FRIDAY THOUGHTS: FOR MY NEPHEWS

I don't have a son. 

I have nephews, though. 

When I think of Trayvon Martin, I immediately think of them. 

They are young Black males, born and living in America. 

They are well behaved, smart, helpful, and polite, but to some people even the youngest one is a potential, future threat. 

I know there is nothing dangerous about any of them. 

While they are being encouraged to excel in school, consider professions, and make positive contributions to society, somewhere there is a jail cell being prepared that many people believe they are destined to occupy. 

When they go into Circle K or Toys R Us, someone expects them to steal. 

There are places where some people don't think they belong at all. 

In the minds of some, they are supposed to grow up and become, among other things, unemployable, illiterate, deadbeat dads, rapists, dropouts, drug dealers or drug users.

 

The only good some people think they are, and will be up to, is NO good.

 
Who has set this precedent? Why do Black baby boys come into this world faced with such doubt, disdain, and low expectations? 

How will they ever live it down even when they are provided every opportunity to fare well?

I remember hearing my sister telling her eldest grandson, "You are not going anywhere with me looking like that." 

He had to either change his clothes, or not go out with her. 

Her grandsons know that there's attire that is suitable for traveling with Grannie. 

Sagging pants, backward caps, uncombed hair, or cut-off, dirty, dingy anything will not do. There's a standard that supersedes style. 

Call Grannie old-fashioned, un-hip, or unreasonable, but if they want to get into her car, they heed the words and follow the requirements of someone who has lived a little bit longer than they have. 

It may be unfair, but she knows how they will be perceived regardless of their attire. 

She doesn't want them to give anyone even the slightest notion that they are trouble. 

It's exhausting how much time Black people spend trying to make other people comfortable.

People have been awfully diplomatic, even dishonest in the last few weeks, but the people who dare to say that certain apparel IS associated with certain seedy activities, have been raked over the coals. 

We tell our children that first impressions are important; how they present themselves is vital, then we defend styles that even WE readily associate with criminals.

I recently read an article in which Geraldo Rivera pointed out the perception that certain attire inspires. 

Sorry, but he had a point. It was an unfortunate point, but we can't deny the truth in it.

 

I grew up in southeast DC, taught in southeast DC, and live in far SW. If I dialed 911 every time I saw a Black man or boy walking aimlessly down the street, wearing a hoodie, or behaving suspiciously I would have zero time to do anything else. 

However, the drunk guy who entered my building, wandered upstairs, and laid down on the landing, the two guys who tried to break into my neighbor's SUV, the guy who climbed up onto the awning and jumped through the stairwell window, and the guy who heard sirens, ran through the park, and scaled the playground gate, were all wearing hoodies.

 

I didn't say Geraldo was right, I said he had a point. He's a father, too. The operative word in all that he said is "perception".

I wonder what the conversation was between Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman. 

I don't know any adult who can stand a smart-mouthed kid. 

I don't know any kid who likes to be badgered. 

HAD he been disrespectful, profane, or evasive? Had he been polite and diplomatic? Had he been child-like and calm? 

No matter what words were exchanged, Trayvon should have made it home alive. 

Did he don his hood and pick up his pace before, or after he saw Zimmerman's car? 

Had they been in a confrontation in the past?

 

I don't know. All I DO know is there are so many factors that could have prevented it all, and they're bigger and older than Trayvon or George. 

What could have avoided it all didn't just materialize that fateful day. Never mind what Trayvon could have said, or how he could have said it. When Zimmerman was told that his services were not needed, he should have listened. All of us probably have been disappointed by instances of inefficiency where the police are concerned, but deciding to do what we think they AREN'T doing, is never a smart option. 

So, how DOES one walk down a street these days?
Do we need to teach our children how to maneuver with a purpose, now, even if they DON'T have one?

 

We were taught how to zig zag, duck, dodge and and keep it moving when the sniper was terrorizing the area, and we mastered THAT. 

Do we need to amend the "speech" with a lesson in how not to look suspicious? 

Where would be good places to start teaching "How To Look Like You Belong, 101? 

7-Eleven? 

The corner store? 

The ATM? 

The gas station? 

The bus stop?

The laundromat? 

The liquor store? 

The post office? 

