Coming Out of The Black

There is a song called “Black” by the band Pearl Jam that really gets to me.  To me it’s about lost love and the endless longing that the singer has towards that lost love.  The end of the song goes like this:

I know that someday you’ll have a beautiful life

I know you’ll be the star in somebody else’s sky

But why, why, why can’t it be mine?

Those very sad words remind me of a story of a young man longing for a love that he can never have.  He fell in love with a young lady that was the daughter of a coal miner.  He remembers the date so well.  The month was April and she was the most beautiful, intelligent woman that he had ever seen.  He immediately fell in love with her.  She loved him too.  That is… she loved  the attention that he gave her.  You see, the young coal miner’s daughter knew that her time in his life was only for a short time.  She knew that she could not give him her heart because she had already given it to someone else.  Some guy  back in North Carolina I think.  But she was away from her true love and the young man in front of her was amusing  and cute; so she allowed him to pursue her.  She knew that he never had a chance, but the attention was nice.  So she allowed him to chase her as she ran, never allowing him to catch her; but never running completely away from him.  He became frustrated to the point of anger.  He realized that she did not share the feelings for him that he did for her.  He began to resent her because she was like the star in that lonely song.  Always too far away to touch, but close enough to taunt him.  He listened to the song constantly, always crying at the end because he knew that she would never  be the star in his sky.  He knew that someone had captured her before he even had an opportunity to try.  He knew that she would forever be just out of reach.  And then, she left him for good.  That is… she finally moved back to North Carolina  to continue her life with her true love.  And he was glad that she was gone.  Not because he didn’t want her.  He needed her to leave because he could not bear to look at her knowing that she didn’t love him the way that he loved her.  He needed her to leave so he could stop dreaming about her and the life that they could never have together.  He needed to move on.  So he took his heart, zipped it back into his chest, and began walking his lonely path.  Maybe one day he too would have someone in his…

He stopped suddenly.  He had to stop suddenly.  He could no longer see.  Standing before him was a radiance so bright that it almost burned his skin.  Her name was Camille.  And he was never the same again.

The President Made Me Cry

     I knew it was going to happen.  But it did not really hit me until I heard someone else say it.  I started really following the 2008 Presidential election when I saw Barak Obama win primary after primary against Hillery Clinton.  I remember when all the old politicians started endorsing him over Clinton, I thought to myself, “Nope, I still don’t believe it,”.  But then he won about eleven primaries in a row and I thought to myself, “I think he might do it after all.”  And after Hillery Clinton FINALLY dropped out of the Democratic race I began to silently chant… “yes we can!  Yes we can!”  By this time everyone knew that he was running against J0hn McCain and I felt that he could beat him.  Then came the conventions and the introduction of “The Thrilla from Wasilla” in Sarah Palin.  After watching her speech at the Republican National Convention, I got nervous again.  She seemed like just the boost that “the Maverick” needed.  I began to follow poll after poll.  This one said McCain.  This one said Obama.  I printed out my own map and colored each state blue and red in anticipation.  Then came Rev. Wright, Joe the Plumber, rumors of Michelle’s room service tab, news of Republican shopping sprees for the Palin family, Sean Hanity, Keith Oberman, Rush Limbaugh, Jesse Jackson… The anxiety was overwhelming.  And then the final week of campaigning.  Predicting states.  Florida was still in play.  So was Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Ohio.  We might know the winner by the time all polls east of the Mississippi River close.  We might be in for a long night if McCain wins Ohio.  Who knows?  Everybody? No Body?  Anybody?  I couldn’t sleep the night of November 3rd.  I thought we had a chance but I didn’t know.  I had already voted early, so all I had to do was wait and stress about the pending results of the night when I should have been concentrating at work.  Then the results began to come in.  Slowly my U. S. map began to turn a dominant color of Democrat blue.  New York was expected.  So was Maine.  But then Pennsylvania went to Obama, and so did Ohio, and so did Virginia.  By the time the reporters predicted that Illinois went to Obama, I knew that it was almost a reality.  Then I heard the words I thought I would never hear in my lifetime.  “We are predicting that Barak Obama will be the next president of the United States of America,”.  And that’s when I began to cry.

