Happy Bobbie Faye Day!

Yunyang  

Sayhāt While he never did so consciously, dad was always stealing mom’s thunder.

momrafting

While he drew laurels and praise for his amazing work as a city-wise reporter, mom worked the unheralded halls of the same cities: the classrooms.

mom40'smom30's

As dad won awards from peers and the admiring, mom received the same plaudits, perhaps deeper. From the students who would visit her years later to the parents willing to do outlandish things at parent-teacher functions to land Mrs. Bowles as a teacher. One father offered to dive into a pool, fully clothed, if his child could become her student. He did, and the child was doubly rewarded, with doting parent and peerless teacher.

My guess is that student now runs her own company. And if you’re reading, could I get a grant?

momlittlegirl

And while dad’s tales made our Bowles kin legend, the truth is Bobbie Faye Johnson came from some badass heritage herself. Her mother, Daisy, was the only grandparent I knew. And it took me years to realize not every grandmother  rolls her own cigarettes, chews tobacco and carries a revolver is she ever gets into a scrape. Even in her 80’s, you didn’t fuck with Daisy.

momgranny

Mom, too, doesn’t take much shit. Dad never took a vacation. But mom had summers off from class. So she’d pile me and sis, from tykehood to teen-hood, in a cramped VW Beetle to haul us to see relatives from both sides of the family.  She never lamented, at least publicly, having to shoulder that all herself. Though she does occasionally voice unsolicited  advice when you hold a knife: Don’t cut yourself. But as she’d say, it ain’t nagging if it’s true.

momnlestotsmomnlesadults

While dad willed his way onto his college basketball team, mom was recruited. Peabody College, a division of Vanderbilt University, offered a scholarship to the defensive guard known in hometown Chadbourn, N.C., as Mighty Mouse.

peabodychadbourn

Like dad, she made little of everything she did. You’d no more knww dad was Pulitzer finalist than you’d know kids with names like Senator Scott and Precious Wellington III were singing mom to the high heavens. As Noah once noted, “When I think, I think of you.”

IMG_0906

Amen, Noah. You’ve been taught well.

momsismomme

 

 

HB Commercial of the Month

 

This month’s HBCOM goes to something of a jaw-dropper. Normally, the winning entry does so with a touch of wit, dash of sarcasm, at least a hint of self-deprecation.

But this one literally stopped me mid-step. And not because of its genius use of music (as can be seen here, one of the greatest TV ads ever).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhzTIKLu_Fc

No, this was stunning simply in the audacity of its message.

Advertising has always rested on a single campaign promise: Whatever you’re doing, it’s all right.

Binge overeater? There’s a pill for that. Depressed? Ditto. Can’t afford a new car? What if we spread it out over five years? No money for a couch? Why, you can rent some furniture from us at a reasonable vig.

Dad used to tease me about falling for the latest sneaker commercial. (“Do you really believe you’ll jump higher in those clown shoes?”) Compared to this, however, Air Jordan commercials were Picasso at a yard sale.

airjordans

Not since Phillip Morris paraded smoking “doctors” for the TV has a corporation suggested such a potentially dark path for kids.

In the ad, Jeff Goldblum stumbles upon a poor fellow in stockades. The imprisoned man admits his wrongdoing: He entered into a 30-year mortgage.

Goldblum, always a great on-screen asshole (see The Big Chill) taunts the inmate that he could be living free and easy — just like those youngsters dancing stage right with nary a care. Why you see, Jeff explains, those go-getters aren’t weighted down by a mortgage. They’re free to rent! Flush away at apartments.com!

No one will ever accuse corporate America of excessive humanity. Given the chance, U.S. automakers would have used piano wire for seat belts if consumer advocates hadn’t pressed the government for safer cars.

But the idea that nothing counts but our immediate needs — and to commit and own is a path for suckers — has got to give at some point, from an economic standpoint if not a moral one. Hopefully that comes before a generation discovers that the one before theirs had no inheritance to leave except long-term payments at fixed rates.

Onward!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUudubg6rMY

 

Electric Word, Life

 

 

RIP, Prince Rogers Nelson (6/7/58-4/21/16)

From Spencer and Anneta’s wedding.

May 24, 2015

Welcome, friends, family, friends of family. Dearly Beloved:

We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.

That line comes courtesy of Prince and Annetta. When I asked the couple what they’d like in their vows, Annetta quipped that the first thing that came to mind was the opening line to Prince’s song, Let’s Go Crazy (which just also happens to be one of Spencer’s life mottos).

But when you think about it, Annetta and Prince have a point. The next line in that song begins “Electric word, life…”

And life is electric. For what are we, but bundles of energy and stardust, as brilliant and abundant as the heavens above?

And in those heavens — scientists say once every 500 years — two stars hurtling through the cosmos will brush by one another. And their gravitational force will commence a circular dance, as each draws nearer the other. And at that moment of contact, the supernova will emit as much energy as every star in the universe, combined.

Seasoned love is like that.

Certainly, new love is a miracle. It’s bold, adventurous, fearless in the leap.

It is also distracted by shiny things, startled by sudden sounds, frozen in rough waters. That’s why it’s called puppy love.

Seasoned love is a more profound and rare phenomenon.

Like those hurtling stars, seasoned love joins two established worlds, already anchoring a solar system of friends and family, work and home.

But true seasoned love makes a choice. A choice to blend planets, share moons and swap shooting stars. If a supernova is one every 500, seasoned love — true seasoned love — has got to be one in a million.

We saw this dawn approach. We heard them say, ‘I’m going on a date.’

Then it was, ‘I liked that. I think we’ll see each other again.’

Then, ‘This could be something.’

We saw their worlds change. Soon, they spoke in the collective. ‘We are taking a trip. We are going on vacation. We are moving in. We are getting married.”

And here we are, to witness their new daybreak.

May we please have the rings?

Much has been made of the symbology of rings. And who are we to question the poets?

But, if you catch them in the right light, you can’t help but notice how much they look like little stars we wear, within reach of our hearts.

Annetta:

Do you choose Spencer?

To be the sun to his shine?

To be the good to his night?

To be the heart to his beat?

Do you choose Spencer to get through this thing called life?

Spencer:

Do you choose Annetta?

To be the sun to her shine?

To be the good to her night?

To be the heart to her beat?

Do you choose Annetta to get through this thing called life?

By the power vested in me by the state of Arkansas — and by the power vested in you by the gravitational force of love — I now pronounce you husband and wife.

(plant a smooch)

Ladies and gentleman:

Spencer and Annetta Tirey

rings

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJDuGjMwsow