One of the greatest joys in life is spoiling our kids. Many people consider that a bad thing, but it’s just the opposite as long as it's done properly. Spoiling our children provides them with a sense of self-esteem that will assist them throughout their journey in life. As parents, we are the ones who define our children, and we’re the ones who tell them who they are, and how important they are as individuals. If we fail do that as parents, they’ll be seeking that validation from strangers throughout their entire lives.
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When we let our children know how much they're loved it gives them a sense of self-esteem and a knowledge of their importance that will stay with them throughout their lives. It also helps you to bond as parent and child. As a result, you’ll always be a better friend to your children than the people on the street who can become a negative influence in their lives.
KAI, MOKE, AND TAY
But while lavishing your children with the knowledge of how special they are, it’s also important to teach them to have a sense of responsibility, and to respect the importance of others, because as we’re learning in the current political environment, the level of respect, or lack thereof, in which we treat others, is merely a reflection of how we view ourselves. So regardless to how much of a façade we put on, if we’re disrespectful of others, it demonstrates that we lack respect for ourselves.
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And finally, we must teach our children to be independent thinkers, to have confidence in their own ability to think, and to develop a love and a yearning for the pursuit of knowledge. If you do those things, you'll raise your children to be steppers that you'll can be proud of, and you’ll also be doing your part to contribute to the excellence of the Black community.
MILES AND TAYLOR
So spoiling our children is one of the most important things we do as a parent, and it's also, one of the great joys in life. At this point in my life, I think about my “babies” all the time, and I’d do anything to be able to relive the experience of raising them all over again. So don’t make parenting a hobby. Get into it and enjoy it while you can, because before you know it, they’ll be your peer.
DADDY’S BABY BOY ERIC L. WATTREE, JR
"DADDY, MOMMIE SAID YOU BEAT UP THE BOGEYMAN.
DID YOU REALLY BEAT HIM UP?" .
"YEAH, TWICE. THAT'S WHY HE'S SCARED TO COME
IN OUR HOUSE."
HOWLING WINDS .
As I watched my son, dapper as they come, walk down our walkway and into manhood,
what I remember most was the howling winds. I'd seen such winds before, but never like this - my old foe was pulling up trees by the roots,
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So I watched, but I watched alone.
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As the winds raged on and the mighty palms bowed, a single leaf from our Winter-bare ficus tree
held tough against the ferocious storm. It fought valiantly against the angry gale, as though hanging tough Just to witness the changing of the guard,
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So I stood, but I stood alone.
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Like that solitary leaf, all my life I've fought the ferocious winds, and now they’ve returned, this mighty foe, poised to seize the hopes and dreams of my only son,
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So I cringed, but I cringed alone.
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Then, posterity glanced back, squared its shoulders, and beat back hopelessness as it
trudged through fields of ivy. Then it spread its wings and rode those howling winds
over yonder mountaintop,
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So I wept, but I wept with a crowd . . .
AZUSA, Calif. – In a tense, high stakes, pressure situation, where only two options exist and just one that is favorable, there is no man better the moment and no one better to protect your interests than Eric Wattree. And that's not just in sports but in real life too.
Wattree, the burly 6-foot-6 former college basketball standout, is cool, calm, and collected. He always has been and probably always will be. It's just the way he is.
Thus, when he takes the stage Oct. 26 for induction into Azusa Pacific's Athletics Hall of Fame, the former DEA agent and Air Force officer will do so with little fanfare or personal reaction. It's the Wattree way … cool at all times.
Bill Odell, an APU Hall of Famer himself after a 16-year coaching career for the Cougars, knows firsthand how composed Wattree can be. He handed Wattree nearly every must-come-through situation during Eric's 57-game at Azusa Pacific, and Wattree delivered repeatedly.
"Eric was one of the most respected players I ever coached," said Odell who served as a head coach for 36 years on the college and high school levels. "He was a humble, quiet leader who led with his work ethic and personal demand for excellence."
A former standout at nearby Northview High School in Covina, Calif., Wattree played for former Odell pupil Ron Rice before transferring to Fremont High in Los Angeles. He opened his college career at the University of Wyoming, playing two years for the Cowboys before Rice alerted Odell that Eric was returning home to Southern California. In the summer of 1994, he transferred to Azusa Pacific. Wattree's demand for excellence led him to averaging 13.9 points and 8.6 rebounds during his two seasons at Azusa Pacific, leading the Cougars to back-to-back Golden State Athletic Conference (GSAC) championships and a pair of NAIA Tournament appearances. As a 1996 senior, he averaged 15.4 points and 7.7 rebounds while shooting at an impressive .634 (201-for-317) clip from the floor. Justifiably, he was named the GSAC Player of the Year.
The Cougars entered the final week of Wattree's 1996 senior season with just a one-game lead in the GSAC race over rival Westmont College. Wins were a must for Azusa Pacific, and adding to the tension of the situation was the fact that the Cougars opened that final week with a visit to Westmont in Santa Barbara. The Warriors needed the win to pull even with APU with one game left. The Cougars, on the other hand, needed the victory to put away the pesky Warriors and collect yet another conference title.
In a raucous Murchison Gym, with the score tied at 64-64 and less than 30 seconds to play and the ball in the hands of the Cougars, Odell called a timeout, and designed a play to go to Tim Sebek for the final shot. However, the Warriors smothered Sebek, and his attempt at a game-winning shot was off the mark, wide right. Wattree saw the trajectory of the shot and realizing it was not going in, charged the hoop, jumped up, gathered the air ball, and laid it back in for the game winner with just 2 seconds to play.
"A Westmont player turned to me and said 'you think the game is over?' Wattree recalled, "and I answered, 'it's definitely over!'"
Protecting teammates in 1996 was just the beginning of a career of security. Following graduation from Azusa Pacific in May of that year, Wattree entered the Air Force where he served for ten years, most notably as a certified Phoenix Raven Anti-Terrorism Specialist. He was tasked with ensuring the safety of government officials and high-ranking military personnel while providing support on highly classified special operation missions in Afghanistan and other places throughout the world.
While still with the Air Force, he joined the Drug Enforcement Administration out of the Seattle area, working on complex conspiracy and international investigations. He stayed with the DEA for 15 years until last year, when he accepted a new position as senior investigator and security specialist with the Arizona Department of Economic Security.
"I am so proud of Eric and how he has served our country with honor and protected some of our most important people." Said Odell. "He has been in some extremely dangerous situations, and just as he had proven to us on the basketball court, he was trustworthy in all situations. Simply put, he is unflappable."
Wattree's Cougar career will be enshrined forever at Azusa Pacific when he joins nine other former Cougar athletes for induction into the Azusa Pacific Athletics Hall of Fame on Saturday, Oct. 26, at 10 a.m. in the Felix Event Center
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23 April 2002
MEMORANDUM FOR OFFICER TRAINING SCHOOL SELECTION COMMITTEE
FROM: 92 SFS/SFO 2 E. ARNOLD STREET FAIRCHILD AFB, WA 99011 SUBJECT: Recommendation for Staff Sergeant Eric L. Wattree 1. I wholeheartedly concur with Staff Sergeant Wattree’s request to attend Officer Training School. He represents the enlisted ranks with the highest standard and will bring that dedication and professionalism to the officer corps.
2. Eric continues to lead a stellar military career; his enlisted performance reports speak for themselves. His leadership and experience, especially in contingency environments, remains a vital asset to our unit and wing. As one of my primary Phoenix Raven team leaders, he’s propelled to the forefront of all major deployments throughout the world. He’s repeatedly secured aircraft and crews, supporting a wide variety of missions, in the most austere and terrorist-ridden environments where security is severely inadequate. The diversity of these missions never limited SSgt Wattree’s capacity to adapt to each situation. For this reason, Eric was selected as our 2000 Outstanding Phoenix Raven Member of the Year and the 2001 Air Force Reserve Component Airman of the Year for the 92d Security Forces Squadron.
3. Whether operating under peacetime or contingency operations, Eric easily assumes control and tackles every situation with meticulous tenacity, a quality highly desired in our Air Force officers. Requested by name, Sergeant Wattree, provided security for presidential Banner missions throughout Greece, Peru and Viet Nam. While deployed to Afghanistan, he flew numerous combat missions in our nation’s pursuit to eradicate terrorism through Operation ENDURING FREEDOM. Additionally, he provided round-the-clock force protection for aircraft in other high-threat environments including Uzbekistan, Pakistan and Oman.
4. Sergeant Wattree motivated his personnel during the worst conditions and raised the level of esprit de corps to integrate personnel from other Air Force specialties into a cohesive team. His leadership, integrity and devotion to our Air Force play an integral part in our future leadership. Eric has what it takes to become a commissioned officer and earns my full support to attend Officer Training School.
FRANK HELLSTERN, JR., Captain, USAF Operations Officer
AND THE BEAT GOES ON WITH YOUR SONS
ELIJAH WATTREE
SAILOR OF THE QUARTER
UNITED STATES COAST GUARD
ERIC L. WATTREE III
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I recently graduated from Oklahoma City University with a BBA - Economics (Minor in Marketing).
While at OCU I obtained many certifications, an example being the Bloomberg Market Concepts (BMC) Certification. I've also been a member of the Investment Club where we managed a portfolio of actual securities initially worth $100,000 - profits going towards OCU scholarships. Throughout my 4 years, my ability to establish and maintain relationships has been my biggest asset. Being able to think critically, analyze data and relay information effectively have been critical to my success.
I also had the pleasure of being a 4-year student-athlete, spending two years as Team Captain. As a captain, the importance of taking necessary sacrifices for overall team success as well as effective time management as it relates to workload efficiencies are vital. I served 4 years as a member of the Student-Athlete Advisory Committee (SAAC) in which we created a vehicle for student-athlete representation, organized community service efforts and promoted a positive student-athlete image on campus. I was selected on numerous occasions to speak publicly at various high schools, as well as at OCU's Sports Spectacular, the end-of-year sports banquet.
Ewattree@Gmail.com BLACK WRITERS, INTELLECTUALS, AND INDEPENDENT THINKERS . Religion: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.
Today, November 8, 2018, is a very special day in my family’s life. It’s the birthday of my late wife, Valdie LaVern Wattree, who died during the early morning of April 27, 2005. But to my entire family it seems like she passed just yesterday, because she left such an impact on all of our lives that we still haven’t managed to lay her to rest. I wrote the piece below while Val was still alive, and kept me scratching my head. . Valdie was an amazing young woman. I met her when she was 14 and I was 16 years old. But in spite of our youth, the first time I looked in her eyes, she made me feel significant. The only reason I'm even capable of writing this piece is because of her encouragement. Ever since I was a child I loved to jot down my thoughts, and even before I could write, I would draw my thoughts using little stickmen. Val recognized that tendency in me when we were kids, while I just saw it dooddling. But after she dragged me in off the street and married me on Christmas Day, when she was 19 and I was 21, she began to push. . This one’s for you, baby. Since you’ve passed, I’ve found that life can go on, but not without you in my heart. So as I promised on the day we were married, and again on your headstone - Until Death Do Us Part - and Beyond.
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Val and I are 44 and 46 years of age, and we've been married for 25 years. We were married on a Christmas morning, and she’s been an ongoing gift in my life ever since. We have two kids - a 23 year old daughter, Kai, and a 21-year-old son, Eric, Jr. They both graduated from college last month (Eric, on my birthday).
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I met Valdie when she was 14, and my life hasn't been the same since. I'm sort of a laid-back, ‘cerebral’ kind of guy who refuses to make a move without thinking it through. You know the type - the kind of guy who people aren't really sure about until they get to know him. Val, on the other hand, is a totally spontaneous, what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person that everyone loves on first sight. But she's SO spontaneous that the kids and I have to keep an eye on her to keep her out of trouble.
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In both high school and college my son was the school basketball star, and before each game countless kids would congregate at my house waiting for Val. Others would go to the gym early to save seats in the bleachers, waiting for her to show up - and when she did, the party was on.
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The kids used to call the section where Val sat "The Dog Pound." More than once a player on the other team would miss free throws or plays because they were laughing so hard at something Val might have said about one of the referees or opposing players - and the funny thing was, in spite of that, the referees and the kids on the other teams loved her, and they all called her by her first name - though some of the kids called her "Nani" (baby-talk for mommy).
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Kids who were scheduled to play our team would come by the house and say, "Now Val, this is just a game. Don't be doggin' me on the court next week." And she'd say, "I ain’t gon have to, my son's gonna do it for me - and get out of my refrigerator. Don't Ruth feed you?" Sometimes after a game my son would say, "Momma, you know you were a bad girl at the game today, don't you?" And she'd say, "What? His toupee was on crooked!" Sometimes I seriously wonder was the Whoopie Goldberg movie, "Eddie," loosely based on Val's Antics.
. She is so out there. She lives in her very own universe. I tell her sometimes, "Val, if WWIII broke-out, you wouldn't even know it until you heard the blast. And it's true. Val is so oblivious to the things that the rest of us worry about that it verges on dangerous. In spite of the fact that she is well known as one of the top Property Administrators at Hughes Aircraft in El Segundo, Ca., she manages to leave all of her business acumen in her desk at work. One day, for example, she saw a very expensive household item that she wanted to buy. So she came to me and asked if it was alright for us to purchase it. At the time, we were sort of strapped, so I told her that we didn't have the money. She looked at me with deep disappointment and said, with total sincerity, "What do you mean we don't have the money? You have a box full of checks in your desk drawer." So, needless to say, I handle the family finances - and that's in spite of the fact that she made $37,000 a year more than I did, and I'm a government employee.
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Once when we went to have our taxes done and the tax preparer looked up at me and said, "I know you shame." But I wasn't. On the contrary, I was proud of my woman because she's the very best at what she does. Huges aircraft literally stole her from Rockwell International. She's the only Black person I've ever known to have a corporation contact her and make her an offer to come to work for them. Several years later I worked on a project with her and they even offered me a job, but I've always been a political person and I'm a union rep for the postal service. I've only lost one case in over a decade, and I thoroughly love kicking them in their ass. But Val wants me to be a "suit," a corporate executive, and she's convinced that I'll shoot right up the ladder. But I pointed out to her that everyone doesn't see me in the same way that she does, so that's been was one of the biggest fights we've had in our marriage. She also suspects that it's a male ego thing. She claims I'm just afraid that they might make me work for her. She never should have brought that up, because I'd never thought of that possibility until she mentioned it. But now that she had . . .
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It's Val's disarming personality that makes her so successful, and it's also helped us out of a number of uncomfortable situations. About ten years ago when we moved from Los Angeles to Covina, California, we were one of just a few Black families in the area. Not being used to that sort of situation, we - make that I - was more than just a little uncomfortable. And to make things worse, one of the neighbors had a huge Confederate flag spread across one entire inside wall of his garage - and the garage door was always open, so whenever we drove down the street his blazing Dixie flag hit us right in the face. I felt uncomfortable with it, but hey, that flag was draped across that wall long before we moved into the neighborhood, and besides, the man has every right to be a bigot - the only thing I hate almost as much as I do a racist is a person who comes into a situation and thinks everyone else should rearrange their lives to accommodate him. So I just learned to ignore it, as I THOUGHT Val had.
About a month or so after we moved in, however, the lady from across the street invited us to a party that she was having. Again, being the laid-back kind of guy I am, I felt uncomfortable about the prospect. I don't like parties as a matter of course. You have to stand around laughing and smiling when you really don't feel it and discuss issues that you really don't care about (How about those Dodgers?). It's not my thing - it makes me feel phony - and I had the feeling that this party would be all that multiplied by a thousand - especially, not knowing anyone, and being the only Black couple there - "Hey, Bubba! Guess who’s comin’ to dinner?"
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But Val immediately lit-up. The lady had said the magic word - PAAAAAR-TAY! Before I could say a word, Val took the ball and ran with it. "I'd love to! Hey, can I be the bartender? I make the best...." The lady ended up at our house all afternoon laughing and talking with Val. By the time she floated back across the street, under the influence of a quart of Val's "sample" Margaritas, Val was up on all the neighborhood gossip, and the two women had forged an unshakable "Most Favorite Neighbor" Treaty.
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This was going to be more complicated than I thought - it had become serious. We had just moved to the area, and already, life as we were just coming to know it was about to come to a screeching' end. I could just picture this nice, quiet neighborhood under the influence of Val and her notorious mixed drinks. Once the neighbors came down from their hangovers they'd never forgive us. I could just see the headline of the next day’s San Gabriel Valley Tribune now - "BLACK CHICK CORRUPTS COVINA!" - and knowing my woman, there was no doubt in my mind that’s exactly what was about to happen.
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Val has a real knack for mixing drinks in a way that masked the liquor. She can blend various juices, fruits, and crushed ice with more artistic flair than a Renaissance master. If she could pull-off the same thing with paint and canvas we'd be instant millionaires. She can mix these drinks so well, and make them so pleasing to the taste, that people generally forget about the gallon of liquor that's in them. We'd have parties where I'd here non-drinkers saying, "Ah, Val, can I have another "slush," please?" I'd think, "slush," my ass. The only thing that's going to be slushed is you, in about five minutes." Val got a real kick out of it - and now she was about to do it to our new, unsuspecting, highly conservative, neighbors.