Earth?

Is there a way to teach someone how to BE? 

Is there a particular stance, posture, or gaze? 

Should we have classes in how to not look like you're loitering or about to commit a crime? 

When it looks like you're being followed what do you do? 

Is that NOT the time to turn your face in the opposite direction, put on your hood and run? 

Oh. Wait. With the sagging pants, running is out of the question. Physics won't allow it. 

So-- should we start distributing belts in school? 

Is it time to have classes in formal conversation? 

Are we headed back to shuffling, bowed heads, and no eye contact?

Nephews, you can argue all day long about what ought to be, but if you keep ignoring what IS shame on you. 

You can keep saying "That was then, and this is now" and ignore the tremendous relevance of history, but you will do it to your own peril. 

Some people assume Black men and boys are dangerous, threatening, and menacing no matter how "baby" their faces are. It's just the way it is. 

You can keep fighting what, even in the light of common sense refuses to change, but what will it get you? 

Continue failing to learn how to effectively maneuver in territories of ignorance, while maintaining all of your dignity and humanity, and expect to be some frustrated brothers. 

The key is to be wise and motivated by mercy, love, grace and the power of forgiveness, while being fully aware of the world in which you live. 

Don't emulate something negative in word, thought, or deed, then get mad when you're identified by IT, and not your good name. 

Remember what Grandpa always said, "I don't care if everybody is doing it. If it's wrong, don't YOU do it. Be a leader, not a follower. If you're going to do something, let it be YOUR idea. Don't worry about somebody calling you a chicken. Just say, "Yeah. I'm a chicken. YOU do it."

You know what's right, Nephews. 

Don't wear yourselves out trying to convince those who pretend they don't know, but are too invested in wrong to do the right thing. 

Hatred exists. 

Racism exists. 

People who have perpetrated crimes so frequently that a profile exists, have made it extremely difficult for you, an already despised, mistrusted segment of society, but keep on succeeding.

There is a Black man and his family living in the White House. That is amazing and still a bit unbelievable to Grandpa, but it may be nothing to you. Some folk, however, are so angry about it, that they can't see straight. 

Grandpa knows EXACTLY why. He has first-hand stories--lots of them. 

Grandpa has stories that should give him an excuse to be the most bitter, hateful, racist, unforgiving man on Earth. 

YOU, however, may be wondering why everybody's tripping over a Black President. Maybe you haven't noticed that people have tried all kinds of things to demonize the President, and for what? 

His office has been disrespected repeatedly. Why? 

Is it REALLY just politics?

 

In spite of images projected for eons on stage and screen; in spite of what people have taught their children about Black people, the President defies backward, ignorant opinions and flies in the face of uninformed conclusions. He is not the pimp walking, school skipping, drug selling, baby-making, irresponsible boogey man. 

How dare he be smart, well read, committed to his family, disciplined, controlled, refined, articulate, wise, and sober. 

You know, we know, he is in no way the exception. You have encountered a host of other Black men like him. Other people have not, nor do they want to. Other people have encountered, and only seek to encounter Black men who give them reasons to consider George Zimmerman, not Trayvon Martin, the real victim. 

Watch what's going to happen in the following weeks. Every negative thing that can be dug up about Trayvon Martin will surface in sick, heartless attempts to demonstrate that his life was worthless.

Trayvon was confronted while walking down his own street. President Obama was recently confronted while walking away from Air Force One. The inappropriateness of both confrontations confirm that many people feel so superior to others that they feel no need to address them properly. They think others are obligated to pay attention to them--or else. 

You just have to pray for people like that.

Nephews, you can have the right of way, exercise it, and still end up hurt. What's better? A dead or wounded hero, or a live example? 

Be able to walk away with mental notes to use the next time. 

Be smart. 

Harsh truth, wisdom, flexibility, and discretion are in order. What we would like to be, and what IS may be far apart. 

What's fair, and what IS may be two different animals. 

You don't have to be a punk or a coward, but you can be diplomatic. 

Perceptions, assumptions and biases are real. 

In the midst of changing what's flawed about what IS, facts have to be faced. 

Lessons have to be taught, and exceptions explained.

Jackie "Moms" Mabley said we teach our children to watch the light, but the light never hit anybody. Teach them to watch the cars, too.

