Charles Easley

Panelist for "The Color of Media"

For the second year the Charlotte Black Film Festival (CBFF) will screen three days of independent films that express the African American experience. It all happens during the Central Intercollegiate Athletic Association (CIAA) basketball tournament.

Q City Metro’s own weekly columnist Professor Locs, aka Charles Easley will serve on a panel  for the Charlotte Black Film Festival with other distinguished guest on the subject of The Color of Media.  The panel discussion will be held March 1st this Thursday at the Mint Museum UPTOWN from 10:00am – 12:00pm.  The Color of Media panel will discuss how African-Americans are portrayed on TV and in Films. 

Professor Locs: Black History Month

This is the latest in the Professor Locs "On the Yard" series.  Professor Locs tries to process the sometimes myopic vision of how multiple cultures can be celebrated.   I am still searching for a character with actual locks...lol.  Enjoy! 

Trayvon Martin: A Culture of Apathy

Al Sharpton and others are already preparing to protest and start a national campaign to highlight the tragic death of Trayvon Martin, the 17-year-old Florida teen who was shot by an overzealous neighborhood watch leader. Unlike in so many other cases, this young man was not engaged in nefarious activity but was simply walking home from a neighborhood store, which makes his death all the more senseless.

Still, I can’t help but wonder: Why do some youth in our community die in total obscurity while others are given a national spotlight?

Mine may be a minority opinion, but I would like to see us as a community become as engaged and outraged when any of our youth are taken too soon, regardless of the killer’s ethnicity.

Thanks to an epidemic of violence, we have become desensitized to killing. And this sense of apathy becomes more distinct as it relates to marginalized communities and the disposability of their citizens.

We have seen our share of teen casualties right here in Charlotte. And just recently, according to the Chicago Tribune, the Windy City saw a rash of shootings that left at least 10 people dead, including a 6-year-old girl. We are not hearing as much about those because some folks involved have been linked to gang activity – again, they were disposable.

I guess this is hitting close to home for me because I have three young nephews, and although they are reasonably well adjusted, I fear for their well-being. I do not want them to suffer the same fate as Trayvon Martin. The cultural dirty secret that we do not like to discuss, of course, is that they are more likely to be harmed by someone from their own culture.

I mentor many youth, especially young black men, and I am increasingly disturbed by the pervasive street mentality that I see. How can you say that you want to be educated, learned and evolved when you continue to adhere to the same street ideology?

I see how angry and disillusioned these young men are and how quickly they are willing to take it out on one another without understanding that there is a system in place that is waiting to absorb them into its institutionalized mechanical clutches.

It is like watching an episode on the Discovery Channel, where two hyenas attack one another while absolutely oblivious to the more prominent threat of a huge culture of lions surrounding them and awaiting to consume them both.

Chris Rock once said during one of his comedy routines that, when he went out at night, he was not fearful of “the man” but was more concerned of other black folks. He used the n-word, but I am trying to be more academic…smile.

Again, I am not trying to diminish the tragedy of young Martin’s death, but can we expect to hold mainstream society accountable to a standard of our cultural worth when we cannot consistently honor our own lives and relevance?

How can I talk about the state of your kitchen when I have dirty dishes stacked in my sink?

Maybe an appropriate litmus test of our evolutionary status as a society and community should be that we passionately organize, rally and protest when any child is lost, regardless of race, class, gender or socio-economic background.

The Color of Dating

So I was recently having a conversation with one of my close girl friends, Alease, about relationships. I have so much love and respect for this sister because she is her own woman and lives life on her own terms. Since I have known her, she has sometimes come under scrutiny for dating interracially.

I personally dated multiple cultures back in the day when I took my work as a community liaison very seriously (this is code for man whore….lol). I always related interracial dating to my fixation with a brand new box of crayons: Since I had a choice of 24 colors, why draw with only the green?

We are about to experience CIAA weekend, so this might give some a fleeting sense of hope in the dating pool. This is only temporary, people. You can enjoy the feast, but be prepared for the famine that takes place during drought season…lol.

There are so many African American women that I have known in my family, and also as friends, who, for whatever reason, are not open to dating outside their race. African American men strangely do not seem to have similar issues. It also seems that this reluctance is generational. I see many of my students who comfortably date across the racial divide with little regard to what people may think.

The last time I went home, I noticed that most of my young cousins are dating outside their race. Our family album is starting to look like an old-school United Colors of Benetton Ad.

If this is a trend that continues in our society, then why are some folks, especially African American women, so resistant to the concept?

