The Song That Officially Means It's Christmas

There is a song that I have to hear to officially mark the beginning of Christmas season. Our tree may be up, our halls may be decked, our presents may be purchased and wrapped, but if I haven't heard this song yet, it just doesn't feel like Christmas. And in this digital age when you can play whatever song you want with the click of a mouse or a spin of a wheel, I don't cheat. It needs to happen naturally, like when I was growing up. It has to come on the radio. (Or Pandora.)

A few years ago, I didn't hear it until the morning of Christmas Eve while I was riding around town running last-minute errands. I called My Director, put her on speakerphone, and made her listen along with me. With tears in my eyes I sat in the driveway and listened to rest of the song, singing along hysterically.

Why did we not own this growing up? No idea.

It's Santa Claus Is Comin' To Town by Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band.

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Soundtrack: The Ultimate #Halloween Classic Rock Playlist

This weekend I showed Peanut the "Thriller" video for the first time. She was terrified. Furrowing her brow, turning away at some points, even squealing in horror at others. She did this through the entire 13-minute film. Then, as the credits rolled, she asked, "Can we watch it again?"

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Soundtrack: New York State of Mind

"I know what I'm needin' and I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York State of Mind." -Billy Joel

I have always considered myself a New Yorker. Maybe part of that is envy, from growing up in New Jersey. As I've grown older, I've learned to wear my New Jersey roots as a badge of honor. I'm proud of it. Still, to use a line from that famous tourism ad campaign, "I love New York." I love New York even though my hometown is actually closer to Philadelphia than it is to New York.

"Some folks like to get away. Take a holiday from the neighborhood. "

I've just always identified more with New York than any other place. A lot of that is growing up a fan of Billy Joel, more so than Bruce Springsteen. A lot of that is my family being from Jersey City, right across the Hudson River. My parents grew up in the shadow of Manhattan. And let's be honest: New York is a hell of a lot cooler.

There is a framed picture of the New York city skyline as we once knew it hanging in our bedroom. I gave it to My Director for Christmas 2001, three months after the attack on our city:

I broke down in tears when she opened it. Because our city was healing, but still badly scarred. The wounds were still sore. The horror still fresh in our minds.

"I don't have any reason. I don't want to waste more time. I'm in a New York state of mind."

That song by Billy Joel was the last song we put on our wedding CD, the thank-you gift we gave to our guests. A compilation of songs about us, about our love and our life. Is there anything better than his slow, cool piano solo in the beginning of this song? The saxophone at the end? We were married in Pennsylvania, where My Director is from. I am born and raised in New Jersey. We lived in Hoboken, the town right next to Jersey City, at the time. But we were always in a New York state of mind. We always will be in our hearts.

"It was so easy living day by day out of touch with the rhythm and blues."

I treat New York like one of my siblings. Respect. Love. Loyalty. With full knowledge of some of its more annoying quirks and habits. Drivers that insist on speeding up to red lights. Cabs who think having the right of way means they are legally permitted to run you over. The throngs of tourists in Times Square who pose as a daily obstacle course as I make my way to the bus ride home. And whatever that appetite suppressant of a stench is on summer mornings that is so gag-worthy it makes eating anything on the go impossible.

"I'm walkin' here." (I've done this many times myself.)

Like my siblings, I accept New York's faults on most days. That's just who she is. Then there are the days it's so aggravating I lash out with an audible F-bomb of my own. But like I do with my sisters and brother, I defend New York to outsiders, even if they're right. While New York can be a jerk sometimes, she's my jerk and it's none of your business.

Most of my time in New York is spent at work. And I must admit there are times I'm walking from place to place and hear a car backfire or a crash-boom at a construction site and it'll startle me. For a split second I'll fear the worst again. But if 9/11 taught me anything at all, it taught me that our city will always be here. They can knock down buildings but they can't knock us down.

I love New York. For its strength, its majesty, its diversity. But most of all, I love it for its resiliency.

Enjoy this great live version of Billy Joel's tribute to the greatest city in the world:
 Last year I shared the story of one of my greatest professional accomplishments, and how it serves as a daily reminder of 9/11. You can read it here.

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Making Sweet Music

"How sweet it is to be loved by you." -James Taylor

One night this summer, My Director and I went to a James Taylor concert. I had bought her the tickets for Valentine's Day. Attached to the tickets, I wrote a note with the lyric I quoted above. Aren't I just a peach? Ah, but that love does indeed need to be sweet, in so many ways... and especially in times of stress.

