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I really loved this Gawker piece. About 1/4 from the bottom, the author’s point of view showed that he is still working on gaining understanding within himself, but I think his purpose in writing this was a successful attempt to elevate thinking. What I feel the author was reluctant to say about himself was that he had preference; he prefers to date white women. The author asks if he is one of “those black men” who only date white women on purpose and even tries to reason that European features (light, soft hair, blond hair, blue eyes) are more beautiful. This shows specific preference and hey, that’s alright. I think it takes time to understand what motivates us. He makes some great points nonetheless.

My brother has NEVER in his 38 years brought home a black woman. I take that back, he did date a biracial girl, with light eyes and sandy hair. I remember my parents LOVING her, for no other reason than she was blacker than the rest. Sure, she was nice, but I knew the business. My parents were born in the 40’s. They lived and loved through the struggle, so I got it, they felt he wasn’t accepting of the beauty of his own race. My parents were still supportive of his choices and remain that way.

It never bothered me that my brother dated women who looked nothing like me. What bothered me was that he dated shitty people. Shitty HUMANS. Some of which, I think, were actually ashamed of him. My family was accepting of the people he dated, but their family wasn’t accepting of ours and they didn’t object to that fact. I didn’t want him to accept that. I don’t want anyone to accept their partner not supporting who they are by birthright.

I’ve had my moments when I resented interracial dating. When I first moved to Indianapolis, I was ready to see what the city had to offer me and that included dating. Indianapolis seemed to be a city where every professional man (black or otherwise) had or wanted a white woman. My first date there was a set up with a black anesthesiologist who had never dated a black woman, and wanted to take one out so he could tell his mom he tried. I felt sorry for him and about halfway through that date, I felt sorry for me.

I remember having a white friend in Indy who had a curvy body, like mine, and men would practically run me over to get to her. They would tell me how they loved her “black girl booty”. She was attractive, fun and nice, but my ego wouldn’t let me see it that way. I saw them as objectifying her and wanting her because her body presented something exotic. I’d left a black college where I was considered to be attractive and a diverse high school where I was popular and this was my first taste of rejection. I wasn’t willing to accept that I wasn’t attractive to some people. I needed someone to blame.

I’ve also been the victim of being someone else’s type many, MANY times. Men declared that “you just notice light skinned girls first” and “I like light skinned girls with long, good hair.” I hated that. I hated feeling like I had to prove my depth. I felt like I could be a shitty person as long as I fit the bill physically. I couldn’t change being light skinned, and at times, just appearance was enough.

I don’t object to women or men having a type per se. I don’t have a physical type but I think sometimes, maybe had I had one, I would have selected someone and be further along in life. Doesn’t mean I would be happy. Because I don’t, I’ve waited to be “chosen”. I relate to the author when he says he dated who gave him play. As a result I’ve ended up with people who weren’t compatible with my personality. I appreciate having a type in other people because I like the decisiveness, I just don’t like it when that type is me.

Still, this article makes some excellent points. First being, there are people who select a type and use it for status which is a thinking that needs to stop. Dating anyone because you think it makes you look good is so short sighted and it makes you a horrible person. The second being, it’s ignorant to judge someone upon first meeting. You cannot judge anyone because they’re dating someone who isn’t the same race. It’s stupid. If you see me with an Asian dude I’m not spitting on the graves of my ancestors nor am I rejecting you. I’m enjoying my date.

Lastly, you don’t have to defend who you decide to be with until you do. And while the author of this article says he doesn’t have to explain why he’s dated the way he’s dated, you can see him going through self- analysis, as I often do when I write. When someone chooses not to accept your choice and you have to stand by your decision to date a person or to cower to what someone else defines your limitations to be, questions arise within yourself. You owe it to yourself to understand what that means to you. To understand why you feel the way you feel is important. You don’t owe anyone explanation, but you owe it to you to understand where you stand.

