Superbowl Sunday
February 6, 2017
Me: Daddy, I'll let you know when he is on his way so you can be ready.
Him: What you mean be ready? I have to get fancy to come to your house now?
Me: No sir, but you do have to clean up and brush your teeth.
Him: What if I don't have any teeth?
Me: 🙄 If you're just now telling me that you need new dentures again we're gonna have a problem! 🙄
Him: How the hell WE gone have a problem? I'ma be the one gumming it.
Me: Daddy bye. I'll call you when he's en route.
Him: So you not coming?
Me: Uh uh.
Him: Well what you doing?
Me: Guess.
Him: Cooking.
Me: Bingo.
Him: Good. I like when he comes anyway. He opens the door for me.
Me: I taught him that, ya know?
Him: [CLICK]
Me in my head: 😱 Ole rude ass.
[They arrive]
Me [from upstairs]: Daddy?
[Silence]
Me: Daddy?
[Silence]
[laughter]
Me: DADDY!
Him: Yeah Jahmeelah. You know it's me down here!
Me: Well answer me then and come on up.
Him [trying to whisper]: Do I still have to take my shoes off over here?
Me: Myyy goodness, just come on up Daddy. [He was already on his way up anyway.]
Me: Hey Daddy!
Him: Uh huh hey baby girl...how long the food gone be?
Me: Well I was timing it to be ready for halftime.
Him: Halftime? Well gimme a banana or something then. [mumbles under his breath: halftime hell]
Me: You're welcome, Daddy.
Him: [walks away]
[Later]
Me: Daddy, aren't you happy you have this nice bag Fayola bought for me to bag your food in now?
Him: Yeah, but why she buy me this bag again?
Me: I told you just because.
Him: Just because what?
Me: Just because she got tired of seeing me put your food in brown paper bags.
Him: I told you I don't care ‘bout it being in a paper bag or plastic bags. Hell, you can just drop it on the ground at my front door, knock, and run. I'll take it like that too.
Me: Well now you have this nice, monogrammed, insulated bag.
Him: So she got this for my birthday?
Me: Daddy no! Your birthday is way in April. I told you she just got it.
Him: Why she do that though? You sho you ain't buy this bag?
Me: Because that's how my village rolls Daddy. We cover each other cause we know we all we got.
Him: Village?
Me: You heard me.
Him: Oh yeah that's right; you African.
Me: As are you.
Him: I ain't never been to Africa and never will get to Africa.
Me: Okay Daddy let's not go down that road.
Him: Yeah, let you say what you are and let me say what I am. You say you African. I say I'm from Louisiana and part of my people Creole and mulatto.
Me: Daddy! Didn't I tell you to stop using that word?
Him: My people are mulatto. They half white, half black. They mulatto.
Me: Daddy, the One Drop Rule says they're black. Period. And it's 2017, time to stop using those oppressive, colonizing terms to describe and divide ourselves.
Him: What you say?
Me: Stop using words like mulatto.
Him: Listen baby girl. That's what it is. They pass the paper bag skin test cause they mulatto. Don't mean something wrong wit you just cause you can't pass the test.
Me: 😣😖😣😖 Daddy come take a picture with your bag so Fayola can see you enjoying it and I can go.
[as I drive off]
Him: Next time you come over here make sure those tires are rotated, and don't let ‘em criss cross ‘em either! Just go straight front to back and back to front!
Me: ✌🏾