T.M. Haddock's Blog, page 2

Who Among Us

Dear Absentee Parents (you know, the ones always there for all the recitals but never the actual child-rearing, discipline, or corrective behavior):

The rest of us are tired of your offspring.

After having an opportunity to process the absolutely maddening, diabolical and chilling terrorist insurrection on the U.S. Capitol last week (that ended with the majority of the mutineers meandering back to their normal lives as if they hadn’t just waged war on the foundations of American democracy), I took to social media to express some very blatant takeaways. 

As a follow-up to those thoughts, I’d just like to know from one alarmed and frustrated citizen of this Republic to another, who among us:

Didn’t see this coming?Is shocked to learn that some members of law enforcement allegedly participated in the mob riots?Understands that far too many people don’t know the difference between religion and idolatry?Knows that no matter how allied they may sound, God and demagogue do not mean the same things?Is painfully aware that police officers can exhibit herculean restraint whenever they so choose?

To those for whom these notions may seem foreign, where have you been? 

We have BEEN saying that this would be the end result of unchecked white nationalism masked as conservatism.  And because a deaf ear was turned in response, we will not be simply moving on for the sake of a disingenuous unity.  Especially when those asking for this premature fast-forward have not been willing to acknowledge longstanding, historical state-sanctioned terror against American citizens (of a different hue), are actively glossing over these present aggressions and criminality, and don’t see the value in the obligatory accountability for the same unity and healing they are so reactively professing to seek.

Perhaps it is time for them to stop asking everyone else to meet them in the middle. Perhaps it is time to take a long, hard look at the values they ascribe to that those unrepentant terrorist proclaim to hold dear as well. Perhaps instead of repeating Dear Leader’s fanciful talking points, it is time to be truly patriotic; to wake up and ascend from the utopian echo-chamber that has led them to believe that it is the “others” and not the “familiar”, who have always been the greatest terror threats to this country.

Happy New Year T.M. Team!

Things can only go up from here friends because, ay dios…2020!

We were all there to bear witness so trust me, there is certainly no need to rehash it all. What is needed however, is for me to express a HEARTFELT thank you to each of you. Despite all that went on around us, you guys checked in, re-read Revealed and patiently awaited the release of Atonement. The engagement I had in 2020 was one of the best I’ve had since embarking on this path of authorship and I couldn’t have achieved it without you!

I have so much more in store for you this year, and I hope and pray that as you calibrate your own lives and practice the necessary self-care measures to get you through each day, you will continue on this wild ride with me.

Much Love and Blessings,
T.M.

I’m…Just…

I’m a believer.
Yet,
I’m tired.
I’m afraid.
I’m overwhelmed.
I’m demoralized.
I’m infuriated.
I’m conflicted.

Everyday as a mother of black children and the wife of a black man, my prayers of provision, protection and prevention scroll through my head in HD with all the possibilities that I am interceding against.

My messages to “be careful” and to “text me when you get there” are incessant and non-negotiable.

Nightly slumber does not embrace me, until all persons belonging to this household finally return safely from their previous destinations.

In offices and boardrooms, I’m praised for my diction and subject/verb agreement (which has been NORMAL for me and the peers who look like me since at least age 8) while bearing the load of the code-switching assimilator with grace and a muted smile.

But that’s the point, isn’t it?

To terrorize us. To traumatize us. To trigger us. And finally, to desensitize us into a life of systemic compliance.

What we are all witnessing is a continued supremacy that’s goal is to normalize indifference.

A superiority complex that was designed to classify a woman as chattel or designate a man’s humanity as 3/5ths, NOT because of any proven deficiencies, but because it otherwise elevated whiteness.

A justified psychology that it is somehow acceptable to create a hierarchy of “betters” and “less thans” based solely on the CONTRIVED construct of race (Shorter: a group of bullies making up rules for why they are better than everyone else and no one challenging it because hell, bullies bully).

The gag is, lots of people who benefit from this configuration have had and will continue to have a difficult time understanding the necessity of its deconstruction; of desiring its dismantling. Which in the words of Dr. Jane Elliott means that they know what is happening (to black people) but they don’t want it for themselves.