     I’ve watched in the past as African American men (Jesse Jackson, Al Sharpton) and one African American woman (Shirley Chisholm) tried unsuccessfully to run for president.  In all honesty, I don’t know if they truly felt like they could win.  But I do know that the country never really took them seriously.  They didn’t take Obama seriously either… until he won the Iowa Democratic primary.  Even I didn’t really take it seriously until it became obvious that he had a chance.  And when he did win, I was overjoyed like so many other African American men and women that had grown up in this country.  We had shared a lot of things as a people.  Growing up, and being called so many hateful names.  Being looked down upon by other races because you were too dark.  Being disregarded by your own race because you were not dark enough.  I have experienced all of those things.  But now I had a role model that wasn’t a rapper, or a comedian, or an athlete.  Oh don’t get me wrong, I know that we are doctors and lawyers and astronauts;  and that our resume as a people is full of so many wonderful acomplishments.  But now I could add Pesident of the United States of America to the list.  How wonderful it will be to look into the eyes of my beautiful black son and tell him without a shadow of a doubt that he can be president if he wants to.  And if he asks me how I know, I can tell him about one of our own that did it.  When the realization of the victory hit me I not only cried… I sobbed with joy.   And as I hugged my wife and my family watching with me, I noticed that they were crying also.  My mother and father who went to segregated high school and my friends that I called who know what it’s like to be looked upon as the “scary black guy”.  We all cried.  We cried because we knew that one more dragon had been slain.  We cried because we knew that anything was possible.  We cried because joy had finally come to the morning.  We cried because that was our moment.  And no one would ever be able to take that away from us.  It doesn’t matter what happens now.  November 4, 2008 is forever etched in the history books for all to see.  It was the day that every black man and woman stood up just a little bit taller.  It was the day that “yes we can” turned into “look at what we just did”.  It was one of the best days of my life.  And I will never forget it.

This Could Be Dangerous In The Wrong Hands…

I am in constant amazement of the many things you can do with the Internet.  I can type these words, and within minutes, someone clear on the other side of the world could be affected by it.  Do you know the level of positive or negative influence I could have on the world just by what I say in my meaningless little blog?  I could rant about race, I could tell you the benefits of donating blood, I could even set up a web camera and let you follow me around as I go through my everyday life.  At the same time I can find an audio clip of Al Green sing “Love and Happiness” while simultaneously looking at a mixed martial arts video of Jose Conseco fighting a seven foot, 330 pound,  South Korean man named Hong Man Choi on you tube (don’t ask).  The possibilities are endless.  I no longer own a dictionary.  If I am writing and I misspell a word, I can simply hit the spell check and fix it.  Or I can type the word as I think it is spelled in my search engine and it will instantly pop up.  How many of you remember the old card catalog system in your library?  I’m sorry… let me back up.  How many of you remember the library?  It’s a magical place filled with these funny looking things called “books”.  Check it out sometimes.  Get it?  Check it out?  Library book?  Check out?  Books?  never mind.  Anyway, the card catalog system was about fifteen to twenty feet of wooden file cabinet filled with postcards in alphabetical order.  On each postcard was information about a subject, and author, or a book title.  When you wanted to find a particular book, you could look it up by subject, author, or book title;  find the card in the card catalog and reference the books location by the reference number.  The reference number would tell you the exact location of the book that you need.  You then wake up the librarian at the front desk and ask them to show you where the section for 5354289.12 is located.  Then you would walk over to section 5354289.12 and there you will find the exact spot on the bookshelf that the book you wanted would be if someone else had not already checked it out!  Then you would go back to the wooden box and start all over again!  