Watch the cars, Nephews. Watch the cars.

RIGHTS

You can have the right of way, exercise it, and still end up dead. What's better? A dead hero or a live example? Be able to walk away with mental notes to use the next time. Harsh truth, wisdom, flexibility, and discretion are in order. What we would like to be, and what IS may be far apart. What's fair and what IS may be two different animals. You don't have to be a punk or a coward, but you can be diplomatic. Perceptions, assumptions and biases are real. In the midst of changing what's flawed about what IS, facts have to be faced. Lessons have to be taught, and exceptions explained.
Jackie "Moms" Mabley said we teach our children to watch the light, but the light never hit anybody. Teach them to watch the cars, too.

MONDAY THOUGHTS: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

This day, 53 years ago, my parents married.

 

I can imagine the plans that would have been made for this evening, flowers ordered; the romantic cards; the special meal.
It's hard to believe it's been 9 years since my Mom died.
I stared at this photo for a long time today, and miss that pretty lady. 

Seeing the smile on her face lets me know I still have much to celebrate. 

Life tops the list.

IF YOU SEE SOMETHING...

Almost every day, no matter what the weather, a little before 8 A.M., a white van pulls up and parks on a side street. Casually dressed, and disheveled men and women walk down the hill, cross the street or seemingly wander out of the park and congregate around it for varying periods of time. No one takes anything away in boxes or bags as they leave.

*******

It's after one o'clock in the morning. The sound of a dial box is heard. Then from outside, a woman's slurred yelling is heard. "Can you open the door?!" The main door slams. She passes where she used to live, and ascends the stairs to a level where only one person resides. She commences banging on doors on every floor. One person inquires from the inside without opening their door. "Were you asleep? Did I disturb you? You got a few dollars?" A muffled angry reply is heard, then a door slams. More door banging. No one answers. She leaves the building and goes to the bus stop. After a while, a car pulls up. She crosses the street and gets into it. The car's lights go out. She remains inside for about 10 minutes. She exits. The car goes in one direction, she goes back to the bus stop.

*******

Two guys wearing all black, with hoods covering their heads, walk around a parked car. They look from side to side. One crosses the street. One stays near the car. Every time someone walks by, they freeze in their tracks. They walk to an adjacent street where another car is parked. From it, they retrieve a jack. They come back to the original car and, unsuccessfully attempt to jack it up. A woman and her child are exiting a car. They walk up to the woman and startle her. They talk, briefly. The woman shakes her head. They walk away from her. She hurries to get her things from her car, takes her child by the hand and goes into her building. They guys go back to the car. One opens the door and retrieves a long, metal tool. They go back to the curbside and try once again to jack up the car. They've been going through the motions required to jack up a car for a while, yet the car never elevates.

******

A car pulls up and parks. A guy walks down the hill and enters the back seat of the car. It's chilly outside, but his only outerwear is a light jacket. He remains inside the car for a few minutes. He exits. The car leaves. He walks quickly in the same direction the car has traveled.

*****

It's a school day. It's after 9 A.M. A group of uniformed kids is heading in a direction where there is no school. As they walk, they occasionally look back. They adjust their hoodies to obscure their faces. Some have backpacks. Some don't.

Harmless, explainable circumstances? Serious issues that deserve a 911 call? Or could it be proof that you are turning into your neighborhood's modern day version of Mrs. Kravitz?

MONDAY THOUGHTS: WATCH YOUR STEP

The weather is so pleasant today! 

It's positively BEAUTIFUL outside. 

I decided to stop looking out of the window, and admiring it all from the inside out.

The flatbed truck had caught my attention earlier in the day. 

I wondered if a car was about to be towed. 

Then another truck arrived with dirt in its bed, and parked on our side of the street. 

A third truck with a long slide/funnel attached showed up. 

Could they be landscapers? 

(I have to say, of everything to be done in a neighborhood, the lawn care around here has not been lacking.) 

Would they be pouring cement? 

Dirt? 

I'd noticed the temporary "No Parking" signs posted across the street, too.

A little after noon, I decided to take a walk. 

