Dream Interrupted

Hotep,

“Leroy Mann, report to the sergeant’s office.” The distortion of the walkie-talkie was clear in my mind’s ear.  A dream easily becomes a nightmare when you have to wake up on death row.  It’s my opinion that dreams exist for the sole purpose of discovery.  Real talk.

Recently, I dreamt that I was doing crunches on the beach.  I could feel the summer sun challenging my skin’s melanin.  The scent of the salty ocean overwhelmed my nostrils as my back pounded the hot sand beneath me…” 98, 99, 100.”  I was at peace, feeling freedom in its truest essence.  Na mean?

My dream was choreographed by a screenplay tentatively titled, “Carnival,” a creation by the accomplished playwright, Ms. Nikkole Salter.  The proud recipient of “The Global” and “The Drama League” awards, Nikkole took me on a trip to Rio De Janeiro, Brazil.

I must admit, I haven’t enjoyed reading a play since I was in high school.  MacBeth, The Miracle Worker and Beowulf were epic literary works indeed, but Nikkole’s “Carnival” is the first play that I’ve read that didn’t have a definitive protagonist.  I didn’t realize it until I completed the reading.  As I went through the pages, at no time did I feel like something was missing.  I gotta tip my hat.  The girl got skills.  Word is bond!

I don’t know if Nikkole has always dreamed of being a writer, but her literary works are that of someone who loves what she does and to me, that’s living a dream.  Ya heard?

“Leroy Mann, report to the sergeant’s office” interrupted my dream of freedom and tranquility.  As I open my eyes to life on death row, a revelation comes to mind:

“If it wasn’t for my struggles of yesterday, I wouldn’t be the strong Mann that I am today.”

As long as I keep waking up, I’ll always have something to write about.  My dream of being a world renowned writer is happening as you read this.  You’re reading a dream that is interruption free.  That’s what’s up!

Check out more information on Nikkole Salter at (http://nikkolesalter.com/).

Keep it 100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2001 by Leroy Elwood Mann

The Joy of Pain

Hotep,

My grandseed, ‘Deuce’ is well into his 3^rd year of existence. I’ve witnessed a small portion of his life through my son’s Facebook page. Deuce is a beautiful replication of his dad, my son, ‘Day-Day.’ I haven’t had the chance to meet my grandseed in person yet, but he has brought joy to my life all the same. Na mean?

It’s crazy when you think about it. The birth of a child is usually synonymous with pain; the months of discomfort, the swollen feet and inevitable contractions. One might think nothing good can come from such a discomforting transition, but when I look at my Lil’ Mann, I can see nothing but joy, a joy that relieves the pain of pessimism. Any uncertainties that once plagued my mental no longer exist, thanks to this joy. Feel me?

When my son was ten years old, I recall him asking: “Dad when you gettin’ out?” It crushed me when I had to say that I didn’t know. I did my best to encourage him to never give up on me. I promised him that I would continue to fight for us and I wouldn’t rest until I was out there with him.

Well, here we are, nearly 13 years later. I’ve kept every scribe Day-Day has ever written to me. I remain in the box, but I’m still fighting and holding true to my word. The pain of being separated from my son for all of these years subsided when my grandseed was born.

You see, the painful years I spent looking at Day-Day through this prison Plexiglas partition proved to be productive when he became a father and began to understand how the seed of a Mann inspires you to wake up every day and give thanks for someone knowing you as ‘Dad.’ Pain relieved. Ya heard?

I’m proud of you Son. Never let Jess forget that the pain she endured for the sake of my grandseed’s existence is greatly appreciated by your East Coast fam, especially me, his ‘G-Dad.’ The seed of a Mann is a beautiful thing Son. I see me in you every day when I look at your pics. As for my grandseed, Deuce, you are who you are Lil Mann. My blood…My heart…My future. That’s what’s up!

Keep it 100,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

Drawing by Paul D. Cummings, aka 'Lil Bison'

Behind the Image

Image – The public’s opinion or concept of something.  The character projected to the public as interpreted by the mass media. 