But the Internet…oh my goodness!  The amazing things that you can do on the Internet.  I can check my email, listen to music, keep up with face book, and pay my bills on line all at the same time.  The possibilities are endless!  Oh yeah, I can also look up alien autopsies, research how to grow illegal drugs, and watch executions in color too.  Again…oh my goodness.  I was born in 1974, so I have watched the world change drastically in my thirty-four years.  I remember black and white TVs with a remote control cord, cable that only consisted of  twenty-four channels, Ping Pong on Atari, and eight track tape players.  I remember when you could order something in VHS or BETA, and when you could rent a VCR at the movie store for four dollars.  I have watched the computer change from something that only the privileged person owned to watching every kid I know text LOL on their Blackberry.  The world has indeed changed.  But here is my question.  With all of the technology that we have in the world, are we any better?  Are we using this vast network to improve our lives or are we using it to write hateful, anonymous comments on MSN entertainment?  With great power comes great responsibility.  I hope this power has found the right hands in yours.  To get an idea of how dependent upon technology our children are, check out this link:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/30805093/

It’s fascinating.  Now leave me alone.  I’ve got to go see the newest pictures of stars and their pets on yahoo.

My Thoughts on Immigration

In the movie Lethal Weapon 4, there was a scene that always stayed with me.  At the beginning of the movie, the main characters played by Danny Glover and Mel Gibson were talking to a an INS agent about the fate of Chinese slaves who were brought into the country and forced to work in sweatshops.  The following is a rough quote from the movie:

 

 RIGGS:  What about these people here?

INS AGENT:  They’ll claim asylum, say they were persecuted, like everybody else. We’ll end up sending ‘em back. Cost a fortune.

MURTAUGH:  What happened to ‘Bring me your tired, your poor, your wretched masses yearning to be free’?

INS AGENT:  Now it reads ‘no vacancies’…

MURTAUGH:  I guess your parents were born here.

This movie came out in 1998.  The seemingly indifferent attitude of the INS Agent towards those immigrants was disgusting to Murtaugh (Danny Glover’s character).  But in my opinion, it is the same type of attitude that many people have towards those who would try to come into America now.  The attitude of “No Vacancy” is still on the lips of many immigration opponents.  It seems that people simply don’t care about anyone but themselves.  Just so you understand my point of view, I will tell you my frame of reference.  I am an African American male from a small city in Louisiana called Ruston.  In Ruston, Louisiana in the 1980′s, no one cared about the number of Mexican Americans, Hispanic Americans, or any other nationality.  That was because there was only Black and White in Ruston.  Don’t get me wrong, there were other races besides Caucasians and African Americans in Ruston at that time.  But unfortunately, any other races besides Black and White appeared to be “absorbed” into one race or the other.  I remember a young lady that went to my school in the sixth grade.  Her name was Desiree and looking back now, it makes perfect sense what her background was.  She was obviously of Hispanic descent, but at that time and place in my life I couldn’t figure out what she was.  She was too brown to be a “White person”, but her walk and her accent wasn’t brown enough to be a “Black person”.  At the time, my sixth grade mind couldn’t comprehend the fact that there were other races besides Black and White.  I realized many years later that she must have gone through some identity issues or extreme cases of loneliness.  I went back and asked one of my old friends  how she felt when she was in school with us.  She said that getting over the language and culture barriers were tough, but she eventually made friends with Black and White students and did not worry about the people who were not nice to her because she was “different”‘.

Now I live in San Antonio, Texas;  and the population here is dominated by those of Mexican or Hispanic heritage.  I am two hours away from the Mexican border in a couple of directions and I have talked to people who know of illegal immigrants, have family members that are illegal,  or who were formerly illegal immigrants.  The one conversation that I remember most was when I was at work at the car lot.  A young Mexican woman (about 22 years old) was attempting to buy a car.  She told me that she did not have established credit so she didn’t know if could get approved for a loan.  She told me that she just recently obtained her social security number.  I asked her how long she had been in the country.  She smiled and asked me “Legally, or not legally,”.  “Both,”  I answered.  She told me she had been here legally only about a year, but she had been here illegally for about two years.  When I asked her how she got here, she said that she and her girlfriend swam across.  Now I’m sitting here looking at this five foot, four inch tall, Mexican woman and trying to imagine what it was like for her to swim across the Rio Grande, walk through the dessert and sneak into the United States just to have the same basic human rights that I took for granted.  Oh yeah, she also spoke perfect English and Spanish.  I don’t care what anyone says.  Any person that would swim a river, climb a fence, or walk through a desert risking the possibility of arrest or death just to come here has my respect.  When I hear people talk about “Those lazy Mexicans” or those “Dumb immigrants”, I wonder if they ever took the chance to talk to one.  And when I see illegal immigrants working in businesses, and buying cars, and buying houses, and putting their kids through school;  I want to ask another question.  If illegal immigrants are so bad for this country…. Why do we keep hiring them and selling to them and eating their style of food?  hmm…