My walk had a dual purpose. Exercise was one. Operation "Are they going to repair the grassway, easement, arborway, berm, verge, nature strip, parkway, boulevard", or whatever we Washingtonians call the grassy area between the sidewalk and the curb?", was the other. 

I was excited by the prospect of beautification. 

No sense in allowing Lady Bird Johnson's dream for the area to die, right? 

If not for the eroded eyesore, the street, which was newly excavated and paved recently, would be lovely.

We've been witnessing the steady erosion on our street for years. 

I still don't understand why, when the new sidewalk was constructed, the area next to it was not touched. Why on earth would we want to see the SIDE of the sidewalk? 

Is there not some kind of living, grassy carpet that could be rolled onto the area? 

What is the point of having a sidewalk if, after you cross it, you have to take a short, potentially ankle-breaking, knee-twisting trek through varying depths of depressions and exposed tree roots, just to get to your car, or cross the street? 

One shouldn't need a boost or helping hand from the grass to the sidewalk. 

They're adjacent to each other and, in a perfect world, are flush, level, and in no way treacherous.

I've always wondered who or what agency is responsible for the grassway, easement, arborway, berm, verge, nature strip, parkway, boulevard. 

Would I be in big trouble if I went to Home Depot and bought sod and seed, or contracted that nice landscaping company on Oxon Hill Road?

Every time there is substantial rainfall, because of the steepness of many hilly streets east of the river, as the water rushes downhill, the trenches get deeper and deeper. Now, in some spots along the over 150 feet from the middle of the street to the intersection, you can actually see the UNDERSIDE of the sidewalk.

I'm hoping that the workers will return soon. 

Maybe the guys who worked today weren't contracted to handle our dilemma, but they definitely saw it. 

I'm hoping to see "no parking" signs on our side of the street, soon, and lush, green grass where grass is supposed to be. 

Some flowers would be nice, too. 

Tulips.

We've been fortunate not to have much snowfall this winter. In the past, in those deeper areas of the grassway, easement, arborway, berm, verge, nature strip, parkway, boulevard, it was hard to know just how deep one's foot would go on that first step.

All of that aside, I enjoyed my short walk, and the warm weather. 

However, I'll leave maneuvering the terrain of the grassway, easement, arborway, berm, verge, nature strip, parkway, boulevard to the squirrels, for now.

By the way, what DO we call it in DC?

MONDAY THOUGHTS---BLACK GIRLS

Yes. 

I was rooting for them, too. 

The little Black girl in me is always happy to see intelligent, poised, positive role models, who look like her. 

She used to be excited to see Black people appear on TV. 

She remembers when a street kickball game could end instantly, if someone yelled from a window that there were Black people on TV. 

She watched "Julia" and "Christy Love" and Eartha Kitt as Catwoman on "Batman". 

She watched "Soul Train", "The Bill Cosby Show", and "Room 222". 

She still has her Black History scrapbook from 4th grade.

She doesn't know Viola nor Octavia, but she was hoping to hear BOTH of their names tonight— just because. 

She isn't mad that only one of them won. 

Every time a camera panned to either one of them, as she watched the Oscars, she felt awfully proud. 

Viola and Octavia are just the kind of ladies that Miss Lenora Hall would have instructed her 4th graders to research. Miss Hall would have suggested that the class clip EVERY newspaper article about them, and paste them in their "Noted Blacks in American History" scrapbooks. 

"Class. There are so many things that are not in our textbooks", she would say. "Every now and then, we are going to put them down. When Black people do anything of any significance, preserve that information. Remember them."

It's over. Octavia won. To the little Black girl in me, Viola did, too.

The Oscars are over. 

We all go back to whatever it was we were doing, or simply go to bed. 

They party, go to scheduled interviews, or maybe they go to bed, too.

It was a big deal. 

I imagine that the intense pressure is still on--that pressure many have felt since the first time someone who TRULY experienced terror, rejection, and racial discrimination preached, "You have to be twice as good, and work twice as hard. You represent your race. Don't embarrass us".

Sometimes, it really is enough to just be a part of a thing. 

Maybe winning isn't everything, all of the time. Maybe there's no reason to be disappointed, suspicious, despondent, bitter, angry or sad. 

The Black girls who made us so proud, did their jobs honorably, skillfully, got paid, and were on to the next project. 