When I was younger and traveled to Europe, my good friend, Marla, shared this metaphor: She said that for the first time I would understand what it was like to be white, blond and good looking. Marla is a dark-skinned, beautiful, curvy sister who has not always gotten the attention she deserved. Her travels to Europe changed her perspective. She found a bounty of men from many cultures waiting to compete for her attention.

And just as Marla predicted, I found in my travels an authentic appreciation for your cultural uniqueness. Imagine walking into a mainstream club in UPTOWN and having a majority of the patrons genuinely wanting to get to know you, and not in this weird, fetish “let’s sneak out the back before my friends see me” way. It was this experience that led me to understand that our narrow, Western concept of beauty has skewed our own perception of our own cultural beauty, worth and relevance.

I wonder if more black women were able to see themselves though this global lens if they would be more receptive to the attention that awaits them from so many other suitors?

I have queried many African American women in this ongoing discussion and have heard their worries. So I offer Professor Locs’ Top Five concerns that black women have about interracial dating:

5. How would he treat my children? (If your kids are good, no problem. If they are bad, like any other man, he will act as if he likes them to win you over but mentally he is beating them like piñatas)

4. What if people stare at us? (It is more common than you think. You are dating another race, not a farm animal. If they are staring, it could be his outfit choice.)

3. What if we are not compatible in bed? (Do what always works -- get through the evening, fake like you had a good time and then change your cell number.)

2. Could I take him with me to church? (Gauge his comfort level. You may want to start off with a quiet Methodist service and eventually work him up to an all-out, choir-singing, foot-stomping, shouting and speaking-in-tongues Pastor’s Anniversary Pentecostal Sunday Service.)

1. What if he wants to swim or touch my hair? (This response is universal, regardless of race: Look at him crazy and say, “Hell No.”)

So, enjoy yourselves during CIAA weekend, and color only with the black crayon if you wish, but remember: When the talent pool dries up again, you might want to consider coloring with one of the other 23 colors in your box…smile.

Panelist for "The Color of Media"

For the second year the Charlotte Black Film Festival (CBFF) will screen three days of independent films that express the African American experience. It all happens during the Central Intercollegiate Athletic Association (CIAA) basketball tournament.

Q City Metro’s own weekly columnist Professor Locs, aka Charles Easley will serve on a panel  for the Charlotte Black Film Festival with other distinguished guest on the subject of The Color of Media.  The panel discussion will be held March 1st this Thursday at the Mint Museum UPTOWN from 10:00am – 12:00pm.  The Color of Media panel will discuss how African-Americans are portrayed on TV and in Films.

The Charlotte Black Film Festival was founded by Tommy Nichols president and CEO of Glorified Media, and Dream Media Studios, LLC, an innovative corporate and event video production company.  The mission of the festival is to create economic empowerment for, heighten awareness of, promote the significance and need for African American cinema as an art form, and to be a voice for independent filmmakers of color.

You can visit http://charlotteblackfilmfestival.com/for more information on the films being screened, moderators, panelist, workshops and a complete schedule of events.

Black actresses: One step forward, two steps back By Professor Locs – January 25, 2012

Since last week, when the Golden Globes premiered, I’ve had very spirited discussions with some of my film students. Many are concerned and somewhat disenchanted with the restrictive culture of Hollywood as it relates to roles for black folks, especially black women. 

I watched the Globes last week and celebrated Octavia Spencer's win for Best Supporting Actress in “The Help.” I also had to bite my nails when one of my favorite actresses, Meryl Streep, won for her role in “The Iron Lady” and ousted Viola Davis for her incredible role in “The Help” in the Best Actress category.

Some critics will point out that the Golden Globes is a significant indicator of who will represent during Oscar night. The nominations were released yesterday and both Octavia Spencer and Viola Davis in their roles in “The Help” are nominated for Best Supporting actress and Best Actress respectively.  

Here is where I begin my rant. I typically have a problem with Hollywood “era” films that deal with race or in most cases do not deal with race authentically. 

My grandmother worked her entire life for white families, and I saw first hand the caste system at work. 

(Side note: Why is it that when black actors play servants or domestic roles like in “The Help,” they are always referenced as being “dignified?” If dignified is code for being able to get through an interview without pimp slapping the person that references your role as dignified, then I guess they are accurate.) 

There are incredible roles being portrayed by black actors and even recognized by alternative organizations like the Essence awards and the NAACP Image Awards. Many artists who are honored by these alternative organizations will say it means a lot coming from their own community. However, few of these awards shows have the career-advancing potential when compared to being honored by mainstream environments like the Oscars. And even then it can be hit or miss for many black actors. 

Why does Hollywood only recognize a limited range of roles for black women? I call it the “domestic, comic and tragic figure syndrome.” The ultimate movie would be to have a black woman play the role of a wisecracking, domestic that goes rogue and turns into a baking, stand-up comedian, window-washing nanny and serial killer with a catchy rap theme song. Now that would be a blockbuster film! 

Hollywood seems to be much more comfortable with the black actress as servant, comedian and/or fallen figure. Let's test that theory for those who have actually won an Oscar:

• Hattie McDaniel: Best Supporting actress for the happy domestic in “Gone With the Wind” (1939)

• Whoopi Goldberg: Best Supporting actress as funny medium in “Ghost” (1990)

• Halle Berry: Best Actress as a woman who falls for her ex-husband's racist executioner in “Monster's Ball” (2001). I would have been more comfortable with her winning for “Catwoman.”

• Jennifer Hudson: Best Supporting role as wisecracking plus size Diva in “Dreamgirls” (2006) 

• Monique: Best Actress for her role as a caustic, angry, sexual predator and abusive mother in “Precious” (2009).

Did I miss anyone?

I have always maintained that it is not the responsibility of one film to carry the weight of an entire community and culture, but the real challenge is that more films are made that explore the rich diversity and experiences of that culture.  

The issue or challenge at hand is: When will the mainstream organizations acknowledge and honor such great performances that do not fit its historically narrow perspective of how black women should be portrayed? I am curious who will represent on Oscar night.

Healing rituals By Professor Locs – January 18, 2012

What is it about being sick that reduces us, especially men, to a childlike state?

Last week, I could feel something had breached my anti-bacterial defenses. Unlike my other Tuskegee Experiment conspiracy-theorist friends, I had actually gotten a flu shot, but I knew that did not give me full protection. When you work in education and work around students who are always in various stages of contagion, you have to be prepared.

I quickly descended upon my neighborhood drugstore and stocked up on all the basics: Zinc, Theraflu, DayQuil, NyQuil, tea, ginger ale, Kleenex and a myriad of daytime cold and flu tablets.

Side note: Exactly when did the sick turn into crime suspects? All the medicine in drugstores is on lockdown, and I had to show proof of ID. I could purchase a hunter’s knife, rope, tape, chloroform and a copy of Serial Killer’s Digest and no one would bat an eye — but purchasing a box of cold medicine gets me the third degree. Go figure!

I made my way home with my arsenal of contemporary cold remedies. I sat in bed in my congested state, and I’m not sure if it was the cold medicine or my rapidly advancing childlike manner, but I began to wax nostalgic for my grandmother and her homemade remedies.

When I was younger, my grandmother had a very interesting healing ritual. One cough at night would set her in motion. I would try and muffle my cough into the pillow, but her bionic hearing would always reveal that there was someone in need.

After identifying the sick party, she would rush into the room with her tray of hot water, tea, ointments and other concoctions. The steam and the soft light from the other room created this vision of a mystical Southern version of Marie Laveau, high priestess of home cures.

Her ritual started with a spoonful of castor oil, which you had to swallow quickly to deal with the smell and taste. The oil also had the added benefit of disorienting you for the next stage of her rituals. She slipped a thermometer under your tongue to take your temperature … and also to ensure you did not spit out the nasty castor oil.

You were then stripped of your pajama top and your chest was slathered and coated like a Butterball turkey with Vicks Vapor Rub. She would even place a few globs under your nostrils. She then made you down a cup of lemon honey tea spiked with whatever dark liquor was on hand.

The last part of the ritual was to wrap you up tightly under a mound of covers. So you lay there in the dark sweating and panting from both the weight and effects of the Vicks Vapor Rub as you slipped into a whiskey-spiked-tea-induced state of slumber. But the next morning, you always felt better when she checked in on you.

So as I lay there surrounded by all my modern remedies, I had to ask myself what really triggers this childhood state of nostalgia when I am sick? Maybe, I truly miss my grandmother’s healing rituals. Maybe I miss the feeling and comfort of someone and something familiar when I am not feeling my best and vulnerable. Or maybe it could just be the whiskey … smile.

Please share your old-school healing remedies or stories.

Realistic Resolutions

New Year’s Eve is about celebration and reflection. 

Back in the day, the plan was to turn it out. We would organize our party of adventurers and descend upon some nightspot. This would usually include some random club charging a $75-$100 cover price with the promise of holiday cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.  

