Okay, so Saturday morning beautiful open California walking down the street.

I can't get a bowl of noodles. Chilling, listening to my podcast, wandering over to a nearby

park. Bunch of little kids screaming and laughing, playing on the swings, I sit down on the

bench, get to work on these garlic noodles delicious playground podcasts, garlic noodles,

weekend, what could be better. But then I noticed the disturbance in the force. The Mami's

I'm not babysirp-ticiously moving their chads and mine

because of way from where I'm sitting.

Some start tapping onto cell phones.

I see them.

Seeing me, a large, unkempt man, giggling at their kids.

And I'm horrified.

I almost shout out, don't worry.

Don't worry not to fear, ladies.

I am not a predator.

Thankfully, my hind brain stops this outburst instead, I flee.

Top speed for the cop cars show up.

And I tell you that to tell you this.

When my boy first starts at an African-American culture

school, Ilié Omade.

The kids they use a word for elder that I didn't grow up with.

Baba.

In the word, Baba is Southern African Persian-South Asian.

...