I will continue to say this, and I don’t care, and I will not protect anyone’s fragility because black children need sensitivity to their own experience and environment. We don’t have enough black educators teaching our black children who understand and hold higher expectations of them in the classroom. We don’t have enough educators who sympathize with the black students who are faced with struggles and the constant odds stacked against them in the public school system. The school-to-prison pipeline was in-fact designed to cripple our black and brown children in public schools.

 Many of our students of color come from underserved communities in the public schools. Communities that have many troubling obstacles to economic stability. Still yet, many of the teachers that teach minority students don’t even live and sleep in those communities, just work in them. Eight hours a day, five days a week is not enough to sympathize with and understand the struggles of underserved communities these children are from.

For example, in New York City’s five boroughs; the majority of students enrolled in public schools are primarily minorities, Blacks and Latinos who make up 66 percent of students in New York City public schools. However, the majority of educators in the classrooms are white; nearly 60 percent at that. They are not from  underserved communities, mostly in the outskirts of NYC, Long Island, New Jersey, and Westchester and other surrounding tri-state areas. I remember growing up as a child I would ask my teachers where they were from. Many mentioned counties and towns I was not familiar with. I’ve never stepped foot in their town. That alone told me their world and mines were two different worlds. Different skins and different hoods made me already feel indifferent, despite the very few whites who remained in my neighborhood and the last white friend I had, who eventually followed the exodus to Westchester county too with his family.

The very few black teachers I had growing up made a major impact. Perhaps, three or four in my entire elementary, middle school and high school experience. Some students of color may never get a teacher throughout their educational experience. I didn’t get my first black teacher until 6th grade. She may have saved me without me knowing; now that I look back at my past educational experience. She believed in me, encouraged my writing skills and pushed me academically. Her locks, silver bangles, head ties and African print dresses did not scare me. I felt connected, comfortable and appreciative to a culture that I was already aware of. 

Furthermore, this teacher lived in my community, my mother would bump into her in the supermarkets on Saturdays while food shopping and her daughter and I had the same ballet class together. I couldn’t get away with anything, my mother would find out either during food shopping or picking me up from dance classes while my sixth-grade teacher was picking up her daughter. My teacher lived in my community.

Growing up black little girls have always had the odds against them. We hear about black men but rarely about the black women’s struggle which is slowly coming to light these days. 

It was my six grade teacher who lived in my neck of the town who inspired me, challenged my thoughts and ideas. She made me a thinker, a believer. She was my first educational retentive voice. I learned more. I excelled more because she held high expectations of me as her student. 

My daughter didn’t have her first black teacher till fifth grade in the public school system, prior to that my daughter had many negative experiences in elementary school besides being bullied by her peers. Her first experience of racism in the school system was in the second grade. It was Martin Luther King Jr weekend and she had a book report due on her favorite or recent book read. She chose to read Martin Luther King Jr a book I had purchased for her and she wrote her book report and handed it to her teacher that tuesday. That day I received a call informing me to pick up my child because there was an incident. My child was faced with a suspension. The first one. She broke down and cried and told me that black people had to sit in the back of the bus but they fought to change it. She told me that her teacher grabbed the book report out of her hands and shouted that it was not a book report and she needed to find another book. My daughter had a meltdown and the teacher, according to my daughter, grabbed her by the shoulder while she shouted at her in front of the other children and my daughter grabbed her shirt telling to let her go. The teacher wouldn’t let her go and she grabbed the teacher’s shirt hysterically that left a scratch on her skin. 

In the end, the teacher was believed and my child was seen as violent and disrupted the class. My daughter returned from her suspension never the same. The teacher made things more unbearable for my child, my child regressed academically. She would deliberately remove her from class because she refused to participate and the removals led to my child missing instructions that led to more outbursts which led to multiple detentions and missing class instructions. My child had become emotional and distraught and isolated from her peers that led to bullying. She eventually had an IEP. It wasn’t until her fifth grade teacher that things simmered down. Her black fifth grade teacher had an impact on her. My child thrived in her class educationally and emotionally. I never received a call except once and that teacher initiated a conference between us, parent, student and teacher. My child saw this teacher as a God. 