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The night of the party I wasn't as uneasy about it as I'd been previously, because by then I'd had a week to get to know both Rose, who seemed to have made Val her closest friend on the block, and her husband, Al, who was really a nice, henpecked, guy. But I still wasn't passionate about the prospect of being paraded about as the new Black guy on the block to a lot of people that I didn't know. So I begged off with a cold that I had made it a point to cultivate three days prior to the event.
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The night of the party I kissed Val on the cheek and told her to have a good time. But as she was leaving I held on to her hand and reminded her, "but not too good of a time." She promised to be good, and she was off.
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I then got comfortable and settled into the bedroom to watch television for the night, but I kept the window open and the blinds open so I could keep an eye - and ear - on the party.
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By 12:30 a.m. the party was going full blast. I could hear the laughter and the faint sound of music playing in the house, but by 2:00 a.m. I began to hear the sounds of Val working her magic. A couple of guys who I recognized as two of my more conservative neighbors were in front of the house arm-wrestling on the hood of a brand new Chrysler, and another guy was calling out to a woman who was struggling down the street barefoot in an evening gown. So I decided I'd better drop in on the party and rescue these people from my recklessly fun-lovin' woman.
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When I walked in it was clear that Val was in full control of the festivities. It was also clear that I didn't have to worry about uneasy small-talk, because everybody in the house was about as loose as you could get - and still stand up. Val walked up and hugged me, saying, "Hi, honey! Hey everybody! This is my Nu-Nu, Eric." I heard various drunken responses:
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"Hi, Eric!"
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"Hey, Nu-Nu!"
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"What's his name? Nu-NU!!!? What the Hell is that, Swahili?"
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"Big, ugly rascal, ain't he? Just kiddin', don't beat me up, brother!"
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Then this one guy walked up and said, "Hi, I'm Stewart. I live down the street. This is quite a lady you've got here."
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"Yeah, I know," I said. "I hope she's been behaving herself?"
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"Naw, I can't say that she has," the man said, in a Southern drawl. "First, she done got everybody drunk - but I can't fault her for that, because that's what I came here for - but then, she called me a Commie."
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I said, "what!?"
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Then Stewart's wife chimed in. Between the booze and her laughter, she could barely get her words out. She introduced herself as Sue, and said, "No, she asked my husband, 'Are you a communist or something?' And my husband said, 'No, I ain't no damned Commie. What made you say that?' Then Val said, 'Well, why you got that Communist flag in your garage?'" Sue went on, trying to talk through her laughter, "Then Stewart said, 'That ain't no damned communist flag! That's Old Dixie. We from Georgia.'"
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With that, someone else took up the story. "Then your wife told him, 'Same thing.'" With that, everybody fell out laughing all over again - even me, because I knew Val was serious - as Stewart stood there pretending to be incensed. But everyone knew that while the joke was supposed to be on Stewart, we were actually laughing at the childlike innocence in which Val viewed what should have been a very uncomfortable subject - especially in the current situation. But it turned out that Stewart had been receiving a lot of ribbing over the flag for quite some time, and Val's remark just put the icing on the cake.
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But it turned out that both Stewart and Sue were really nice people. Stewart is quite an intellectual, and believe it or not, he ended up becoming my closest friend in the neighborhood. We'd get us a 5th of Scotch and spend hours together debating everything - and the more lit-up we got, the more animated the debates became. He'd say, "Okay, I admit it. I’m a Southern bigot - I think we should lynch anybody who roots against Georgia Tech, but you're a radical revolutionary - and you're a bigot too." Then he'd raise his glass and say, "So here's to two jive-ass bigots!" Then we'd laugh and continue getting our heads bad.
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But by this time both Stewart and I knew better. We had long since agreed on one thing - since the essence of our being is what we think, and physical attributes are purely superficial, it makes more sense to define ourselves according to the way we think, rather than how we looked - and if that is true, then our preoccupation with race was an exercise in stupidity. And Stewart had the last laugh in that regard. The first time he invited me to his house I jokingly asked, "You don't have any Poplar Trees in your backyard, do you?" He laughed and said, "Very funny. But you don't have to worry, I'm fresh out of rope." But when I walked into his den I immediately felt ridiculous, because the first thing that smacked me in the face was two huge portraits, Miles Davis on one wall, and Charlie Parker on the other. So it turned out that I was the one who had prejudged him. He had a larger jazz collection than I did, and I've been collecting jazz albums since I was 14 years old. I had to admire him, because by that time we had been drinking buddies for a couple of months, and even though he knew I played saxophone, he hadn't mentioned a word about being a jazz lover. He'd set me up, and that was the day I learned to never underestimate him. He said, "You thought I was into Merle Haggard, didn't you? So now, who's the presumptuous bigot?"
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I really liked that guy. He had also quietly taken down his Confederate flag. When I asked him about it he said, "To me it's just a regional symbol, but I can understand how it might be offensive to you, so what the hell?" If it hadn't been for Val I probably never would have met that guy, and I would have been poorer for it, because I learned several lifelong lessons during our friendship. But Val brought many other things into my life as well. I discovered my love for the mechanics of writing as a direct result of recognizing that I didn’t write well enough to answer the long love letters she used to write me while I was in the Marine Corps. Prior to that time I always loved jotting down my thoughts, but I only did it one thought, or one paragraph, at a time. But when I was faced with having to respond to her letters, it turned out that I had a problem with stringing my thoughts together in an organized fashion. So in order to get around that shortcoming, I would let her letters guide me. I would respond to her letters by writing a response to each paragraph one at a time. Within a year I was doing all the writing for my battalion commander. That became my job.