And THAT is where the soul searching must begin. It now becomes a choice between the convenience of comfort or the morality of equity. Change, or business as usual. The red pill or the blue.

And having said all that, In 2020 people that are black shouldn’t still have to beg not to be killed because they are seen as a threat first and a human second (if at all). But here we are.

Black Lives Matter

P.S. If you’re like me, then you already know that this walk can sometimes be both debilitating and painful.

To help, here is this conflicted Christian’s guide to seeking God in the face of cultural crisis:
• Romans 12:9 (Vengeance belongs to God)
• 2 Chronicles 7:13-14 (God will forgive and heal the land IF His people seek repentance and humility)
• Isaiah 55:8-9 (God’s ways and thoughts aren’t like ours)
• Joshua 24:15 (Today is the day to make the choice of serving God or servicing the legacy of your forefathers)
• John 13:34 (Love one another the way that God loves you)

Because the National Interest Has Never Been in “All” Lives

This week, some 300 million Americans bore witness to the brutal murder of George Floyd at the hands of ruthless and cavalier police officers (yes, plural), yet a vast percentage of these people are STILL debating the semantics of “All Lives.”

I’d contend that some of these people do in fact understand the implications of acknowledging the longstanding devaluation of black existence, yet still choose to embrace the way of white supremacy.

Ultimately, however YOU choose to fight for equality, just know that not everyone will desire this outcome. Even still, that must be where our energies remain: the outcome.

It is not our job to do God’s. Leave people to want to change (or not). To humble themselves and seek a heart that reflects His (or not).

Our hands (hearts, minds and psyches) are already too full.

Black Lives Matter

Too (Mis)Informed for Our Own Goods!

In an effort to become as knowledgeable about the recent outbreak of COVID-19 and its impacts globally, nationally and at home, I have actively sought information from international and governmental resources, as well as general dialogues from communities that I trust.

I have to say however, that between many of the flagrant and incendiary news stories being circulated, as well as the abundance of irresponsible social media posts and comment threads online, I have become more and more alarmed at the level of misinformation being purveyed and the people who seem all to accepting of it. If for no other reason than to do my part as a responsible global citizen, I just wanted to share some facts around commonly miscommunicated or falsely reported information that I’ve heard or seen peddled lately.

Firstly, it is ALL of our responsibilities to visit sites like the World Health Organization (WHO.int) or The Centers for Disease Control (CDC.gov) if official validation on anything COVID-19 related is needed.

Also, while all may not contract this disease, ALL are susceptible (capable of being affected by it) especially since COVID-19 has jumped from animals to humans and is believed to have mutated into two strains.

Additionally, many outlets have reported (bbc.com being one) that Kem Senou Pavel Daryl, a Cameroonian student living in Jingzhou was the first known African person to contract the virus in Feb, but began “showing signs of recovery” within two weeks after being treated with antibiotics and HIV treatment drugs. Though it continues to appear that outbreaks of the virus in Sub-Saharan regions of African tend to be lower when compared to other localities across the globe, this case does seem to contradict the claim that melanin provides immunity against COVID-19.

Lastly, Johns Hopkins University has developed a global map that tracks in real time locations for all confirmed cases of COVID-19, including new, recovered and those resulting in death (I use it daily as a part of company communications information strategy for my clients). This tool is in-depth as it tracks stats globally, by country and by state (U.S.). You can find it here. It is also available in a mobile version.

My sincere hope is that everyone stays safe and aware during these uncertain times but if you do share COVID-19 information and updates, be your sister’s/brother’s keeper and point them to a trusted, corroborative source!

Miscommunication

I met Zach and Mina during a desperate attempt to assuage a rather strong bout of writer’s block (this manuscript is severely past due!). They are a beautifully flawed, but dynamic pair.

Here is part one of their (very) short story…

* . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . * . *

6:45am, Zach: I don’t know why I thought it’d be easier to send this than to simply wake you and tell you how I felt.  For two reasons, I suppose.  I guess the first is because you looked so beautiful and serene and I didn’t want to be the disruption to that.  The second is because what I’m doing right now is certifiable.