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Forward

While reading a slew of resolutions and reflections on social networking this morning, I came across one that stood out to me. A girl I follow on Instagram posted that in 2013 she’d vowed to live without fear. She went on to explain all of the things that she’s afraid of and how she’s overcome her fears in 2013. And while I don’t make resolutions, it’s something that I would like to take with me into 2014. I’d like to stop living in fear.

This realization brought me to my blog where I was overcome with sadness. When did I stop living with any sort of passion? I wrote one single piece in 2013. Two if you count this one. Writing has always been something that has been incredibly personal to me. I started this blog years ago so that I would have a place to journal and connect. And here it lies, dormant, unused and neglected.

Looking at my one entry, it felt like there was so much texture missing. Not from the piece, but from my year. Things I thought and felt are only memories now. And sure, I could try to purge piece after piece over the remaining hours of the year, but really, what good would it do? I’ve lived those moments, had those thoughts and feelings and while they are still in my heart and mind, they are not fresh. I’d be relying off of memory to tell a story and ultimately, those thoughts will never be as colorful as they once were.

What saddens me most is the fact that I’ve allowed myself to become “too busy”, or “too private” and “too sheltered”. In a sense I stopped feeding something that makes me feel better than anything else, something that feels natural to me. Focusing on context in day-to-day communication could be part of it, being less than inspired could be another. But the real problem is that I became afraid of my own voice.

In gaining love, trust and friendships, I became afraid of what it would mean if I felt one way or another about anything. How my voice would affect my friendships and relationships, my family… things I should and shouldn’t be thinking or feeling and certainly not documenting. I second guessed myself. And all the while, I could have written about these fears, instead my opinions, thoughts and feelings were secret. No one intimidated me. It’s my inner voice that is the most crippling.

I guess what I really want to change isn’t my living in fear, but having the courage to live my life as I see it and want to experience it. There’s a difference. Sometimes, having a fear of something can save you from yourself. Being afraid to hurt someone, or afraid to be thoughtless or careless or inconsiderate. A fear of losing my family, the fear of not fulfilling my dreams.Those are fears that I have and that I will always hold on to. A fear of not recognizing myself.

As I sit here and recount how I could be this far along in my life and still let an inner voice deter me, I am forced to take that faithful look back. I think of all the things that happened over the last year, and I am astounded by how fast this year is over. There’s no time left to clean up the messes that we’ve made, just a few hours left to move forward. Forward is my favorite direction. If ever I was to have a resolution, it would be this; I resolve to live my life courageously.

Courage! What makes a king out of a slave? Courage! What makes the flag on the mast to wave? Courage! What makes the elephant charge his tusk in the misty mist, or the dusky dusk? What makes the muskrat guard his musk? Courage! What makes the sphinx the seventh wonder? Courage! What makes the dawn come up like thunder? Courage! What makes the Hottentot so hot? What puts the “ape” in apricot? What have they got that I ain’t got? -The Cowardly Lion

Have you ever been inspired and you have no unearthly idea why? Something just reaches you, strikes a chord with you and makes you want to “do better” or “be better”. That’s what inspiration is. Something that makes you want to MOVE and DO.

 

I felt the need to preface this blog with that because I really tend to struggle with one thing and one thing only, exercise. I hate exercising…well, kinda, then again kinda not. We have this love hate thing going on. I am either really into it and turbo charged or I am throwing the stink eye at joggers on my way home while I scarf down a bag of Doritos. I haven’t found my middle ground just yet. Here’s a little back story…

 

In my 20’s I used to workout constantly. I’d spin 4 days a week, do Yoga for an hour after Spin, and strength train with weights in between on my “days off”. For much of 2008, I was a police officer trainee with the Dallas Police Department who used Cross Fit to train recruits. In the words of Men on Film (reference In Living Color) “Hated it!”. After being sidelined with an injury and the discovery of severe asthma, I decided not to return. I found myself wondering what I was going to do to stay in shape?

Cross Fit gyms hadn’t really taken off yet and I didn’t see maintaining my 4:00a wake up time for workouts. I also couldn’t do any running for 10 weeks because of loose knee caps and torn tendons. I tried the P90X DVDs because they closely resembled the strength training that had become such a huge part of my life, but eventually, the novelty wore off. I returned to the gym life, but didn’t like the gym nearby because it was too crowded. I wasn’t close enough to the gym that I was familiar with so for the most part, I stopped going. I’d walk for miles and miles at White Rock Lake, take my bike and go around a couple of times, even force myself to run sometimes (my least favorite exercise of all time).

 

Fast forward to today. I’m almost 33 years old and the only thing I’m running is my mouth. For a while, I was doing a variety of DVDs at home, which I never thought I’d enjoy, but I do because I don’t have to embarrass myself in front of anyone but my dog who perches on my couch, silently judging when he’s not being worrisome and standing just close enough that I trip and nearly sprain an ankle. My schedule got crazy and my work hours got long and I’d come home, walk my dog and it’d be 9:00p. Excuses, excuses. But that was and still is my life sometimes.

 

This past week, with the introduction of a Fit Club at work, and the climb in the temperature, I immediately started the wheels spinning in my mind about a.) whether or not I should sell all my shorts and tank tops to Buffalo Exchange and tell people I wear long sleeves and jeans all the time because I’m cold or b.) whether I should once and for all get my life together and work on it. And though the idea of working when I’m not working doesn’t appeal to me, being healthier does. Then I saw my friend Leticia Taylor.

 

Leticia is a fitness instructor and personal trainer and she makes Jillian Michaels look like an amateur. This weekend, I was asked to lend moral support at Leticia’s (or as she’s affectionately referred to around these parts as “LT”) fitness photo shoot and OH.MY.WORD.

 

Picture this… I walk into an apartment full of women and one tall man and they’re all fussing over someone in a room, it’s hot, I’m late as always and I’m hoping they’re not waiting on me. Then out she walks… This person I see every day in jeans and modest blouses, a goddess, and the room cools (queue the Isley Brothers “Who’s That Lady”). Hair flowing, back straight, lightening smile, beauty personified. But that’s not it… LT is RIPPED. No. You’re not hearing me. LT is quite literally modern day Jackie Joyner Kersee with her hair like Flo Jo. I’m not only impressed, I am shocked.

 

For anyone who knows LT, she’s relatively shy, and very humble, she’s a rare beauty and although I knew she worked out and trained on the side, I had no idea that the Black Widow was nesting three floors down in Project Management ready to kick someone’s ass into shape.

Leticia teaches Boot Camp. Saturday mornings. Can’t make it on the weekends? Fine, Thursday evening, meet LT and prepare for punishment. Be there or be square. She’s not playing around. I imagine her Boot Camp to be something like Saturday night when LT emerged from the car onto the city street. Medicine ball in hand, she looked absolutely stunning up until the moment she took an action shot and chest passed that medicine ball into her boyfriend’s hands so hard I heard him whimper. It was at that moment that I became inspired.

 

When LT stepped into the dimming light, in the midst of the urban grunge that frames Deep Ellum in Dallas, she was transformed into a swan, or a butterfly or The Incredible Hulk; whatever word you like to emphasize a dramatic metamorphosis.  Afront of a graffiti backdrop and wall murals, I saw dedication, I saw fearlessness, I saw ferocity, determination, confidence, and I saw fear (but only when my iPhone camera was accidentally turned to face me). I was scared of her! So I’ll ask again, have you ever been inspired and you don’t know why?

It was at that very moment that I wanted to take off running in my too tight jeans and cowboy boots, I wanted to drop and crank out push-ups, I was ready to do high knees, I was ready to punch a bag and do some jumping jacks. I was searching for my inhaler because I was wearing myself out just thinking of all of the possibilities. But what inspired me most was her tenacious appetite for fitness. She not only wants to keep herself in tip top condition, what excites her is when you kick into high gear.