In middle school during her first year the first principal who was white didn’t have or hold high expectations of those students especially those with IEPs. In seventh grade a new principal took over and he was black. He acknowledged my daughter’s request to partake in the arts program despite having an IEP. He also felt it was necessary for students of color to have exposure to the arts to inspire them to thrive academically. He understood the importance of holding high expectations for students of color. She made her proposal and he submitted it to the district, and allowed her to participate in her arts dance class; she had originally auditioned in dance for that school and was not given her class. By the following year, eighth grade she was in her arts class officially along with all students who had IEPs and she thrived. That educator fought for the rights of students. He did not dismiss my child. He acknowledged their needs. It allowed her to apply herself to an arts high school.

It is your educational journey and experience that will impact the way you thrive. Just maybe, it was those precious years that I had my own positive experience in education; as well as teachers who weren’t just black, they were white too.

However, they didn’t treat me or see me as different, they challenged my mind and also held high expectations of me. They made me feel that I could be a part of society and that most important I was human just as they were human. Those teachers who felt and acted with those thoughts and ideas were passionate about me as their student and towards other students. While I had a very few positive experiences in the classroom I also had negatives; from a first grade teacher who was dismissive, mentally and psychologically  abusive that caused me to repeat a year in first grade. My first educational trauma within the public school system. I’ve also witnessed physical abuse from white teachers towards blacks students in elementary school that still gives me nightmares till this very day. It has happened but rarely do we talk about it. From my daughters own traumatic experience with physical aggression from a teacher in second grade to me witnessing it in my early formative years. Our experiences shape the way we approach things, ideas and opinions. Our educational experience shapes our minds. Perhaps my daughter’s fifth grade teacher’s voice still lingers in her head or her middle school principal who listened to her and held high expectations of her. There are white ones don’t get me wrong but very very few. Until they understand what it is like to be black in America then they will continue to teach our children based on institutional ideas and stereotypes, a dangerous approach to educating our children.

I nearly dropped out of high school. I had dismissive teachers, some that wouldn’t give me the day or time when I needed help, perhaps there weren’t any expectations of me. A black girl from the Bronx, what are the stereotypes they had of me. What ideas and opinions were formed of me? But I kept hearing my sixth grade teacher’s voice and I can still hear her voice till this day in my head. I hung in there for an extra year to get my high school diploma. It wasn’t until my thirties that I gave myself another shot at my education, my bachelor’s degree then master’s degree. I didn’t get to attend my high school commencement ceremony because I didn’t make it on time in 1998 but I had two graduations in five years in 2017 and 2018. I completed my bachelor’s program by summer of 2016 and had to wait a year before I could partake in my commencement ceremony. I finally marched across the stage in 2017. I waited nineteen years to participate in my commencement ceremony and by that time in 2017 I had also completed my first year in the masters program. The following year I celebrated my biggest accomplishment on time with many struggles as a single mother with my daughter cheering me on along with my mother and niece. I participated in my masters degree commencement ceremony, twenty years later from what was supposed to be my high school commencement ceremony. A journey that was long and had many obstacles and hurdles to achieve.

Class of 2022 is symbolic for me as it was supposed to be for her. It is the last year of high school. The last time she opens and closes her locker filled with books that have stressed her during finals, filled with her character shoes, musical note sheets, tap and ballet shoes from her musical theater classes. It is the last year she will be able to perform in any senior production. Her four years were the opposite of the dreamy show High School Musical. She faced many obstacles during her four years. Her mental health came with struggles. Then dealing with her complicated medical conditions that keeps both her and I busy to the nephrologist, hematologist, cardiologist, rheumatologist, and a host of other specialist that would probably cost just about anyone their mental health; if they had to live in chronic pain, hospital admissions and constant workups for MRIs, biopsies, and blood works. Wow. She is a champ. She is brave and strong. I think I am the only person in the world who has seen her vulnerable side, the side that worries when she will die, how long will her kidneys work, when will her heart finally give out or her blood disorder causing a clot. 

