Yesterday morning, as I was leaving Grand Central Station headed for work I bypassed a couple standing at the base of the ramp that herds foot traffic up and onto the street. They were young and the man was passionately explaining himself, talking with his hands and so on. The woman stood beside him, but perpendicular to the direction he was facing. Her eyes were glazed over and she wasn't reacting to anything the man was saying. I shook my head as I passed, thinking, that poor brother needs to stop. I'm sure the woman with him heard every word he said, but she looked like could care less. Women are pros at that detached stance. Men should be better about reading it and saving their breath until a later time, a better time or just saving their breath.

Now I see how what I read in the paper happens. Yesterday after work I was making my way uptown to a class I have on Wednesday nights. As I was walking to my usual place on the D Train's platform on 34th Street, I moved to get out of the way of a girl who appeared to be maybe somewhere between 19 and 22. She had on some Chuck Taylor-ish type sneakers, some skinny black checked pants, a hoodie and a jacket.

She moved in the same direction as I and we had a collision. I'm sure there isn't even a number that goes high enough to count how many times this happens on any given day in the city of eight million stories. She bounced hard off my chest, I stopped and looked at her, completely stunned that she would walk right into me when clearly I was trying to avoid her. She looked away. Maybe she thought I was menacing too. Normally I apologize for stuff like this, even when I'm not wrong, but I think I was too caught off guard to do so. Life goes on, and I had a train to catch. I moved around her to walk away and this little girl elbowed me as I walked past her --- she did it with my back turned for cryin' out loud! I looked over my shoulder the way one might when someone tells them they have a stain on their back. I thought three singular things in this exact order: cops, newspapers, my daughter. If I had raised a hand to that girl I wouldn't be typing about what happened right now. I can only imagine the ridiculous headline the NY Post would have splashed on today's paper: "Subway Fiend, Father of Two, Throws Helpless, Angelic White Girl onto Train Tracks", or whatever.

Honestly I gave it no thought and didn't even get angry --- not even enough to call her a name. I've never promoted myself as a tough guy and I'm not going to sit here and say, "Oh she's lucky I'm a nice guy." What I will say is that she's lucky she didn't pull such a stupid, punk move with someone who has no regard for others or some headstrong teenager. She walked away probably thinking she showed me when in actuality, she walked away with her life. On the train ride to my class I was in shock that, 1) I had no reaction whatsoever, no fear, no anger and damn near oblivious; and 2) A girl, in some goofball act to assert herself, or vent the frustrations of the day, or as I said earlier, fight off this menacing black man, would so reckless jeapordize her own safety and mine --- we were inches from the edge of the platform. It scared me to think of what my daughter might do if ever faced with the same situation.

When I got in last night and put my daughter to bed, I prayed over her. Praying that I be the kind of father who teaches her right and wrong and how to protect herself and how to use wisdom over emotion. I prayed for myself because I can't believe I've become this numb to my surroundings. There are just too many people in this city. Everyone's going somewhere and everyone's in someone else's way. This little incident could've ended up so much worse for that girl and I. I'm very thankful it didn't.

Not much made me raise an eyebrow last week other than...

• 11 third graders tried to do-in their teacher in Georgia with knives, handcuffs and all kind of other stuff that a third grader can't possibly have the intuition to do. But by the looks of things they did (details still pending)...
• Gas is almost $3.50 in New York no matter how many 'hood gas stations I drive to on empty in a desperate attempt to comparison shop...
• The stock market bounced back based on rhetoric...
• It was almost 70 degrees on Monday and barely made it to 40 for the rest of the week...
• I attended a school play with my son and at least 20 girls huddled around him before it started, during the intermission and after it was over (the play was 2 hours on a Friday night!). He later told me they said I was scary and went on to suggest that it may be due to the fact that I'm black (they obviously were not)...
  

I woke up this morning to the sound of driving rain. Gray days and dreary weather forces us to slow down just a bit, just enough for us to listen to ourselves...our footsteps, our heartbeats, and all the other people who inhabit the planet with us. At the very least in NYC you have to be on guard to protect against having an eye gouged out by another's umbrella while walking down the street.

Today my wife was mad at me, not an uncommon event in my life as a married man. I won't say she didn't have good reason to be. Funny thing, is that she decided to ride the train with me to work (but why travel with me if you don't want to be around me?) and I felt her chill most of the way in. She left the house without her umbrella. I offered mine, but she passed preferring to get soaked. She walked ahead of me and I watched her, slightly saddened that we hadn't made it through the night before without going to bed angry. Something my mother told me never to do.

