47 Years Ago…

This weekend, August 28th to be exact, marks the 47th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have A Dream” speech. Although I’m not quite old enough to say I remember when…I can say the impact the words of that now famous and infamous speech has had on my life.

Growing up in a mixed-raced neighborhood in the 1980’s, I don’t recall bouts of racism. None that I knew of on my own anyway. I vaguely recall a white lady that lived across the street from us calling me something that was obviously inappropriate because my mother came outside to tell her a thing or two. I just thought the lady was mean, and whatever she said wasn’t cool, because my mother wasn’t the type to engage in such behavior. I remember hearing my mother talking on the phone about it later that night, and in years to come it would come up when my mother felt like showing her ‘bad’ side (lol) but to endure bold-faced taunting or brutal treatment because of the color of my skin, God spared me of such. I am grateful because I don’t know who or what I would be now if I’d been born in a different time. I was born seven years after Dr. King’s speech, which doesn’t seem like a long time, but in Racial Tension Years, that’s like twenty years, easy.

It wasn’t until I reached high school that I began to tap into my rich Black American culture. You see, I went to a Catholic school from 4th to 8th grade and although there were other black kids in my graduating class, Black History didn’t make the cut of the rigid curriculum.

Anyway, it wasn’t until my sophomore or junior year of high school that I chose to dig deeper into our history. I wanted honest and true accounts of what happened so I asked my mother who shared with me that she didn’t really know who Martin Luther King was when they announced over the loudspeaker of her school that there would be an early dismissal because he had been shot. She told me she felt bad about not knowing who he was, but knew it was a big deal because the teachers started crying and hovering in the hallways. By the time she got outside, the police were there in riot gear prepared for the worst. She told me when she got home, she knew things were about to be different. I asked why did she feel bad, she was a teenager that wasn’t in to politics or being radical. Much like our youth today can’t really tell you about our leaders today. I don’t think she took comfort in that, but I think she resolved the feelings with me asking about it. I like to believe it showed her that her offspring was taking an interest in OUR history.

Now, as an adult I can say that I still have not faced out right racism. Sure, Its ugly subtleness has surfaced in stores, restaurants, and things like that, but not directly or so boldly as I’ve heard my brothas and sistas (spelled this way to emphasize our connection) have shared. Blessed? Yes. Fortunate? Maybe. Forty-Seven years is a long time, even longer to have a dream. The same dream that has yet to come true completely. Sure, we’ve come a long way, but still have much work to do and so much more to accomplish.

I don’t think I have to say what I’ll be reading this weekend for reflection…

I'm Back!

I’ve been neglecting my blogging and in a sense, neglecting you. I’ve been focusing on another project that I think I’ve wrestled into a steady rhythm, so…I’m back! I’m fighting (and losing!) a cold and this is helping me take my mind off the misery of the aforementioned ailment.

There’s been so much going on since my last posting, I don’t know where to start, what to address first. In an effort to keep it as simple as possible, I’m going to start with Anniversaries. This weekend marks the anniversaries of Hurricane Katrina (5th), Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech (47th), and although it’s a different kind of anniversary, it’s Michael Jackson’s birthday (Aug. 29th)

Hurricane Katrina shed serious light on the neglect of the lower class. I’m talking 100k wattage. The sensationalism of poverty, getting the best story and footage of the worst storm in this country’s history still leaves a bad taste in our mouths. We know about the slow response of our former president. We know how he was partying up, totally oblivious to the seriousness of the flooding. We’ve seen and read about how long it took him and his aides to get to New Orleans, etc. I can go on, but why open an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

I watched a news special highlighting the events of the flood. Men running around capturing people in the midst of their nightmare, recording children crying because they’ve been separated from their families, and zooming in on the elderly and disabled that have died on the street because of lack of medication and/or treatment. The host of the show sat in darkened studio for effect, pictures of these images flashed in the background, while he explained what he saw and what the cameraman felt as he was walking along the streets. I turned it because I couldn’t bear to watch the images again, and how that same question left the same ill-tasting bile in my throat. How could news crews get there to tape and interview, and helicopters could circle around to get footage of what was going on, but didn’t rescue these people?

I go to sleep with the hope that their off-camera actions went far above and beyond the asking. I prayed (and still pray as they continue to run the footage) that when they turn off the cameras, the microphones are disconnected; they did what they could to do something other than call back to the station to say they’ve got a great story. More on the others in separate postings…

Have You Seen My Tomorrow? (1 of ---)

Have you ever made plans? Of course you have. Have you ever made plans, extensive plans, or a list of plans with intricate detail and NOT complete a single task? I took a moment and looked around my apartment and realized there were piles (and piles!) of things I was going to do “tomorrow” From organizing CD’s and putting pictures into albums, to sorting through the many files on my computer and cataloging my writings (which are all over the place!)

I intended to do these things and for various reasons, I didn’t. I was sitting at my desk last night and thought about how many times I’ve started creating folders and moving documents to easy, recognizable locations only to never go back to pull anything out. The sorted folders stared back at me from the monitor asking the same question, “What happened?” I have often said, if I were left alone with no interruptions or distractions, I’d get so much more done. As I got older, I realized that wasn’t realistic. That I could not be left alone and probably would get bored with the setup after a while anyway.

A question floats around in my head that I ask myself periodically, “Could you survive on an island by yourself? Fully equipped?” Initially, my answer is usually a resounding yes. I believe that given all that I need, technology, books, what have you, I would be okay. Does that make me a potential recluse? I’m not sure, and I don’t feel like delving into it right now but, it sounds like the makings of one.

That great novel that’s still waiting to be written? Yep, tomorrow. The cards I was supposed to mail out, phone calls I was going to make that is way too late to do now, yes, were all supposed to happen ‘tomorrow’.

Where does the time go or more importantly, what happens to my drive to do these things? The ideas, insights, and strategic layout of each took me time to come with. Granted, not too much energy or brainpower but I thought about it. I took the time to come up with the lists. And then nothing.

So the question is will I do them now that I’ve shed light on the uncompleted projects?

As soon as I find my tomorrow, I’ll think about it. (S. R. P.©)