 American Heritage College Dictionary

   

 Hotep,

I learned at an early age that my grandfather, the late, great, Mr. Julius Samuel, was in the business of making people feel better about themselves.  He was the proud owner of ‘Art Barbershop,’ a small, but productive establishment that was a pillar in the South Philly community.  He was the epitome of success for the younger generation of men in my fam.  My cousins, Zay and Chuck as well as my brother D and myself, spent a lot of time with ‘Pop-pop’ inside of Art Barbershop.

Pop-pop was a catalyst in a sense of adjusting a person’s image.  To him, barbering was more than a trade.  It was a refined art, hence the name, Art Barbershop.  He was an artist with the skills for creating favorable public perceptions for anyone that required his services.  Whether it was a job interview, wedding, funeral or graduation, Pop-pop authored the first impression of his clientele with a steady hand and well maintained clippers.  Word is bond!

The lack of well maintained clippers led to my decision to grow dreadlocks in 2001.  For 5 years, I nurtured my wavy ‘Caesar’ into shoulder length knotty roots.  Something I know Pop-pop would never have approved of, but I had to do what needed to be done.  Na mean?

Outside of my fam, I didn’t bother explaining to anyone my reason for growing dreads.  The length of my roots altered the everyday interaction between me and some staff members of this prison.  My image coerced a change in their disposition.  I began to accumulate write-ups.  Some were warranted, but most of them I attributed to my choice to bare dreads.  Feel me?

I’ve been rocking the bald head since 2006, not to win favor with the staff.  My reason for taking the razor to my dreads was simple: As time moved on, so did my hairline.  Real talk.  It’s like I said earlier, I had to do what needed to be done.  Ya heard?

My write-ups have reduced drastically since I cut my dreads.  It’s crazy, because I can recall being advised not to wear a bald head during my pretrial hearings.  I was told it would make me look like an angry black man.  Well, I followed that advice and a death sentence was the result.  The lesson learned?  My image as a hip-hop artist would dictate the outcome of my trial.  My haircut was irrelevant.  Na mean?

The image of president Obama addressing the nation concerning the international coalition to instill safety amongst Libyan civilians is that of a no nonsense politician, but behind this image he’s just a loving father with a decent haircut trying to make the world a better place for his children and the generations to follow.  My grandfather would be proud of the 44^th president, not because he had a decent barber either.  My grandfather knew that the heart of a man was the beginning of his image.  Public perception can’t define who you are on the inside.  Ya heard?

With that said, I want to acknowledge the hand behind the artwork for this week’s post, my man Cerron T. Hooks.  His infinite skills created this image and this image is now immortal expression.  Good look Dunn.  That’s what’s up!

Stay Up,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

-        Making moves not to lose always hovers over your head, whether bald or dread. Hear my voice cause if they had a choice, they would rather see me dead.

Doc Terra (DaMann)

“Say a lil something”

Heart and Soul

Hotep,

If you’ve had the chance to experience my Ball Til We Fall blog, then you should be more than familiar with the baller known as “Heart and Soul.” The reigning defensive player of the year placed second in the tournament M.V.P votes and came within one game of achieving his third tournament chip in five years.  At 5’8” and 158 pounds (immediately after a good meal), this lanky sensation defies all b-ball logic.  His will eclipses any physical shortcomings he may bring to the court.  Na mean?

I thrive on being the underdog.  I’m naturally drawn to others who exhibit the heart and soul of an underdog, like James Madison’s 5’7” senior point guard, Dawn Evans.  She suffers from a kidney disease known as focal segmental glomerulosclerosis (FSGs).  It’s the same disease that temporarily sidelined NBA ballers, Alonzo Mourning and Sean Elliott, but lil’ mama continues to break ankles on the court despite her physical setback.  That’s what’s up!

And, I gotta mention my girl Naima Adedapo.  Her display of heart and soul has given me a reason to watch this year’s American Idol competition throughout its entirety.  When she sang that Donny Hathaway joint, in the wild card round, I was convinced that she could change the game by winning American Idol.  It’s definitely a long shot, but the MannofStat is pulling for you Ma.  Ya heard?

My cousin Zay taught me firsthand how to defy life’s odds when a bullet sent him to the I.C.U in the spring of 1993.  Seeing Zay in that condition was devastating, to say the least.  He was far from being that big athletic, energetic cat from south Philly that I knew so well.  I mean I can’t front, I gave up on my man Zay.  My faith wasn’t what it should’ve been.  I was caught up in the physical and tried to make it easier for me to deal with what I thought would be the inevitable.  Na mean?

