Most people don’t know what people think in their heads when they walk down the street. For some people walking is a simple heel toe gait, on a sidewalk from point A to point B. For other’s, a walk can seem like a ceremony. Everyone has their own way of making specific movements to get them where they are going. As cliché as it sounds everyone technically marches to their own drum, in their head, whether they are aware of it or not. A personal theme song that propels them forward to their destination.
I can always relate someone’s walking to a certain song or an instrument. Some people you can see walk into a room and I swear I can hear Rod Stewarts “Do You Think I’m Sexy” in my head. For other’s it’s the sound of a flat tuba playing, for other’s chimes, and maybe still ODB’s “Shimmy Shimmy”.
Dave Brubeck said that when he asked Paul Desmond what the inspiration for the famous sax solo in the song Take Five. Desmond said he imagined Audrey Hepburn walking across a room and that was the sound he could hear playing. For me, I have always had my own personal theme song in my head that contributed to how I walked. As a child I loved “Ease On Down The Road” from the Wiz, and I’m sure that this song contributed to the gliding nature of my walk as a kid. As I became a metal head it was “Enter Sandman”, the glide turned into what I feel was a steely walk on a carpet of velvet. Right about now, my personal theme song is “ A Walk On The Wild Side” Elmer Bernstein’s jazz instrumental. In my mind’s eye, I always see myself dressed in a slinky black dress, heels, and that song playing in my head, when I walk into a room. For me it is important to be certain of the sound that you are transmitting to the earth. Walking is like laying on the earth and feeling it’s vibrations. Are you listening to how you are moving? Who are you and what are you leaving behind?
When I was in grade 2 (7 years old) I recall my teacher ,Mrs. Gabbidon, my first and only Black teacher, which was a big deal for me. For me this beautiful brown woman emanated style, glamour and coolness that you can’t buy. Always draped in earthy fabrics and African jewellery, Mrs. Gabbidon oozed cool. Her personal theme song: Miles Davis’ So What. Growing up at a time where Black role models were few, Mrs. Gabbidon made it her mandate to make sure that the Black students were always “upright” by following her example. A noble gesture but it ran into problems when she came up against a school mate of mine, named Jeremy Dick (yes, that was his real name).
Now, Jeremy with the unfortunate last name, was a Rasta. His Father was one of the first Rasta’s I had encountered at the time. I was fascinated by Jeremy’s locs and the colourful woolly tams that he always wore to school. When his Father, who raised him on his own, picked him up at school he would always pick him up on a funky 10 speed bike, all fat black and grey locs flying free, Redd from the weed, and the map of Africa on his back. He’s very essence was Jamaica, and he left the scent of it like a perfume long after he had rode away. Elder Mr. Dick’s personal theme song: Bob Marley’s Concrete Jungle.
So when young Mr. Dick with his strong sense of his Jamaican and African roots met with polished Mrs. Gabbidon, well, it was a battle of wills. It started with his name. As she had to call attendance every day the thought of calling out the name Jeremy Dick was a difficult task for her. I can remember it, she was fine calling out everyone’s name, names slipped out of her mouth like butter, except when she came to Jeremy’s. She literally spat out his name like a rotten piece of fruit, and the displeasure showed on her face just as much. Since she couldn’t get rid of the Dick, she decided that she would call him by his seemingly more “respectable” middle name Albert. We all called him Jeremy, she called him Albert, leaving poor Jeremy with the red, gold, and green tams and the rest of us confused. What was so bad about who he was?
Now, Mrs. G frowned upon the use of slang in her classroom, especially from the Black students. Whenever Jeremy would use a Patois term, she would correct him and look disapprovingly. “Speak properly Albert!” Jeremy would look at her and when her back was turned, he would quietly suck his teeth, and continue to speak as he pleased.
When it came to his walk, that’s where she drew the line. Every time Jeremy would walk in her presence, she would say “Albert! Would you stop walking like that! You and that Be Bop walk!!”
Be Bop is a jazz. Fast tempos, improvisation, and a steady beat. Now, if Mrs. G thought she was insulting Jeremy by using this term to describe a unique, self possessed, roots and culture raised, 7 year old, she was dead wrong. The more that she criticize the more Jeremy dipped and walked. Swaggering to annoy. A battle silently being won by the child who refused to give in to conformity. Be Bop walking to his own drum. Be Bop like Parker flexing his shoulders as he blew. Be Bop skipping over the pretence to announce his coming into the room. Be Bop, the rhtyhm of Marley, and Selassi jangling down his legs and shifting his weight to the earth below, a affirmative exclamation point.
Mrs. G gave up after a while, as she realized that she was fighting a losing battle. This wasn’t one of the kids that she was going to remodel to fit her mould of what a good student was. She eventually left him alone, but not after putting a lot of energy into getting him to stop the Be Bopping. Funny enough when at the playground Jeremy’s Be Bop walk was non-existent. But his point was made, for someone to make a bold point, you must make an improvisation on what appears to be the single direction.
I challenge you to take a moment and listen to your movements. What is your personal theme song? Are you a comma to your next movement or are you like Jeremy, the affirmative exclamation point?
I can always relate someone’s walking to a certain song or an instrument. Some people you can see walk into a room and I swear I can hear Rod Stewarts “Do You Think I’m Sexy” in my head. For other’s it’s the sound of a flat tuba playing, for other’s chimes, and maybe still ODB’s “Shimmy Shimmy”.
Dave Brubeck said that when he asked Paul Desmond what the inspiration for the famous sax solo in the song Take Five. Desmond said he imagined Audrey Hepburn walking across a room and that was the sound he could hear playing. For me, I have always had my own personal theme song in my head that contributed to how I walked. As a child I loved “Ease On Down The Road” from the Wiz, and I’m sure that this song contributed to the gliding nature of my walk as a kid. As I became a metal head it was “Enter Sandman”, the glide turned into what I feel was a steely walk on a carpet of velvet. Right about now, my personal theme song is “ A Walk On The Wild Side” Elmer Bernstein’s jazz instrumental. In my mind’s eye, I always see myself dressed in a slinky black dress, heels, and that song playing in my head, when I walk into a room. For me it is important to be certain of the sound that you are transmitting to the earth. Walking is like laying on the earth and feeling it’s vibrations. Are you listening to how you are moving? Who are you and what are you leaving behind?
When I was in grade 2 (7 years old) I recall my teacher ,Mrs. Gabbidon, my first and only Black teacher, which was a big deal for me. For me this beautiful brown woman emanated style, glamour and coolness that you can’t buy. Always draped in earthy fabrics and African jewellery, Mrs. Gabbidon oozed cool. Her personal theme song: Miles Davis’ So What. Growing up at a time where Black role models were few, Mrs. Gabbidon made it her mandate to make sure that the Black students were always “upright” by following her example. A noble gesture but it ran into problems when she came up against a school mate of mine, named Jeremy Dick (yes, that was his real name).
Now, Jeremy with the unfortunate last name, was a Rasta. His Father was one of the first Rasta’s I had encountered at the time. I was fascinated by Jeremy’s locs and the colourful woolly tams that he always wore to school. When his Father, who raised him on his own, picked him up at school he would always pick him up on a funky 10 speed bike, all fat black and grey locs flying free, Redd from the weed, and the map of Africa on his back. He’s very essence was Jamaica, and he left the scent of it like a perfume long after he had rode away. Elder Mr. Dick’s personal theme song: Bob Marley’s Concrete Jungle.
So when young Mr. Dick with his strong sense of his Jamaican and African roots met with polished Mrs. Gabbidon, well, it was a battle of wills. It started with his name. As she had to call attendance every day the thought of calling out the name Jeremy Dick was a difficult task for her. I can remember it, she was fine calling out everyone’s name, names slipped out of her mouth like butter, except when she came to Jeremy’s. She literally spat out his name like a rotten piece of fruit, and the displeasure showed on her face just as much. Since she couldn’t get rid of the Dick, she decided that she would call him by his seemingly more “respectable” middle name Albert. We all called him Jeremy, she called him Albert, leaving poor Jeremy with the red, gold, and green tams and the rest of us confused. What was so bad about who he was?
Now, Mrs. G frowned upon the use of slang in her classroom, especially from the Black students. Whenever Jeremy would use a Patois term, she would correct him and look disapprovingly. “Speak properly Albert!” Jeremy would look at her and when her back was turned, he would quietly suck his teeth, and continue to speak as he pleased.
When it came to his walk, that’s where she drew the line. Every time Jeremy would walk in her presence, she would say “Albert! Would you stop walking like that! You and that Be Bop walk!!”
Be Bop is a jazz. Fast tempos, improvisation, and a steady beat. Now, if Mrs. G thought she was insulting Jeremy by using this term to describe a unique, self possessed, roots and culture raised, 7 year old, she was dead wrong. The more that she criticize the more Jeremy dipped and walked. Swaggering to annoy. A battle silently being won by the child who refused to give in to conformity. Be Bop walking to his own drum. Be Bop like Parker flexing his shoulders as he blew. Be Bop skipping over the pretence to announce his coming into the room. Be Bop, the rhtyhm of Marley, and Selassi jangling down his legs and shifting his weight to the earth below, a affirmative exclamation point.
Mrs. G gave up after a while, as she realized that she was fighting a losing battle. This wasn’t one of the kids that she was going to remodel to fit her mould of what a good student was. She eventually left him alone, but not after putting a lot of energy into getting him to stop the Be Bopping. Funny enough when at the playground Jeremy’s Be Bop walk was non-existent. But his point was made, for someone to make a bold point, you must make an improvisation on what appears to be the single direction.
I challenge you to take a moment and listen to your movements. What is your personal theme song? Are you a comma to your next movement or are you like Jeremy, the affirmative exclamation point?
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