The Fight In Me

hand me an Excedrin because this weekend has been the utmost headache in my backside. Great weekend as it has been -  great date night Friday night, Mayweather is 45-0, my cycle has decided to keep recycling -  I have been knocked out by the bold disregard of what it means to be black in this country. Children are grown not to be concerned with the errors or lifestyles of the past unless it happens to deal with fashion. It is the only way the past is revisited in comfort. Yes? No? Children go around wearing 80s and 90s fashion in 2013. But ask these children what were the political themes of that time and they would probably look down with shame at their brightly colorful sneakers for the truth to their ignorance. They should be ashamed of not one but two things, their callowness and those damned streetlights they wear on their feet.

You know what the worst part of this is? I may not share the interests of these youths and their style choices but what's worse is that I do share the ignorance to my own history. Of course I know the basics. I was aware of racism before an older white man called me "nigger" as I walked past him because my father made sure that I read and knew of my history. My parents did their part; I did not. As I got angry, I never learned to face my anger or even how to direct it. I caked it over with the idea to keep moving forward and treat people as they come  - that was only half of what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to keep reading. I was supposed to keep researching. I was supposed to keep up-to-date with the laws of the country I live in. I am sure the immigrant knows more than the native.

This weekend was the first time I ever saw Spike Lee's documentary "4 Little Girls." Was I aware of the hatred? Yes. Was I aware of segregation? Yes. Was I aware of the lynchings? Yes. My parents did their job; I did not. I was busy building my own anger towards what was happening in my own young life - none of your business - and being angry with police for the beatings that I had heard about on the news. I took this anger and I built myself, with the support of my parents, towards becoming the Editor-in-Chief of my under grad alma mater and urged my collegiates to vote, to become a part of something that would drive them to care about their lives and future as a black person in America; I didn't care how fair-skinned they were. Two years! Two years I held this position but as I saw the lack of care, as I noticed that people were complacent with just moving through life with a sheer blindfold on, I gave up. I stopped reading, I stopped caring, and I put on my blindfold and kept on walking.