Walking In These Shoes I Wear

I love to play tennis, though I am not that great. I like to entertain my friends and family and will prepare wonderful new recipes just for them. I have a passion for the outdoors and enjoy working in my flower garden and shopping at garden centers for new and exotic plants and flowers. I could have been one of those dancers on Soul Train! Dancing comes natural for me because my father was always dancing and having a good time. He often would say when he went to a party; now the party can begin because I’m here! I went back to school at fifty-two to get my degree in cosmetology and opened a hair salon when I graduated. I have catered lunches for hairstylists who were unable to leave their busy salons and get their own lunches. I am a professional storyteller and have traveled all over the country sharing stories and motivational experiences.

These are just a few of the things that I have a passion and talent for. God has truly blessed me in many areas and I am thankful. However, two years ago I began to feel tired quickly after just minor tasks. I started having severe pains in my lower back, shoulders and knees. I went back and forth to my doctor several times complaining of these aches and pains. He diagnosed me with arthritis and gave me a prescription for a pain medicine that would help me. It caused my lips and face to swell and I was prescribed something else. It caused me to have terrible pains in my stomach and I could not take them either. One night I couldn’t sleep, though I was very tired. The next morning I could hardly walk so I went to the ER. Several different tests were run; MRI, CAT scan, blood work, and urology tests. Nothing could be found! Defeated, depressed and so very, very tired I went home with a prescription for Oxycodone for the pain. I took one as soon as I walked in the door. I woke up nearly a day and a half later! Finally, after running back and forth for nearly two years I was finally diagnosed with fibromyalgia. By then, I was depressed because I could no longer do the things I enjoyed. Tennis, dancing, working in my garden and dancing were all too difficult for me to accomplish. I had opened a hair salon and lost it within a few months. I was devastated and lay in the bed many, many nights wondering why God wouldn’t just take my life. I was tired of living, but knew I could not take my own life. I was so miserable!

I was in so much pain and so tired that getting dressed and going to my Christian meetings were impossible for me. I just lay around suffering silently. I had been prescribed so many medications and none of them did anything to relieve the pain and despair I felt. I began to pray to God to just let me go to sleep and never wake up. I didn’t think I could take it anymore. Every day that I awoke, I would feel so disgusted, I would cry quietly. I couldn’t work and help with my share of the bills like I wanted to. I had gone on a trip with my daughter and had overheard her friend talking about me to her mother; saying that I was using my daughter. I feared that I would tell this woman off, and no longer wanted her in my home. To me she was disrespectful, but then she only knew to say this because obviously my daughter had been complaining to her. I resented my daughter and had to pray to fight those feelings. I wanted my own place to live. I felt like I was spinning on that wheel that hamsters have in their cage, yet never going anywhere. Each night I cried myself to sleep and in a couple of hours I would be wide awake. I was prescribed an anti-depressant, but didn’t like the way it made me feel and stopped taking them after a couple of days or so. I just wanted to die! That was all I thought about. When I was growing up, my father often told me that no matter how bad times got you never told anyone your business. My grandmother, whom he got that advice from told me the same thing. So, now I am in therapy and it is very difficult to let this woman into my space, to let her see the fiber of my being. I wear this mask that hides my pain. I smile, laugh often and pretend that I am not dying on the inside. I need to trust her that she will allow me to open up, to tell her what it is that I am feeling without thinking I am violating some instilled wisdom passed from generations of folk that also wore the mask. 

And so it is with someone who suffers from clinical depression. People who see me say, “You don’t look sick!” and that makes me feel even worst. I want to shout at them, “How do you think I ought to look? Don’t you know if I looked like how I feel, I would never leave the house? Be glad that I don’t look like I am sick!” Some will remind me of someone they think is doing worse than I am. Someone else will suggest I just pray about it and move on. Most of the people who say something, are not doing it to be hurtful, they honestly may not know what to say. I would really rather they don’t say anything in that case. Just tell me you miss me and keep it moving. The worst thing is to assume that you know how I feel. I am so tired of being sick and tired! Sometimes I will not get any calls from my Christian sisters and brothers. That is one of the worst things to feel, abandonment from those who profess to care and love me. I remember that even though Jesus had 12 apostles, he was truly very close with Peter. Even though he got angry with Peter once, he had special feelings for him. It was Peter he gave the keys to the kingdom to. I found that one person to care about me in a dear man I call Brother Kinney. He calls me every week to check on me. I love him dearly and sometimes, in my despair it is his face that keeps me going.