But reality kicks in once your are admitted and you are greeted by “Good Times” “rent party” decorations, a bustling crowd of 20 patrons and a VIP section comprised of two tables roped off next to the kitchen. The libations are watered-down cocktails and flat champagne. The holiday spread is crackers, a can of Cheez Wiz, a veggie plate from Food Lion and a tray of cold hot wings. 

It is funny how things change, as you get older.

The last few years, I’ve preferred a quiet gathering with a few family and friends to bring in the New Year. Each year the gatherings seem to get smaller and more subdued, which is fine with me.  

If New Year’s Eve is about celebration — then New Years Day is about resolve. 

Most people have such high expectations for the New Year. I have friends who’ve made dedications to being better parents and more attentive partners. Let’s not forget our requisite fickle fitness fanatics who bloat the gyms with their presence for the first two weeks in January, never to be seen again. Other folks run the gamut of everything from stop smoking to start recycling and even being a better humanitarian. 

Like many of you, I have found that when my goals are too lofty, I tend not to stick to my resolutions. So this year, I am trying something different and lowering my expectations and hopefully improving my success quotient. 

Think of simple things that you can do to make the world a better place. 

So to help you, I am offering "Professor Locs' Top Five Lowered-Expectation Resolutions":

5.  For every episode of “Basketball Wives” I see, I vow to watch something more educational … like “The Making of Basketball Wives.” (LOL!)

4. I resolve to not stare daggers at the Verizon Vixen speaking so loudly on her cell phone that the entire Family Dollar is privy to her conversation. (This is also practical as you could bring her pink acrylic wrath upon you and end up with a container of discount bleach upside your head.)

3. I resolve to not become confrontational with Walmart greeters who do not speak. 

2. Instead of hitting the floor like I’m in Kosovo avoiding enemy fire, I promise to engage at least one drive-by-saint a month who knocks at my door. 

1. Finally, and maybe the most difficult, I will be more patient with the cashier at the Bojangle’s drive through when I don’t give exact change — and I witness the wave of panic wash over them as they realize they may have to actually execute a mathematical transaction.  

Avoid the guilt of not completing unrealistic goals, just lower your expectations and enjoy the New Year worry free. Go ahead try it!  And feel free to share  your own down-sized resolutions.

My roommate has died By Professor Locs – November 23, 2011

My roommate died last week. I am still in shock over this sudden loss. As roommates go, he was a good one. He kept to himself, never had company over and rarely ate my food. I have had some bad roommate situations, so I can appreciate a good one.

My roommate did have his quirks. He would harass our mailman, refused to use the bathroom when it was cold and preferred an intimate sniffing to licking you, unlike my other roommate, Trinity, who will all out French kiss you if you let her.

Yes, I am talking about the loss of our dear pet and friend, Draco.

If you are a pet owner, then you know that they are like roommates. They share not only your living space but your most intimate thoughts and emotions.

We are fond of the boxer breed and have been lucky enough to have several in our lives. When we lost our other boxer, Pugsley, it took us a year to successfully grieve. It is weird how they impact your life. My partner and I were watching television after a few months and realized we were sitting on opposite sides of the couch because we were so accustomed to Pugsly sprawled out in the middle…lol.

A year later we were finally ready for a new roommate. A friend suggested the boxer rescue; we were originally hoping for a puppy. We looked on the site and it was, well, love at first sight. There were two mature boxers whose prior roommates had been sent to Iraq. We thought only boxer lovers would want two big dogs, so we started the process of bringing Draco and Trinity into our lives.

I would recommend that, if you are looking for a roommate, to use the rescue organizations, but be prepared for the intensity of the screening process. We had to be interviewed, provide letters of recommendation and also pass both scheduled and non-scheduled home visits. I think we even had to submit a urine sample for drug testing. I swear Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie went through less trouble.

All the effort was worth it because Draco and Trinity came into our lives. It has been five wonderful years of great memories. Draco had an imposing stature, but he was really a gentle giant. But do not get it twisted; he was no punk. He would turn into a ferocious predator when there was a squirrel sighting.

Side note: Although I am a pet lover, I am a sworn enemy of the squirrel. I think they are just rats with great PR.

People are sometimes uncomfortable with how to support you in any loss, but especially when the loss involves a pet. My sister, who is always looking for a way to get me to go shopping with her, offered to take me to IKEA, “to get my mind off of my lost.” Yes, nothing helps with the grieving process more than negotiating hundreds of crazed holiday consumers on “Black Friday,” fighting over four-dollar woks or cow-print dinnerware. Nice try, Sis…lol.