Despite constant support and reassurance that she will pull through it all. She is constantly in fear of her health. They were days in pain unable to move out of bed, weak because of her condition. She was alone when she returned to school. The kids didn’t know why she was out or if she was in the hospital hooked up to some device, they thought she just skipped school and further distanced themselves from her. Oh perhaps, the neighborhood she lived in had to do with her skipping school. She was a small minority at her school. Then she had uncompassionate teachers who didn’t sympathize with her because she was out sick.

Perhaps, they had their own preconceived ideas of black girls like my child from the South Bronx. The treatment my daughter received in that school for four years was distant, dismissive and dealt with coldly. One teacher had told my daughter that she needed to find a better way to attend school or stay home and not come back. Another told her that it wasn’t their problem if she was in the hospital it was her job to get the work done. 

Meanwhile, students who didn’t look like my daughter got away with a lot more. They didn’t seem as violent, just defending themselves, they weren’t seen as disruptive trouble makers. The school ignored my daughter when she formed complaints about the constant gaslighting the students did to her. The school consistently swept it all under a rug and eventually threw them all out. I would call and they wouldn’t answer the phone and have me on hold. Emails would go unanswered. The other students weren’t seen as the problem at her school. My daughter was the it girl. Everytime she complained and informed the school, they claimed she continued to harass students and faculty.

-No one was gaslighting her, she didn’t understand, no Ms. Myrie I don’t think the students meant anything by that. I heard every excuse. They made my daughter look as if she was overly sensitive and emotional.The last two and half years since the pandemic, I was only taken as a fool by the principal and his conspirators, the other two assistant principals, all white too. My child became a complete emotional wreck in the last year. I became exhausted.

A couple of months ago in April, my child received a suspension notice on an already scheduled Monday morning meeting with her assistant principal about the previous week’s incident that was escalating. My child’s Beats headphones were taken away for the second time. The first one I never informed the school about, but this time I made them aware and even the nearby precinct. I had filed a report. April 4th the Monday the principal refused to meet with me regarding an incident. But on the 11th of April I thought I would be able to voice my concerns, instead I was given suspension papers. My question was repeatedly dismissed by the assistant principal who is a white woman who didn’t even acknowledge my presence. She handed me my child’s headphones that looked damaged after being gone for a week. I was told by her a different version of what the other assistant principal told me.

Eventually her voice was raised and defensive and I was already furious with the school’s handling of things. I started shouting for her to get her hands out of my face a couple of times. I remember saying “You shouldn’t be teaching or having any control over my black child’s education. You and the entire administration are racist. You continue to dismiss my child. You white people should not be teaching my child.” I could not see the forbidden dangers of my words. 

My child was caught in what would entangle her fight in the courtroom. My child emerged with a safety agent from down the hall where her principal was seconds later after a heated argument. “She grabbed my arms. It hurts.” my child cried. A  trip to the precinct was unsuccessful at filing a report because they had to visit the school first as they said. When they returned they informed us that the assistant principal could press charges because she was assaulted too. My child was taken by EMS to a hospital for her arm where she felt pain. My child was holding her arm in pain. What had happened in twenty seconds would change the course of my child’s senior year and affect her rights.

A few days later, we were informed she was facing yet another suspension. April 25th at 6:45 AM, two weeks after the April 11th incident. I was faced with police officers and detectives who came to arrest my daughter at our home. She was taken into custody and then released to me before a judge after being fingerprinted and having mugshots taken. From senior pictures in a yearbook to mugshots in the criminal justice system.

 For the past two months, she had served a 45 school day suspension and on home instructions due to her medical condition had remote virtual classes. She only had three credits to complete in order to graduate. Court dates regarding the incident. DOE impartial hearings because the district failed to provide a free and appropriate education and provide resources for her IEP, MDR hearings, and suspension hearings in which she was coerced to plead guilty due to possible criminal charges, another injustice to minorities. Eventually caused her to burn out and including myself too. Let’s face it, as a mother of a child who has IEP and health issues, life is chaotic and  unstable at times, moreover, the additional cases regarding her juvenile case made things harder.. 