As we drove to the concert and exited into the venue, the gas light dinged on the dashboard. Unlike My Director, I am never concerned when this happens. However, unless you arrive super early, the traffic getting into the parking lots at these events is always maddening. We inched along for twenty minutes, burning fuel like it was nothing. I opened the windows and turned off the air to save gas.

"It's rare that neither of us looked at the gas gauge all day," I offered. I knew that one would come back to haunt me eventually. After all, My Director had not driven at all that day. (For the record, after reading up to this point My Director stopped and insisted she DID suggest we pull off for gas before the light went on. We agreed to disagree. You can believe whom you choose.)

NOW I'm worried

The needle crept dangerously close to the last line before E. Now I'm worried.

So I devised a plan. An exit strategy. We would leave the show early. An hour and a half after he starts playing. That way we won't sit in traffic on the way out and run out of gas.

We sat on our beach chairs on the lawn and enjoyed James Taylor like we always do. During the intermission we used an app to find the nearest gas station. It was three miles away, off the first possible exit. We bolted three songs into the second set. We jumped into the car, which was smartly parked right by the exit, and with the air conditioning still turned off I made sure not to gun it. Even on the Garden State Parkway, I didn't go above 40 mph. I was a turtle-paced menace hugging the right lane with my hazards flashing.

As soon as I coasted off the exit, My Director stumbled with the directions that she was reading off her iPhone. (She disputes this too.) As a result, I missed the first turn. Now I'm mad. And totally spaztastic. And the best she could offer was a panicked, "Now we're driving aimlessly on this random road." I knew it wasn't a random road. It was a somewhat major highway in New Jersey, the state in which I've lived my entire life except for my four years in college. A gas station was inevitable. (Turns out, there was one on every corner.)

"Don't tell me anything anymore," I barked. "I'm taking over." Then I actually used a work/blog analogy to bolster my new-found position of authority. "Sometimes the producer needs to just produce and the director just has to follow along, trust him, and keep up." As a point of reference, My Director doesn't take any lip from anybody, especially me.

Now here's where my comment from four hours earlier finally comes back to haunt me:

"YOU started it when you said neither of us checked to see if we were running low." And there it is. I KNEW she would bring it up. It was just a matter of when.

I had little defense. So I offered, "You're always checking the gas gauge from the passenger seat."

"I can't even see it from over here."

"You lean over constantly to check the gas." (And see how fast I'm going.) "That's your job as My Director." (Now I'm back to letting her direct.)

We eventually found a station, filled up, laughed at our lunacy and fell in love all over again by listening to some classic James Taylor on our way home. No matter what life throws our way, especially minor spats over running out of gas, the one constant is always us. How sweet it is to be loved by you:

I needed the shelter of someone's arms.  

There you were. 

I needed someone to understand my ups and downs. 

There you were.

Please take some time to catch up on some DKL you might have missed. I've been doing this on summer Mondays, telling a new story and then following it with links to a list of posts about that subject. Previous topics included My Director, Christmas, our Disney trip, and our swagger wagon. This week, I'm featuring songs, AKA "The Soundtrack of our Life." Enjoy:

Earlier this month I wrote how Thunder Road became Peanut's lullaby of choice.

There is a song from a movie that helped me through the toughest time in my professional career. It's called "Little Wonders."

A few months ago, Peanut and I were obsessed with a song by Rihanna of all people. It was perpetually The Song in My Head. (There's crazy Peanut-dancing video in this one.)

Whenever we're in the car, it seems a song by one particular band will always come on the classic rock station I listen to. It's important to me that Peanut Hears The Who.

Here's another Springsteen song that got me thinking about the role we play in the dreams of our children. He tells a story during a live performance that made me realize we are their Dream Keepers.

The story of how I came to call my wife "My Director" starts with our struggle to pick a wedding song. It's all in "Allow Me To Re-Introduce..."

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Thunder Road

"So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore. Show a little faith there's magic in the night." -from Thunder Road

Sometimes you hear a song and it just gives you that feeling. A feeling that it's right. That it's good. I felt that the first time I ever heard Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band. I love this song so much that I would sing it to baby Peanut as a lullaby. There's a live version that's more subdued. Something takes hold of me when those first few chords on the piano play, followed by the soft rip of the harmonica. Goose bumps bordering on tears. I feel like I'm experiencing a piece of music history every time it plays on my iPod.