I know how Robin Williams felt in his final hours. Many people that suffer with clinical depression can attest to this fact. It is a struggle for us, every day is. We each have something that keeps us holding on. And as we struggle through each day, we know we have no idea what tomorrow may bring. So, we take it one day at a time. Perhaps that day was too much for Robin. Perhaps that day he just said, “I cannot do it any longer, Lord.” We don’t because we were not there. However, I know his despair because I face it each and every day. I have had to step away from a person that I used to call a friend because she complains about every single thing going on, not in her life, but in all of her children’s, grandchildren’s and great grandchildren’s lives and I can’t take her anymore. I tried to explain to her to stop complaining about everything, pray about it and leave it alone if you can’t change it. To me, complaining ALL the time is a selfish act! No one wants to hear that ALL the time. We are encouraged by God to speak consolingly to the distressed souls, be kind and patient to all. Even in my darkest hour, thus far I try to say something encouraging to someone else. There is much to be thankful for. I know this and even if I wake up each day, I know there is a reason for my being here and I am fighting to appreciate that fact and to continue to feel blessed about it. 

What I Hope We Learn From Robin William's Tragic Death

I was checking my email yesterday when I saw the news feed that Robin Williams had died. I felt as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. I forgot about my email as I read the article and others that talked about the loss of this wonderfully talented man. I cried as if a member of my own family had died.

I first saw Robin Williams on the Mork & Mindy Show back in the 80’s. Every week I tuned in to enjoy the show. We’ve seen him grow into a phenomenal actor over the years. We know of the work he did for US troops. We’ve seen him play Pop Eye, Mrs. Doubtfire and recently I saw him in a very disturbing episode of Law & Order SVU where he was portraying a dark and demented character.

As we learned of the details of his death, should that make us lose respect for him? Is suicide so foreign to us that we can’t wrap our minds around the fact that he took his own life? Is he now no longer worthy of our tears? Is it time to judge him? I am appalled at the insensitive comments I’ve read. There have been some that are so very insensitive, I want to smack the taste out of their mouths, if I were still a violent person. It’s been reported that Todd Bridges said Robin Williams is selfish and his suicide is an act of a coward. People have said “He’s going to hell for this!” “What did he have to be depressed about? He was a millionaire!” “Depressed! He was an addict and alcoholic, that’s why he was depressed!”

Depression is a mental disease. This disease has been around for centuries. The Bible mentions several people that were depressed. On one occasion the prophet Elijah was so grief stricken that he prayed for God to take his life. – 1Kings 19:4. Ammon, King Solomon’s son was asked, “Why are you, the king’s son so depressed every morning? Why not tell me?” – 2Samuel 13:4. Being that God is a God of Love, he cares about us so deeply he wants us all to be happy. In Psalm 34:18, the psalmist tells us, “Jehovah is near to those that are broken at heart; and those who are crushed in spirit he saves.” “If you kept a record of our sins, who could escape being condemned? But your forgive us, so that we should stand in awe of you.” – Psalm 130:3-4

God gives us strength and hope. We also have a responsibility-(1Thessalonians 5:14) “…to speak consolingly to those who are depressed, support the weak, be patient toward all.” We are encouraged to throw all our anxiety on God because he cares for us. -1Peter 5:7

Clinical depression is not the same as sadness, or having a bad day. It goes beyond that. Pharmacists have developed medicines to help with depression, but many patients feel worst, so they may not continue taking their meds. According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention “studies have consistently found that the overwhelming majority of people who die by suicide-  90% or more –had a mental disorder at the time of their deaths, often, however; these disorders had not been recognized, diagnosed or adequately treated.” Professional assistance is available because it is not possible to climb out of the pit of despair without assistance. We are living each day of our lives in a world filled with despair. It is easy to feel hopeless in light of the times. However, we can rest our hope in the promises God has made; for instance in Revelation 21:3-4, “The tent of God is with mankind, and he will reside with them, and they will be his people. And God himself will be with them. He will wipe out every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, neither will mourning nor outcry, or pain be anymore. The former things will pass away.” So, instead of us judging the actions of someone that has committed suicide in a  negative light, why not think about that person you know that is suddenly withdrawn, quiet and depressed. Why not call and check on them and offer your support? Sometimes a listening ear is all that we need. Sometimes we just need someone to act like they really care, to be there for us. 