You just have to be sensitive to how best to support someone in grieving the loss of a pet. Do not give them a DVD of “Sounder.” Hello, the dog dies in the film.

If you are a pet lover and have lost a roommate, then you know how deep the grieving process can be. Draco has left a permanent impression on our couch as well as in my heart…smile. We are going into the Thanksgiving holidays and I will indeed be grateful for the time, love and companionship this noble creature, Draco, shared with anyone lucky enough to have known him.

I hope where you are going, Draco, the couches are soft, your bowl is full and the squirrels are slow…smile. R.I.P., old friend. Please share your best “roommate” stories….smile.

Penalty for Penn State By Professor Locs – November 16, 2011

There are two groups of our society that, when they are taken advantage of, I really get irate — and that is the elderly and children. So, like many of you, I am outraged by the Penn State scandal. Unless you have been held hostage in a Basketball Wives LA marathon and not following the news, I am talking about former Penn State assistant football coach Jerry Sandusky, who has been charged with sexually abusing several boys during his tenure with the university.  

I do not follow sports, but I do follow the media. Sandusky was initially arrested and charged with sexually abusing eight boys over a 15-year span, some on Penn State property. Recently The New York Times reports that at least 10 more additional suspected victims have come forward. It seems Sandusky has been as busy off the field as he has been at coaching folks on the field. 

Sandusky denies any allegations of sexual misconduct. "I am innocent of those charges," the 67-year-old Sandusky told Bob Costas in a telephone interview for NBC’s Rock Center on Monday night. "... I could say that I have done some of those things. I have horsed around with kids. I have showered after workouts. I have hugged them, and I have touched their legs without intent of sexual contact."

Is this man truly delusional? Did he graduate from the Michael Jackson School of Secondary Education? When is it appropriate for a grown man to shower with underage boys?

In that same NBC interview, Costas asked Sandusky if he's a pedophile and Sandusky responded, "No." If you hear the actual interview Sandusky answers “no” only after a very uncomfortable pause.  

Something unnerving has been at the back of my mind during this media circus and it was validated recently when I ran across an article written by Dr. Joyce Watkins. In the piece, Watkins says that we have to look at code phrases like “at-risk youth,” or “underprivileged kids.” Watkins believes that this is the media’s attempt at not dealing with race. Which begs the question: How many of these boys were Black?

It would be unimaginable for any child to have to endure such despicable acts, but in a society that has an unspoken hierarchy as it relates to race, class and gender, we have to ask were these factors in how this investigation was handled? We must also acknowledge that these victims, regardless of race, at least come from marginalized communities — communities that do not enjoy the same consideration (or in this case protection) as, say, youth from more privileged communities. 

Case in point: If we examine the timeline of Sandusky, we see that his graduate assistant Mike McQueary almost 10 years earlier enters the locker room and witnesses Sandusky sexually abusing a young boy. McQueary later reports this to the head coach and university authorities, but nothing comes from this report. The lack of protection from the institution and authorities on some level cosigns the deplorable behavior of this pedophile and others who knew of these acts. We have to ask, would the outcome be the same if the youth were from a well-to-do family? Would McQueary have just walked away if the boy being molested were from his son’s car pool?

I am not trying to play the race card but at least open a discussion of the disparity of power as it relates to certain communities.  

Sandusky with a history of questionable and inappropriate interactions with young boys was allowed to continue his work with the nonprofit organization The Second Mile. This gave Sandusky “American Idol interview”- like access to a continuous stream of vulnerable young boys. Hello? This is like allowing R Kelly to be a celebrity judge for Toddlers and Tiaras. The Second Mile describes its mission as being committed to underprivileged youth in Pennsylvania. Remember Dr. Watkins’ code words?

I have to put this into perspective: Organizations like The Second Mile exist because there are so many absent fathers. Predators who should be keeping children safe are using their institutions and authority to prey upon the weak. How you doing Bishop Eddie Long?

If anything comes of this scandal and others then it could be a wake-up call to a community to step up and take ownership of our youth. Do not get me wrong: I am not blaming the victims — but calling upon the men that are ultimately responsible for them being here.  

I am a dog owner and lover. I also remember how vehemently society and key organizations went after Michael Vick for his mistreatment of animals. I also do not condone Vicks actions. However, I do not want to believe that as a society, we rank our emotional investment in our youth based on ideals like race, class and gender or that we would not react as passionately in reaction to a pit bull being abused as we would to say an “at-risk” youth.  