Last
night was amazing and I hope that when you wake up you won’t feel remorseful,
because I CERTAINLY DON’T.  This isn’t
something that I do ever, but you’ve left an unmistakable impression
on me that I cannot seem to shake.  I
don’t fully understand what happened between us or why, but I don’t believe in
coincidences.  We were meant to
meet.  And as pivotal as they were, we
were meant for more than just the past 20 hours we shared.  My flight to London this morning is the only
thing keeping me from learning your body a second time.  But that’s just it Mina, for as insatiable as
you’ve made me, I still want more.  I
want to learn your mind, your likes, who you are…holistically.  And while I may seem like I’m rambling here,
I think you feel it too.  Our connection
is an unorthodox one, but a connection just the same.

            “Sir, we are preparing for take off; if you’d be so kind as to set your device to airplane mode?” the pretty flight attendant requested.  Zach nodded his acquiescence, but continued to hastily punch out the remainder of his message.

I know that I’m a stranger to you.  It wasn’t lost on me that you only gave me your first name and shared nothing overly private.  It’s a crazy world nowadays, so I don’t take it personally. But know this; I’m Zachary Dexter and I desire more than your acquaintance.

Zach prayed that he wasn’t being too forward, but he needed her to know where he stood.  He just hoped she felt the same vibe in the light of day that her body gave off last night and that she would respond favorably to his rushed text.  Powering down his phone and shoving it in the breast pocket of his suit jacket, Zach closed his eyes, hoping to catch a reminiscing glimpse of the woman who’d literally rocked his world.

free·dom

Today’s Independence Day celebrations in The States typically bring to mind just as many commercial descriptors as reverential ones. What, with an ensuing 4-day weekend, massive holiday sales, sumptuous grilled meats and fiery sky explosions, who wouldn’t want to celebrate a day that allows for equal parts rest, relaxation and entertainment?

And granted, while there is nothing wrong with the idea of a nation commemorating a day that represents their fight and ultimate autonomy from a tyrannical monarchy, is anyone really surprised that the concept of July 4th has deviated from historical observation and has instead become one of, if not the largest government sanctioned party holidays? Just the notion of this country celebrating the liberation of its inhabitants is a bit of an ironic dichotomy, wouldn’t you say; the free who fought, bled and died for their rights, yet continued to hold fast to the practice of the enslavement of the others?

But accountability, defense and shame (or the lack thereof) are not the point of this post. Today’s day off from work and the amazing opportunity to catch up on ten hours of live Wimbledon broadcasting has actually been an occasion for me to reflect on what it means to truly be free.

Merriam Webster has already provided an essential point of reference:

\ ˈfrē-dəm \

1: the quality or state of being free: such as

a: the absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action

b: liberation from slavery or restraint or from the power of another :INDEPENDENCE

To that end, when I think of freedom, I am reminded of a few things…

1. I am blessed to have developed (and can exercise) my own point of view.

2. The decisions that I make begin and end with me.

3. My dissent is patriotic.

4. I can disapprove of MANY things about this country and still have every right to BELONG here.

5. I can pursue financial ambitions and societal initiatives all while existing unashamedly in my perfected God form.

6. Freedom belongs to everyone or no one.

7. While I understand that none of us are free in the literal sense, we have all been bestowed the will and aspiration to work toward its achievement.

So, with those prompts in mind, I can assuredly wish each of you a Happy July 4th.

You know, because…freedom.

A Withering Look

In the latest installment of the “1600: It’s Only A Matter of Time” saga, it’s been announced that White House Press Secretary Sarah Sanders has tendered her resignation, effective at the end of the month.

And while you won’t catch me weeping over the loss of yet another non-cabinet member in this administration’s continuous revolving door of senior staff, for me it has been significant (and a bit shocking, if I’m honest) to cite the dichotomy that seems to have made Sanders quite villainous, while at the same time an empowered and effective working mother in a dodgy, demoralizing and dangerous business dominated by men.