I peered at her standing on a cement cylinder beneath an underpass of I-75 and realized, this is someone who could actually keep me from talking back to a trainer when they ask for another rep. I’ve seen people in great shape. Hell, my brother is a professional model who seemingly took all of the 6-pack genes and kept them for himself. I’ve been around athletes all of my life. But when in the presence of a gazelle, even a lion stops and takes notice.

There is nothing like looking at someone doing what they love to do, with confidence and pride. It kind of transcends any hope that you had for ever getting yourself together and makes you do something about it.  It was the push I needed to start working on me.

“Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.”- Maya Angelou

 

 

Image

Sometimes, I just don’t have the strength… I tell you. Who can I blame? Social media? Too easy. Celebrities? There’s a start. Parents? Peers? Who?

Today’s gripe is about people’s need to over-share on a public forum. Not blogging per se, because the beauty in blogging is that you don’t have to read it, but Facebooking, Instagramming, and Tweeting.

I have a friend who loves to over-share everything, not only on her Facebook page but on mine as well. I tolerate it because I care about her, but sometimes I wonder whether her need to be noticed is something that I can’t accommodate. Because once you exceed a certain level of candidness with a crowd of strangers you have to wonder who that person is targeting as their audience.

I mean, really, why would my friends and family be interested in your private life? They don’t know you. And if a message is as personal as you make it seem, why not call me or text me so that I’m not put on stage and forced to reply? So that I know its real. Just bizarre.

And it’s not just her. I read stuff all the time and see stuff that quite frankly, I need not know. Stuff about sex and relationships. People taking pictures of corpses at funerals, themselves in lingerie, kids, Kids, KIDS!!! Sometimes I get overwhelmed and just dip out for a while. Or block people. Whatever moves me at the moment.

I just wonder what it all means. What do you gain by telling a bunch of people that you aren’t really closely acquainted with about your vagina? Serious question.

I could go on and on, but I’ll end it with this; there used to be a time and a place for shit. Girlfriends would gossip on the phone or meet for brunch. Guys would talk shit over a game. People reached out to one another and cared about each other without needing an audience of acquaintances. Sex was private-er and not a competition to see who can lose their morals the fastest in a game of Instagram. Call it thirst trapping or whatever, but at some point you have to ask, who do you need to see you?

15

I just read a terrific blog that has done what to me, all blogs should do. It’s inspired me to reflect.

The blog mentioned was about giving up things in order to be happy. As a self-proclaimed semi-cynic, it’s hard for me to read the title without cringing just a little. Nevertheless, I clicked the link and feel like I am alas understood and I’ve been told exactly why I need to hang up my bullshit.

I’ve known for years that I was holding on to something that was making my unhappiness cyclical. I knew I wasn’t bipolar, but I have always felt like it was difficult for me to express exactly what was on my mind. In turn, the deep feelings that I harbored planted a wedge in my friendships and relationships, often confusing myself and the people around me with my mood swings and thought process. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. A cycle.

I sound crazy. So what.

At different, more reflective times, I wondered whether it was possible for me to be happy at all. Since I didn’t know why certain things triggered certain emotions, or didn’t know how to explain, I didn’t know how to assert myself behind what I was feeling. So I’d look within and confuse myself.

I can honestly say, reading the 15 suggestions has helped me organize the inner filing cabinet. I feel I’m getting closer. I’m optimistic (a word I use sparingly) that there is a chance for me to live out my life as a happier person. Here’s how:

1.)Give up your need to always be right
This one is tricky. My rule of thumb is that I am always right. I’ve said this so much for so long I’ve quite literally convinced myself that I’m never totally in the wrong. I’ll apologize from time to time; I’m not a total dick (not all the time anyways). But, how easy is it to relate to someone who insists that they are always right? This would make someone always wrong, and according to me, that would be you. Not fair. And NOT true. I’m actually wrong a lot of the time. Admittedly so.