But if the historical laissez faire approach to investigating Sandusky is any indication, then the said truth is that I would not treat a dog like some of these young victims have been treated.  

I am curious about your take on this scandal. Are the facts clearly black and white?

Halloween just ain't what it used to be By Professor Locs – October 27, 2011

Can we let kids be kids and celebrate a relatively harmless holiday?

Halloween used to be fun. Enough with the politically correct “fall festivals.” It sounds like kids should be running around in Renaissance costumes eating giant turkey legs.

I know some parents are concerned about some of the pagan symbols, but aren’t we overreacting just a bit?

I was recently guest host with my girl Ramona Holloway and the crew of “The Satisfied Life,” and one of the subjects we discussed was a movement by some religious groups to start “Jesusween.” Really people? How many disciple costumes can you wear without becoming redundant? Would you pass out grape juice boxes and crackers instead of candy? Also, Jesus already has a holiday; it’s called Christmas.

Things were so much simpler back in the day. You could actually go out unescorted without mace, cell phone, GPS or a poison kit. You knew you were close to Halloween when they aired “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.”

When I was growing up, you went to Kmart and picked from maybe three boxed costumes -- a ghost, and witch or wolf man. The costumes were made from flimsy material that had to kept away from open flames, and the plastic masks would impeded both your direct and peripheral vision while also blocking appropriate airflow to breathe. Now throw in a cheap pumpkin bucket. We were tossed out the door to scavenge the neighborhood for candy corn…sweating, visually impaired and gasping for air.

A few years ago I spent Halloween with my sister in Atlanta. She is like my Mom and went all out and had the porch done with festive and spooky decorations. We settled in our rocking chairs with candy bowls for what we thought would be a calm night. Not!

The evening started out somewhat subdued as the very young babies came around with their parents in adorable little cow, sheep and lion costumes. Then all of a sudden, guys were organized and focused like Halloween ninjas. They dispensed with any historic rituals or Halloween etiquette. There was no singsong “Trick or Treat.” They just bum rushed your house, trampling grass and plants and stuck out their bags like a gaggle of baby albatross waiting to be fed.

The groups would then flee, screaming to the other Halloween ninjas about what type of candy you were dishing out. Another group would then descend with the same disregard for holiday ritual. Every now and then you would get the “rooters.” These were kids who had the audacity to root around your candy bowl as if they were looking for a Cracker Jack prize. One kid even looked up at me with attitude and asked, “Is this all you got?” I told him there was a ham in the refrigerator and asked if he’d like to come in and make a sandwich? My sarcasm was lost as he fled our porch to offend some other home.

The next group was the older kids who did not dress up but came to your door with a pillowcase. I was like, are they trick or treating or casing the house for electronics? (Side note: If you shave, have a drivers license and pay into a 401K, then you might be too old to be out trick or treating.)

Then you had the drive-by trick or treaters. They would cruise the neighborhood, open the door and dozens of kids would empty out like they were in circus clown car. These were the people who were too lazy to park, get out and walk with their kids. This is why we have so many obese youth. Would it kill you to walk around a bit on a nice fall night with your child for some fun and exercise?

Atlanta is one of those cities where the neighborhoods can go from pricey homes where my sister lived to the hood in just a few blocks. My favorite visitors were the round-the-way moms who would come from the other neighborhood, talk on the phone the entire time, would not speak to you and were escorting their kids in homemade costumes. One poor kid had to suffer the embarrassment of being a ghost in a sheet with tulips on it. I know his pain; I had my share of pitiful costumes growing up…lol.

The night was a whirlwind of kids rushing up and down my sister’s porch and her babbling about a real spider in her hedges that she thought was incredible, but the novelty was lost on the bewildered kids who only looked at her like she was crazy…lol. The night was getting late and the crowds had thinned so we decided to close shop. It had really been one crazy evening. Thank goodness for my girl, Chardonnay, hanging out with us or I may not have gotten through the evening….lol.

We turned off the lights and retired to the den to watch some television and monster movies, but an hour later people were still ringing the doorbell. Why would you walk up to a dark house with no lights and ring the doorbell? It is 11:30 at night. These are no longer Trick or Treaters but most likely candidates for a home invasion.

My sister and I for the rest of the night reminisced about Halloween as kids and laughed at those cherished moments of pretend. So are we being too serious about Halloween? I would like for you to share your Halloween memories, opinions or pet peeves…smile.