I’ve heard people say suicide is the unforgivable sin, probably quoting something their minister, pastor or bishop told them. However, the Bible tells us about only one unforgivable sin and it is not suicide, but grieving God’s Holy Spirit. Some people said he is going to burn in Hell, another lie the church has told its members to keep them enslaved and clothed in darkness. How can you say God is love, he loves us yet when we die he’ll torture our dead body in a burning hell for eternity? What would be the purpose of Him doing that, when he so lovingly offers us the hope of a resurrection? –John 5:29

I encourage anyone reading my blog to check out the scriptures I listed for yourself in your Bible. Find out what it really teaches; shake off the shackles of false religion that has held you bound in ignorance, hatred, condemnation and intolerance or other people’s pain.

THE CRACK OF DAWN

“The Crack of Dawn!” I used to think that was an expression that meant the night was over and the dawn was coming. That is until I was invited by two storytellers that lived in the mountains of Asheville. They were hosting their first annual storytelling event up there and we were invited to come up. I was excited and was ready to go! I, Sparkle, Mardia along with two drummers – Marty and Hashem loaded up the car and up to the mountains we went. When we got there we dropped our things at the bed and breakfast were going to be staying at and then went to the park to join the storytellers. They were catching fish to eat for their dinner. I wasn’t into that and wondered if there was another way to get my fish. There was, I batted my eyes at one mountain man and he gave me two nice fish, he cleaned them and filleted them as well. The only seasoning on the table was salt, pepper and there was no cornmeal. After watching the fish turn golden brown and float to the top I removed them from the hot oil and dropped in my cute little purple and red potatoes. I had never seen a potato that was purple and red on the inside. After eating, we rode back to town and got us some real food from a diner that served home cooking. I had the chicken fried steak with gravy, mashed potatoes and fried green tomatoes.

The storytelling event was the next day and we had a ball. There was a hayride thingy and more storytelling out in this wooded area. I was more concerned about rattlesnakes and those big behind mosquitoes than anything. We were invited to walk across a hanging bridge. It was dark out and I couldn’t even see the bridge but I was scared! I could hear the rushing water below and I knew I couldn’t swim…no, I was not walking across the bridge and didn’t care what was on the other side. We were expected to return the next morning at 5am to enjoy our final day. We were going to be there at “the crack of dawn.” I was thinking about that expression as I went to sleep and anticipation kept me in this restless state. The next morning down to the river we went…well at least the ladies went. We couldn’t get the guys up.

When we got there, in the darkness we could see the outlines of several people already there – about twenty of them it looked like. Our hostess, Gloria has such a mesmerizing voice. She commands silence and respect; two things that are easy to display any time of the day, but at 5 am...well. She told us to stand, cross our arms and hold hands with the person next to you. Then she wanted us to repeat after her. I don’t like that game too much mainly because I never know what folks are wanting you to repeat until you get to the end. Shoot! You could be asked to call on the demons or something. I like to wait until I hear the entire thing and if I am so inclined to do so, I will repeat after you, but this saying a few words, waiting to hear the folks repeat it, then saying some more, then waiting to hear the folks repeat it, then saying some more and then waiting…I don’t do that. So, she said the words and folks repeated it and I stood there silently waiting and chose afterwards that even though she wasn’t calling on the demons…I still didn’t want to repeat it. Then she asked us to call out the name of an ancestor or someone that was no longer with us – a friend or something. People began to call out the names and then she started singing “That’s What Friends Are For.” By now it is beginning to get light. And she called us all to silence so we can hear the “crack” of dawn. Up until that point I thought it was an expression. But that morning, standing by the bubbling brook, orange, purple and blue colors running across the sky, surrounded by these beautiful folk all holding hands, and humming softly, I HEARD the sun as it broke through the darkness and cast its light on the day. I heard! So, the next time you are up at that hour, go on outside and be real quiet and listen and know the true meaning of “The Crack of Dawn.”

