke up, Osama Bin Laden was dead. This morning when I woke up my Honey Bun was dead. In between those two deaths, the official word came out that National Youth Advocacy Coalition would be closing its doors forever on May 13, 2011.

PS It's only Tuesday.


On the death of Osama Bin Laden...

I have already written plenty on Osama Bin Laden. The implications of his death, the impact on us as individuals and a nation, and the reverberations around the world will play out as they are meant to play out and will become more clear in the days and weeks to come. Oils prices dropped. Stock markets rebounded. College students that were, at best, in middle school when 9/11 happened were dancing in front of the White House evoking scenes of anti-U.S. protests across the world (we really are no different or better than anyone else as a people). And stories abounded that for the first time, almost every person in the U.S. (and probably the developed world) received information about a major news event (global scale) from alternative media, specifically text messages, Facebook and Twitter.

My last thoughts on Osama Bin Laden for now, I will sum up with two quotations that I used as status updates yesterday:

‎

I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr. (according to an article in the Atlantic...the first line of this quotation may have been made up in response to Osama's death...the rest is verifiably MLK...either way...it's an awesome quotation).

‎Do not rejoice when your enemies fall,and do not let your heart be glad when they stumble. --The Holy Bible, Proverbs 24:1.

I also want to honor my little brother, Julius Lacy, who has served in Afghanistan and my sister Shannon Lacy, who has served in Iraq. May you both be kept from harms way and thank you for your service.

On the closing of NYAC...

My morning yesterday was taken up with the news of Osama Bin Laden. The furor over Bin Laden's death and my own internal conflicts around his execution and its meaning had full control over my brain functions yesterday, so much so that I forgot that the public announcement of NYAC's closing would be happening. Midweek last week, on a very hard board of directors conference call, after six months back on the board after 10 years away, and after an extreme effort by the board and staff to try and salvage NYAC and keep it solvent, the numbers spoke and the recommendation from our lawyers and accountants was that it was time for NYAC to close its doors for good. I stand 100% behind that decision, though by taking the vote that I took in favor of shutting NYAC down, I was clear that my vote, in addition to closing the only national organization committed to queer youth empowerment, I was also closing the door on an amazing part of my life as a young organizer.

It was sometime around 1996 that I first became aware of the work of NYAC. In fact, it was summer 1996. I was a student at Warren Wilson College, and I had been invited to trek to DC from Western North Carolina to give a three minute speech at the first ever Youth Pride, which was a joint project of SMYAL, NYAC, and the HRC. At the time, I had just managed to get then HRC Executive Director Elizabeth Birch to put WWC as the only college stop on her anti-Jesse Helms re-election tour in NC. This was before the HRC had gone full blown racist and before EliZabeth Birch showed her true colors as a gross power mongering assimilationist. As you can see...I no longer support her or the HRC.

There I go digressing again.

From that point forward NYAC was a part of my life and training as a young queer organizer. I first met founding executive director Rea Carey at a SE Regional NYAC conference, through organizing work in the South, I met and fell in love with Urooj Arshad, Koren Hoard, Andy Garcia, Asha Leong, and so many other NYAC staff and program participants. And, for a brief time, I joined NYAC's board though after a year, I was removed from the board largely because I was constantly in the face of the organizations new executive director over his very problematic race politics. From 2001-2010, I ket in touch with NYAC staff and the ebb and flow of NYAC's work. In late 2010, the fierce and fantastic Amita Swadhin stalked me and convinced me to return to NYAC. Her vision for the rebirth of the organization, after years of mismanagement, stagnation and ineffectiveness in many ways, was compelling. I signed up and poured my energy and efforts into her vision. Her vision was compelling and transformative, so much so that many folks from my NYAC generation came back to offer support and love to the organization. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late and there was too much overburdened and overstuffed baggage that Amita and the rest of us inherited from the previous board(s) and administration of the organization. The end result is that NYAC will shut its doors permanently on May 13, 2011. It is a huge loss to our community and it is a very personal loss for me. The official statement from NYAC released yesterday provides more information on the decision to shut down and the efforts made to revitalize the organization over the last few months.