My Aunt Mary (R.I.P), Zay’s moms held onto her faith.  She kept saying that her son was responding to her voice, but the doctors attempted to diffuse her optimism with their science.  “It isn’t possible, he’s in a vegetative state,” they said.  Real talk.

Aunt Mary had a cassette player in Zay’s room.  She would play gospel music and just talk to him.  Needless to say, the underdog regained consciousness a short time later.  Now, I know it was wrong, but I would smuggle a Kool G Rap cassette into his room during my visits.  Zay and I were diehard Kool G Rap fans.  So you can imagine how I felt when I saw him using his left index finger emulating a maestro conducting a symphony orchestra, to the sounds of “Brotha On the Run.” It was at that point, I knew the underdog was on top.  Feel me?

Aunt Mary’s faith and the heart and soul of an underdog defied the logic of man, giving the Creator all of the glory. Ya heard?  I miss you so much Aunt Mary.  Your presence in this realm will always have relevance as long as I have a voice.  No doubt.  And to my man Zay, it’s been a minute Cuz.  Times have been hard all the way around for both of us, but you can never underestimate the heart and soul of an underdog.  Word is bond!!

One Love Dunn,  

MannofStat

Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

A Mother's Love is Unconditional

Hotep,

Writing has always come easy for me, but like any writer from time to time I will encounter that literary flu bug that may temporarily subdue the best of our capabilities. This symbolism of a virus is better known as ‘writer’s block.’  As far as I know, there is no pill to combat this type of virus, but I’m sure the best writers produce their own metaphorical vaccines to conquer any lethargy that feeds this detested virus.  Feel me?

I wrestle with ideas for this blog on a daily basis.  Sometimes I can’t sleep due to my excessive thinking. Word is bond.  My thoughts can be a collage of newfound information (e.g. Earthquake in Japan, The US Bombs Libya, Charlie Sheen goes 7:30 or Villanova being one and done in the NCAA tournament).  These thoughts range from life threatening to just plain irrelevant, but the overwhelming sting of all of them at once, compels me to inject my metaphorical vaccine to stem the chaos or ‘writer’s block.’ Na mean?

Meet my moms, ‘Stingin B’ (that’s Ms Bea to anyone else).  Now if you’ve read this blog, you know how I feel about my moms.  Just the thought of her makes me wanna pick up the pen and share some ink about our relationship.  It’s always been easy for me to express my feelings about my moms.  To say, “I have the best moms in the world,” would be a cliché.  It’s more solidifying to say that my moms has no parallel in the arena of unconditional love.  Ya heard?

My moms blessed me with the jewels of chivalry at a very young age.  Simple things like opening and closing doors for ladies or holding a woman’s chair while she’s being seated were lessons that influenced the good in a young MannofStat.  The men in my family schooled me about manhood, but it was my moms that taught me how to be a gentleman.  These memories suppress the mental chaos, paving the way for my future expressions to the Masses.  That’s what’s up!

My all time favorite ode to mothers is a classic cut by the Intruders called, ‘I’ll always love my momma.’ Now, I know I’m old school, but somebody in this blogsphere can hear me, right? If not, let me just say that this song is indicative of my mom’s ability to balance a firm hand in raising her children with a nurturing spirit that proved to be contagious.

Making a mistake was never an excuse for my moms to point her finger, but she would exercise her right as my mother to show me what I needed to be doing, rather than harping on my shortcomings.  Moms always gave me a reason to feel good about who I am. Na mean?

Diligent mothers, please hear my voice.  Your monumental sacrifices will have an infinite affect on generations to come.  I applaud the valiancy of your efforts to keep the family strong, encouraged and together. 

Happy Mother’s Day Moms!  And, Happy Mother’s Day all around the globe.  The late great Mr. James Brown once said, “It’s a Man’s World.” For that to be true, a mother had to be the salt that seasoned his life. Ya heard?

I Love You Moms,

MannofStat

Copyright © 2011 by Leroy Elwood Mann

“A mother’s love is so special, it’s something that you can’t deny.  It’s the kind of love that stays with you until the day you die.”

The Intruders