Let's Get It Together

My brother’s black, and his life matters. My friend’s husband is a police officer, and his life matters.  #blacklivesmatter #policelivesmatter

I get it. We get it. Groups of people are being marginalized. Individuals and certain groups feel like they are under attack and are not being treated with respect, and they are calling our attention to it. I totally understand it. The issue is when we sit in our different corners, in our huddles, devising methods in which to make our voices heard, we miss the entire point.

Rather than look outward and determine it’s them against us and vice versa, maybe we should look inward. Many of us, seeking to show the world that our groups matter, ignore the fact that we hold our own prejudices yet justify them. We don’t realize that our issues between one another are causing a rift. Rather than bridge the gap between us, we perpetuate hate in the name of raising awareness.

Each of us, to a certain extent, is discriminated against. Women are paid much less than men in the workforce, and some of them are more qualified. There are people who don’t respect you, or what you stand for, and therefore, they will never treat you as an equal.

The interesting thing is that this week, I have heard the most hateful statements, read the most vile posts, and seen how people who consider themselves as targeted have no mercy when it comes to others. The displaced Syrians who have sought refuge in the United States have caused quite a frenzy among us. There are those wanting the United States government to turn its back on these individuals, certain that being Muslim, among them are terrorists.

I’m black and female, so I’m disadvantaged, I suppose. However, I would hope that if I and my brother were in need of help, on the verge of dying, someone would look past our exteriors and acknowledge that first and foremost, we are human. They wouldn’t worry that maybe my brother, who is tall, dark, and tends to carry a backpack at all times is a potential threat to them. Rather than wonder if my brother has a gun in his backpack, they would proceed with caution but provide us all the help we need. Am I saying there isn’t a possibility that another brother and sister team could be feigning being in need of help as a scam, or in order to hurt others? Absolutely not…but does that mean we walk on egg shells around one another or in fear for our lives?

In the case of terrorists though, when dealing with individuals willing to die for a cause, things aren’t quite as black and white. What if we reject tomorrow’s future leaders because we’re afraid that among them is a potential killer? Why is it that we fail to realize that there are already so many terrorists in our midst? They are already within our borders, and those yet to come will find creative ways to enter.

Not all black people pose a threat to police. Not all police officers are out to get blacks.  Not all Muslims want to kill non-Muslims. When will we open our eyes, get the chips off our shoulders, and realize that rather than oppose one another, we ought to figure out how to wisely attack the real problems facing us?

Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you. – Luke 6:30, 31

Are You That Somebody?

When I was 10 and a half, I met Jessica. From 5^th grade to 7^th grade, she and I were friends. However, halfway through 6^th grade, we became secret friends. She had joined a gang, and when I asked why, she said, “I know what you’re thinking, but they’re my family.” So, we mainly saved our conversations for recess, at which time she attempted to teach me the gang’s sign.

By 7^th grade, I’d take the long way to school, so she and I could meet up near her house and we would walk up to a certain point together to school. One morning though, about October, I noticed she was unusually quiet during our walk. I asked what was wrong, and she didn’t respond, so I stopped walking and looked at her. Tears were streaming down her face.

I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she was pregnant. My eyes grew big, because I new that was “grown up stuff”. I did my best not to show my surprise and confusion. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stood there. She then blurted out, “they’re coming for me and Jessie today; they’re taking us away.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The foster care people…they said that since I’m so young and pregnant, my mom’s not a good mom, and she needs some time to…” then she burst into tears.

We didn’t do hugs in our home, but I knew she needed something, and since I had no words, I pulled her in and let her cry on my shoulders. For once, I didn’t care that my blouse would be ruined….ruined by her mascara. This was my friend, and they were taking her away. Who “they” really were, I was unsure.

