Arizona I Scream…

Photo: Rex Nader

“You scream, we scream, we all scream for ice cream,” was a nursery rhyme-like ask for one of our favorite deserts…of course my father would “scream” for cherry-vanilla and proceed to consume a quart (or more) and then parade around the house in “pre hip-hop” sagging sweat pants, that found no hips to rest on…

…I never understood how my father could have no butt, but then again…that was before 23&me!

In the middle of the “scream,” was a realization that the power of my voice could move objects.

sculpture: Akiva Huber

..beginning to understand the power of voice was a direction shifting awareness that I feel was a fabulous blessing to receive early in life. It was helpful to see the power of my father’s voice, as he commanded his troops, which influenced me to experiment….

I was always one of the taller if not the tallest in my class…in this life-time I have always had my African roots prominent in my physicality — I am a tall Black Man. Knowing how many in the dominant culture “back peddle” upon the coming of a tall Black man, with a deep bass voice, I chose to speak softly making the power of my soft-spoken voice a magnet….

So onward I have journeyed through this life-time, reflecting on what is in front of me, beside me, behind me and above me…knowing that there have always been walls between folks, holding different levels of transparency.

So while I huff and puff, vowing to blow down only what the stubborn has resisted…and using that wonder gift of voice to sing my song.

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