I would channel that version as I held her in my arms in the wee hours of the night after one of those 2am feedings. I'm from New Jersey, where Springsteen is religion. So I wanted it to be part of Peanut's religion too. Instead of the traditional lullabies, I sang her rock-n-roll.

April 2007. Her first bottle. Daddy=sleepy.

I continued to sing it to her as she grew older. One night when she was around three years old, Peanut interrupted me when I sang this line:

Well I got this guitar and I learned how to make it talk.

"Daddy, guitars can't talk," said Little Miss Literal.

"Some people CAN make them talk," I said. "Like Bruce Springsteen."

How cool is this picture? (I got it here.)

But I have a confession to make. As many times as I've listened to this song; as many times as I sang it as a lullaby or karaoke; as many times as I've answered with it as my favorite Bruce song, I didn't really know what it means. That is, I didn't know what Bruce was thinking when he penned it. I knew what I thought it meant. Sometimes that's all that matters, I know. But the two meanings could be totally different. (For example, when I heard Bob Dylan's It Ain't Me Babe shortly after my dad died, it reminded me of him. The song is definitely not about a father and son. Still to this day, for whatever reason it reminds me of him.) 

To me, Thunder Road has always been a song about making the most out of life, making the most out of opportunities; about last chances; about making it real. (Those are some of the lyrics, anyway.)

We got one last chance to make it real
To trade in these wings on some wheels

Recently I jumped into a Twitter debate about Springsteen's best song. (I also love Waitin' on a Sunny Day.) When Thunder Road came up I mentioned that I once sang it as a nightly lullaby. One of my Twitter friends responded, "That's an interesting lullaby to sing to your daughter." So I got self-conscious. And worried. Was I singing an inapproriate song? I always assumed there WAS "stuff" going on in Thunder Road, with the ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away and your graduation gown lying in rags at their feet. I thought, "What have I been singing to my child?" I mean, I sang it to her so much that at one point when she was a toddler she actually requested it at bedtime and would accept nothing else.

So I did what any rational dad would do. I googled that shiz. And here's what Bruce himself had to say about Thunder Road in a 1991 documentary, according to good old Wikipedia:

"So this was my... my invitation to a long and earthly, very earthly journey. Hopefully in the company of uh, someone you love, people you love, and in search of a home you can feel a part of."

A long earthly journey. Hopefully in the company of people you love. In search of a home. Thanks, Bruce. For proving me right. Perfect.

July 2012. Along our long earthly journey

It's a town full of losers. Then I'm pulling out of here to win.

One day Peanut's journey will take her beyond this place we chose for her to grow up. She'll leave to do better than we did.

Here's the live version I sing to Peanut:


A story Bruce tells in another live version of one of his classics got me thinking about our roles in the dreams of our children. You can read about that here.

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What I Really Want for Father's Day

"Fatherhood is pretending the present you love most is soap-on-a-rope." -Bill Cosby

"What do you want for Father's Day?" It's an age-old question. Ah, but to answer is to solve one of life's great riddles. I remember my dad being impossible to shop for. The man had no hobbies, no wardrobe, no discernible interests. He worked, ate, and watched television. That's it. Luckily, the DVD eventually came along and I inundated him with his favorite movies from yesteryear whenever a special occasion arose.

Unlike my dad, I'm a pretty easy guy to please. (Rawr.) Enough people have recently asked me for Father's Day gift ideas for blog posts or stories they're working on. But I can't speak for any other dad except me. And to be honest, I don't really want or need anything, which I guess makes me more like my dad than I originally thought.

Well, let's start with what not to get me:

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: All She Wants To Do Is Dance

Where does she get it from? Where does Peanut get her desire and ability to dance?

After all, she's seen me dance, like a monkey stuck in quicksand. When I do manage to move my feet, I'm miming some joke move. I'm sure you're familiar with the shopping cart, the sprinkler, and the lawnmower?

So where does she get it from? Certainly not her mother. My Director may be graceful in many areas of life: skiing, decorating, diplomacy, but she dances like a wounded gazelle.

Genetics be damned, Peanut is a dancer. She loves going to dance class every week, except for one Saturday morning where she threw a fit because the leotard she wanted to wear was in the laundry. (Oh, the humanity.)

