Warning…Episode I

A man in the video says, "You look like a white guy holding a Black Lives Matter sign."

“Bat your eyes girl, be otherworldly, count your blessings, seduce a stranger…”

I’ve been listening to Incubus this entire weekend for some reason-I haven’t listened to the album since it was first introduced to me. That had to be like 20 years ago…I played it every day when I first got wind of it. A friend of mine who lived in Florida at the time put me on to Incubus. Soooo not the music I was used to. But from the moment I heard Morning View, I was hooked. I needed that record. It’s ironic, that nearly 20 years later I’d find myself needing that record again.

I suggest we learn to love ourselves before it’s made illegal

‘When will we learn, when will we change

Just in time to see it all come down

Thoase left standing will make millions writing books on the way it should have been…

Incubus, Warning

Friends, you know me by now. I’m not even going to ask you to bare with me. When you roll with me, you come along for the ride. We land where we land. I had every intention of doing what I promised some posts back-get the blood flowing, massage the creativity muscles by using a writing prompt from my favorite book-642 Tiny Things To Write About, which has been helpful in overcoming writer’s block, which as my grandmother would say, has become an unwelcome pestilence in my life.

I woke up with every intention of using a prompt, seeing where it would take me, but then, my husband forwarded me an article, (hence the photo) that thwarted my plans. It be’s like that some times for a writer. Forgive me. I’m totally winging this.

It’s not like I haven’t written about racism before. I’m aware that writing about, protesting for, screaming, shouting, and dying for ‘the cause’ is controversial. Always will be.

I’m going to make connections as best as I can right now. I’m about to wax personal right now. If there is such a thing…

I grew up in Toronto in the early 80’s. My sister and I were the only people of color in our classes for a while. For a long time, it didn’t bother me. I didn’t notice differential treatment. Not then anyway.

The one thing that does stand out, however is my sixth grade commencement. My mom had my hair relaxed for the occasion. My dad was dropping me off to school as he usually did. I remember I’d seen one of my best friends, Jenny and her friends, at the corner. I begged my dad to let me out.

Reluctantly, he did.

I rushed across the street, anxious to show off my newly straightened, luxurious hair that I could run my fingers through; hair that could get swept up into the wind, caught in my eyes, just like theirs–I was just like them now, except for this dark skin…

Later that evening my. sister told me my father told my mom that it was a mistake to have my hair relaxed.

I remember proudly tossing my hair (as I’d seen them do-God, Billy Crant, my crush, seemed to love it) over my shoulder as he let me out of the car, and as I ran across the street to meet Jenny at the corner, I remember him turning to my mom and saying, ” now she thinks she’s white…”

Of course I did. I wanted to be white-however I could. White people had everything whether they wanted it or not. Nobody hated white people for no reason.

My hair was the gateway. That “good hair” my mom and grandmother told me I’d been blessed with. I could flip it, toss it, chew on the ends, like I’d seen Tammy do when she wanted a boy to do something stupid for her, like taking the blame for the sticky hubba bubba mess that found itself in Tammy’s desk.

I just wanted Billy to chase me at recess.

I had hair that blew in the wind now, just like them.

Couldn’t they see, that by their own standards, I belonged?

So, you’re probably wondering what my waxing nostalgic has to do with Black Lives Matter.

I’ll admit, when my husband sent me the video, I didn’t want to watch it. I’m of the opinion that the media is as much responsible for the discord and strife that plagues this country as those who perpetuate violence on behalf of their ’cause’. I actually try to avoid video such as this because I believe the morons spewing nonsense are a fringe element of the population.

I’d really like to believe that-as much as I’d like to believe blond haired, blue-eyed, dimpled Billy Crant was ever going to ask me to the prom…

He should have.

I’ll try to keep it as short as I can…

Here’s the tie in for me-watch the video to make your own connections…

I tried to put the video up on this blog-but as you well know by now, I’m a nube, and well, I just do what I can to get the message across-as best as I can.

So there’s this white filmmaker who was holding up a “Black Lives Matter” sign in Harrison, Arkansas, and a ton of ugly, racist, vitriolic responses were captured, which I’d rather not have seen. I don’t know why.

The video goes on to expose horrible comments, which, according to Harrison Mayor Jerry Jackson give a “false impression of the city…[T]he town and our local race relations group have worked over many decades to overcome our history of racism…”

Harrison is 95% white, sitting on northern Arkansas about 20 miles south of the Missouri state line, which the KKK lists as its national headquarters.

Some minds will never be changed. We accept that. Let white folks who wan’t nothing to do with black folks, alone. Especially in Harrison, a city the KKK calls home.

And they went there…citizens of Harrison were angrier to see a white man championing black rights than a black man, which speaks to patriarchy-and we’ll get to that later…but for now, I’m pissed. Hurt and angry. More hurt than anything.|

F–*k black lives matter, and I have black friends.”

If you watch the video you’ll see what I mean. Much of it is too painful to watch/listen to. For me especially, and I admit this with great risk: for my entire life and for obvious reasons I wanted to be anything other than black. However, I learned who I was, despite who they said I was..

…Until they called me nigger..

……..To Be Continued…

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