Wakime Hauser – Page 21 – Wakime Hauser's Blog

Men healing – Round 2
- June 26, 2025
Shades of a Man (Podcast)
- May 30, 2025
Growth takes time!
- May 14, 2025
Men’s deserve to heal
- April 25, 2025

- Life Style
- December 11, 2023
BLACK numbers MATTER!

Just another night in Vegas at the roulette table—talking, laughing, and enjoying the company of people from various places. Although,...
- Uncategorized
- September 24, 2023
Prime Time

Winners always stand out, and we gravitate towards them for a myriad of personal reasons. It’s exhilarating when our favorites,...

- Life Style
- August 13, 2023
Growing old with Hip Hop
Demonic Cupid
- October 12, 2024

The skin I am in!

I started writing poetry over 40 years ago. This is a poem I wrote…

Half a Mint

I had to be about 20, maybe 21 years old. I don’t remember the…

Back Yard Buddy

When my family moved to Greenwich CT in 1983, it was a culture shock…

Your character is naked!

As I argued with my best man (Brandon, my oldest son), I was reminded…

First
...
10
20
21
22
...
Last

Life Style
December 11, 2023

Just another night in Vegas at the roulette table—talking, laughing, and enjoying the company of people from various places. Although I wasn’t hitting jackpot-sized wins, I was doing well. A group of men, dressed in jeans, boots, and cowboy hats, joined our game, seemingly in town for the Nations Rodeo finals. Despite my urban appearance, my love for country music and lifestyle is genuine. As they boisterously joined, the once-relaxed vibe at the table became awkward. Playing odd/even and red/black, one of them loudly declared, “Let’s go black!” followed by a questionable remark about “black numbers matter,” eliciting uncomfortable silence. I chose not to escalate the situation; after all, I wasn’t in Vegas for conflict. The table remained quiet until they left. I refused to let the incident ruin my night, choosing to focus on the positive. Reflecting the next morning, it struck me how rare it is for me to be offended by racial comments. While I’ve not supported movements like BLM, I found these men’s remarks out of line. It made me realize the prevalence of hate in the world. Acknowledging my own past lapses in sensitivity, I hope this experience prompts greater awareness of my words. We,...

Books, Fashion, Life Style, Life Style, Uncategorized
January 8, 2025

Lost and Found: A Wallet, A Cop, and A Lesson in Kindness

It was a typical December Monday night, and my younger cousin and I had decided to catch Taka at the Parkade Movie Theater in Manchester, Connecticut. The film was incredible—AI has gotten so good, I half expected Simba to leap off the screen and grab my popcorn. Speaking of popcorn, I devoured two large bags (yes, two) and chased them down with water I smuggled in like a seasoned pro. I’m sorry, but I’m not paying $5 for a bottle of water worth a quarter. The movie ended, and we made our way to the car. That’s when I realized something was off—my wallet wasn’t in my pocket. Panic set in. We rushed back inside, retraced every step, and even dove headfirst into the garbage cans like we were on a scavenger hunt for the world’s most important treasure. The theater staff were helpful, but no luck. I was convinced someone had found the wallet, pocketed the cash, and dumped the rest. My cousin and I scoured the parking lot with our phone flashlights, peeking into every crevice, garbage can, and even the dumpster. Nothing. I resigned myself to the headache of canceling credit cards, replacing my boating license, and,...

Books
February 6, 2024

The Plastic Spoon!

I know all about being born with a plastic spoon. A plastic spoon might be found in the trash because it’s meant for one-time use only. Being born with a plastic spoon means one starts life at the bottom. One may have hard working parents who serve as good role models and provide what’s needed. However, when they pass away, they may not leave behind much except debt. Saying I was born with a plastic spoon isn’t a knock on my parents; it’s just the truth. I was born poor, with parents who were socially and economically uneducated. The likelihood of me graduating from college and earning a degree was extremely low. Yet, I earned a master’s degree and beyond, defining what hard work and determination are. My plastic spoon was fortunately handed to me in the 70s, before cell phones and computers became common items. I didn’t even realize I was poor or different until I moved to Greenwich, CT, from the Bronx in 5th grade. Being light-skinned in Mount Vernon and the Bronx, NY, led to me being called a ‘white boy.’ There was no such judgment when I moved to Greenwich; I was clearly black and clearly,...

Uncategorized
February 21, 2024

Silver Spoon!

In the realm of societal unbalance, there exists a phrase that reverberates with both envy and disdain: “born with a silver spoon.” It explains the notion of being born into immense wealth, shielded from the adversities that plague the majority of humanity. As I reflect on this concept, I am reminded of the stark realities of economic inequality that persist in our world. In my capacity as a black teacher and gym owner, I witness firsthand the disparities that exist and the systemic barriers that obstruct the path to prosperity for many including myself. Less than 2% of the population will never have to worry about money. These individuals were born with a silver spoon. This status is for life. Unlike a plastic spoon, a person born with a silver spoon will always have a silver spoon. It doesn’t matter what happens in their life; they will always be rich. The metaphor of the silver spoon speaks to the perpetuation of privilege across generations. It symbolizes not just material wealth, but also access to opportunities, networks, and resources that reinforce and amplify that wealth. For those born into affluent families, success often seems preordained, a birthright rather than an achievement.,...

Uncategorized
December 19, 2024

Christmas Reflection

Christmas has been many things to me over the course of my life, each chapter defined by where I was, who I was, and what I believed. It’s not just a holiday—it’s a mirror reflecting the seasons of my soul. As a child in a Lutheran school, Christmas was pure, untouchable, holy. It was about Christ in the manger, the shepherds guided by the star, and the profound meaning of a Savior’s birth. I remember the hymns, the Nativity plays, the sermons that made the story of Jesus come alive. It wasn’t about gifts—it was about grace, about the miracle of light piercing through darkness. Back then, my Christmases felt like an unbroken connection to something bigger than myself. I sang joy to the world at a catholic church this past weekend and it bought back so many memories. That connection faded when I transitioned to public school in the fifth grade. Suddenly, Christmas became about getting the gifts—the thrill of unwrapping boxes stacked under the tree, the joy of waking up early and tearing through wrapping paper like there was treasure hidden inside. I won’t lie; there was magic in that, too. But it was a different magic, one,...

Men healing – Round 2
- June 26, 2025
2
Shades of a Man (Podcast)
- May 30, 2025
Growth takes time!
- May 14, 2025
Men’s deserve to heal
- April 25, 2025