{"id":8743,"date":"2025-02-14T12:44:00","date_gmt":"2025-02-14T17:44:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/localtalkweekly.com\/?p=8743"},"modified":"2025-02-12T17:48:52","modified_gmt":"2025-02-12T22:48:52","slug":"punk","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/localtalkweekly.com\/index.php\/2025\/02\/14\/punk\/","title":{"rendered":"PUNK"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

THE OBSERVATION BOOTH<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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OP \/ ED & PHOTO CREDITS ANDREA DIALECT<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The definition of punk was quite clear to me. I was bent on the title weeks ago. Ironically, its true origin never crossed my mind. Punk, to me, meant punk. You know, that someone that allows anyone to do anything to them – no pushback, no fight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Coming across a lot of that lately. But Google gave me a reminder. Ironically, my punk definition was even harder to find. And when I asked ChatGPT, although I begged it to differ, that copycat came to the same end – until I disclosed what I meant. Then – voila – it kinda knew what it meant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I find that I stammer more than my daddy did when chitchattin\u2019 while crossing paths with many of those so-called non-punks around the way. \u201cI ain\u2019t no punk\u201d is usually the intro into that verbal exchange, the bridge that extends to a roadway of driven caution, making for a smoother ride. My response in that convo – clean version – is usually one size fits all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When weighing self-control and gagging and hog-tying the ego – while ignoring the peanut gallery, who gladly coax ya on by telling you to redeem yourself as they pave the way, plotting your demise – I tell \u2018em, \u201cNow you got all those years in the big house trying to convince yourself you ain\u2019t, which will be triggered even more so when one of those Cos likely female is barking them commands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now that you seeing red all the time, your ol\u2019 boy ego is snug as a bug \u2018cause he got playmates for days – and now he\u2019s the man; And for the peanut gallery that you had to impress? Sorry, they probably can\u2019t make no visits, but your story will live on. \u2018Cause they gonna tell what had happened every chance they get – now that you\u2019ve been punked.\u201d Now, weigh that against all the years you\u2019ll spend pumping that iron, Iron Man!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am literally in shock at the state of the world – by how much we\u2019ve lost ourselves, wanting to be accepted by other folk, listening to all those self proclaimed hierarchy and our own ego driving destruction. My daddy, aka Mr. Brown – I can truly say he wasn\u2019t one. His not being a punk was voicefully stated, mainly by his actions.\u2026In loving memory of Mr. Brown!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Check out the draft below for the head game by example. Visit Localtalkweekly.com to read the full story in the Entertainment section. While you\u2019re at it, check out the archives and get familiar with all things Andrea Dialect. You\u2019ll also want to come along on my Andrea Dialect Facebook Lab live session – buried treasures turn up every morning. Come join me live as I develop my daily PORTAL sessions. I\u2019ll see you between 5-6 a.m. Set those notifications.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Remember, everything I do on social is raw, homegrown, and experimental mockups. Follow my @msdialect Instagram, and let\u2019s grow out loud together! Like, follow, and share.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

STUTTER<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Google Donny Hathaway\u2019s \u201cA Change Is Gonna Come\u201d and let it play as you read this short\u2026<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

First off, I heard the ins and cries quite often throughout my life. I was quite young when he stumbled into the church house at my mama\u2019s surprise – falling on his knees at my mama\u2019s feet, then at the feet of Jesus. Didn\u2019t seem to care whose feet he cried at, whether those from the deacon board, house mothers or that pastor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After witnessing that once or twice, he\u2019d eventually adhere to those calls – tired of those spiritual lashings – and become a saved man. That man of God\u2019s life had changed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Although we never really saw him do much that was out of pocket, so change just meant riding with us to church forevermore, as opposed to poppin\u2019 in after that God. Then that was all she wrote.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then there were the cries I\u2019d hear every night at our house, behind that locked door tightly shut. Sometimes he and Mommy would join in as a duo, with a melody that reached the heavens – summoning the angel choir as backup. Other times, Daddy would go at it alone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can see him in an image I\u2019m conjuring up right now – he\u2019s in the living room, plucking his guitar, singing with those elongated riffs. Songs that, once they started, seemed to never end. With those never-ending starts. Back then, I thought that Daddy was in love with his own voice, for sure – trembling on every word. Now I think they were his singsong for affirmation. Donny Hathaway\u2019s “A Change Is Gonna Come” was ritual.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We\u2019d be giggling, my sisters and I – but never at his cries nor ever at his beloved solos, but at his daring to be himself. Even when we giggled a bit too loud, he never put on that he knew. He just kept right on plucking and right on singing, and I\u2019m sure he did. With the sudden outbursts here and there – he still plucked, and he still trembled and sang. He paid no attention at that time to little snotty-nosed girls. He overlooked his own blood and his own flesh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember throughout the years that every day, seemingly, or every night, he\u2019d sit at our kitchen table that he\u2019d built by the way. Gazing at the page of that book tripping, over words that had been stretched to no end till indefinable. There were also times when we\u2019d pass by Daddy in his bed, book in hand while reading in his head. The Bible – his favorite book, his lesson book – so he learned while he learned. As he taught, as we taught.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the kitchen table, when he\u2019d summon us – there most often times, those younger than I, Toy being his favorite instructor. I guess I wasn\u2019t called upon as much due to my not knowing how to tell time. So I guess he wanted to go with someone who had the patience and the know-how. Perhaps he was sparing me the embarrassment, so he thought. But Toy taught me that, although she was much younger. Allowing her to – that, I guess, I got from Daddy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sister Toy would so patiently sound out the words, whether standing there beside him or she sat, she\u2019d enunciate perfectly, although so young. And he\u2019d drag behind, stretching those words out even longer than the riffs of his favorite song. After years of stumbling and tripping and asking little girls of all ages to take his hand and drag him along with those words, Daddy had finally tripped all the way through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Soon enough, my Daddy\u2019s reading became smooth as jazz. A change had come. But he continued to sing his affirmation song sometimes before or after he read his favorite lesson book. He didn\u2019t need us as much anymore, but on those occasions, he\u2019d beckon Toy. And once again he\u2019d trip and stutter his way through.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He did or sang it as long as I can remember. At the table, he\u2019d read alone in his head or aloud. He is the strongest man and the toughest non-punk that I ever knew. Never in all those years of him being my father has he opted for the stupid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So I say to you: trip. Stutter. Stammer. Fall, get up, and fall and stutter and stammer again and again. Look stupid. Sound stupid. Let \u2018em watch. Let \u2018em laugh. And if you really want to grow – need be, ask those snickering onlookers for help. If you need to, feel free to use my daddy\u2019s image. I\u2019m sure he won\u2019t mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Conjure up the image of the man – my daddy. Become that man. Conjure the image of either me or my sisters as youngsters, aiding my daddy, helping him read. Don\u2019t get hung up on our looks. We won\u2019t mind. Conjure the image of him stumbling in the church, with all eyes on him, crying at our feet. Or the wails heard nightly behind that door. See him in your mind\u2019s eye, plucking his guitar, singing a song with elongated trembles like he did.  “A Change Is Gonna Come.” Use all these things to galvanize those words into your experience. He did, and it did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Top of Form<\/p>\n\n\n\n

DID YOU KNOW\u2026<\/strong>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stutter<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

A speech disorder involving frequent problems with the normal fluency and flow of speech.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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  1. spoken with or characterized by a\u00a0stutter.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\n

    “his slow stuttering speech”<\/p>\n\n\n\n