“So, where are they taking you?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but my mom says we can’t go to school today. It doesn’t look like we’ll be back anytime soon. Esther, I don’t think I’ll be back before high school.” Then, she started heaving and coughing. She started vomiting, and I just stood there.  When she was done, she cleaned her face with the bottom of her shirt and stood up. Not knowing what else to do, I said, “Jess, look…” and I signed her gang’s symbol, made up of a mix of letters and Roman numerals.

She smiled and said, “Hey, you finally got it. That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you do it.” She signed it back to me, much faster of course, and I smiled. We stood apart, both trying to be strong. She said, “You’re about to be late for school,” but I just stood there.

 “Thanks for being my friend, Esther,” she said.

“Thanks for being my friend, Jess,” I replied. I smiled; she waved, and we started walking in opposite directions. That was the last time I ever saw Jessica.

I never mentioned her, or what happened to her, to anyone in my circle of friends. I was shaken. Who would take a child away from her parents? Why would they do that?  Why would they uproot two children like that?

For years, I wondered; for years, it’s bothered me. At the age of 16, I vowed to do something to help children like my friend.

Part 2 

Too many children are uprooted from their homes without an explanation, in some cases, or with no idea where they are going. Often times, these children blame themselves.Too many children are left hopeless and sleeping in houses they will never be able to call home. They are shuffled around, sometimes abused, and often become more and more hardened, unable to trust. Black trash bags are how they transport their life possessions from home to home. There has to be something we can do to intervene, in order to help give them some kind of constant in their lives. That's where CASAs come in. You can be that person for one child. Just think about it...

Quit Trying to Play Catch Up; Leave the Joneses Alone!

I remember our first five years of marriage. My husband and I, we hustled hard. I was fresh out of college and wasn’t making much but drove over 80 miles a day across town to get to the office where I worked.  My husband always had this dream of being married, owning a home with a huge loft, and having children run up and down the stairs. I, however, having lived in big houses most of my life, thought we should take some time and figure things out. Being cautious, I figured we should determine what we both liked before making any major decisions.

Despite all my concerns and objections though, we went ahead with the house purchase, and I learned to love it. The location…not so much… While we lived there, I got in over my head. I threw caution to the wind.  I wanted us to get newer vehicles once I found out we were having our first child. I wanted us to make everything perfect for our baby and our growing family, so we took out a second mortgage and used it to get our backyard done, entire upstairs painted, and other upgrades.  After all, these would help make the house more marketable in the future, so it was a win-win.

We saw how other parents did all they could to ensure they had all they needed for their children. Where we came up short, we used our credit card. This child deserved the best, and we didn’t want him to do without. Most new parents had all the latest gadgets and gizmos, and we would, too.

Well, all those around us were the Joneses, and we were living by their standards. We paid off our cars within a year of purchasing each, but everything else just didn’t work out the same. I mean, we were doing just fine…you know, keeping our heads above water…that is, until I got laid off.

You know what they say: when it rains, it pours. Well, our glass house took a hit, and like Humpty Dumpty, we and our wall came falling down. We learned the hard way that the Joneses may or may not be able to maintain their lifestyle. We learned that there are various kinds of Joneses: those who fake the funk but are hardly making it, yet have the newest everything; those who have everything but aren’t happy, and the ones who have nothing yet have everything.

It’s several years later, and we’re still trying to recover from  the mess we made. We only have one life to live, and if we live it trying to catch up with others and what they have, we aren’t really living. We don’t know the misery they live in in order to maintain their lifestyles. We can only do what we can. Enjoy the moments you have in life, because you can’t get them back. Be faithful in the little, or much, that you have. That little beater car may not be much to the masses, but it gets you from A to B, doesn’t it? I know my spaceship van does.

There’s a proverb our dad always shared when he was basically throwing his hands up after having offered us advice.

When the tortoise is going on a senseless journey and he is asked when he will be back, he says, “Not until I have been disgraced…not until I have been disgraced.”

A word is enough for the wise. Quit trying to play catch up! Leave the Joneses alone and get on with your life!