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While I was in the Marine Corps Val was working for the Department of Motor Vehicles, and in spite of the fact that she was still living with her mother, when I came home she came by my mother's house to greet me and asked me to go for a ride with her. She had rented me a fully furnished apartment a block away from one of the top jazz clubs in Los Angeles. She moved in 3 months later, on Christmas Day after we went to a Justice of the Peace and got married. She was 19, and I was 21. About a year later she encouraged me to quit my job and go to college on the G.I. bill. Then several years after I'd finished college and had become a published writer for various publications, she came home one day with a newfangled gadget she'd bought me called a Commodore 64 Computer. I still have it in my garage. So, while living with Val can indeed be challenging, I can’t imagine life without her.
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I could go on and on about this woman, but I'll put it all in a book one day. But I’ve got to go now - it’s time for me to mount a campaign for dinner.
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"Oh, Sugar Lips!"
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"Sugar Lips, my ass. Hit the microwave, Buddy!"
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EPILOGUE
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Well, it turned out that I would be forced to live without her, and every day of the 13 years since she's been gone has been agony. In spite of the fact that my educational background is in psychology, I just can't manage to move on. I know it's dysfunctional, but everything I do has her fingerprints on it. When she suggested that I take writing more seriously, I remember telling her, "That's a White thang," but she told me, "You can do this, baby." Then when my book was published, she threw a big party to celebrate, and then suddenly died just one week before the publisher sent me my first copies. I still have the box . . . unopened.
SOLITUDE
There was a little house in Watts, in the back of my grandparents’ home, that sat totally silent just for me. It sat there in complete obedience to fulfil it’s one and only purpose, to accommodate, and give focus to the thoughts of a young and aimless mind. Totally vacant accept for a sofa and a table, there was no furniture to warm the air. So as I sat in it’s embrace, and quietly drew the thoughts I couldn't express, I could feel the clean, cool air against my face as it locked the noise and confusion of humanity out of that small niche of the universe that I had claimed as my own.
. I loved that house, because it introduced the soul of a child to the beauty of solitude. I would sit there for hours with paper and pencil trying to bring life to my thoughts. I couldn't write back then, so I would breathe substance into my world by drawing the images of crude little stickmen that I would speak to, then patiently awaited the time when they could speak back. . So all these many years later, I still go there, but only in my mind. I return to escape life’s horrors; I also visit to celebrate life’s triumphs. I go there to commune with those who left me behind. My grandparents are there, my mother is there, and my late wife is there to comfort me when I’m lost. But my manhood is also there to reinforce me, and the depth of my intellect resides there to inform me and to give flesh to the stickmen I'd left behind. .
So, yes, I love that little house, and the perfect solitude that it made all mine. I also love the cool, clean air, and the crude little stickmen, it always brings to mind.
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Thus, life has come full circle for me. Once again I sit in solitude drawing stickmen. But this time I sit with sweet memories of Val to warm the cool, clean air.
Happy Birthday, Baby.
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Eric L. Wattree
wattree.blogspot.com Ewattree@Gmail.com Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA) . Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does. Sphere: Related Content
DID THE WHITE MAN DESTROY THE BLACK FAMILY, OR DID WE HAVE A HAND IN IT?
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A HOME IN WATTS
When I was a kid growing up in the Los Angeles area called Watts, we lived large. That was in my pre-political days, so I didn’t even know there was a race problem, because we lived in our area, and the White folks lived a few blocks across Alameda in theirs, and we rarely came into contact with one another. The only time I even saw White kids was when I was watching Sheriff John or the Mickey Mouse Club on television.
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My grandparents owned three homes in their lifetime, and my grandfather worked around the corner from our house at Berg’s Pipe and Steel. He worked so close to our home that he used to come home for lunch every single day. During those days there was nothing I didn’t have, and the family rode around in a brand new car. The neighborhood seemed to be solid middle class, and all of my friends had a mother and father in the home. When I first heard the word “ghetto” I wondered what the hell they were talking about. I thought the only difference between Black people and White people was that White folks looked funny, like they’d been dipped in bleach. But all that began to change in 1965 after the Watts riots. I didn’t even know what the riots were about, because all the people I knew were living well.
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But I was recently sent a very insightful video where a Black psychologist alleged that the White man was responsible for the deterioration of the Black family. Now, I don't think that the brother was purposely lying, because as I said, most of the video was very insightful, and the brother seemed very learned and credible. But in this instance I think his assessment was inaccurate, and while I'm not one to defend the White man, I'm a firm believer in following truth wherever it leads and regardless to whose ox it gores, because in order to move forward we must base our assessments on truth - and the truth is, while the White man undoubtedly controls most things in this White supremacist society, he cannot control our character. So there are some things that we have to take responsibility for ourselves, and this is one of them.
What caused the deterioration of the Black family was Black people themselves. It wasn’t the White man who caused the deterioration of the Black family, it was integration. The Black family survived slavery, the Great Depression, and Jim Crow, so why is it falling apart now? I'll tell you why, because once Black people were given the opportunity to get the best jobs and date White women, many brothers went crazy. They started buying expensive cars, moved out of the neighborhood, and started flo-showin’ by driving through the community with White blonds decorating their passenger seats. They also started treating sisters like they were second-class citizens who were only put on Earth to be used and abused - and we still see evidence of that today, with rappers runnin’ around callin’ sisters “bitches” and “hoes.”
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Now I'm not saying that Black men shouldn't fall in love with White women and marry them - people should marry whoever becomes their soulmate - but these brothers didn't want to marry these women - they didn't want to marry anybody - they just wanted to use them as trophies to say, "Look what I got!" So it was all about ego, flo-showin', and gorging themselves on something they were once denied. They were like hungry kids in a candy store.