On the death of Edith Daugherty aka Aunt Sis aka Honey Bun...

This morning, I woke up just as David was about to leave the house for his morning dog park trip with Mimzy. I had just grabbed my phone and saw that I had three text messages and three phone calls from my Dad since I had gone to bed the night before. I was pretty certain what that meant. I shouted for David not to leave yet, and instead of listening to my Dad's voice mail messages, I called him back. He told me that Honey Bun had died peacefully and without pain early this morning.

I've known for two years or so now that this day was going to come. Honey Bun had bone cancer which is incurable, slow, and ultimately fatal. This is the third loved one that I have lost to cancer since September 2008, though with the previous two, my cousin and Mrs. Harris, there was hope that chemo and other treatments would arrest the cancer. I think the difference between hope and knowing that the end is going to come is the difference between being able to say goodbye on your own terms and having hope turn into denial which makes the goodbye harder.

That's how it works theoretically. In reality, I realized this morning that I was (and still am) in denial. Honey Bun isn't gone. It isn't real. It won't be real until I see her for myself. I know academically that she has moved on (and though I love all of you dearly that come to my blog and read this...the first person that tells me that she is in a better place is going to get the shit beat out of them). I know she is in a better place. I will refer you all to a blog I wrote recently....I could give a damn. She is my Aunt Sis. She raised my Dad. She was the first person in my Dad's family to unequivocally love me when I came out. She didn't give a shit. She was like the Honey Badger that way. I was her crazy as Hell nephew and she loved me crazy...just like her. She was smart, sassy, hilarious, elegant, no bullshit, survivor, beautiful, black, woman, mother, grandmother, aunty, sister, healer, soul food provider, gravy maker, powerful, love. She was love. She was what love was meant to be. She was my Honey Bun. My Aunty Sis. My heart. She earned her long rest, and I know that when she decided to head on up to Heaven this morning she took a minute to love us all a little bit more fiercly. I know she knew that when she went on home that she was going to be leaving behind a whole lot of people that love her. I know she went on somewhere that she could keep a closer eye on us cuz even though we are grown, she was pretty sure that we were going to burn the house down or do something dumb...cuz as grown as we get, we would never been more grown than her.

I know when she got to the other side of the River this morning, Jesus was waiting for her with a mason jar of blackberry brandy. He told her it was like that cup of oil from Hannukah and it would just keep on refilling itself. I know that Grandma Drue, and Granny Juanita and Grandaddy Dover, Miss Eva Clay, and all her other old time friends and ancestors (and probably a few lovers...with her fast behind) were waiting for her with their own mason jars of brandy and shine. I hear my great-great-great grandmother made the best roasted ground hog in the county....and Aunt Sis was never one to turn down good meat. I bet she had a hug for our first ancestors that was snatched up from Africa, and I bet whoever that man or woman is couldn't wait to tell Aunty Sis how proud they are of her and how she lived and loved her way through life.

I know she is alright now. She isn't hurting anymore. No more neuropathy. No more tiredness. No more transfusions. No more platelelts. No more physical rehabilitation. No more intensive care unit. No more hospitals. Just love. Just glory. Just celebration and rejoicing.

I am in no rush to get up there with her, but I know she is waiting or me. I bet my Grandpa Carey, the best man who ever lived, is waiting patiently behind all of Honey Bun's friends and relatives to introduce himself to her. I wish I could be there to see my two favorite and most blessed elders meet one another. I wish I were there to hear them tell each other all the stories they both told me. I wish I could watch their eyes open up in wonder that a man from Northern Minnesota and a woman from southern West Virginia could have such similar stories. And I know they both love me, so how could they not get along?

