...A Time to be Silent and a Time to Speak Up

I’m a sister and a mother, but neither makes me unique. I am honored to have two brown brothers, chocolate and mocha and two sons, one tawny, the other tortilla. Having one brother who lives here and two black sons, events hitting so close to home have had me thinking quite a bit and distracted. Over the last few weeks, my emotions have been all over the place.

As a Nigerian born woman, I have received my fair share of hate, from people who look like me to others who look nothing like me on the inside or outside. I will never forget the day my sister and I were walking to school one morning, talking and laughing. I believe we were starting 3^rd and 5^th grades. About 15 minutes from school, passing some apartments on our usual route at the time, we weren’t able to hear one another anymore due to the sound of loud music and laughter coming from behind us. As we turned to see who was making all the noise, two teenagers in a convertible were quickly making their way north, in our direction. Out of mere curiosity, we slowed down to see the cool car, but as they got close to us, they slowed down, one stood up on the passenger’s side, yelled, “N*****s, go back to where you came from; you don’t belong here!” As if that was not enough, he spat at us, then slid back in his seat as they both laughed uncontrollably and sped away. It’s been 30 years, and I haven’t forgotten that incident. So when people question my solidarity because I don’t use a black tile, or they say, “You don’t understand,” because of the race of the person to whom I’m married, I just shake my head. I’m not any less black or immune; I’m not any less moved nor shaken. We all grieve and respond in our own ways. Anyone who knows me knows I do very little out of obligation, because if done that way, it’s not done from my heart.

The most recent issues over the last few weeks have made me very upset, and I dislike that people are making it seem like one-off incidents. Black people are being killed at the hands of those who pledged to honor and serve. Too many are making it seem like people of color's outcries are over-the-top. Black people have suffered for many years in this country, in one way or the other, both openly and silently. They just want to be heard.

The officers lost their jobs, and at the time I initially wrote this, they had yet to be arrested. Now they have been, but the fact that it took so much to move the hands of justice is disheartening. The whole incident made me angry, and I felt like deleting some “Facebook friends” due to their ignorance masked as wisdom, stating "all lives matter," as if that’s not a given. They do, but Kaepernick took a knee for a reason, BLM was born, both because of a growing need for attention to this matter: black people being killed by police unnecessarily and unjustly. No, not “all cops are bad,” but the system, is broken, let’s at least admit that. There’s a lot social media is bringing attention to now that has been going on for decades, and that’s simply the truth. People have been experiencing this type of treatment before bodycams and viral videos.

Looting and all that is an emotional, and terrible, reaction to a systemic problem that requires the powers-that-be to take action, rather than sweep this all under the rug. Rage is growing. People are hurting. These videos are becoming common place and will lead to desensitization. People are making comments and blaming a whole race for actions of a few rogue ones. Unfortunately, a lot of people are opportunists, taking advantage of social issues and in turn giving a bad name to positive movements. People are simply tired of the real issue (cause) being swept under the rug and focusing on the effect, especially if they are part of the untouched/seldomly touched majority. Even other people of color making comments are being chewed up. Folks just want the cause addressed.

It's like a child being bullied at school, and rather than the teacher/principal doing anything about it, the child is reprimanded for self-isolating, protecting himself. Then he starts acting out and throwing things in class and is suspended. The other parents say, "If he had a good home..." "Oh, he could have hurt someone...." "He needs help." Yes, all true, and no, his actions aren't justified, but the reason for his reaction is not, and has not been, addressed and must. Unfortunately, when unheard, out of frustration and anger, “hurt people hurt people”.

Rather than commenting on the result, which people will be reprimanded or jailed for, because it certainly won't be overlooked, others need to be compassionate and try to understand the hurt and rage. After all, this year has been one for the books. We are all trying to work out so much emotionally and mentally: loss of jobs, the fear of a new virus, and a new normal on the horizon. There is definitely a build up of rage and frustration from all sides. We have reached a boiling point. This HAD to happen. All that being said, we must stand in solidarity for this cause, because it’s been a long time coming. If we don’t rally together now and speak out against the injustice, it will continue.

I am African, so I don’t truly understand the deep pain of my black American brothers and sisters. However, I am black, and I am their sister. And even if I weren’t black, I believe I would still stand up with them, link my arms with them, and lend my voice to help put an end to the injustice against, and murders of, black men and women. By doing so, one is not saying it’s okay to burn buildings, loot, or any of that. Listen. Be silent. We truly should be in this together, until something changes.