At dance class, when I'm not dodging in and out of gossip with the other parents (moms), we're taking turns looking into the classroom through the tiny Alice in Wonderland windows, trying to catch a glimpse of our budding ballerinas perform their pirouettes and plies. (I had to google how to spell "plie'.") Finally, on observation day, we got to sit in the studio and watch. I couldn't take my eyes off Peanut's performance:

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The DKL Theme Song by @SaskaDad

You know you've hit it big time when they start writing songs about you. Well, my friend and fellow dad blogger James has done just that. He's been kind and creative enough to write a theme song for DKL. James is a talented musician and writer who calls his blog EduDad. I often consider one of his posts for my THINK in the weekly "LAUGH CRY THINK" feature on the DKL Facebook page. His blogs are always insightful. What makes them even more impressive is that they often take less than a minute to read and yet leave you pondering the universe.

I can't thank him enough for this song. Enjoy:
Is it me or do those first few chords sound like "Smoke on the Water" by Deep Purple? The classic rock guy in me loves that. And when James says, "it started with a smile," he's referring to a post I wrote a year ago about the moment that started it all between me and My Director. (You can read that post here.) Knowing that makes him not only a loyal reader but a good friend.

Please check out James's blog here. And Follow him on Facebook and Twitter for some good conversation. You wont be sorry.

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Little Wonders

Sometimes inspiration and perspective come from the most unlikely places. And when you least expect them.

Peanut was six months old when I took what I thought was the job of my dreams. I was the producer of the five o'clock news at the NBC affiliate in New York. A legendary newscast. Turns out, my dream job was a nightmare. Like any industry, mine has difficult people to work for and work with who made going to work a chore that I dreaded. Their lack of confidence in me eroded my own confidence. At one point in talking to my mom about it she said, "I've never heard you sound like this before." She was right. I was no longer myself.

My little wonder and little helper

The only things keeping me going were My Director and baby Peanut. But I definitely took the burden of an awful work situation home with me most nights. I was often distant or short-tempered. I couldn't take my mind off it.

One night during this period My Director and I were watching Meet the Robinsons for the first time. She had DVR'd it, thinking it might cheer me up because that scene with the dinosaur saying he had a big head and small arms always made me laugh when I saw the preview.

The last scene of the movie shows Lewis, the main character who is an orphan, going home with the parents who adopt him. Throughout the movie, he's trying to find the mom who left him at the orphanage when he was a baby. But the overriding theme of the movie is putting the past behind you, inspired by a Walt Disney quote, "Keep moving forward."

Lewis realizes the past he was chasing wasn't nearly as worth it as the future that was before him, and as he does, "Little Wonders" starts playing:

Let it go

Let it roll right off your shoulder

Don't you know

The hardest part is over

That song came on during this emotional last scene and the lyrics grabbed hold of us. We both started crying. We didn't even hide it like you often do when you're watching a poignant scene with someone, even if that someone is the one person it's ok for you to cry in front of.

My Director carried me those ten months. It was only ten months, but it felt like ten years. And she carried me, just like she did after my dad died.

If it's me you need to turn to 

We'll get by

It's the heart that really matters in the end

Peanut doesn't know it, but she carried me too. This perfect little happy baby. She was so good and such a joy to be around. So easy to please and appease.

Meet the Robinsons is now one of Peanut's favorite movies. It's one of those movies we don't get tired of if she's on a streak of watching it consecutive times on consecutive days. She knows I love that part with the dinosaur. And she knows her mom and dad will always be there, helping her move forward when she's stuck in a rut. My little wonder helped me out of one of my biggest ruts.

Sometimes we get wrapped up in ourselves, in our issues, in whatever is plaguing us at that particular moment in time. And to a large extent, I did too. But I was still able to embrace our little wonder. Enjoy her. Be there for her. Because she was there for me.

All lives are made

In these small hours 

These little wonders 

These twists and turns of fate

Time falls away

But these little wonders still remain

Thankfully, I found another job at an unlikely place, producing a financial news program at a national network. And I've thrived. I've never been happier professionally. I'm still here almost four years later.  

I have a playlist on my iPod with Peanut's name on it. Songs she likes. Songs I sing to her or used to sing to her. Songs that remind me of her. This song is the first one that playlist:

This post is part of a musical writing challenge posed by my friend Chris who writes a great blog called ...from the Bungalow. This is my favorite post of his.

