#6

Here's to down-ass white boys

I don't know if I mentioned it before, but...When The Revolution Gets Here, I'm making a monument to my dad*. He's not so much a "hero" of The Revolution, as much as he is one of its first "victims"...but I mean that in a good way. It's quite touching actually.

Yesterday, during our little talk about his posthumous wishes, we drifted off into very uncomfortable territory...namely, my "love life". These conversations are always ...well...painfully awkward are the only words that can be used to describe them. I feel that Papa Brooks and I have a deep respect for one another, not to mention, a non-verbal "don't ask, don't tell" policy for certain aspects of our lives. Still, he makes the attempt to dispense fatherly advice and I nod and try to imagine how great it would be if beer came out of our kitchen sink.

Anyway, my dad revealed to me that he basically hasn't found white women attractive since the late 60s. This really goes a long way towards explaining why my 63-year-old father has committed the entire BET evening line-up to memory. In fact, I attribute his "crossover" to this woman:

Some skinny bitch my dad dated in 1962, bless her heart

Eventually, Pops got his head together, grew some facial hair and ditched the folk music outfit (I mean seriously, there are three guys and two extra instruments, one of which is a banjo...I'm not good at the math, but something doesn't add up there). He moved to a warmer climate and got a serious upgrade...

So fierce, he didn't stand a chance.

And just like that...The Revolution began to take shape

Well, actually, it began to take shape about four years after this picture (when Yours Truly was finally born). I'd like to tell you that Robbyn got a little darker later...but I can't, as that would be lying ;)

Man, who wears a fur hat on a tropical island?

My mama, that's who, biatch! Don't hate the playa...

*=don't fret, Mom is getting a statue too...sheesh