Rather than fuel the fire of hate and separation, we should help dissipate the rage/hatred/chaos, but definitely not by spouting off insensitively. Oneness, unity, is needed at this time. If you cannot offer a solution, or be part of the solution (participate in peaceful protests, hand out waters to those participating, donate to help/further the cause, private message those posting and getting out of hand on social media, etc.), please don’t inadvertently be part of the problem. Please don’t make blanket statements dismissing a whole race, or group of people, based on the actions of a few.

"A man dies when he refuses to stand up for that which is right. A man dies when he refuses to stand up for justice. A man dies when he refuses to take a stand for that which is true." - Dr Martin Luther King, Jr. 

Being Somebody in a Nobody World

Less than two weeks ago, my oldest child turned 13. To be quite honest, it was a very sobering time for me. My son had hit a milestone which really caused me to reflect, because I recalled the day of his birth as if it were only days ago. I remembered my excitement and anxiety, both at great highs. What would life as a mom be like? Was I even equipped to take on the new role? Who was I to think I was prepared to raise another human being? Was I being selfish bringing another human into our broken world? Well, all those thoughts ceased the moment that tiny being, with a head full of hair, was placed in my arms. Since then, my life has never been the same.

Now, 13 years later, after many ups and downs, sleepless nights, days of doubt, yet many memories and beautiful moments, there are a few things I can say I have learned, mainly by default, that I am both happy and ashamed to admit.

   1. Perfection is relative. You see, my oldest child is different from his younger siblings, and I have written about his beautiful mind in the past. For many years, I blamed myself for his being different. When he was born, I was only able to be home for two weeks before returning to work. He was the only child of our three who attended a daycare of some sort. So many times, I’ve said to myself, “If I had just been home more, then…” “If I had just followed my intuition when I noticed his speech issues, then…” It is only of recent, if I am being transparent, that I’ve come to realize he is perfect exactly as he is. The moment I truly embraced that, our relationship blossomed unlike ever before. He and I get each other in a way we never have, and I love it.

   2.  Monkey see, monkey do is a thing. My daughter, more than her brothers, has taught me that I must always be mindful of what I do (around them). She challenges me daily, reminding me that many of her actions and ways of being are just her following in my footsteps. She loves and respects me, and that is great, but it makes me more conscious of my every word and move.

    3. My life is more than just about me and what I want. The moment I decided to be a parent, I could no longer just consider myself and what makes me happy. My career choices weren’t about just what I wanted but what I wanted for us. My time became more valuable; moments were cherished a lot more. I had to suppress my inner hermit and do things like go to public places like the park, Jump Street, Rush Fun Park, etc. I had to engage in activities that do not interest me in the least bit, as the smell of random children and the thought of germs lingering make me very uneasy.

    4. Sacrifice is required daily. Every single day, I give up a little part of myself for my children. Yes, I do, and you probably do, too, even when it comes to the littlest of things. The other day, it was playing Shoutrageous with the children when I should have been attending to some paperwork that would require an hour or so of my time later. Today, it was sacrificing a 2-mile walk I was looking forward to because they wanted to have popcorn and watch something, which ended up being a bore to me but quite entertaining to them. We don’t get those moments  back.

   5. They have a right to question my actions, respectfully. I learned the hard way that this was true. I lost my mind one day and got in my feelings over something trivial. My daughter, as is her nature, later pulled me aside, like I do with them, and inquired, “But, Mommy, I thought you said if you know you’re right, fighting over it makes it seem you don’t believe it. I know you were right, so why did you keep arguing about it? Why didn’t you just ignore him?” Sigh…

   6. The good I do or don’t, they notice. I used to give money to the homeless on the side of the street. My children started to follow suit, when they had spare cash. After a few years, I stopped, and of course, they noticed. They asked why I didn’t like giving to the homeless like Jesus did. We had a great conversation and agreed that giving is good, but that we should give food and water instead. 

    

    7. Consistency is key, so my“yes” must be “yes” and my “no” must be “no”. If there’s one thing my children know well about me, it is that if I say “yes” to something, my word is my bond, even when I wish it wasn’t. Another, which they repeat to one another is, “You already asked her, and she said, “no”. You know Mommy doesn’t change her mind.”

   8.  What I may be able to handle, they may not be able to bear. I am the “man up” queen. I’m not big on wallowing in tears or pity parties, but I do believe in having “moments”. I learned the hard way that even though I have difficulty knowing how to respond when others are crying, with my children, I can’t make them feel less than for expressing themselves through tears. As awkward as it often can be for me still, I have come to realize, through them, that adult or child, we all handle things quite differently, and I need to respect that.