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The Song in My Head

"It's the way I'm feeling, I just can't deny." -Rihanna, We Found Love

Behold, the amazing and yet somewhat disturbing chain reaction that lands a song in your head. And, subsequently, in your child's head. Not only is this song in Peanut's head, she now claims that it's her favorite song. And it's all my fault.

Here's how it happened:

1. One day on my way to pick up Peanut from daycare, I didn't change the car radio from My Director's Top 40 station to my classic rock station. (A station that has been instrumental in Peanut's musical education. More on that below.)

2. A song comes on that just so happens to remind me of the book I couldn't put down. The Hunger Games. If you've been living under a rock, the two main characters fall in love during a televised fight to the death between themselves and 22 others. Or did they? You never know if they're in love, or playing the "game." (Ya gotta read the book. Then ya gotta read the next two.)

3. Since I instantly connect this song that I have never previously heard (because I listen to classic rock) to the popular book I am reading, I start to sing the chorus repeatedly in the car.

4. I continue to sing the chorus at home while cooking, then during dinner, playtime, and bedtime.

5. A couple of days later, I catch Peanut doing this:


6. A week later, we're all in the swagger wagon and My Director points out that she and I listen to different music with Peanut while we're driving. So I ask Peanut, "Which music do you like better? Mommy's or Daddy's?"

7. She answers, "We Found Love in a Hopeless Place." (I cringe a little.)

8. We get home and Peanut asks us to buy that song on iTunes.

9. We buy it and this happens the first time we play it:


10. Now Rihanna has become part of the soundtrack of our lives. We all bust out to this song constantly. And it's all because classic rock dad just so happened to be listening to Top 40 mom's station at the right (or wrong) place at the right (or wrong) time.

And we can't stop. But at least it's not as bad as this:

Or is it?

Luckily, Peanut DOES enjoy and recognize a lot of the classic rock I expose her to. I wrote about one special instance here.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: The Turkey Song

"Celebrate real well. for life is short but sweet for certain." -Dave Matthews Band

DKL has so much to be thankful for. My amazing, loyal, understanding, honest, beautiful wife. My joyful, exuberant, healthy, imaginative, clever daughter. A dog that does't judge, just loves and listens unconditionally. A warm, comfortable home. Employment, in a time where a lot of people are looking for it. Health. Happiness. Family. Friends. Neighbors. Community. You.

And this:



From our family to yours: Happy Thanksgiving.

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Peanut Hears The Who

"I'm not trying to cause a sensation. I'm just talkin' 'bout my generation." -The Who

There are songs that come on the radio or my iPod and I will immediately think to myself, "This song would be on the soundtrack of my life." Scenes From an Italian Restaurant by Billy Joel. Lovely Day by Bill Withers. Growin' Up by Bruce Springsteen. I could go on and on. Suffice it to say, it would probably be a 2-disc set. At least. Certain songs just make you think of certain times in your life, or certain people.

In the short amount of time I spend in the swagger wagon on my way to and from daycare for pickup, I listen to one of two things on the radio: sports talk or classic rock. When the Peanut is in the car, I try to make sure we're listening to music.Normally, she's zoning out after a long day, sucking her thumb and staring out the window. But sometimes, we'll talk about the music. Our short lessons in what I believe is essential music knowledge go something like this:

"Daddy is this the song from Megamind? From the part where he beats Metro Man?"

"No sweetie. That's AC/DC. This song is by Led Zeppelin."

"Oh. Because it sounds like that song (Highway to Hell) from Megamind."

"You're right. They do sound alike. That's what we call rock 'n roll."

"You're silly, Daddy."

What amazes me is that almost every time we're listening to that classic rock station (Q104.3 in New York), a song by The Who comes on. Nearly every time.

The Who was by far the favorite band of my cousin Michael. He died in August 2009 after a short battle with lung cancer. He was 45 and the father of a ten year-old son. So when The Who comes on the radio now, we are reminded of a dad who had his parents load two oxygen tanks in the trunk of the car just days before his death because he wanted to take his son miniature golfing. He was hitting his shots with one hand and wheeling around the air he was breathing with the other.

That is the inspiration that comes to mind when me and the Peanut are rushing from daycare to home to get dinner started, a snack ready, Sesame Street turned on, Luna greeted. I'm able to take a moment to realize why I'm doing this, and for whom I am doing it. It makes me realize that I should stop complaining about being tired or stressed. I miss my cousin in those moments. But I am thankful for the lesson he taught me. How to be the best dad I could be.