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It is that attitude that's killing both Black families, and the Black community, because it was sisters who used to keep brothers in check and forced them to become men. So it’s no accident that we now see forty-year-old males running around in tennis shoes and baseball caps like they’re still fifteen years old. They can get away with that now, but back in the day, a brother couldn’t even get a date with a sister unless he brought some manhood to the table. Now all he needs is a couple of joints and the price of a bottle of Hennessy. So sisters have caved in. Instead of forcing brothers to work and become real men in order to get them, they’ve become so desperate to get a man (make that a male) that they do whatever they have to do to get one - including selling themselves cheap.
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You see, sisters are not as prone to step outside of their race to find companionship as a brother. Over the centuries sisters have been taught to remain loyal to Black men come hell or high water. As a result, they’ve made themselves so available that a brother no longer has to become a man to get what he wants. He can get all of the sex and companionship he needs for just a few kind words and a couple of joints, and, from a different woman every night. So why should he even think about becoming responsible or getting married and raising a family - he's already living the good life, and without any responsibilities.
.I wrote the piece below for a friend who was actually giving classes to sisters, teaching them how to satisfy their "men." She was teaching sisters the best way to give head, and how to use their vaginal muscles to bring their deadbeats the most pleasure - and this was a dynamite sister who, if she became stingy enough, any real man would do a headstand just for the opportunity to kiss her. This situation clearly points out that the problem with single-parent households in the Black community is brought about by the fact that far too many sisters have lost their old-school value of self-worth, so ironically, most of their misery is being brought about by their predisposition to be loyal to Black men. So what's needed is for them to take a page from their grandmothers' book. They need to come together and make a man work to get them. If they did that, once a brother did get them, he'd be much more appreciative - sisters would be treated like the gold they are, and their man would work to make sure that no other man could turn their head.
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Black women are precious, and the most valuable asset that the Black man has ever had, but they're allowing Black men to forget that, so they must begin to recognize their value and remind these turkeys of what they have to lose. My late wife was an old-school sister. We were married for 34 years, and every day of those 34 years I had to prove that I was worth her holding on to. That’s the way our grandmothers worked it, and they had no problem with hanging on to their man.
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My grandfather use to come home every Friday after work and hand his uncashed paycheck over to
my grandmother. That’s why they were so prosperous and I was able to live such a carefree life. They had the money to allow me to live like any White kid, and in many cases, better - because my grandmother on my father's side lived directly across the street, and they use to compete to see who could spoil me the most. That’s why I don’t “know my place" to this day, because as far as I’m concerned, my place is on top, and White folks are just another group of people with straight hair.
ARE SISTERS TURNING BLACK MEN INTO BOYS WITH THEIR LIBERATED ATTITUDES TOWARD SEX
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Women talk to me all the time about how useless and irresponsible many men have become, which I pretty much agree with. But what women don’t seem to understand is the pivotal role that they're playing in bringing about their own frustration.
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Women have made casual sex far too readily available in our society, and that has resulted in two things that place them at a decided disadvantage. First, women have allowed sex to become so easy to obtain that men no longer have to become real men to get it. As a result, there’s no incentive for men to become responsible adults and father figures. That’s why you see forty-year-old men still living with their mamas and hanging out on the block wearing sideway-tilting baseball caps. That image doesn't lend itself to being a father figure or a good role model, but unlike in the past, they don’t have to be, because if they can come up with a couple of joints and a pint of gin they can get all the sex they can handle regardless to how dysfunctional they are as men.
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Things were different in the past. As a rule, in order for our grandfathers to obtain sex during their generation, they had to prove their manhood, jump through a series of hoops, and wine and dine our grandmothers for months and even years - and in many cases, they even had to marry them first. But now all a young boy has to do is walk into a club with enough pocket change to buy a drink or two. That gives him no incentive whatsoever to become a responsible adult, and all the incentive in the world to continue hangin’ out in the clubs instead of focusing on what's going on around him and becoming a man.
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VALDIE WHITMORE-WATTREE
Women used to know how to handle their business. Even with my late wife, Val, while she wasn’t as stingy and strict as some of the ladies from the old school, when we were going together, even while secretly keeping in regular touch with my mother, she stopped speaking to me for an entire year until I caved in and adopted the kind of lifestyle that she approved of - and, thank God, she kept me jumping through one hoop after another until the night she died. If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been capable of writing this article. She's been gone since 2005, but even today when I'm facing a challenge I can hear her whisper in my ear, "You can do this, Eric." So in a very real sense, this article represents a letter to sisters from Val's grave. If she were here she’d say, "Girl, what you have beneath your dress is the only leverage you have with these turkeys, so use it wisely" - and anyone who reads this article that knew Val could tell you, I’m not lyin’.
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The second way that the sexual mores of our society is hurting women is, even among the men who are responsible - and who are looking forward to starting families - they're finding it increasingly difficult to find the kind of woman who they feel comfortable about starting a family with.
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The problem is, women don't understand men, and the reverse is also true. That's why most men and women can only relate to one another on a sexual level. Men think that women are impressed by what THEY think is "cool," and women think that men are impressed by what a woman finds impressive in a man - swagger, confidence, and assertiveness. But both are wrong. In many cases, what men consider "cool," women consider silly and simply put up with. And most men don’t consider swagger and assertiveness attractive in a woman at all. Those qualities boils down to aggressiveness, and most men see that as a male characteristic, so why would a man find a woman who acts like a man attractive? Do women find men who act like women attractive? Not really. So the very same thing is true in the reverse. Men and women have different needs. So many times, when men and women try to impress one another they either turn each other off, or make fools of themselves. But of course, most men will put up with anything as long as it will lead to a woman opening her legs, and then get around the fellas and talk about like a dog thereafter - "Oh, yeah, I had a piece of that . . . "
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Let me give you an example. Many women think they can get a man by acting sensuous, sexually provocative, and assertive. In a sense, that’s true. A woman, any woman, can get a man that way, but only as a sex partner, not as her man. Because men classify women in three different categories. The first category is hoe, or someone to use instead of having to masturbate. The second category is sex partner and road dawg. Men like the women in this category as friends, someone to party with, and to have as a sex partner. Unlike the women in category one, men actually like and respect the women in category two women, but not enough to marry - that is, unless they fall in love by accident. Men generally choose a woman who is sexually stingy as a wife. The reason for that is quite simple, so he won't have to worry about her cheating once they become a couple.