    9.  I must love even when it’s hard to do so. For the sake of my children, I have, on many occasions, had to suppress my inner petty. There have been people I know it’s obvious I just can’t stand, but because I love my children and they care for them,  I do my best to look at the people through their eyes and God’s. It’s amazing how forgiving and loving children can be even when they have been deeply hurt. Look, I’m still learning.

  10.   Words are powerful. They are fire. They either ignite hope and inspire, or they fiercely burn up       everything I’ve taken the time to build in them.

  11.   Like A.L. Williams said, way before Nike caught on, “Just do it”. As their parent, I can't just talk about it, I have to be about it, whatever "it" may be. I can’t just say, “one day, I’ll…” “One day, we will…” Just do it! If I have a passion, I can't use my children as a reason not to pursue it. They are not my crutches; they are my reason. I've put them (as crutches) down many times, in order be the best version of myself I can be for them, and myself. When they see me pursue my dreams and passions, they realize I am unstoppable, and if I can be unstoppable, they can be, too. I allow my children to dream, but we talk about what it takes to achieve those dreams as well.

As my children's parent, my sole purpose is to raise loving, God-focused children who embrace the world with wonder and who know and believe that they can impact the world significantly with their gifts and talents. In this life, I truly believe we all just want to be somebody. My children are little beings who will grow to be leaders of tomorrow. It bothers me when people say, “Don’t listen to them, they’re just kids.” Honestly, I listen to them, because they haven’t been tainted by the world. They still believe anything is possible. They haven’t lost faith in the goodness of humanity. When they say, “hi” to someone and they are ignored, I remind them that “hi,” or a smile, could make the next person's day, and they whole-heartedly believe it. In the big world, I’m nobody, but in my children’s world, I am definitely somebody.

Pardon Me, I'm an Odd Somebody

I, for one, know I’m a very complex being. There are many things that irk and irritate me, and some, I can’t even explain why.

For instance, I dislike any part of a person (arm, wrist, etc) passing, or going over, my food or drink. Also, take a bite of my food, or take a sip of my anything, and don’t bother giving it back; it’s yours.

I feel if you’ve worked up a sweat, in any which way, you should not feel it necessary to hug me. If we’re not equally sweaty, please stay in your lane. I have showered.

If you and your toothbrush are fighting, I don’t want to be the referee. Please do not feel the need to have a close range conversation with me. That is a different kind of abuse my nose does not appreciate.

I am that person who believes very much in designated seating. At home, we have designated seats at our dining table, and I have ONE couch I designate for myself in our living room. It is an unspoken rule that no one is allowed on that couch. Why? I am very particular. I, myself, do not even sit on it with outside clothes. What are “outside” clothes? Any piece of attire that has followed me outside to my car, the mailbox, to a store, or seen the inside of a car…if it has left the walls of our house, it cannot go on my couch. I adhere to that self-imposed rule, and because others don’t care enough, I reserve that one couch for myself and do not sit anywhere else, so as not to be inconsiderate and take up space someone else needs.

I dislike people taking their shoes (of any kind) from outside to my carpet. Please remove your shoes at the door. I am not interested in having you track the pigeon poop you somehow picked up from outside onto the carpet my children sit and do flips on. Please do not be offended by my request for you remove your shoes upon entry to our home. It’s a simple request, so we don’t become one with, or inhale, all the rubbish that makes its way onto your shoes during the course of the day.

Ugh! Children who call me by my first name. I’m old school: we are not mates nor friends; I’m Miss Esther, or Mrs Zufelt, to you.

There are so many more, but another thing is that I enjoy time with people I care for, to any degree. I am not big on receiving gifts, as my love languages are acts of service and quality time. I’m the cheapest date anyone will ever have. I am not big on money, neither is there anything “I’ve just gotta have”. I’m very simple, despite my other idiosyncrasies, which is why it hurts if someone accuses me of being their friend, or wanting them around, for what I can get from them. When I want to help, or show someone a better way, and I am accused of wanting to pad my pockets…that person has no idea of who I am, nor do they understand my heart.

Much of who I am is birthed from things that have occurred in my life that I would not change for anything. The many tears, heartbreaks, “why me God”, etc have made me the unique individual I am. It takes me a lot of time to feel comfortable enough to be my true self, not because I want, or like to pretend, to be someone else. Having been judged and misunderstood for many years, a thick wall that takes time to break down exists.

Call me a weirdo. Call me “special”. The truth is I’m a little abnormal, and I’m very okay with it. We’re all beautiful things.