But I’m Not Sleepy

There is no such thing as sleeping late when you have a child.  For those of you without children, you have no idea what it’s like to wake up to the sound of the toilet flushing at 6 am, bathroom light shining in your face.  And the first thing you think when your five year old son climbs into bed with you is NOT how much you love them.  The first thing you think is “Did he wash his hands?”.  That’s because the hand in question is currently caressing your face and you know that you did not hear any sink water running after the flush.  So you ask, “Is that the pee-pee hand?”  “No”, your angel answers.  “Are you sure?”  “No”.  You have just been awakened by the joy of your life.  Now those of you with pets might think you go through the same thing with your “babies”.  But I beg to differ.  You can tell your animal to go away, and it might look at you as though it does not understand.  If you tell your child to go away, your child will usually look at you and say, “But, I’m not sleepy.”  Once your child utters these magical words to you, your sleeping time is over. 

    This is my morning:  I set my alarm to go off at 7am.   This means that I really want to get up at about 7:15 or 7:22.  My son usually wakes up around 6 am and goes to the bathroom.   I know that he is in the bathroom because I hear the toilet seat as he slams it while raising it up.  I am also aware of the fact that he did not close the door while going to the bathroom because the light is shining in my face.  I hear the sound of him “doing his business” and an alarming thought comes rushing to my sleepy, half-awake brain.  “ Dear God, please don’t let him miss,”.  After he is done, I hear the slam of the toilet seat as he lets it clank back down.  At this point, there is a fifty-fifty chance that he is going to wash his hands.  I listen to hear the sound of running water.  If he does not wash his hands, then you have to go through the aforementioned pee-pee hand interrogation.  If he does wash his hands, then you will probably get the wet fingers of affection.  That’s because he probably didn’t dry his hands completely after washing them.  Either way, you are going to get something because he is going to climb into bed with you.  Now my son takes after me.  What that means is that it is impossible(and I do mean no chance in the free world), for him to get comfortable while lying down for at least the first 10 minutes.  Remember that it is still only 6:04 in the morning.  So he climbs in and begins his quest of manafest destiny by scooting me over with his butt.  “Hey you,”  I say, “Why don’t you go get in your own bed?”.  Sometimes he protests.  Sometimes he does not.  This time he does not.  So he goes out of the room leaving the door to my bedroom wide open.  I don’t know what it is about the door being open, but when I am serious about sleeping, I want it closed.  So I ask as politely as I can, “Close the door!”.  Please don’t judge me.  I’m sleepy.  So he comes back and shuts the door.  Fifteen or twenty minutes later he comes back in and climbs in on my wife’s side of the bed.  He does that because he figures that she won’t send him back out like the evil man that she married just did.  But my wife is wanting to sleep until the sun actually rises as well so she gently kisses him on the cheek and sends him back to bed also.  The time is now 6:35am.  Ten minutes later he comes back in and says, “Daddy?  I’m hungry,”.  My wife replys that breakfast will not be served until 8am.  My son answers,  “But I’m hungry now.”.  At this point your parental mind tells you that you should not have taught your child to fight for what he believes in.  So my wife and I begin the ritual of determining who has done the most work for the sake of the family in the last twenty-four hours.  The loser has to get up and make our son breakfast.  The winner gets another ten minutes of sleep.  Crap!  Lost again.