For starters, inheriting the position after the abrupt departure of one of the most unhinged press secretaries in modern history, Sarah Sanders came to the job (marred by low public expectations of the holder) far more poised and composed than that of her predecessor. Still, for every direct retort, unyielding talking point or defensive strategy of the president and his administration that she laid out to the press, Sanders was often categorized and vilified for being aggressive, combative and an antagonist.

To be fair, as mouthpieces for an unpopular president, both she and Spicer appeared equally maligned in the role, but I have to be objective in that I don’t believe the attacks on Sanders would’ve been nearly as harsh (her physical appears tended to be a commonly criticized refrain and an often brutal caricature) if she were not a woman.

That however, is where my defense of the former Press Secretary ends. In a lot of ways, I do believe she constructed the pyre that she will now lay on for all posterity. For years, I watched Sanders willfully push and agenda of misinformation with a straight face, only to quietly (if at all) make corrections after evidence was revealed of her fabrications (which she’s even cited as a slip of the tongue). Sanders tirelessly supported the agenda to bar top media outlets from press briefings and she regularly found herself in vocal defense of the indefensible. But, I suppose that when in the employ of a commander-in-chief who insinuates over social media that accuracy is optional, it stands to reason that a pocket-sized morality could be easily stored away the moment one stepped foot on the job site.

The irony for me though has been that Sarah Sanders regularly took up the mantle to berate public media for the same types of attacks and tearing down she claims was done to her that her boss and sitting knee-jerk narcissist has unapologetically done to any woman not willing to fall in line with his touchy (both thin-skinned and assaulting), gas lighting, ill-informed, self important ways. Now, if during her tenure Sanders saw no problem with any of that and only desired to amplify the incendiary musings of a polarizing president, then I’d say she’s done her job effectively.

With resignation in hand, she is now free to take her talents back to Arkansas.

Godspeed.

Cop Out

If you’ve ever lived in a northeastern metropolis, the unwritten understanding has always been that so long as you go with the flow of traffic and are not behaving recklessly or egregiously, traveling a few miles per hour over the speed limit is not really considered a law breaking offense.

If however, you’ve happened to relocate to a region of the country that doesn’t sell alcohol before noon on Sundays and has single-handedly increased the adult onset of Type II Diabetes through syrupy sweet caffeinated concoctions, then you know that slow and steady will always be the order of the day (also, I am quite aware that monosaccharides do not cause diabetes; just allow me my predisposed analogy, m’kay?).

I shared this story on a previous blog that I administered nearly six years ago— before the clashes of cultures, courtesies and common sense was so volatile that people stopped believing in the inherent good in others—and I have to say that my perspective then is very different from the guarded one that I hold today.

I had been driving home after an adrenalin-loaded 3-mile run one evening, when I noticed flashing blue lights behind me. Realizing belatedly that the strobing beams weren’t an invitation to change lanes and allow passage, I slowed down, activated my own blinking hazard lights and drove another half-mile before pulling safely into a grocery store parking lot.

When the officer exited his vehicle, he asked me if I knew why I’d been stopped. Of course I did.

“No.”

He indicated that he’d clocked me driving 11 miles over the posted 35 mile an hour speed limit and I in turn looked at him as if that couldn’t have been accurate. When it was clear that I wasn’t going to concede, he went on to ask me why I hadn’t stopped immediately when it was apparent that he wanted to pull me over.

I allowed him the perfunctory amount of time to view my sweaty, disheveled, alone state before I offered the pragmatic response that I wanted to ensure that I was off the street and in a well-lit area before I stopped my vehicle.

Although neither of us had raised our voices or elicited anything other than practical tones in speaking to one another up to that point, you would have thought that I’d cursed his family name by the stunned expression that crossed his face at my explanation. Not providing a retort for me to digest, the methodical lawman instead just took my license and registration and went back to his car.

Lamenting my pit stains and the reality of a points-accumulating citation, I sat frustratedly with my hands at 10 and 2 when the officer returned to my car with my documents and a perforated ivory slip.

“Slow it down, ma’am,” was all he offered me as he nodded and headed again to his offensively lit vehicle.

