Fighting to be Embraced

Sunday, May 31, 2020. I was all over the place and couldn’t figure out why. I cried over the simplest of things. That’s what happens when my scale finally tips. I was tired. I am still tired. We (black people) are tired.

Anytime a black male close to me leaves me for their next destination, I always say, “let me know when you make it!” I’ve cursed many of them out for not doing so. I feel like they can’t afford to forget, or get to busy to communicate their safety.

Think about the fact that for 2+ months America shut down as a result of a pandemic. Shut down. During that time, I heard no reports of break-ins, looting or vandalism but people wanting outside to reopen.

Then in a few weeks time span we find out about Amaud Aubrey, Breonna Taylor, Christian Cooper and George Floyd. I don’t know about y’all but I shut down and wouldn’t watch any new coverage or scroll through social media.

Rewind to Friday (May 29th) morning, I clicked on a video in my FB feed and as the day progressed, I boiled over. After work, my friend called and she kept urging me to turn to CNN. I did so reluctantly and couldn’t turn away. My gut wrenched for hours.

Over the weekend I’m speaking with friends, trying to figure out my place and how to adequately use my voice and any platform that I have to cry out for, demand justice and speak up against systematic racism. I may not agree with the way that everything is going, but WE, we are tired!

What happens when your children are frustrated and picked on for no reason? They act out, and in my opinion that’s an exact reflection of what’s happening during these protests and demonstrations. Doing what gets the attention of the masses. Pressing change and a movement to end what has us oppressed. We are saying see me. Value me. As a whole person.

Black people have practically begged and pleaded for our lives to be spared and to be left alone. We make sure our T’s are crossed and our I’s are dotted. We teach our sons and daughters that when in an encounter with police to be polite and disarming so they don’t appear intimidating, or as a threat. Most black men in my life are over 6’2” and have a solid body build. They are educated and well versed. These men hold jobs and are entrepreneurs, parents, providers, all around gentle giants.

This is exhausting. I boiled over, as I’m sure many of you have. The village isn’t accepting us, so it’s being burned down literally and figuratively.


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