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Men will die to protect their manhood. Nothing is more important to us, and there’s no greater assault on a man’s manhood than a cheating woman, because it sends a message that says two things - first, that he wasn’t man enough to keep her in line, and secondly, that the man she’s cheating with is more of a man than he is. So women should understand that if they ever get caught cheating, that’s it. The man may not leave you immediately, but from that point on, he’s just waiting for the right "lady" to come along so he can replace you.
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Men are not like many women, who'll forgive and move on with the simple assurance that it won't ever happen again, because you’ve assaulted his manhood, and that's an unforgivable offense. You've fallen off the pedestal that a man requires his woman to stand upon, so he'll never look at you in the same way again. So generally speaking, the women that men like to party and have fun with, are not the women that they choose for a wife, because even though he may like them, they’re perceived as being much too casual in their sexuality.
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GRANDMAMA LEALER
When a man decides to marry - unless he falls in love with a category two woman by accident as a result of having repeated sex with her - he chooses a wife from a third category. These women are generally very protective of their sexuality, low-key, and feminine. Men not only feel that these women are more apt to be loyal, but there’s also a psychological component to it. Category three women are harder to get, and it’s human nature to want most what’s hardest to obtain. That’s why a Bentley is more valuable than a Ford. While both cars will get you where you want to go, a Bentley is more prestigious because it’s harder to obtain. The same is true of a woman. A man wants a woman that other men can't get, and once he gets such a woman, he not only gets uncorrupted sex, but also, a boost to his ego in knowing that he’s lying next to a woman that other men can’t have. He also knows that if she didn’t think he was special, she wouldn’t be lying next to him. That’s a huge boost to his sense of manhood, and 99% of a man’s sexual pleasure is mental, or ego driven. Thus, a man is not as interested in having a sex expert for a woman as he is having a woman who is loyal.
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On the other hand, many women do want a sex expert - or, at least, a man who has sense enough to consider her needs - because far too often in casual sexual encounters, women end up with men who are just interested in satisfying themselves, and then leave the woman hanging and sexually frustrated when they're done. So a woman wants a man that she knows has the sexual expertise to provide for her sexual needs. But a man doesn’t have to worry about that, because all he needs to obtain satisfaction is a warm, wet, vagina - any warm, wet, vagina.
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Thus, all a female sex expert means to a man is hoe. Because the assumption is, in order to obtain her sexual expertise, she had to have made herself available to a lot of men. Therefore, she doesn’t see him as special; he just happened to be in the right place at the right time - and if it wasn’t him, it would be someone else. Now don't get me wrong, he’ll PRETEND that the "expert" is rockin’ his world, and doing something for him that can’t be done by any woman with a warm and wet vagina, but that’s just to stroke the woman's ego so he can have sex with her whenever he feels the urge.
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So personally, I’d rather be with a woman who’s simply capable of enjoying the lust of the sexual experience than I would somebody who’s trying all kinds of techniques on me, any day. Because the "expert’s" head is not in the right place. I want a woman focused on how good SHE'S feeling, and fixated on that tingling sensation that’s building up within HER loins, not on how to contract her muscles to impress me with how good she is in bed. After all, a man’s biggest challenge is NOT to climax too soon, so why would he want somebody who’s gonna defeat that purpose? That’s also why men indulge in oral sex, because there is nothing sexier to us than a woman who’s out of her mind with lust and sexual passion. So if there’s any expert in the bed, I want to be the one.
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So when a woman starts talking sex to a man, or try to be overly sexy, she’s not doing herself a favor. All she's doing is ringing the dinner bell that brings out the predator in a man, but he automatically starts thinking in terms of fun and games with a woman of either category one or two. So just because a woman can get a man’s attention in that way - and any woman can - she shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that she’s going to hold his attention. He’s just gorging himself on hamburger until he can find him a steak - a category three woman; wife material, or a woman who’s not gonna even consider the possibly of sex until he jumps through a lot of hoops to get there. She's the prize that most men are after.
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Now, I want to emphasize that I’m not advocating any position on this issue. If you’ll notice, the title of this article is a question, not an assertion. My intent is to simply give women insight into how the vast majority of men think. How do I know how most men think? Because from the time we're little boys we spent an inordinate amount of time discussing women and girls - like when Donald Trump was bragging to the fellas about grabbing women by the genitals. So whether or not what I'm saying is perceived as sexist is not my concern. I’m simply relating the truth - a truth that is common knowledge among most men, because when it comes to sex, and a man's exploitation of women, men are far from politically correct, unless they're trying to keep that SPECIAL WOMAN to themselves. You never hear a word about those women. But if a woman is just a casual "piece of ass," every brother he knows know about you, right up to how you act and/or beg when you're having an orgasm. That's why "hoes" are generally so popular.