A Series of Unfortunate Events

When I was a little girl I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a writer, baker, and hairstylist. I also wanted to own a very large home so that people could stay a few days with me, I would feed them, tell them a story and they would go on about their business. I wanted to be a bartender and I wanted help the poor.  By the time I reached 52 there were only two things left on my list. I hadn't become a hair stylist and I hadn't gotten the large house where I could entertain people. By now I knew that was called a Bed & Breakfast. So, I started cosmetology school. I had a goal and that was to finish my 1500 required hours in nine months. I took my state boards and got licensed.

In April of 2012 I opened a hair salon in West Salem Square. There were other salons in the building, but it wasn't even a deterrent for me. This was the perfect location. It was located within a 1 mile radius of Winston Salem state University, Salem College, Salem Academy, North Carolina School of the Art, The Gateway Y and all of downtown. I knew it would be a successful place to open a business. 

I purchased top of the line equipment - $6,178 worth of equipment. I invested another $19,000 in supplies, tools, artwork, paint, computer, etc. I was so excited! My hair salon was called Zuri Hair Studio. Zuri is Swahili for beauty or beautiful. I contacted the Boys and Girls Club manager and offered free hair care services to the young ladies that went there. I also contacted the director of Dress for Success to offer hair care services to the ladies that signed up with them. I signed up with a company called Merchant Services, Inc. to process my merchant account. It would take 3-6 weeks before I got the equipment. Who knew that when I wrote the checks for my rent and salon furniture in May that my world would never be the same.

My checks bounced because Merchant Services, Inc. had taken all my money! Every single dime I owned. They would take small amounts like .99 or $1.10 and then make a huge withdrawal until they had wiped me out. I asked members of my family to help me and it was easier for them to talk about me like I had a tail than to help me. Finally, I asked the right family member and he gave me the money to get caught up on the rent.  A friend of mine loaned me the money for July's rent. In June I applied for a loan with a microloan company here and was told I would have an answer in 2-6 weeks. My landlord and the company I got my furniture from were very patient and understanding. 

Each day I worked and had a good day, I would leave some money with the landlord to help towards my rent because I didn't want it to get too far behind. As the 6 weeks ended, I still had not heard anything about my loan. I started calling the loan officer and leaving him messages. I left him email messages, Facebook messages, and text messages. On November 13th I was on my way to a conference when the manager of my building where I had my salon called to tell me she was going to change the locks on my salon. I told her that I was on my way out of town, I would call her when I returned. I added, that hopefully I would be able to sell some books and make enough money to get back in the space and all would be good. A few minutes later the loan officer send me a text to say that his program had limited funds, and they decided to give it to another applicant that they felt had a better business deal.

I called Margaret on Monday to let her know that I thought it best to get my things out of the space and try it again later. Margaret told me that she would hold my items until I had paid my bill in full. I told her that I would feel better if I had them, and she insisted that they would be safe. In December I was talking to a friend of mine that works at the Forsyth County Attorney's office. I told her what happened to me and she informed me that the landlord cannot hold my items in lieu of the rent. She has to let me get them. I called Margaret back to let her know what I had learned and told her I wanted to come by on Saturday and get my things. She told me that they could hold my items, that I should read page three of my lease. On page 3 there is a sentence that says, "if the tenant is 30 days late on the rent, the landlord has the right to take possession of the space and all that is contained therein, i.e. computers, phones, etc." I called my friend back and read her this statement in the lease, to which she said, "It doesn't matter what she put in the lease, the law is the law and she has violated the law. She needs to let you get your stuff!" I called Margaret back and told her what I had been told by the County Attorney's office. She told me that this has been in their lease for over twenty years and they had never had any problems. She told me she was tired of discussing this with me and told me the next time for me to call and talk to Johnna. I told her to transfer me to her. I was put into her voicemail. I left her a message. Two days  later Johnna called me to see what it is I wanted. I told her that she cannot hold my items in lieu of the rent. She told me this was her business and she could do whatever she wanted to do. 

I called the Legal Shield, who was previously Prepaid Legal Services and spoke to an attorney. Her name was Shana. She could not believe this had happened to me and was going to take my case. I felt so relieved. The very next day, Shana called me to say that I didn't have a case and that I should just forget it. I wanted a second opinion and she gave me the number to dial to request one. I spoke to Mike a couple of days later.I told him what was going on and he asked me what did I expect to happen, what would I like the final outcome to be. I told this idiot I had invested over $25,000 into my business. I wanted to get my items back. I only owed the landlord $2,100. I asked him did he think that sounded fair. He said, "Do you have the money to pay her?" I told him I didn't. But I had $1,000 and wanted to make that offer. He called her and she told him I owed her $4,000 and she would not settled for less than $3,000. He called to tell me this. I asked him to see if she would take it in three payments, because I had $1,000 I could give her at the time.

I waited to hear from him again and finally after a week I called him. He seemed aggravated, "What is it now?" "You were supposed to get back with me to tell me what Johnna said," I said. "Said about what?" he asked. It seems our memory of what took place in our last conversation was different. He told me that I was supposed to call Johnna Hewitt, not him. When I called her, she had a yard sale and sold all of my items! "I'm not a hair stylist. But I do have a building full of them and they needed hair supplies and I had  some so I sold it! What?" she says. I told her that I would come by and get the pictures of my grand child. I had an entire wall with pictures of my 5 year old grandbaby wearing different hairstyles. She informed me that she had sold everything, except a chair.

I was sick! I thought I was having a heart attack. I spent the night in the ER and a few nights later I was back there again! I made an appointment with my regular doctor and was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. 

I started doing research and decided to call my friend back at the county attorney's office. I wanted to know the exact statute that tells how to do a commercial eviction. With that information I contacted NOLO. I explained to the attorney what had happened to me. She referred me to three different attorneys. I contacted each of them. They listened, shocked and decided that they would definitely help me out, but I first needed to give them a $10,000 retainer or more! I didn't have that kind of money!

One day I got dressed and went to the courthouse. I was desperate! I walked all over that courthouse speaking to every attorney I saw that was not busy. I was there four hours before I met an attorney named Melanie. She told me to contact Wake Forest School of Law that she knows that some former students had started a law practice that was taking clients pro bono! I called them right in front of her. I hugged that lady and was so glad to have met her. I made an appointment to speak with Earnest Bailey the next week. I took all of my paperwork - my lease, the letter from the collection company wanting me to pay them $4300 for back rent, the letters the NC Attorney General's Office wrote to Merchant Services, Inc., all of my text messages from Margaret, the manager of West Salem Square, pictures of my salon, my inventory and prices of all of the items I had in my salon, what few receipts I had in my possession. His office was not pro bono, but they had deeply discounted fees. He took my case and their fees are just $80 an hour.

He showed me there are two ways to evict a commercial tenant. One way is called self-help. With self-help, the landlord sends the tenant a certified letter stating that they are default of the rent and if not paid in full within a "reasonable" time - usually 30 days, the landlord will then take possession of the space. If the tenant has not paid the rent, the landlord then must send another certified letter stating that he has taken possession of his space. The tenant now has 30 days to remove all of his items and leave the space clean and in the same condition that it was in when they moved in.

The other way is by filing the paperwork with the courts and having the paperwork served to the tenant. If the rent is not paid before the court day, a Magistrate will determine whether the tenant is in breach of the leasing agreement. The tenant is given thirty days to remove their items from the space and leave it in the same condition it was in when they moved in. That is the law, there is no gray area where the landlord can interject their own brand of handling things. 

I have looked at pictures of the other salons in that building - pictures they post on Facebook, Instagram and youtube and I see my items in their salons and it angers me! My items meant nothing to Johnna Hewitt! I can't even wrap my mind around how she can even think this is acceptable. Just because her father put that clause in his lease twenty years ago or so, doesn't mean it was right. All it meant is that no one had ever spoke up for themselves, no one ever challenged their actions. It is wrong on so many levels and I cannot sit back and do nothing. This is about more than just me - it is about every single tenant, African American and White that has taken a space in that building with high hopes of having a successful business, but may face an unforeseen situation (like mine) and get behind in rent. Will Johnna Hewitt decide to liquidate their business? Will she sell everything you worked hard to establish or stick it in the basement to sell later, not taking in account how hard you may have worked to make your dream a reality? She has received a grant from the City of Winston Salem. They are actively promoting her place of business as the place to start up a a new business for entrepreneurs. So is Forsyth Tech's Small Business Association. But, it is not a good place to start if she has the power to take over your business inventory and sale it. 

I will contact every organization I can think of to prevent this from happening to anyone else.

My First Love

 My name is Darby West and I am a Daddy’s girl. From the moment that he saw me I was his Tootsie roll. I have been carrying that name for ever and will carry it forever more. My Daddy was not a perfect man, but he was perfect for me. He had a very tumultuous relationship and moved out to find peace. That search led him to a peaceful woman and the two of them had a son. He used to come to the Bronx on Fridays to drop off money and to see his babies. Whenever he entered the building he would sing out and in our building – a tenement on 245^th Street and Bruckner Blvd, the acoustics were so strong that it would carry him up to the fourth floor where we lived. “Daddy! Daddy!” we would all call out and run to the door. He always came with penny candy in his pockets. We would run straight for those pockets. He would hug us, kiss us and love us up! Because of the tension in the house, he would just drop the money off, spend a few minutes with us and leave, promising to come back on Friday. We would all run to the living room and look out the window as he walked across the street. He would wave at us and blow us a kiss before going up the block to the train station. We would look out that window until he was out of sight and beyond that.

At five my baby brother, Ron and I went to live with him in Queens. When I started first grade I went to live with my auntie Sugar Prune. She was So prissy! I was only five, but she was trying to teach me how to be a lady. When I sat down, if I were wearing a dress, I was to take my hands and smooth down the back of my dress, before I sat down, then I had to cross my legs at that ankles so no  one could see my underwear. My hands were supposed to be placed in my lap. When my favorite boy cousins came by I could not play in the yard with them because I could hurt myself, skin my knees, break a nail or sweat out my press and curl. My Daddy took me from there and I went to live with him again.

It is said that most little girls marry a man like their father. I didn’t do that. Both of my husbands were the exact opposite of my Daddy. I did meet a man that was like him, though. The first time I saw him he was coming to visit my cousin one Friday evening. They were going out to a disco that night. When I opened the door to let him in, he didn’t even look at me.  I was invisible to him. I had my hair tied up, and wore an old pair of shorts and a too big t-shirt. My aunt told me that if I wanted to get his attention to fix myself up. The next Friday night when he came by I was ready for him. My curly afro was hooked up nicely. I had on my halter top, patched jeans, and my Buffalo shoes. Gold hoops were in my ears. He looked at me that time, but kept walking to the back. Soon my cousin called me, “Yo! Tootsie, c’mere!” He introduced me to his friend, “This is my boy, Charlie.” He didn’t even have to tell me his name because ever since I met him I had been writing in my notebook – Charles loves Tootsie. Tootsie loves Charles.

Charles and I got to know one another and one of the things that I didn’t like about him is that he didn’t know when to stop drinking. It was a shame too, because I really cared about him. However, I knew how difficult like could be with an alcoholic and I wasn’t going to put myself in that position.  I went on about my life, marrying a man that shared his name, but nothing else.