Looking down at what turned out to be a warning ticket, I turned in my seat to gaze back questioningly at Sergeant Simpatico. We made eye contact but that was it. Within moments, we were both on our ways.

I knew it then, but it took a few days for me to truly accept that the officer had both recognized and eased my underlying fear that night. He may have never uttered it aloud, but with that simple gesture, he acknowledged that my black life mattered and I was grateful for it.

Today, though?

Six years later and a constant dog whistle sounding in the background? On top of my infraction, I can’t be sure that I wouldn’t have been classified as a fleeing suspect.

And that, unfortunately (and maybe unapologetically, depending on who you ask) is just where we are.

REMIX: GOT Season 8, Episode 5: (Rock) The Bells

She’s hateful, and so am I.

The words had cut her deeper than if Oath Keeper had been thrust straight
through her heart by his own hand.  They
were painful words, antagonizing words. 
Ones she couldn’t un-hear, no matter how hard she tried.

And tried, she had.

From the predawn decision to mount her steed and bolt south through the
death-battered gates of Winterfell to the moment she’d spotted that surly
bastard Clegane lumbering within the Red Keep’s atrium, her laser focus had
been reduced to nothing more than sputtering flashes.  She could lie to Podrick all she wanted about
seeking out her other charge, but she could not lie to herself about why she’d
trekked—amidst the brutal carnage—to King’s Landing.

                                                ***

He had just beseeched her to leave this place.  Well, inasmuch as a snarly beast would
ask.  He bellowed for her to go, but what
she’d recognized instead in his gnarled face and heard in his roared words were
the remnants of the compassion that life had tried—almost successfully—to wring
from him.

She’d left him to die once. 

And now, as they both contemplated how best to achieve the one thing they’d
stayed alive long enough to accomplish, he’d insisted that he did not want that
same fate for her.

Grudgingly heeding his urgings, she walked away from him for what she was
certain would be the final time.  Looking
over her shoulder as he climbed the collapsing stair, she contemplated the man
and not The Hound.

Sandor Clegane.

The sentiment was instantly lost as the vaulted hall began crumbling all
around her.  Narrowly avoiding the
falling ashlar and masonry that now blocked her path, she was forced to dash
toward the dark crevasses of The Keep’s hidden tunnel networks.  She normally wouldn’t have contemplated an ensnaring
descent into the hellish pitch of the Chamber of the Dragon Mosaic while
hellfire also rained from above, but she’d grown to learn her way around this
God-forsaken castle since first arriving in the south as a child all those
years ago.  Which is why, even as she
maneuvered in complete darkness, she knew how many steps would take her to the
torch-lined wall before she made her way to the shaft that would ultimately
lead to the secluded beach just north of the Blackwater Rush.

She had begun to reach for one of the unlit torches just as she
recognized delicate footfalls several paces behind her.

Blessed Many-Faced God!

Clegane would not be the only one to be rewarded with vengeance this day.

                                                ***

When your tears have drowned you,
the Valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale, white throat and choke the
life from you.

She couldn’t shake the prophetic words from her mind, namely due to the
scorching treachery now manifesting at the hands of her brother and his
white-haired queen. 

No, she would not perish like the pathetic, cowering smallfolk outside
the castle walls.  Hastening her steps,
she navigated along the corridor in darkness. 
Reaching the stairway that would lead her to the bay, she cradled her
slightly distended belly with both hands before rushing downward.  She had only taken a handful of steps before
she heard an animalistic growl.  Without
the benefit of sight, she could only ascertain that the sound had been behind
her.  Stopping in her tracks, she
listened for it again.  When it didn’t
come, she took another step.  She was
halfway down the stairs when the scuff of a flint-strike followed by an
illuminating orange glow brightened the stairway.  She turned just in time to see pursed lips
and a short blade.

Awooooooo.

The low, mimicked howl came just as the blade was propelled in the
direction of her head.  Staggering
backward, she avoided the intended beheading, but was severely gashed across
her collar.  Unable to right her footing,
she tumbled violently the rest of the way down the stony decline.