2.)Give up your need to be in control
Eh. This one is painful. Typing that hurt. “all I’ve got is me” <- another lie I've told myself over and over again. I cannot control myself from one moment to the next let alone my 8lb. dog. I can't control anything. The world is a force greater than me. Besides controlling people are the pits. People typically can't escape them fast enough. I don't want to be that person.

3.) Blame
I’m pretty good with blame. Unless of course you are blaming me. If I blame me, I’m fine, but if someone else blames me, there will be conflict. I always felt blame should be distributed evenly. There’s a cause and an effect to everything. Blame is no different. To every action there is a reaction. Sometimes shit is my fault. Sometimes it isn’t (not totally).

4.)Give up on self-defeating self-talk
My biggest struggle is my weight. And it fluctuates. And so do my thoughts about it. Somedays I feel ok, other times, I feel like a manatee. I need to work on that. I have a pretty good body image, but it could use some lube. I’m not a gargoyle. I need to get over it.

5.) Limiting beliefs
Usually not a problem of mine when it comes to believing in other people, often a problem when it comes to my own abilities. (see 12)

6.)Complaining
I once complained so much about a co-worker that I made myself physically ill. All the while she went on with life none the wiser. It was my other coworkers that suffered from my complaining. When I thought about it, the things I was concerned with were a problem, they just weren’t mine and I was making myself and everyone else miserable.

7.) The luxury of criticism
Tough one. I’m twice as critical of myself as I am other people. Doesn’t make me any less of a bitch, but at least I’ll allot room for error on someone else’s part.

8.)Need to impress others
Now, this one isn’t a huge problem on my part, when I say “I don’t give a shit”, and I say that a lot, I mean it with every fiber of my being. I could try to care more. It’s actually ok to check yourself and make a good impression sometimes.

9.)Resistance to change
Another one that I don’t really struggle with. I’m constantly wanting change. Restless. Change is going to happen whether you like it or not. I just pray that change is within my favor.

10.) (… Almost done, you’re a champ if you got this far) Labels
Also something I’m not too shabby at. I don’t like labeling people because I’ve been pretty fortunate to have been exposed to so many different kinds. No two the same. The only people I don’t tolerate are people who hurt animals and children, and bigots.

11.)Give up on fears.
Yeah, I need to figure out what my fears are and face them. I’m willing to give it a shot.

12.)Excuses
I make excuses out of laziness, I’m like my dad, I like being lazy. But I’ve been privileged enough to be able to be lazy. It’s not until I’m scraping rock bottom that the excuses cease. It shouldn’t take that to motivate me.

13.)Give up the past
We all need to. The past can plague your future. The past also creates habits, bad and good. Life constantly brings up the past. Experiences trigger the past. We’re constantly reminded of who we were at another time. But because of significant change we are no longer privy to that moment. The past…It’s hot garbage. Start fresh.

14.) Give up attachment
Loving something freely is hard for me. I love all things guided by rules and regulations with the exception of my mother and father. There’s always a stipulation. I love food this way, I love family this way, I love life this way. There’s always an “if”. Maybe it’s from being disappointed. But loving with guidelines is no way to love. Loving something is allowing margin for error and loving it still. Sometimes you learn to love it more.

15.)Living to other peoples expectations
Exceed expectations. We are taught this the moment we set foot into the world. But we quickly learn, you can only set the bar so high before it’s out of your reach. People like to place expectations on others that they don’t hold true to themselves. Human nature. You can’t please everyone. If you keep aiming to please everyone, you’ll run out of arrows.

We live, we learn, we keep on living, keep on learning and then we live some more.

On the road to the perfect job, the perfect hair, the perfect relationship, the perfect car, the perfect apartment; we are often gifted tiny little accomplishments. Small, very small, and otherwise insignificant fetes. And, since the road is a long, hard one we’re more often than not highly amused by the small hills that we tackle to get to the top. The top being our idea of our ideal.