When I got divorced and returned to New York it was Charles that met me at the airport.  I wasn’t ready for a relationship at the time; I just wanted to wallow in misery. That winter he and my cousin came by the house. “Get up, get dressed!” my cousin ordered. I didn’t want to go, but I got dressed and joined them. Charles’ mother was having a party. There was about three feet of snow piled up beside her gate where they had cleared the sidewalk. The party was going strong when we arrived. There was plenty of food, cake, and liquor. Charles took that first drink and we danced. By midnight the red Solo cup appeared to be glued to his hand. Every time I saw him he was sipping from it. I knew that five years had passed, but he was the same old person. Around four my cousin came looking for Charles. I hadn’t seen him in a while. His sister told us she saw him go outside, but she thought he must have come back in because his coat was still on the bed. We got his coat and went out to look for him. There he was lying face down in that pile of snow, drunk as Cootie Brown. We struggled to help him up, and there was a yellow stain in the snow. My cousin was furious! He was going on and on about his Norvegese shoes. “Every time we go somewhere this is the crap that happens! Yo, man! I am sick of this!” he fumed.

We helped him put on his coat. “I’m sorry man! I know I promised you I wasn’t going to drink. But I saw Tootsie, and she was looking so good!” My cousin slapped him across the cheek. “Shut up! You ain’t good enough for my cousin!” he shouted at him. We tried to get him to walk, but he was too drunk. Charles and I waited for my cousin to show up with the car. He was leaning against the gate of someone’s house, still mumbling about how fine I looked, and he was sorry. Just as we got ready to help him to the car, this dude threw up on us! My legs and the front of my coat were covered in huge chunks of whatever food this fool had eaten. I was so disgusted I nearly threw up. We had to go back inside and clean the mess off. My cousin fussed at him all the way back to Brooklyn.

No, I never married a man like my father. My Daddy liked liquor too. He did stop drinking though in his later years. He mellowed out and became deep. It wasn’t a deepness that entirely with old age. Sometimes after taking a toke or three of gunja, anybody can get deep and start philosophising.  When I was getting married for the second time he came to NC to give me away, along with my auntie and one of her friends. After everybody had gone to bed we were up talking. “Why are you getting married this late in the game? How old are you now, forty or forty-five?” he asked. “Forty-five? Come on, Daddy! You know I ain’t forty-five. Try thirty-five!” I said, laughing. “How long have you known this cat?” he asked. “Six months,” I replied. He shook his head. “Six months? Naw! You don’t know this dude. And he doesn’t know you. You need to put that on ice. Why can’t you just live with him for a while, see what he is really about. Don’t rush into this,” he said.

We never had a really deep conversation like that in a long time, a long time. The last deep conversation we had was when I was feeling my friend Kevin in Hampton, VA. I was trying to decide should I return to Virginia and give him a chance even though I wasn’t in love, but he appeared to be. My daddy looked me in the eye and said, “Love? Who said anything about love? Did I say anything about you falling in love? What I said is…and you need to listen because I usually sell this advice. For you, I’ll give it to you free. Love is like a boil It rises on your behind and busts in your heart. Don’t fall in love with these cats out here. Let them fall in love with you! And that my dear is the truth and the whole truth!” “Daddy, are you sober?” I asked. “I ain’t had nothing to drink today,” he replied. “But are you sober?” “Nope! But I know what I’m talking about,” he smiled.

I miss my pops. I don’t need a certain date of the month to honor my Daddy. I can do that any time I want to. I can close my eyes and remember what his hair feels like, soft like cotton. I can smell the Old Spice he used too much of. I can see his smiling face and that twinkle in his eye. Each time…every single time I think of him, I feel blessed that I was given to him, my first love – Walter Lee Greene.

WHAT IF...?

What if all of the mistakes that we made in our lives could be used to help someone else walk a straighter path if we but shared them? If I poured out my heart to you, shed tears for you, wept with you in order to help you see that you don't need to make the mistakes that I did, would you change your course?

What if all of the men or women that we have met in our lives and shared a piece of ourselves with were able to sit down together and we discussed what went wrong in our relationship, what made you stop loving me, or me stop loving you, or why you never loved me, or me never loving you...could we forgive each other and move on with our lives so that we don't make the same mistakes again with someone else?

What if I could wipe the slate totally clean and start over from this point in my life, what sort of person would I be then? Would I be as sensitive to other's needs as I am now? Would I be able to see the cup as half full instead of half empty? Would I find the joy in a laughing baby, or the sound of a bubbling stream?  Would I understand why some people sit all day long on the side of a river bank and yet only catch one or two fish, when it is not the food they seek, but the solitude?  Would I know the difference between being lonely and being alone, and yes there is a difference...?  