Did they even have the grand competition, that is The Academy Awards, in mind as they worked?
Still, we held our breaths, and hoped the Black girls would win, like we've always done, since the Black girls have been reluctantly invited to play. 

Black girls have always been in the game. Are we guilty of only focusing on the negative, because of the positions they were always given?
Had they BOTH walked away with statuettes, it would have been really nice. Our collective pride over something, of which we had no part, except to cheer, would have been immense.

"They were in amazing acting company, though."

"The competition was stiff."

"They looked so beautiful, and carried themselves so well."

"There were a lot of great performances that were ignored this year. At least "our" girls were nominated."

"This will really open new doors for them."

"They made us so proud."
"When they cried, we cried."

Yeah. We said or thought all of that. We always do, no matter what awards show is on.

What IS that thing, that is in so many of us, that is triggered when we see ourselves in arenas that haven't always been inclusive? 

Whether it's a game show, talk show, awards show, sporting event, or election, we hope fairness will finally smile on us. 

Are we still struggling to fit in, desiring to be accepted, praying "they" will see us, count us worthy, and welcome us in? 

(Oh. Weren't we proud as punch of little Cynné Simpson, too? 

When Esperanza Spalding emerged, with her stunning afro, resembling a cottony cloud-like crown, and stood so poised, and sang so sweetly, weren't we beaming? 

Didn't we zero in on the Black "Cirque du Soleil" performers?)

Wait. WE weren't in it. 

We're sitting at home watching, commenting, criticizing, and joking, but the Black people we admire and claim, THEY were in it. 

They had to field all of the questions and comments, that have been asked and made, since Hattie McDaniel accepted her award.

Those who have dared to step out and display their talents, did the work, yet, WE have an expectation that seems as natural as our breathing. 

The Black girls we talked about, as if they were our sisters or first cousins, represented well, and we wanted them to bring home the prize for all of us to collectively share. 

We figured, they could keep the Oscar on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and we'd keep it all the other days, and alternate holidays. Their win, we feel, is OUR long-awaited win, but we're always prepared if they lose. 

We're sort of used to that. 

Perhaps, that’s how we snap back so easily. 

We refer to statistics, lists, and cross our fingers. 

We know who won first, who the last winner was, and how many years have passed in between wins. 

We investigate the age and race of the people who make the final choices. 

We always hope, "This year. Maybe THIS year". 

We argue about who should have won, and for what role. 

We debate about conspiracies. 

We shake our collective heads over snubs, and wonder why one thing is elevated, while another thing isn't. (We're STILL trying to process the whole pimp song thing, and the roles for which Halle and Denzel were finally recognized. Sometimes, you'd rather that a bone NOT be thrown your way.)

We love the movies, no matter who is starring in them. 

We've always gone to the movies for entertainment value alone, but when we see ourselves, even silent and in the background as extras, it's still something. 

When the great and powerful Academy acknowledges "us", something happens. 

We become intensely interested in the outcome. 

We purpose to go to the awards shows, courtesy of our television sets, and root for our people. 

It's the only reason we're watching, sometimes. 

We zero in on certain categories, and nothing else. We want them to know we are there in some way. 

We don't want them to worry, though. 

If things don't work out there, there's always BET and the NAACP, where the competition is more likely to look alike, and a win is more feasible--but are there politics and stereotypes lurking in those arenas, too? 

Do those awards mean as much as the Oscar?

While they are celebrating Art, honing their skills, and working, we just want to hear the names of the Black girls: 

Hattie, 

Ethel, 

Juanita, 

Cicely, 

Diahann, 

Dorothy, 

Diana, 

Ruby,

Beah, 

Eartha,

Alfre, 

Halle, 

Margaret, 

Whoopi, 

Marianne, 

Latifah, 

Sophie, 

Loretta,

Jennifer, 

Viola, 

Taraji, 

Oprah,

Angela, 

Gabourey, 

Mo'Nique, 

Octavia...

Somehow, it makes us feel better, and gives us a glimmer of hope in America--an America that hasn't always been kind or fair. 

Should we just be glad for the nod? 

Wait. 

WE didn't get a nod. 

We were sitting at home on our sofas, wishing we could wear dresses like that, and noticing whose forehead didn't seem to be moving.