While we’re headed to the top, along the way, we tend to share with our closest friends and loved ones just how many hurdles we’ve cleared. “I got a second interview”, “we put an offer in on the house”, “I really like this short hair cut, I’m thinking about trying it”, and usually you’ll hear the words “I’m happy for you”.

“I’m happy for you”.

Words I love to hear. Which is why I share things with the people I love most. Because I know they want me to be happy and it makes me happy that they are happy as well… Savvy? Besides, what my family and friends think means something to me.

But alas, those words can be used by friend and foe. You see, there are people that try as they might, really don’t know how to be happy for another person. They simply cannot find the peace of mind to accept someones accomplishment, however large or small, and be happy.

Friends, family, people you know in passing, coworkers, church members, whomever. You share a bit of joy, they say they’re happy for you and then comes the bullshit. You know the bullshit that I speak of, the gossip, the jokes, the behind your back crap.

Whether it’s because you’ve shared this bit of news before and things fell through the cracks, thus making them question the legitimacy of your happiness and/or making you appear to be a dreamer or liar or failure; Sometimes, people just don’t want anything to go well for you because they don’t think you deserve it. Otherwise, people will sometimes wish you well, and pat you on the back with one hand and have a blade to stab you with in the other.

Now, to say I’ve never been selfish about someone’s happiness would taste a lie.

There was a time when I couldn’t fully respect and appreciate someone’s happiness without comparing and contrasting it to the events in my own life. Someone would find out they were pregnant and I’d say congrats, then wonder (privately) when my time was coming. Someone would get a better job and I’d start in on how I was praying for my own good fortune. Completely and selfishly overshadowing their accomplishment. I’d do this without even knowing I was doing it.

I think at one time or another we’ve all had to be careful not to fall down the rabbit hole of self reflection when in the presence of others good fortune.

However, nothing pisses me off more than someone who can’t accept someone else’s happiness at all. Just sad, malicious, indecent and useless people who hear of good news and shroud it with doubt and negativity. The rain on the fucking parade.

Occasionally, they’ll show you to your face that they simply cannot accept your joy. Usually it’s with some form of unsolicited “advice” or “suggestion” that alludes to your happiness being something that either needs a once over or is flat out stupid.

Then there are people that have to be the ones to make a joke, or tease you about something. That shit reads as transparent as cellophane. “Man, you haven’t hollered at me in weeks, must be under ol’girl…(insert awkward silence) I’m happy for you though bruh”. Pffft… Beat it.

When I usually talk about this subject, people always cry “jealousy” when in fact, that is not always the case. People that aren’t genuinely happy for you are not always guilty of envy. Hell, they don’t have to want anything you have. But they truly may be incapable of feeling happiness for someone else. Or maybe just you. Or maybe even themselves.

I had to kind of train myself to not internalize or make other people’s success part of my own problems. I learned two things, a.) it’s not a personal offense towards me when someone else does well and b.) something good just happened for someone, let them enjoy their moment. It’s not about you.

The negative people who always frown upon your smile don’t always mean you harm either. Sometimes, they truly care about you and want to see you do well, but worry about you doing things like putting your eggs in one basket or not thinking things through. Sound familiar? That’s because you’ve probably heard it from your parents.

As for the gigglers and gossips that can’t wait to run with news of your fortune and turn it into something else; chalk it up to them not having anything to be happy about of their own. They’re typically kind of sad and tragic. Or, they just need something to laugh at. A lot of times they aren’t always aware of how immature their behavior makes them look.

An inability to be happy for other people can come from different places.
Jealousy; that one is easy enough. Selfishness (what I’m most often guilty of); when you can’t be happy for someone without bringing yourself into the equation. Disappointments; when a person has been flogged with bad luck and let down time and time again, it’s sometimes hard to be excited about anything. Comfort; you know, misery loves company? Well, it’s hard to be down and out alone. Messy; can’t leave well enough alone, having to say something to lessen and cheapen your good news, plus it provides entertainment.

There are a million reasons, but I think the key to being happy for someone else is to trade places. Come outside yourself and think about how you would want a person to respond to your good news. Or what it must feel like to be happy, even when you aren’t. Unless of course you don’t know how it feels to be happy in which case you need to speak to someone, and be medicated.

The United States is a buzz. You’d have to be a mail order bride locked in a cellar not to know anything about everything happening in the news right now.

For starters, Trayvon Martin, the young black teenager who was shot dead by his neighborhood watchman for carrying an iced tea, pack of skittles, and a cell phone, all while wearing a hoodie, IN THE RAIN might I add, But I digress.

Trayvon Martin’s situation isn’t necessarily rare in the US. People don’t want to hear it all the time or acknowledge it, but black people young and old alike, quite literally get prayed upon on a daily basis in this country. By everyone, not only white people. We are not to be trusted.

If history has taught us anything about being black and being “free” it’s that there is no such thing as “freedom”. There is no such thing as the “benefit of the doubt”. We don’t see that benefit, we don’t experience that “freedom”. Not ever.

In society, black people are viewed as a race outside of humility by many. What garners empathy and/or an emphatic thought process doesn’t apply to black Americans. It’s our birthright not to have feelings, what we have to say doesn’t matter, our rights are limited, we don’t have families that matter to us or to anyone, we don’t get sick, we don’t love, we don’t cry, we don’t hurt, we don’t feel sorrow, we don’t get treated unfairly, we aren’t happy… We don’t matter.

We are dangerous. We bare watching. We are not innocent. Which is why Trayvon Martin is such a big deal.

Aside from it being tragic in it’s own right, outside of race, when on God’s green earth did it become ok to gun an unarmed minor (that you outweighed by 110lbs) off of suspicion alone? At what point does an adult need a gun to stop a lanky unarmed teenager? At what point does the person you chose to follow against police orders, become a direct threat towards you?

When I was in the police academy, we were trained to use different degrees of force. Nothing in Zimmerman’s own words implied that that level of force was warranted. So what’s interesting is the fact that a neighborhood watchman carried more rights than an officer of the law. Oh but wait…

See, what everyone is haunted by isn’t that it happened. Nope. Black people have been harassed by people who wear a badge, and people who take matters into their own hands since we unwillingly got chained to America.

Police brutality is a termed coined from police beating on blacks. No one else. Serve and protect doesn’t always apply to us. We need protection from police force.

What has everyone up in arms is that black people are tired of not meaning anything.

People are furious because Trayvon, like so many others before him, meant nothing. He was killed and discarded. His death didn’t warrant an arrest, an investigation, nothing. George Zimmerman, his killer wasn’t tested for drugs, his background wasn’t looked into, nada. He went free. Regardless of neighbors statements, and by the police’s own recordings of him disobeying orders to stand down.

Trayvon was supposed to be written off. Trayvon didn’t matter. Wrong… Trayvon always mattered. He was always someone to somebody. And he was innocent. Well, he matters now. To Americans, he matters a whole lot.

Trayvon Martin is making people have to deal. Good or bad, people have to deal. They have to hear what happened to him, what has happened to many, over and over again.

People have to be reminded of injustices that have happened time and time again to black people in this country. Black people, the race who have been robbed of human kindness and decency since we got to this country.

People are being forced to take a closer look and place into consideration the fact that Trayvon could have been anyone, but because he was black, he was a threat, and now he’s dead.

One thing about Americans, they never like having to say “I was wrong about black people”.

Black people are intelligent, black people think, black people feel, black people have a point, black people have been treated unkind, black people have been overlooked. Black people deserve justice and human rights.

If Trayvon was white and Zimmerman black, Trayvon would be in jail awaiting trial, no bail. To admit that would be admitting that the law is prejudiced. People would just as soon die.

Black people aren’t going anywhere. Regardless of the lack of basic human decency, we aren’t going anywhere. I don’t think there will ever be equality. Race will never not be an issue.