“That was for Lady.  And Bran,”
came the cold and measured words from above.

“Who’s there?” she croaked painfully.

“No one.”

Attempting, yet unable to rise to her feet, she realized that she could
not outrun her pursuer in her current mangled state.  Relegated to her knees, the future of the
golden-haired lion insisted that she at least try.

                                                ***

He didn’t know how much longer he had. 
Admittedly, impaling the impostor had been more about revenge than
survival, but that one moment’s break in concentration had allowed the man to
also stab him deeply beneath the breastplate. 
Now spilling precious life’s blood, he could not be certain that he’d
ever see her again. 

His purpose.  His desire.

Trudging on leaded feet, he made his way from the beach, up to the hidden
entry point amid the rocky cliff side.  His
will was strong, but his body was broken and would move no faster.  Tirelessly he forged on, a pain in every step
and an array of crimson pools and puddles left in his wake.  When he finally reached the bowels of the
lower den, the sight before him nearly stopped his heart.

“That was for Eddard Stark,” the cold words were issued just after the
blade sliced across her achilles, rendering her completely immobile.

“No!” he screamed as blood spurt from both of their open wounds.

“Kingslayer,” the assailant greeted with no mirth in her voice.

“Is she—”?

“Soon enough.”

Standing to his full height and exerting enough energy to make him
lightheaded, he issued a recognizable mandate of his own as he surged forward.  “Not today.”

Their parrying and thrusting were equal parts skill and madness.  Dust and rubble fell from above, but neither
noticed.  One suffered from bloodlust,
the other from blood loss, but neither was willing to see reason.  Metal clanged endlessly as the tunnel
groaned.

“Jaime please, don’t let me die here,” came a whimper from the huddled
mass behind them.

The brief distraction was all that was needed to completely disarm
him.  As his steel clattered to the
ground, she advanced quickly, placing her blade at his throat.

“I’d given up my quarrel with you until this very moment,” she ground
out, suddenly eager to run him through as the agonizing memories of loss began
to wash over her.

“I wish I could say that I was sorry about your family but—”

“—The things we do for love,” she finished as she pierced him.

“Lady Arya!”

Startled, she turned to witness her needless champion storming toward
her. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you from doing something stupid,” she admonished as she stood
between her charge and her lover.

“Move aside, Ser Knight, you are only prolonging the inevitable,” she
grated out both angrily and sarcastically.

“We must leave The Keep at once, we haven’t much time,” she insisted,
just as she heard her name murmured through a bloody gurgle.

“Brienne.”

Stunned silent, she turned to see his penetrating blue gaze holding fast
to her own.

“Please, help us.”

As if jolted by a bolt from the New Gods, she quickly knelt at his
side.  Assessing the wound at his neck and
the other in his chest, she carefully lifted him to where his sister now lay
slumped against the far wall.

“You’d come here to save him, when he’s come here to save her,” her charge spat vehemently.

Ignoring the tantrum, she set the pair alongside one another before
unstrapping her scabbard and laying it at his feet.

“You must wake,” she said calmly as she knelt again in front of the blond
and bloodied twosome.

As eyes identical to her beloved’s opened, she began speaking in a
deceptively comforting tone.

“She is hateful.  She is
tyrannical.  She is unlovable, and yet you
still love her.  You’ve cast away so much
for that love and it has cost you.  She
will die here this day, and so will her child. 
As a father, you will never get the chance to know her child and you…you
will also never know mine.”

Eyes the size of saucers took in Brienne as she stood again to her full height.  Though words were now a commodity that he could no longer afford, he exuded his last vestiges of energy to grasp her hand tightly.  Tears pooled in his eyes as he battled with the regret and resignation at the fate he’d sealed for them both.

“Nothing else matters, only us,” she said as she cut her eyes from him
and briefly cradled her still flat stomach.

Turning on her heel, she immediately met the inquisitive eyes of her leery
charge.

“What did you just whisper to them?” she asked suspiciously.

“Only that they deserved each other,” she said as she gripped the smaller
woman’s arm and rushed them from the swaying and trembling structure.