On the train I listened to jazz on my iPod and read the Piano Lesson by August Wilson. Outside, the rain peppered my window with a steady spray of water. The waters of the Bronx River were beginning to rise and spread out onto the parkland bordering it. Ideas and imagery flooded my mind as these kinds of days are the ones when I'm most reflective, introspective, romantic and creative.

My mother sent me a text message telling me our neighbor, Judge Pincham, passed away in his sleep at 4:30 this morning from lung cancer. A weight pressed into my chest, depriving me of air for a moment. He was 82 and his wife has been gone from this world since 2005. Judge Pincham was The Man. Handsome, suave, always dressed nice and a judge for cryin' out loud. He had the biggest house on my block and I always walked past it in awe. I didn't even know his real name until I was practically in college.

The Honorable R. Eugene Pincham was born poor in Alabama and rose to the heights and perils of being an outspoken litigator and eventual public servant. A position that can be especially perilous when you're Black. More times than not my neighbor was in the media being quoted and castigated for some outrageous (and often funny) statement he technically shouldn't have made given his station in life.

Judge Pincham had me over in his office a few years back. The walls were lined with nearly every Chicago politician that's ever been a politician and there was a trophy case packed with baseball paraphranalia and trophies. He told me about a time when he worked as a waiter at Lundy's in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn and met and served Jackie Robinson his dinner, and what it meant to be a Black man at that time. Many times when I think of home I think of that story he told. Now it means that much more to me.

Rest in peace, Your Honor.

I should’ve known something was wrong when I caught the train that would get me to work on time (this normally never happens)…

So I’m on my overpriced surface rail train enjoying an express trip into work. A woman was sitting beside me, two women were sitting in front of me and one woman was sitting by herself across the aisle to my left. I’m not exactly sure what the cue was, but as soon as I turned on my iPod all of them started putting their faces on. The woman to my left was particularly skilled as she did so while talking on her cell phone (it wasn't on speaker) and putting on a pair of socks (apparently an emergency pair she keeps in her bag) as it was a little nippy this morning. The woman sitting with me stood momentarily and began adjusting her skirt the way a man adjusts his crotch. In the midst of this estrogen fiesta I wondered what it must be like to be bound to your looks. Women wear makeup and marvel over men not having to and having flawless skin. Maybe makeup is the culprit behind bad skin? There’s an answer out there somewhere. Having grown up a geek I’d be lying if I said I can’t relate, but at this point I don’t give one insert whatever you like here about what anyone thinks of me. Of course, I do have my bad days where I walk out the house looking like I should be walking into it, but I just grin and bear it until it's quittin' time. This all comes on the heels of last week, when on three different occasions women I work with felt the need to tell me they had just gotten their periods. And then at home, my wife got hers too. Oh joy!

My train pulled into Grand Central Station and I exited reveling in my manhood, the freedom that accompanies it and the knowledge that I'd be at my desk by 9. After walking about 100 feet on the platform I saw a man in a very nice coat rummaging furiously through a garbage can. He was digging so deep it looked like he was going to fall in. By the time I reached him he had found his gold: a silver Blackberry he must’ve accidentally chucked with his morning paper. He inspected it momentarily before running off, never looking up from the tiny screen of emails I’m sure he just had to check before leaving the platform.

The shame of it all is that I didn’t miss a step or bat an eye.

Married or not, one of my fantasies seems headed for a predictable and horrific end.

This is my 2^nd official installment of what I hope to be my weekly (sometimes longer) look back at the things that left me scratching my head.

• Ex-Gov. Spitzer was linked to yet another prostitution ring, only this time the madam was better looking than that little 22 year old, and better endowed...
• Jeremiah Wright vs. Bullets Over Bosnia, and the eerie Republican quiet in the midst of all this Democratic infighting (more on this eventually)...
• My landlord, a.k.a. King Shanty, told us with a straight face, “That light is too strong for the outlet.” This was his reason for our apartment suffering a power surge that fried my computer and knocked out the power to the entire place. The light, which was purchased at Ikea (there were no warning labels on it) just happened to be off at the time...
• The stock market...
• I gave my preteen son a cell phone for perfectly legitimate reasons I can no longer remember now that I’ve given it to him...