This is a time in my life when I am getting to know myself and my place among people.
No, not my “place” as if I’m lower than my peers and I should be have as such. I mean my “place” as in my role and position in the world, in my world.
I’ve come to recognize and accept my flaws and quirks better, which helps me to accept the flaws of others without being so judgmental. Who am I to tear someone down when I am going through the same things? Of course, I have relapses, slip-ups, mistakes. But I try to think before I react because I know that everything I do, say, or express has a consequence: negative, positive, or insignificant.
Sometimes when I look back, I realize how little I’ve changed in some aspects.
It often went like this: it was summertime and of course that meant that Tasha was always at our house or we were at hers. Being young and having nothing better to do, we spent our days either making up games or making up performances. We were rehearsing for our Mothers’ Day presentation when the typical thing happened. After running through the play, in which I portrayed a bad little girl who put gum in people’s hair, we moved on to the dance. Now, we thought that we were pretty skilled dancers and singers. We’d don’t countless performances for our parents and even one for our neighbors – we pass out fliers and everything. Somehow, in the middle of learning the choreography, the topic of interest turned to me.
“Jasmine, you’re so dumb.” (Untrue. I knew I was smart.)
“You’re just a little kid.” (Of course. I knew this.)
Still, I let these comments get to me.
Attention to practicing kind of drifted away from all of us and so we sat to watch TV. I sat quietly in the corner, hiding my face, trying to be invisible.
“Stop trying to make us feel bad.”
“Gosh, way to go.”
It was as if I would never win.
This trait has carried into my teenage years. I voice my opinion and people can tell when I’m unhappy, but I still feel like it’s those who love me that sometimes hurt me the most, and they’re the hardest people to stand up to.
Now I don’t have a corner of the sofa to hide in… The corner of the car maybe.
My personal corner.
The corner of the conversation.
When reminiscing and music combine, I go a little crazy.
Tonight I sat down and explored some old jazz favorites (and trying to discover some new ones), thanks to the time I spent in the car with my dad earlier this afternoon. When I was younger, we would ride around listening to Smooth Jazz 105.9 (WJZW, DC area radio), especially in the summer, with the windows down, on the weekend... when neither of us had anything to worry about. I remember him taking me to some event at the Kennedy Center and seeing groups like Incognito and Pieces of a Dream. I remember riding in the backseat hearing the jock with the really smooth voice spit out names like Joe Sample, George Benson, and Chuck Mangione. I especially remember my frustration with the fact that there were usually NO words with these songs. I really didn't understand it back then! ... It would annoy me so much, that I would make up my own words to go along to the music. Looking back, they were either ingenious lines... or useless junk. Since none of it was written down, I guess I'll never know!
In no way would I ever call myself 'a jazz person.' What an over-exaggerated compliment that would be! I wish. Maybe some day..
But in honor of WJZW 105.9 (which last strong 14 years as a smooth jazz station, until the format was switched in 2008), in honor of hip-hop samples, in honor of "Jazz" by ATCQ, in honor of my dad, in honor of my childhood, and in honor of good music... here's some music:
