Getting Jiggy for MLK

(Originally Posted January 15th, 2007)

Yes, that was the caption for the CNN coverage of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Birthday celebrations for 2007.

But wait until I tell you what ELSE was going on while they showed that caption…a little background story for you first.

As we all know, one of our GREATEST Civil Rights leaders would have celebrated his 78th birthday today had it not been for a fateful shot on April 4th, 1968 in Memphis, TN. Every year during this extremely frigid month, we celebrate his life, his legacy, his contributions, his struggles, his words, his incarcerations, his fight, and his death. We all know his life and his story, so there is no need to go into that at this moment, he was the only black man next to George Washington Carver and W.E.B. DuBois and Booker T. Washington that we learned about in school (if we were lucking to learn about them). For years we fought to make this day a national holiday, and after decades of fighting, it finally became one, giving us a day off but also pushing us to have a "Day On."

Many schools, federal institutions, and other businesses were closed today to pay respect to a man that gave us so much when we had so little. Even today, despite how clichéd his words "free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, we are free at last" are, they still bring tears to the eyes of those few remaining monarchs and elders who witnessed those words and felt the pain and wanting and hopefulness that he exuded first hand when they flowed from his mouth. To sit and watch his sister reintroduce us to his dream in her 45 second snippet on CNN made many of us hopeful and optimistic that that day has arrived. Seeing Martin and Coretta's names on that cold marble that displayed their final resting places made me think that his life and hers weren't given to us in vain. Those images made me almost believe that we were free from racism, segregation, black face, and ignorance; not only from whites, but also from blacks.

Then, they got jiggy for MLK.

Even though I HAD to go to work today, I would have made today a "Day On" because MLK fought too hard and gave up too much for me to not be able to work at that Fortune 300 company with my degree from a northern academic institution. As I took my break, I went to the cafeteria to get a soda, and saw the MLK day celebrations. I saw his sister, his daughter, a senator, and a mayor. Then came the HBCU's.

Of course, we all know that the best part of half time at an HBCU football game is the battle of the bands. To see these bands play old favorites and new tunes while dancing in truly rhythmic formation brings excitement to all who watch it. I'm even sure that MLK enjoyed watching it when he still graced his presence on this earth. However, I'm PRETTY DAMN SURE that he wouldn't have been too happy with what was displayed today.

CNN is usually a good source for news. World, national, local…it is pretty much there. Now, I don't watch CNN very often but I don't think I will anymore. As the marching bands were playing and performing, the caption said: "Getting jiggy for MLK." What does getting jiggy have to do with MLK's passing and his legacy? Why did they have to say getting jiggy? I mean, I'm sure that Will Smith is glad that he got a little pub with that particular quote, but to get jiggy is just as bad as saying shucking and jiving for MLK. (At least in my book.)

Now, seeing this type of blatant racism from a white media institution doesn't disturb me as much as what the bands were doing. I can pretty much expect that from CNN, despite what anybody says, there is still a drastic and vast difference between the way that they (the media) portrays whites and African Americans on television, the radio, and in print. The disturbing part about that was the bands were playing "Walk it Out" while bumping, grinding, shaking, gyrating, and a whole bunch of other things that really made my stomach turn. I've never been a fan of down south rap, and this is probably the reason why. The way Dr. King fought for our freedoms, our chances to sit anywhere on the bus, to have our own schools (as well as W.E.B. DuBois and Booker T. Washington and many other African Americans), to get as much education as we possibly could; should not have been celebrated with a girl with half her ass out shaking what her momma gave her to "Walk it Out."

As I watched that, I saw that it took us back almost 100 years to the shucking and jiving of Amos and Andy, sambos, black face cartoons, Buckwheat, pickinnies, and the lot. Even though I am supportive of us expressing ourselves in anyway that makes us feel good (even if I don't agree with it), the songs and dances that were filmed in the name of MLK underneath the caption of Getting Jiggy for MLK disgraced his honor, legacy, fight, and death. As well as the honors, legacies, fights, trials and tribulations of Malcolm X a.k.a. El Hajj Malik Shabazz, Ida B. Wells, Zora Neal Hurston, Toni Morrison, Thurgood Marshall, Charles Hamilton Houston, Marcus Garvey, Lorraine Hansberry, Maya Angelou, Sista Rosa, Sista Coretta, Sista Betty, Angela Davis, Alice Walker, Richard Wright, Langston Hughes, and so many others.

I wonder what did they think of today's celebration. I wonder were they embarrassed. Or if they were pissed off. Maybe they were irritated. Possibly stunned. Did they cry? Did they pray? Did they just stare in amazement at the actions and "celebrations" of a life so important in our history? What can we look forward to?

Maybe, for Malcolm X's birthday, we can do the chicken noodle soup dance and have a soda on the side for his celebration. Or, we can rock wit it lean wit it when we celebrate Carter G. Woodson's birthday. How about this?! For Black History Month, we can all wear the chicken head hair styles, dye a picture of a Kool-Aid package in the back, and get gold fronts with Black History in the upper and lower grills?! With diamond spinners in them!!! Nelly could sing the new African American national anthem: "Lemme see yo grillz." Maybe we can get Rev. Al Sharpton to put some extra finger waves in his hair, put on a green and gold suit and have a duet with Magic Bishop Don Juan singing a song: "Green is for the money that we should have made as slaves and gold of for the honey of the land with milk where we should wade." That would be hot…

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I shouldn't be so offended by what I saw on television today. The caption DID use a song sung by an African American. I guess MLK should be able to get jiggy too. I mean, "Walk it Out" could be an ode to the March on Washington that King led. And maybe the outfits and the dancing were REALLY a tribute to Josephine Baker and her struggle as a performer here and in Europe.

Well, I guess I should be anticipating Black History month instead of sobbing over today. I gotta go holla at Nelly and Paul Wall about some grillz…

Uncle Ruckus

(Originally Posted January 12th, 2007)

I just got a new job about a month and a half ago, and I love it. It isn't exactly what I want to do as far as a career, but it keeps me busy and allows me to fully concentrate on the career that I want. I work for this Fortune 300 Company as an accounting assistant. I mail off invoices, do a lot of data entry, sort and send off mail, and do quite a bit of filing. It's a complete 180 from teaching, but I love this more than any other job (so far) than I ever had. Why? Because I'm working with white folks.

Yeah, yeah…I know what you are thinking: why does she like working with white folks after all that talk about saving African Americans, building up African American communities, and promoting the African American business? I am still a serious proponent of African American owned and run businesses, but there are a few things (based on my experiences with African American run companies/businesses) that some of them need to work on.

Now, not to say that white folks don't gossip, that would be a fallacy and a generalization. But at the company that I work at, I come in, sit at my desk, do my work and no one comes to ask me about my man, my bills, who I do like, who I don't like, why so-and-so hair looked the way it did, or why he and she are sleeping together. At this white folks company that I am at now, it's business. They understand that I don't like to talk about personal things and they are fine with that. Also, they don't try to pry things out of me or spread rumors about anything personal about me or make up lies about what I do while at work to get me fired. Not to say that they won't, but it hasn't happened.

While I worked at four African American schools and businesses over the last three and a half years, I've had bosses spread completely untrue rumors about me to the businesses that I worked at in order to get me to quit. Despite the fact that I was one of the reasons why they even dealt with my boss's company, she still proceeded to say derogatory and slanderous things about me. I've worked for schools that had administrative staff not talk to me or even be cordial in return to my morning greetings because I didn't agree with some of their leadership skills or because I didn't go out with them after work. I was never the type to fraternize with my co-workers; I felt as if things might happen that I don't want known by my boss or other co-workers that could be used against me. So, I've always shied away from it. But, I feel as if I shouldn't have to feel as if my job is being threatened if I don't go out with my boss and her crew.

My new job had an after work get together just the other day. They didn't force me to go, didn't make me feel as if I would lose my job if I didn't go, and were fine when I politely (like I always do) refused. They understood, went on about their business, and came back to work the next day with a "good morning" and an attitude of business as usual. I just wish that many of these African American business owners could get some of their acts together and realize that just because we look alike doesn't mean that we have to disclose all of our personal secrets and talk about everyone else around us. Going to work means going to work. Talking about a television show or something that is politically and/or economically important to African Americans as a whole is acceptable conversation (to me) at work; but once it dives over into the intimate details of one's life outside of work and turns into a story that is bigger and more important than that tasks that need to be done at work, then I got issues.

I've worked in many choice schools over the years. And I understand that there is a bit of red tape that is involved in getting money from the state and can appreciate the fact that many choice schools have to work hard in order to get the money that they need and deserve to pay their employees. But then, you work with some people that just don't know what it is that they are doing with their money and are reluctant to help you if your check is messed up.

At my new job that I had been working at for about a month and a half, one of my checks were short about 5 hours of overtime pay, which actually only turned out to be about 30 dollars. I called the corporate office of the temp service that I'm working for and alerted them to the problem and they told me that they would call me back after they looked into the situation. I then emailed my boss and told him the situation just in case he needed to talk to corporate about my hours. He then emailed me back saying that if I needed to he could dip into petty cash and give me some money to hold me off until next week. He never asked how much I needed or how long it would take for me to pay it back; he just offered it to me.

While I worked at one of those choice schools, there was problem with our checks being late. Now, I knew that we had to wait a month for our checks because of the way that the state dispersed checks to choice schools. But, the problem that I had with them is the fact that we had to go to the bank that the schools paychecks were on in order to get our money because other banks wouldn't honor them. Hell, even check cashing places wouldn't honor their checks. And, if you couldn't cash your check at the bank that the check was written on, don't even THINK about going back to your boss because more than likely you weren't getting any help or sympathy from them. They just told you that it was a problem with the way the state dispersed the money and that they would get back to you whenever they could. Or, you'd have to wait until the next dispersement. If they would have just been upfront, honest, and a bit sympathetic about the needs of their workers, I wouldn't be upset. I guess it's the fact that they handled the matter the way that they did and made sure that they were paid and had no concern for others was what made me pretty reluctant about working with African Americans. And made me love working for white folks just a wee bit more.

Now I know that working with African American folks means having a little bit more patience because more often than not they are being screwed over by entities larger than themselves: the government, banks, and other financial institutions for example. And, because of that, I have to understand that many times when they are unable to make due with what they have because of so many other things that are on their plates at the moment as far as bills are concerned. But, that doesn't give them the right to hold out paying a worker for their 80 hours a paycheck that they deserve to get. It also doesn't give them a right to be unsympathetic because those who are in charge of giving them the money to give to their employees were unsympathetic with them, especially if those employees were loyal to the company from the start and continued to stay with them for as long as they needed to.

I love my people. I would never change my line of African American people for all of the money in the universe. But, I would like to see many of them change their ways when they work with people that look like them and not treat them like shit just because they DO look like them.

Uncle Ruckus, I don't know about white people smelling like lemon Pledge, but for now, until we realize that we are not our own enemy, I'd rather work with them than with some of my African American

Gunsmoke

(Originally Posted December 17, 2006)

I am able to type from my desk instead of an actual chair, but with the light off because I don't want my shadow to be seen from my window.

It's about 2:10 a.m. on a Saturday night and my favorite lullaby has disturbed and destroyed another decent night's sleep. I was in the bed, listening to Luther on the radio, damn near sleep, and then about 25 rounds went off around me. Sad to say, instead of hitting the floor, I stayed in the bed because I was able to estimate how far the gunshots were and knew that there was no way for them to hit me because they were about three or four blocks away. Then I was going to call the police, but then decided against that because I didn't want to get the normal attitude from the 911 operator that I usually get when I call them about neighborhood disturbances that endanger the lives of not only myself but those around me.

I really hate the fact that I live in the neighborhood that I have called home for more than twenty years. I love this place: I rent from the same people who have seen me grow up and who's children I grew up with, know other neighbors as well as I know my own family, can trust those neighbors with watching my home when I go out of town or am away for more than a day because they will call the police if they see something that is not right going on around my house. But then again, the new people that have moved onto my block are the ones that have forced me to rethink my living situation.

Now, I have neighbors that allow their children to roam the streets past two o'clock in the morning to go to the corner store. Or how about the one that is a prostitute and her children have parties that go on past six a.m. What about those that have children that are coming home in the back of a paddy wagon because they are three hours past the 11 p.m. city curfew. Let's not forget about the Mike Jones video that is constantly playing in front of my house: 30 cars blocking the intersection of a residential neighborhood, playing music loud enough for a concert, folks hanging outside of the windows screaming at the top of their lungs, driving on the sidewalk at 30 mph…at 2:30 in the morning. On a Sunday. In the middle of winter. Try having a peaceful Saturday evening; it's raining, you are chilling with friends, and then you hear screaming outside of your house. It's ten girls, two are about to fight, one throws her coat down in the middle of the wet street, and her momma is out there egging her on in the fight instead of bringing her ass in the house.

It used to be such a quiet block. I remember being able to sit on my porch until 3, 4, and even 5 in the morning with friends without being worried about someone trying to bother us, harass us, rob us, kidnap us, or shoot us. My mom used to make cookies and cakes and feed all 15 kids that hung around my porch. Me and some of my other neighbors used to decorate the backyard and hold "carnivals:" we sold popcorn and lemonade, had raffles and prizes, even had a basketball hoop and badminton net where we used to play volleyball or our version of tennis during those carnivals. Then, there were times when we would go to the side of the house underneath that huge tree and play marbles and I always lost my super big cat's eye because my shooting wasn't the best. Or the time that we would use the lamp posts as our field goal and practice kicking extra points.

Those times are so long gone. Living in Milwaukee means living in a chips and dip situation. African Americans mostly live in the central city (the dip part) and are mostly confined to a certain area of Milwaukee. Most whites live on the outskirts or suburbs (the chips part) and rarely come to the city unless they are going downtown or are buying dope from black folks in the hood. And since so many of us are living in such a small area, we are basically living on top of each other. Unfortunately, such a physically tight knit community doesn't make a safe community. Because of lack of jobs, education, and culture that exists in Milwaukee as well as prevalent racism, gentrification, and segregation; we are unable to keep our streets safe.

I'm tired of having to hit the floor more often than I am able to go outside and sit on my front porch on a hot summer evening because I am in fear of getting shot because some fools decide that they want to retaliate against someone. I am tired of watching the news and seeing four to five people getting shot at a house party because someone pushed them at the same house the night before. I am tired of being scared to go outside of my house after a certain time because the amount of traffic on my residential street usually means that there will be some type of altercation in front of or near my house that will more than likely lead to someone shooting and/or getting shot. I am tired of having to stay in the house as soon as the sun sets because people are getting robbed at gunpoint in front of my house at seven o'clock at night. I am tired of the police literally knowing my name and coming to my house first when someone is shooting around in my area.

Why is there so much violence in my community? Why are there so many people getting killed every year and the number keeps going higher? Why have there been over a hundred murders in my city over the last several years and we have a population less than seven hundred thousand? Why do the 911 operators have an attitude when I call them about the gunshots and sound like they really could give a fuck about me and my concerns? Why…

I've always had my own opinions as to why. Besides the chips and dip theory, the lack of education, culture, work, etc., what are other reasons why? We've always had those things in the black community, granted not as much as we do today, but it's not like its something that we haven't seen before. It's not like we haven't talked about it or discussed it before in town hall meetings, the newspapers, and local and national news. Aldermen in my city have televised gun buy backs in the community, giving people an opportunity to get guns off of the street without asking any questions, as a way to make our streets safer. Police officers and our chief have asked for our cooperation when things like this occur in the city and want our trust, despite the fact that they beat the hell out of Frank Jude, Jr. Local community activists have had numerous candlelight vigils begging the community to stop the violence while surrounding the teddy bear memorial of our 97th, 98th, 99th, 100th, 101st …murders. Still, I sit on the floor while doing work on my computer because someone is shooting two houses down from me.

We've talked and marched and held vigils and begged and called and rallied for safer streets but still people are getting shot and killed everyday in Milwaukee. I know tonight someone got shot, I'm sure I won't hear about it unless they die because in Milwaukee, getting shot is part of the norm and is only important if they make transition. I won't see TV cameras on my block because someone got shot in the leg, that's expected of my neighborhood. There might a small snippet of it listed in the local paper, but it's in a section that no one reads so that time, effort, ink, and paper space was wasted. Who wants to look in the metro section and read the extra tiny print about another nigga shooting another nigga? Why mess up Milwaukee's reputation as an up and coming urban city that is trying to pull more whites into their newly built townhouses right next to crack houses? I guess we're not that important.

I hope that one day we are able to really see the gun violence in Milwaukee for what it's worth: a detrimental and community shattering occurrence that happens entirely too much in a city so small. I hope that one day we are able to call the police and they will actually give a shit instead of it being routine for them to come to my block and investigate a murder or a shooting. I hope that one day we can get guns off of the streets, out of our children's hands, and prevent another murder of a brother, sister, mother, father, uncle, aunt, cousin, grandmother, grandfather, lover, friend. I hope that one day we can watch the news and not hear about anyone dying from a gunshot wound to the chest. I hope that one day I will be able to forget about those four teenagers who were shot execution style in a Milwaukee dope house. I hope that one day we can trust the police to help us instead of patronize us. I hope that one day I can sit on my porch at ten p.m. without having to give myself whiplash because I am constantly looking up and down the street, paying attention to a group of more than two or a sneaky looking individual because I am scared that they might have a gun or they will run into someone that they just don't like and start having gunfights in the middle of the street in front of my house. I hope that one day I don't have to run in the house at one in the afternoon again to avoid being mowed down by some fool chasing a woman with an AK-47.

I also hope that one day, I will be able to type from my chair more often than my floor.

Donnie

(Originally Posted August 6th, 2005)

I am 28 years old with a bachelor's degree in Africology and have attended graduate school. I've taught in my local public school system and for the federal government. I don't have any children (and do not want any) and I don't hang out with or run with the wrong crowd (never did). I am not a fan of the NAACP, believe in W.E.B.'s Talented Tenth, LOVE Marcus Garvey, oppose the current government and social security reform, and wish that the Black Panther Party would come back full strength. I have nappy hair, practice Yoruba (a traditional African religions), consider myself a leader and never a follower, and call myself an African born in America.

And I was in love with a convict.

It started when I was about 17 years old. My cousin was dating this one guy and he had a cousin and they thought that we would be good together. Eventually I met Donnie and that was when we started the downward spiral towards the end of an almost decade long "relationship."

We dated for several months before his first extended leave and everything was so good. But then again, I was just 17. He was attentive and so sweet. He loved pinching my cheeks for some reason, always encouraged me to go to school and was happy that I was going (even though he didn't have such aspirations for himself), and even wrote a song and dedicated it to me (I was seventeen…bullshit like that was allowed). He was also my first…I was being fast and decided that it was time by putting a condom in my cleavage and he certainly caught the hint. After that, I was in love. But, I was in love before that because he was so nice and caring to me and responsive to what I was trying to do and be with him. It was my senior year of high school and I becoming a young adult dealing with adolescent situation while trying to make adult decisions. And one of those adult decisions that I made was to stay with him and support him no matter what he went through.

We planned on going to prom together that year. I was calling him more often than not trying to get our colors coordinated, ticket, limo, and hotel prices figured out. "If Only For One Night" was our Luther inspired theme and we were both expecting it to be special for the both of us because we were so much in "love" (well I was in love…he was in, well something else). I ended up going with a friend of mine who didn't match my dress, was not my idea of a romantic guy, and wasn't as special to me as Donnie was. But, I really had no choice to take this platonic friend out because Donnie was in jail.

He went to jail for selling drugs (of course). I was so devastated, upset, and irritated because of his betrayal to what we had and planned to do. We were supposed to spend the summer together before school started. He was supposed to have helped me move into my dorm room and plan weekend sleepovers. We were supposed to be in love and together, but what I didn't know then was that he loved money and jail more than he loved me.

He would write me these epic jailhouse love letters telling me how much he loved me and missed me and how he couldn't wait to get back home to me. He would scour the dictionary and thesaurus for the best words to tell me: "I ain't doing nothing, decided that I should write you because I'm in jail and have nothing else better to do and I really miss fucking you." But I read it as: "Baby, I'm so sorry that I left you and I still love you. I just did something really stupid and after this time is up, I promise to make it up to you and do what I need to do in order to stay out of jail." Unfortunately, the latter was just wishful thinking.

He eventually came home after three years worth of letters, phone calls, pencil drawings of pictures that I mailed to him, and lovely little messages underneath "THIS LETTER HAS BEEN MAILED FROM THE WISCONSIN PRISON SYSTEM" stamps that said "Postman, please be careful with this letter because it's on its way to an angel." We got back together and he promised me that he wouldn't interfere with me going to school and he wanted me to continue going. He also told me that he was going to fly right and do the righteous thing: stay out of trouble and out of jail. Less than a year later, he was back in jail.

Out of the eleven years I've known Donnie, he has been in jail for at least eight of those years. Each time he sent me the same stupid letters that looked and sounded just like the last 500 that he sent me from jail. "I'm gonna stay out of jail and go to work and school so we can be together and get married," he'd tell me. Promises of a beautiful and plentiful life were always there, but he was never able to follow through.

Fast forward to 2004. Donnie, per the usual, was in jail AGAIN for selling dope AGAIN and decided to drop me a few lines. It was the same bullshit that he wrote me ten years prior about how much he loved me and missed me and wanted a chance to be with me again because he has yet to come across a woman of my stature. He even tried to play the emotions card and said that he wanted to keep a promise that he made to my Daddy (who passed away several years ago) by not hurting me and making sure that I was happy.
This cat here. I guess that was some of my fault for allowing him back into my life after he did his first three-year stint in the Dodge Correctional Institution. Maybe it was because I wanted to marry the man that I first had sex with and wanted a family and a marriage with him. Or maybe it was because I was young, stupid, and sprung a little bit from what he did to me sexually (that man's tongue…well that's another story). While he was up north this last time, this fool even gave me an ultimatum. HA! An ultimatum? From jail? Where you have no freedom, no say so in when you get to take a shower or a shit, and have your letters screened before they leave the building or hit your hand? He had balls, I tell you.

What possesses a man who has no freedom to give me the ultimatum to love him and want him after breaking my heart so many times? What gives him the audacity to even think about picking up his pen that he purchased with his canteen that someone else has control over to write to me to tell me that it will be over between us and that he wouldn't write me back if he didn't get a card from me recognizing his birthday? Or, how about the time he told me (once again, from a jail cell) that he was trying to get me pregnant on purpose when he knew that children were not in my plans when I was going to school? Donnie, you normally forgot my birthday, I never got a card from you, and I never even gave you an ultimatum between me and selling dope. Now that I think about it, maybe I should have.

So now, he's out of jail. He came to see me a few weeks and nothing has changed. Donnie's 28 now, has enough kids to start a peewee football team, and still looks the same. He's getting ready to go to Minneapolis to get some gold fronts and probably a couple of pounds because he won't stop selling drugs. Donnie has no intentions of doing the right, positive, legal thing. But, the question is why?

Did we as society allow him to believe that all he could do after he got out of jail was to go back and sell drugs again? Collectively, society knows that once you go to jail for a felony, business are very seldom eager to hire you. Whenever we look at television, we always see drug dealers who end up getting killed, killing someone, or going to jail for life over something stupid. Rarely do we see them coming out of jail, going to school, and making a better life for themselves. Well, at least not African born in America (ABIA) males.

For African born in America males, the life of a drug dealer is glorified and exaggerated. Watch BET for 10 minutes and you will see cats selling on the block since five o'clock selling anything for a profit, or a rerun of Nino "I am not my brother's keeper" Brown in New Jack City. I have never seen a video that glorifies an ABIA male being a doctor, an accountant, or even a construction worker. Not that he has to be any of those things, but he could at least to try to be someone who prefers to pay taxes instead of allowing my taxes to pay for his cot and jailhouse steak sandwiches. But, because of society and the prevalence of thug life, maybe we as society are making him be a drug dealer. Or maybe, he can stop being so lazy and take matters into his own hands.

True, society can be a major influence in a person's life. Society shows us how we are "supposed" to act, live, eat, and so on. But, we fail to realize that society is just a guideline, a foundation to build one's individualized life plan upon. That is where many of us go wrong. Instead of looking at society and figuring out what is really right and positive for our lives, many of us do things because society says so. Many are followers instead of leaders; and unfortunately many ABIA men are subjects to King Society.

Donnie always had a choice when he got out of jail to go to school, get a job and work his way up, or even start his own business. Instead of thinking about how to make life better for himself, about how to stay free, about how to be a father to his kids…he decided to go the easy route for fast money, fast cars, fast ho's because that is what society said he should be doing. Not once did he think about what Donnie really wanted or what his kids really needed, it seems as if he only thought about what society told him he needed.

We always have a choice to make in life. The crossroads of life are there to make one stop and decide about which route to travel in order to make life better. Since society is fast, many of us decide to take the quickest route. We do so when we drive somewhere and unfortunately we take this impatient attitude towards life as well. And that's what Donnie decided to do: fast and fleeting instead of slow and everlasting.

The one and last time we saw each other since he got out of jail, he was trying to fuck. He wasn't concerned about how I was doing or what I had been up to; he was just trying to get some pussy. Apparently, nothing has changed. I don't know what he's doing now. Probably what he said he was…going to sell some dope and try to be a mouth double for Lil' Jon. Well, it's good to see he's at least consistent with the wrong turns that he makes.

Social Security and why I'll Never See It

(Originally Posted on April 19, 2005)

I've been working for a good 14, 15 years now and I've been paying my dues to Uncle Sam. Being a descendent of slaves, I believe that I shouldn't be held responsible for taxes because of the unpaid labor that my ancestors were forced to do during slavery. But, I have no say so in the law (damned electoral college), so I have to fulfill my "American duty." Unfortunately, I (being an African born American) have been faithful in paying my taxes, giving (well more like it has been taken from my check) my FICA, Federal and State taxes, as well as my Social Security taxes. But, since the Social Security fund that I've been paying too all of these years has all but been depleted, I will not see a dime of my money when I am ready to retire at the age of 65.

Why is it that I have to be the one who suffers, thirty-five years prior to my retirement, the loss of my social security benefits? Why is it that I have to now put my future social security benefits in a private account that will probably be enforced, ruled, and given all of its laws by the federal government and just wave my other benefits goodbye? The answer to these questions I dedicate to the trifling people on my block, in my schools, and other events that happen in the hood.

Let me first start off with the school systems and the parents who are so "concerned" about their students and their education. (Disclaimer: I do not believe that all parents are this way in the black community, however, I have been witness to situations like this more often than not.) We have been bombarded with enough acronyms about the mental deficiencies of our children that even Big Bird, Elmo, and Cookie Monster are unable to decipher what they all mean EVEN with the letters of the day. ED, LD, ADHD, ADD, MR, MMR, CD, and the list can go on and on. Now, these acronyms not only mean what disability that child has, but it also means how much of my social security money they are going to get from me. I remember the first year that I taught, I encountered my first social security benefits form from one of my student's parents. This wasn't the first time that the parents tried to convince the teachers at this particular middle school that their child had some type of learning disability so that they could benefit from social security benefits. Veteran teachers even told me that there was nothing wrong with their child and that they were just trying to get some money. I ended up not filling out the form because I didn't see any evidence of that child being disabled, I just thought he wasn't being pushed to do anything.

Many times when you have to label a child with a disability, especially a learning disability, you have to sit in an IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) session with the child's parents, teachers, psychologist/psychiatrists, social worker, and principle. We sit at this round table and we discuss what these children are and are not able to do in a classroom. It can be something as simple as they need to have their assignments blown up to a certain sized font if they are visually disabled to just coming to class and answering one question, which was the case for one of my students. This child was labeled ED (emotional disturbed/disabled), CD (cognitively disabled), and LD (learning disabled). All he had to do was really show up in class (he was part of the inclusion process that mainstreamed special education children with the regular population of students) and not really do anything. I had to automatically give him a "C" for showing up everyday (which was total and utter bullshit).

This is why I am so against labeling children. In our not so distant history, say 40 or 50 years ago, many children were probably LD (learning disabled) or CD (cognitively disabled) or some acronym or another and were able to come to class and excel in their work, didn't need IEP's or some social worker telling the teacher what he could and couldn't do academically in class. We did not allow our kids to use labels as a way of getting out of a spelling test because they were only allowed to show up. As a people, teaching and learning from each other, we helped each other overcome our so-called disabilities because there was no room for that. Africans born Americans in the 50s, 60, and even 70s did not allow us to fail within a system that was already set up for us to fail because we believed in ourselves and were already sick of the labels that were placed upon us by this system that encouraged their citizens to lack in the God give rights according to the constitution (Yes constitution is NOT capitalized...it already has the true big C in it: Capitalism).

So, fast forward to the 90s and the era of Y2K. Now, we have Ritalin helping our kids calm down. But if they are so hyper, why is it that they are able to fully relay to me in a very almost adult way that they are unable to control themselves and sit still because they are no longer on their medication? Because of my social security. More often than not, children these days can get social security benefits because they are learning disabled or have some type of "defect" going on in their heads. Then, since so many of their parents (note again I did NOT say "all") are able to profit from their child's "disability," they encourage these children to be less than what they are able to be so that they can keep their monthly payments every 3rd of the month.

Now, since some parents who do this have more than one child (seems like some of them have more than three children) they are able to play on those other children as well. Sometimes, and I wholeheartedly blame the system for this, it's the only way for some of these parents (unfortunately mostly single mothers) to survive. Since here in Wisconsin the new welfare to work system aka W-2 (which I am once again paying my hard earned money to) isn't really paying these recipients as much as they need to help support their families (or sometimes just their lifestyles) they have to sacrifice their children's futures for their present. So, instead of encouraging their children to excel, to not accept the labels that society has placed upon them because they are just words to further oppress them, and to want and desire more for themselves in the future instead of just settling for the present we wouldn't have people like myself and friends of mine that work hard everyday just making it bitching about how we will never see our social security.

And these people who do not encourage their children to be better are on my hit list. Everyday when I come home for lunch (because half of the time I can't afford to pick up some food on the go) I see dozens of homes with three, four...hell, sometimes up to ten people sitting on the porch, dressed (well the men, now since it's getting warm, the women are even more naked than last year) up, drinking beer, smoking weed, enjoying the weather, and as carefree as the day is long. At 11:43 a.m. Now, many of these people are adults who have taken advantage of the social security scheme that seems to be spreading across America. They don't go to work, they don't clean their yards, they have no respect for their neighbors (well at least the ones that go to work), they don't have respect for themselves, and they damn sure don't respect the fact that I'm (along with my other friends) sick and tired of working to keep their sorry asses in outfits that cost as much as my car note while I'm barely able to make car note payments each month. It disgusts me to see my people not trying to do SHIT with their lives or themselves. I see grown women walking down the street with the shortest hems on dresses that I have ever witnessed in real life while about 17 months pregnant. I am tired of looking at grown men who weigh about 130 lbs and wear pants big enough to fit Refrigerator Perry and he has them looped up several times around his middle thigh area while he walks down the street holding the crotch of them with a blunt in his mouth without a care in the motherfucking world. It irritates me to see their babies running around in the middle of the street, almost getting hit while they are on the other side trying to run some game on the opposite sex while your baby will never be able to enjoy his life because he might get hit by either a stray bullet OR run over by some 14 year old nitwit that sold enough dope to pimp his ride and drive all over the streets with it like he's brain dead. And these are the people that my hard earned tax dollars go to.

It would be nice to see that my people, my neighbors, my fellow Milwaukeeans, allow themselves sell their futures for a quick buck in the present. And, it's not even that MUCH money. Many of our people allow themselves to be sold short because many of us can be an impatient, needy, and desperate bunch. I can understand the need to get the things that you need for your children and yourself as well by any means necessary. And I can totally dig that; but instead of using it to keep yourself in the most expensive clothes and your house completely furnished, use the money to support yourself and your kids while you go out and get more education so that you can show your children that it is possible to remove yourself from the labels (of welfare queens). When you show your own children that it is possible to escape labels that follow you for life and allow yourself to be sold short and become someone that is a role model instead of a role in this life we call the hood, then we wouldn't have children who believe that a pill is the only way to improve their lives and destroy the labels that have been here by the (white) system to oppress an already oppressed people.

And, you can keep y'all asses OUT of my social security.