So, I am going to let myself feel what I need to feel. Honey Bun won't tolerate me acting out or stuffing my feelings in and down. But I can't be happy for her just yet. I am selfish. I have to be sad for me first. I am glad that she isn't in pain anymore. I am glad that she has gotten that mansion she has earned. But right now, I want my Honey Bun here with me....teasing me...sassing me...remind me why family is so damn beautiful.

Honey Bun

Sweet like honey
She is
Those hills
Are powerful
Green shoulders
Hunched and laughing
Streams course along her
Telling stories
'bout blackberry brandy
Brewed up out back
'long side the white lightning
Home
Remedies
Fried chicken and chittlin's
Collards green like those hills
Just out the backdoor
The stone wombs
That sheltered Her
That child of 1709
According to the Bill of Sale
African embryo
Artificially inseminated
Across the Middle Passage
Implanted in those Hills
born from a coal mine
And mountain granite
Gave birth to a black bird
Singin'
Sweet like fresh honey
We shall overcome
As she built a bonfire
To celebrate Brown v Board of Education
Said, "Don't know who burnt down the Negro school."
Hehehe she laughed
"But I do know they wasn't sending my children back."
Black bird said, "I am old and crazy as hell."
She'll not be with us much longer
Daughter of those hills has bone cancer
It doesn't matter cuz she's been to the mountain top
And took us with her
Honey Bun coating our tongues and spirits
With sweet strength
This Black Bird gon' sing a little bit longer
Stronger than those granite hills
Spill stories like rivers of honey
Sometimes bittersweet memories
Of mill slaves marched off to glory
Hallelujah
Sweet like honey
She is all we could dream to be
Strong like those hills
Those Greenbrier hills that gave birth
to a blackbird
sweet like honey
sing us home.

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-New York, NY
-September 11, 2010

POETRY: Honey Bun

I have a Great Aunt whose name is Edith Daughtery. Folks my age and older call her Aunt Sis. When Aunt Sis' grandson Ryan was born, she would call him Honey Bun, and so he started calling her Honey Bun in return. All of my younger brothers and sisters know Aunt Sis as Honey Bun.

This short woman with a giant's spirit still lives in the same house that is right next door to where the house she grew up in once stood. She still lives, in her mid-80s, by herself in Ronceverte, West Virginia. Ronceverte is the town where my family were slaves. My Dad travels from Charleston to Ronceverte to see her every other weekend, and this spitfire woman still works as a house cleaner, still runs the street like a fast teenage girl, and teaches the children's service at her church.

When I came out of the closet, she shrugged and said to tell her something that she didn't know.

I love my Aunt Sis, and I wrote this poem for her.

Honey Bun

Sweet like honey
She is
Those hills
Are powerful
Green shoulders
Hunched and laughing
Streams course along her
Telling stories
'bout blackberry brandy
Brewed up out back
'long side the white lightning
Home
Remedies
Fried chicken and chittlin's
Collards green like those hills
Just out the backdoor
The stone wombs
That sheltered Her
That child of 1709
According to the Bill of Sale
African embryo
Artificially inseminated
Across the Middle Passage
Implanted in those Hills
born from a coal mine
And mountain granite
Gave birth to a black bird
Singin'
Sweet like fresh honey
We shall overcome
As she built a bonfire
To celebrate Brown v Board of Education
Said, "Don't know who burnt down the Negro school."
Hehehe she laughed
"But I do know they wasn't sending my children back."
Black bird said, "I am old and crazy as hell."
She'll not be with us much longer
Daughter of those hills has bone cancer
It doesn't matter cuz she's been to the mountain top
And took us with her
Honey Bun coating our tongues and spirits
With sweet strength
This Black Bird gon' sing a little bit longer
Stronger than those granite hills
Spill stories like rivers of honey
Sometimes bittersweet memories
Of mill slaves marched off to glory
Hallelujah
Sweet like honey
She is all we could dream to be
Strong like those hills
Those Greenbrier hills that gave birth
to a blackbird
sweet like honey
sing us home.

-Brandon Lacy Campos
-New York, NY
-September 11, 2010