When Chris Rock took center stage, and Whitney's photo flashed across the screen, we perked up, and got serious.

Did we even pay for a ticket to see the movies, in which the Black girls starred? 

Were we so preoccupied with the whole “maids and mammies” thing, that we forgot history, and the fact that those roles did, and still do exist? 

What do we want to see? What does diversity and inclusion really look like?

Remember now. Some of us said, with our full chests, that Julia and Claire Huxtable were unrealistic.

 

Can Black actresses just be actresses, or are they saddled with the responsibility of representing the rest of us, every time they read a script? 

Never mind “them”, for a second. What, exactly, do we serve ourselves, when equipped with the authority, resources, and opportunities to plan the audio-visual meals? 

Maybe that's the REAL issue we should discuss, as we congratulate Olivia and Viola. 

Is “Hollywood” the culprit, or are we demonstrating insanity for expecting things to change?

While we're waiting for “Hollywood” to give us more diverse, honorable images, what images are we portraying every day, that cause some to conclude, that Black girls are pitifully one-dimensional, loud, lewd, ignorant, void of values, lacking self worth, profane, irresponsible, classless, and woefully cartoonish? 

ARE we a monolith? Where IS this meeting place, where we're all supposed to go, to discuss what we all like and dislike? 

Will there ever be a time, when we can watch an awards show--any awards show, and not be on pins and needles? Will there ever be a time when the elephant in the elegant room (that we want to ignore, but somehow can't), doesn’t answer to the name RACE?

A body can only hope.

I wrote a poem a few years ago, when the little Black girl in me was excited, and chattering in a way that I couldn't ignore. 

She was so proud. 

She was born in Louisiana, see--so were her parents, and their parents, and their parents. 

There's a reason why she's always rooting for Black girls to succeed. 

She grew up, and gave birth to a daughter--another Black girl, who has exceeded her greatest expectations.

LITTLE BLACK GIRLS IN THE WHITE HOUSE
Vanessa Renee Williams

I close my eyes
And the pictures that my mind starts to play
Are really great
It's nothing like
The ordinary that I see when I'm awake
But, that's okay
I've been accused of wishful thinking
And my multicolored, way out there dreaming
Is just because I've been taught to hope
And I believe in peace, and chasing rainbows

I'm in love with love
And think there's good in everybody
If you just take the time to look
And looking for the things that I don't even see
Should tell you just a little bit about me
The childlike wonder, in my heart and my mind?
It doesn't take much to arouse
I feel so many possibilities
Some things I never thought I would ever see
Yes, there are visions happily dancing about
Like little Black girls in the White House

Never been there before
But I'm going
Don't know the ins and outs
But I'll be an expert soon enough
There will be nobody to keep me bound, or keep me out
And I'll be free

To dance about
Like little Black girls in the White House

An over forty-something dream
I'd really love for my over-eighty Daddy to see
Ooo, I can feel it!
A welcomed change within and without
And I'll be strong
Where I belong
Like little Black girls in the White House

DO YOUR BEST

Make your point if you have to, but not at the expense of your skills. Make your point, but time it right, and direct it to the people who will be best helped by it. Don't let what didn't happen, what's not in place, who's not there, time, space, finances, broken promises, surprises, changes, or anything cause you to diminish yourself in any way. Lose the "I'm gonna show them" attitude. You never know who's in the room. Do your very best--EVERY time--no matter who is NOT doing their part. Just because someone got the job doesn't mean they're good at it. Don't let your indignation influence how you do yours. When the successful implementation of one task depends greatly on how well another task is done, a touchy situation can ensue.
Resist the inclination to resort to tantrums, fits and otherwise childish behavior no matter how warranted you may feel it is. Playing dumb, backing off, giving less, refusing to help, or shutting down might not send the desired message. Maybe it IS them. Maybe it IS their fault. Maybe things WEREN'T right, but don't make them worse by acting like you don't know what YOU'RE doing. Hastily timed protests reflect poorly on you and your ability, not them and theirs.
When witnessed by people who don't know the back story, a disaster unfolding before their eyes gets blamed on everyone who appears to be contributing to it. Don't find yourself being raked over the coals when you could have gotten a respectful pass or compliment.