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While many women may consider what I’ve said here old fashion, men have assessed women in the same way since the beginning of time and across cultural boundaries, and it’s very unlikely to change anytime soon. But the problem with truth, and the primary reason that so many people object to it is, it doesn’t always conform to either ideology or fashion. It simply is what it is. So efficient thought requires that we ALWAYS give truth priority over ideology. But much too often we try to give ideology priority over truth. Then when truth comes into conflict with our ideology, we try to contort the truth to fit more comfortably into what we want to believe, and unfortunately, that's what many women do when it comes to the subject of sex - "Things have changed." No, when it comes to men and sex, things will never change.
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As a result of that tendency, modern women are living under the mass delusion that because their attitudes have changed, the attitudes of men have changed along with them, but they are horribly mistaken. You see, men simply pretend to have changed because it’s to our advantage. The modern female mind-set makes casual sex much more available, and we love it - I certainly do, because I’m just as predatory regarding sex as any other man. But that doesn’t mean that I’m so accommodating to that new mind-set that I want to marry the women that I’m having sex with - and I’m very comfortable in saying that MOST men feel the same way - and that’s a major contributor to the dysfunction of the modern family structure, which is the point of this article.
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I want to emphasize that I'm not suggesting that women should remain celibate until marriage, but I'm sure many women are going to read that into it. I'm simply saying that men prefer women who are "protective" of their sexuality, and women need to understand that, regardless to what a man may say. Women need to keep in mind that a man will say anything, and take any position, that allows sex to be readily available. But if you want to see a man’s true attitude toward female sexuality, all you have to do is even suggest that his mother or daughter is less than protective of their sexuality. You’ll end up with an extremely hostile individual on your hands. Thus, a man's attitude toward sex is very complex - while we love it being easily available, we don't want the women in our lives involved in contributing to the ease of availability.
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So the bottom line is, the new female mindset towards sex not only creates a disincentive for men to step up to the plate to become responsible husbands and fathers, but once they are husbands and fathers, the attitude of many women outside of the marriage creates constant pressure for men to cheat. Thus, the attitude of the modern women regarding casual sex often serves to create the very Hell that many women often complain about.
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Think about it. What incentive does a man have to limit his sex life and take on the responsibility of settling down with one woman when he can have all the sex that he can handle - with multiple women - and without having to take on any responsibility at all? Not much. And what cultural incentive does a married man have to remain faithful? Again, not much. So I'm not advocating that women reverse their newfound sexual freedom, but rather, to consider carefully how that freedom is used, because every male you come into contact with certainly is. So while I'm not advocating any position, I am suggesting that women learn the rules of the game and not allow themselves to be played, because having that knowledge gives women options on how they want to play the game.
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In that regard, what's important for every woman to remember is, while many women's attitude toward sex has changed tremendously over the years, men are still very old fashion when it comes to their woman - they have to be, because the way a man’s woman carries herself is reflective of his manhood - and that's very important to a man. While I know this may sound kinda old-school to contemporary women, with all of the sexual opportunities out there for your man, how you carry yourself may be the determining factor on whether or not your man is willing to make that extra effort to be the kind of man you want him to be. And women should also remember this - as old fashion as your grandmother was, she didn’t have any problem hanging on to her man.
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Love, Pain, Passion, and Lust
HER PAIN: .
She walks alone, sweet woman-child, her sobs flow warm against the dark; Her need is love, not merely passion, a mighty fortress, her broken heart. . Quivering bodies and breathless moans, she remembers with great delight, but the heat of love is the only flame, her lusting soul craves late at night. . Hungry arms yearn for her shuddering body, to embrace her tenderly with all their might; Shivering lips lust for her succulent passion, as she cries out desperately into the night. . But only true love can quench the thirst that burns red hot, and deep inside, so she faces the pain, again and again, and late at night she cries. . Masculine shadows of delusion and lust caress their egos more than her pain, for her convulsing body quivers not for them, but for her fantasy of a warm and gentle man. . So, with head held high, by light of day, but, mournful eyes, that do betray, unspent love, and a breaking heart, and the fear of sobs, when day turns dark.
HIS PASSION: . She's dark, she’s passionate, and she's lovely, but she doesn't know herself: . She doesn't know the extent her smiling eyes devastate this love-sick heart; The way they dance in the moonlight, subtly beckon, and betray the depth of her sultry passion. . She doesn't know the ecstasy of pleading moans on a humid, Summer night, or the maddening pleasure of glistening bodies entwined in erotic flight. . And She doesn't know the hot breath of passion, as it whispers between her thighs; The gentle kiss, the sting of bliss, the pain of pleasure that burns inside. . She doesn't know the agony of lust while suspended in endless time, as she yearns for sweet release, while desperately clinging to the sweet sublime. . And She doesn't know of frantic begging for that of which she's run, of the animal that leaps inside of her, as flowing chills begin to come. . She doesn't know the embrace of madness as her trembling loins begin to spill . . . . She doesn't know of love, but on this night, her pleading eyes, say she will.
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Strive To Become Your Own Hero... Then Let No One Remove Your Cape.
BIO
Eric L. Wattree is a writer, poet, and musician, born in Los Angeles. He’s been a columnist for The Los Angeles Sentinel, Black Star News, The Atlanta Post, and is a member of the Sigma Delta Chi Society of Professional Journalists (http://www.spj.org/). He’s also the author of "A Message From the Hood."
Some of the greatest minds I’ve ever known held court while sitting on empty milk crates in the parking lots of ghetto liquor stores, while some of the weakest minds I’ve ever known roamed the halls of academia in pursuit of credentials over knowledge.
Am I a hater, you ask? You're damn right I'm a hater. I hate injustice. I hate hypocrisy. I also hate demagoguery, apathy, and the stupidity that allows it to exist. Hater? Absolutely. I'm a big time hater. I hate what I see happening to this country, and I hate watching the development of a culture that embraces ignorance with a stupid sense of pride. So yes, I am indeed a hater, but not only that - I'm a hater with a very low threshold for bullshit, so step off.
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