Would I be able to tell the difference between a look of love and one of lust and would I prefer the first look?  Would I know that I am beautiful without someone telling me that I am, and appreciate it more when I speak it myself?  Would I be able to  recognize when a man is being truly honest when he says that he will be there, if I had not known the lies of one that said those same words but never meant them?  Would I love myself as much now after going through my life thus far if I had not been down the paths of mistakes that I have walked blindly down?

I am so glad that He called me and invited me to come to Him. I truly appreciate that God is so forgiving and is able to restore us and cleanse our minds and hearts and make us and mold us, if we but let Him. I am so much better now. I am wiser and stronger and beautiful. Can I assist you, my lost friend, my lost sister, my lost brother? Can I share my past paths with you, so you can be redirected and realigned with God's help? 

What if I could... What if He could? What sort of person are you to be?

RACISM - IT IS A BIG DEAL (Pt. 1)

When I lived in Texas I met an interracial couple who had two small children. The wife was African American and her husband was White. She had been married before and had a child by her first husband who was also African American. Together she and her new husband had a child. He was originally from Minnesota, if I am not mistaken and she was from Texas. She was very aware of racism; however, in his all White town he grew up not knowing any African Americans, never having any contact with us at all. When he joined the Army, of course that changed. She and him worked together closely in their unit and as result they became very close and eventually fell in love. He told me that on their first date, their very first date he was met with racism. He said when they walked into a restaurant together he honestly didn’t notice anyone staring at them. He said when she pointed it out to him he still thought she was being paranoid, because he honestly didn’t think it existed. That all changed the day he was called a Nigger Lover as he played in a park with his wife and children. That was the day he came to understand what his wife had been telling him all along, and that he knew it was a big deal; that she was not being paranoid.

If it were not a big deal, there would never have been a Nat Turner, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth or Margaret Garner. There would not have been an Underground Railroad. There would not have been a Civil Rights Bill. There would not have been a Martin Luther King, Jr. fighting for the rights of my people. No need for the Southern Leadership Conference, no need for Rosa Parks to go to the back of the bus, no need for “Colored” signs. There would be no need for a song to be written called “Strange Fruit” in honor of all of those Black men, women and children that lost their lives as they bodies swung from tree limbs as entertainment for White audiences. There would be no need to abolish slavery, segregation, or apartheid. There would be no jails full with Black and brown people. There would be no Indian reservations. The name Willie Lynch would mean nothing to any of us. The name Nelson Mandela would not be written down in history. If racism were not a big deal there would be no need to expose folks like Don Imus who referred to the Rutgers’s female basketball team as “nappy headed hos”. Or Marge Schott, the owner of the Cincinnati Red’s baseball team who referred to the African American ball players as “million dollar niggers”. Or Paula Deen who referred to the African Americans who worked in her restaurant as “niggers”, but didn’t see anything wrong with that because we called each other the same word and didn’t get offended by it. Or Jimmy “the Greek” Snyder, who was a sports broadcaster on NBC who explained the African American male athlete by saying this nonsense, “The black is a better athlete to begin with because he’s been bred to be that way, because of his high thighs and big thighs that goes up into his back, and they can jump higher and run faster because of their bigger thighs and he’s bred to be the better athlete because this goes back all the way to the Civil War when during the slave trade … the slave owner would breed his big black to his big woman so that he could have a big black kid.” Or Donald Sterling, who can sleep with a Black/Mexican woman, but doesn’t want her to invite her people to his games, or to take pictures with us, post it on the Internet, or act like she likes us. To him all we are is a way to make that dollar. 

If it were not a big deal, these men and women would not have lost the respect of their communities, business partners, or the support of their own peers, and their jobs. Until you walk in our shoes you will never understand the lasting scars, the lasting pain of racism. I have never been whipped with a leather strap until my skin tore, the muscles and bones exposed, flesh hanging from the wound, the muscles quivering, but I know it hurts. That is the sad effects of racism.

Like ·  · Promote · Share