This past weekend, we were taking the Peanut to dance class. As if on cue, the opening chords to "Who Are You" started to play. Almost immediately, the Peanut began to sing it, without prompting. Without any urging or instruction from either of us ever. "Who are you? Who? Who? Who Who?"

We never taught her this song ourselves.

So cousin Mikey lives. Remembered fondly, as part of the soundtrack of our life.

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Make That Change

"If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and then make a change." -Michael Jackson

Which is your favorite Michael Jackson song? Your favorite Michael Jackson memory? Your earliest memory? A lot of our "firsts" involve the King of Pop. I'm reading and seeing and hearing about a lot of first albums, first concerts, first music videos that people remember, coming courtesy of Michael Jackson. Super Bowl halftime shows, Pepsi commercials, single white sequenced gloves. Michael was the man. A strange man, yes. But when he was on that stage, there was no one better. Not even close. And there may never be anyone better.

As I danced with my daughter to my favorite song of his, the appropriately named "Pretty Young Thing," shortly after the news of his death was confirmed, video of Michael silently played on the television behind us. And I was once again reminded of the awesome responsibility I have as a dad to introduce my daughter to as many of the world's wonders as I can, the best that I can, with minimal spin. Let her form her own opinion, develop her own tastes, accept - or not accept - things for what she thinks they are, not what I think they are. It also, sadly, reminded me of my responsibility to protect her from the dangers as best I can.

If you set aside the scandals, the strangeness, the sordid stories, I'll set aside all of my jokes, wisecracks, and irreverent puns that I've uttered in the last 18 hours. For example, I suggested "Off to Neverland" should be the front page headline in the NY Post (it turned out to be on page 2!). I said other things, too. Regardless, Michael Jackson was a phenomenon. He is a phenomenon. He always will be a phenomenon.

A few days ago, a bizarre coincidence inspired me to write a post relating to the life and death of Ed McMahon. I don't usually do that. I don't usually shine light on obscure and otherwise inconsequential social or cultural events as they relate to my experience of parenthood unless their magnitude warrants it. But the timing struck me: I had introduced my daughter to a McMahon-ism just the night before the man died. Eerie.

So I would be remiss if I did not also share my feelings about the life and death of Michael Jackson, a man with immeasurable talent, an unimaginable legacy, who left an indelible mark on all of us. Good or bad.

I talk a lot about links to the past, and the importance of making them relevant now. The amazing thing about Michael Jackson is that you don't have to try and make him relevant now. His songs still play on the radio and in bars and clubs. His moves are still emulated on dance floors from the big screen to the smallest of social circles. In backyards, basements and bandstands across the country, Michael Jackson will live forever.

Set aside the freakshow, and look at the man on the stage. The Man in the Mirror. Not him. His imperfections, impurities, inconsistencies are well documented and fodder for another debate on another day. Take a look at yourself. You. The words that brought him fame and made him a legend can still echo in the teachings of parents, even if he was by no means the best role model for parents.

I'm kind of going against what I believe a little bit in saying "do what he says, not what he does." I always thought parents who used that phrase "do what I say not as I do" were being lazy and setting the worst possible example for their children.

But, there is an exception to every rule. And here's mine: ignore the bizarre behavior and promise to make a difference, to make it right, as he sang so beautifully. The world can indeed change for the better for the generation that we leave behind if we make even the smallest of changes. His words, not his actions alleged or otherwise, can be used to inspire, to challenge, to motivate. Live. Love. Laugh. Enjoy every minute of it. Protect your child by protecting yourself. Stop smoking. Eat well. Drink less. Cut down on the swearing. Talk nicer. Create. Relate. Educate. Make that change.

If you've ever found yourself saying, "Oh, baby, give me one more chance, " then here's your chance. It don't matter if you're black or white. Break down barriers. Agree to disagree, but respect each other's different opinions. If you need help, just call my name and I'll be there. Be there for each other. Your kids. Your spouse. Your family, friends, and neighbors. Make that change. I'm looking at the man in the mirror. It starts with me. It starts with you. Make that change. We never can say goodbye, girl. There may be times when you want to give up, give in. Don't. No one said it's gonna be easy. Make that change. Don't stop until you get enough. Make that change.

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