I also received a letter from the district stating that I precipitated an event and was restrained by two safety agents and that I tried to physically attack her reported by the same assistant principal on the April 11th incident. She was now lying on me and my character was being ruined by sheer exaggeration and lies. Imagine if this false statement was made even sixty years ago, I would be penalized and even a hundred years ago hung. I now find it harder to trust white people in the educational system. She finalized my fears and experiences with racist people with an icing on the cake. Perhaps, the goal was to destroy my character as well as my child’s and to make my child look and fit the stereotypes designed by supremacist whites. What has my daughter been through in that school for the last four years? My child was in unknown territory. Her life was not safe. 

Before home instructions were initiated during her suspension. The suspension school site was nothing but a juvenile prison. The faculty, predominantly minority, were open arms, they have seen students tied up in an unfair bureaucratic system. The students at that site were mostly minorities.

The system designed an introduction to the school to prison pipeline system at these suspension sites. I couldn’t even send my child lunches due to her diet restrictions without a medical letter. The set up made you feel like it was an institution. It was scary for me, imagine for my daughter. Then faced court proceedings because the assistant principal wanted to further penalize her by pressing charges. Would she be caught up in the legal system if she were white, perhaps her being black made it more of a serious issue. I don’t condone bad behavior but neither do I condone bullying and institutional racism. 

A few days ago, my daughter and I received an email to inform her that she had violated the district’s rules as well as the chancellor’s rules and regulations. She will not be participating in her commencement ceremony taking place on June, 22nd 2022. She has been excluded from her graduation. She was excluded from her prom and I agreed but the school never informed me in writing. She didn’t participate in any senior trips and events and was banned from performing in her final musical production for seniors. Her entire second half of her senior year was a painful and isolating one. 

It has been a very painful lesson. She was missing out on some memorable milestones that should have been positive ones for her but instead is pushed through another obstacle, the juvenile system. The suspension was not enough.

The prison to pipeline is perhaps one of the greatest inventions of systemic racism. Not only is it the greatest invention, many people don’t realize your impending doom that has not only criminalized them but has crippled them in an entangled justice system. 

So while she can’t walk across the stage she will await her diploma in the mail. Four years of what was supposed to be the greatest time in her life will now be memories she will wish to forget. Her school didn’t turn out to be High School Musical or Fame. She didn’t perform in the Chorus Line, the final show, despite the casting of girls who were thinner, lighter for the lead roles by teachers who were white. Her skin tone and features didn’t fit the role. Another highlight of racism. Out of four years of her high school educational experience she has never been rewarded or complimented for her achievements. She started the first physical virtual approved DOE program, STEP. She never did receive any recognition for getting the program approved. Maybe it was never submitted by her but a bad actor may receive credit. The first time in more than four years she was told she had done an excellent job was by a black English teacher during her remote learning on home instructions. She didn’t have any black teachers during high school except one that was recently hired in the midst of the school year and when my child was removed from the school that ended. We need more black teachers. My child needed to hear a teacher give her praise for her efforts.

In the midst of all the disappointments, she is excited to start the new chapter of her life. The one where she is attending an HBCU. She applied to ninety percent of HBCU schools. I was a bit stressed because these schools get less funding which means less aid unlike other colleges and universities. She expressed her need to attend one. She wants to experience something that perhaps was missing in her entire educational experience. Maybe it was her fifth grade teacher’s voice that became a retentive voice in her head. Maybe my child needs more black teachers, educators who won’t dismiss her challenges in society, who will acknowledge her voice, who sympathize with the black experience. Just maybe it will be the hope she needs to be confident in herself in order to raise her own expectations.

Her educational experience has not ended and this may be a new start academically. 

Mines continued and will continue because life is also the biggest classroom you attend. 

I will be cheering her on when she finally gets to walk the stage and grab her degree. Class of 2026 is tomorrow but class of 2022 is today. Even though she may not be walking across that stage today, she has every right to celebrate her own achievements, her struggles and obstacles she fought to get her diploma and while we attend another hearing regarding her case. She has to overcome that obstacle. Because as a black girl from the South Bronx the odds are against her and that is something I believe the school system knows and has used every opportunity to use it to their advantage. They have not only suspended my child but have filed criminal charges.

I remember three years ago I was called in for an interview with NYC Doe for a teaching position. I was never called back. I look back and remember out of several hundred candidates that filled a hall, just maybe about thirty were minorities. How many of us filled that slot? How many black students needed me to acknowledge their existence? How many needed my voice in the classroom? When I think of the percentage of black teachers in NYC public schools I think about how many of our black children have not been treated fair and excluded constantly. I won’t protect anyone’s fragility. I will say it again, black students need black educators. We need more in the classrooms. We need educators who understand the odds set up against our black children.

Class of 2022 for some students will symbolize something great they had to conquer. My daughter had to defeat a lot to receive her diploma. Congratulations!

 

America was torn between two worlds last night. We continue to watch, as history is being written in time travel as we endure this presidential arena of 2020.

This year has taken us on a major rollercoaster, in which we are gripping the bars tightly as we ride through this crazy pandemic. What a hell of a ride and I’m not amused at all. 2020, please, I need a refund.

I’m sure back in January we weren’t expecting to embrace a year of chaos. If we all had peaked into the new year’s crystal glass of champagne, we’d leave that champagne glass untouched. No sipping. How could we have cheered this year onto what has crimple an entire globe, and our economy at stake. one of the world’s greatest economy. Several months ago, we had very little knowledge of an invader that would put American lives at risk, causing massive shutdowns across the country and even across the globe.

It was on March 12th when I became more aware of this super bug. I had heard about it earlier in the month of March but took it as no major threat to my country, just a few cases across the country and mainly in China. Knowing my country, America, they were going to protect us all from this threat to citizens. Health officials know how to manage health crisis like this I said to myself. They’ve doing it for decades. We had Ebola, H1N1, SARS, MERS, and 40 years ago HIV/AIDS, which is still a major health concern today. All of these were pandemics, scientist across the world rushed to find out about these invaders. Invaders that are a threat to every hemisphere on earth. Today in 2020, not only America is fighting the invader, many countries across the world are fighting Covid-19. Today the world watches us. We lead by example. America has become the center of this pandemic, from the handling of it, to nearly a quarter million of it citizens who have died and over 8 million infected from this invader that has impacted everything we are experiencing at this very moment.

This has been a difficult presidential election year for us all, overall, especially with the pandemic. We all can agree that we need a leader to take charge. Someone who will lead this nation and help us pick up the pieces. Americans are on edge these days, we are fighting a foreign invader that threatens the lives of countless Americans. We never know when it will strike near or dear to us. I have experienced the lost of someone to that invader and like so many American, someone they knew, love or someone they know; had lost someone to Covid-19. It has become a regular conversation, and if fortunate enough, as some survivor’s that still can’t taste or smell and other symptoms that maybe permanent in some cases. I’ve heard and know quite a few stories regarding the road to recovery. It has become normal talk among New Yorker’s. You may run into an associate and that is even a short brief conversation waiting for the train or bus to arrive. Strangers nearby overhearing may share a personal story of their own. New Yorker’s can be intrusive and straight forward. That’s the beauty of this now ghostly city that is now still.

Who knew that our President had some acknowledgement of that super bug. Most people didn’t know until we heard about the cases in Washington. We continued our lives and didn’t think it was a threat. Here in New York City, Broadway continued with all the lights, restaurants continued to serve patrons at their establishment toasting to the many joys of being free. Wall Street doing daily closes of the Dow Jones, ring ring ring, church’s opened their doors to parishioner’s, and school’s unmoved by what was about to shutter their door’s for nearly several months, with educator’s struggling to teach the next generation of minds online remotely. Parents frustrated by the lack of instructions or at times access. This pandemic was and is revealing who has access and who don’t.

Covid-19. What started out in one area of the city, quickly began to spread like wild fire uncontained. This crisis was not a textbook problem among the medical community, there was very little information early on in the pandemic. So all the precautions we now have in place wasn’t back in March. However, I began wearing a mask on March 13th. I read about China’s outbreak and the more I read the more I said this has to be airborne. I was among the few New Yorker’s along with my child who wore a mask even before the CDC insisted on wearing one in April. A little too late. I pulled my child out of school three days before the city announced school closures. By March 20th, sirens were constant echoes throughout the city night and day. The flashing lights glaring through my windows was no Broadway. There was an eerie feeling among millions of New Yorker’s. On Facebook, many of my friends across the city said they couldn’t sleep because the ambulance sirens that echoed throughout their neighborhood. Then friends in Nearby states said the same, New Jersey had the same stories. Still, we didn’t know how bad this thing was until our newsfeed would pour messages of “OMG, gone to soon.” “SIP” “RIP” “This year sucks.” Then I too shared an associates passing from the invader. I was wrecked and terrified wondering every moment when would I be next or someone close to me. I’m sure many wondered too if they were going to be a victim of this invader. The super bug. I had family and friends admitted and fighting to beat that super bug, that enemy, that germ, that wants to attack every single human on earth across the globe.

By April, we were hearing a bit more details but nothing that reassured the country that the government had total and complete control of the enemy from the beginning of its threat. New York City became the epic center along with France, Italy and Spain which were leading in Covid-19 deaths and infections. We waited for our leader to tell us they had an answer, but we were only given band aids to cover our wounds. Several months later, America has lost a near quarter million of its citizens. Last night was the perfect opportunity to address the nation’s concern of this unfortunate pandemic. America has so much to lose in this vulnerable state we are in. Small businesses across the country have yet to receive a bailout, many still awaiting unemployment or have used all their benefit weeks, many now rely on food stamps and housing seems very unstable. Reports showing homeowners behind on their mortgages, renters unable to pay rent on the brinks of evictions when freezes and pardons lift up in their state or city. Many jobs are on the line, as many retailors like Century 21 in NYC is going out of business. Many small businesses in communities across the country are closing their doors in 2020 as a result of the pandemic’s economic strain. This has been a year for the text books.

We are sitting tight and not hoping for another great recession.

America was split between two screens as a divided nation struggled to glimpse a peak at the two candidates, in what should have been a virtual debate. What would have been a first in history, did not happen because president Trump did not agree to a virtual debate. Both ABC and NBC aired history at the same time. Forcing Americans to decide which candidate would receive their views.

There were questions from those fortunate to attend each candidates town hall meeting. American’s were perhaps waiting for answers, and answers to many of their concerns. The pandemic management and racial inequality in America more concerning from the murder of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd from police officer’s who committed murder base on race who were innocent at their time of death, had sparked massive protest across America during a pandemic. Covid-19 was no longer a more severe threat to Black lives, systemic racism and police brutality against Blacks in America infuriated people of color every where. We wanted to hear both their views on the issues America continues to face when it comes to race. We wanted to hear a plan for our future economy. We needed to feel assure that these issues would be addressed and managed.

Our president was grilled by Savannah Guthrie, the questions were asked without delay and we waited for a response from our president. She seem to serve as a moderator at the town hall meeting with Trump. Her witty cleaver questions required knowledge and without any hesitation they came with another punch. She kept me on the edge of my chair. Calm and collective with every question she asked him. Then ABC, I then watched Bidden who was asked a series of questions, more on the issues Americans were concerned about and needed to hear. Issues regarding the pandemic, race, healthcare, the economy, and clean air. There was no Pizzagate or Qanons asked by Savannah like on NBC. Almost entertained by the unusual questions. I couldn’t believe what was asked. Conspiracy theories revolving the election took center stage between Trump and Savannah.

NBC’s town hall meeting was for the books, here we must trust a leader that guides us and takes charge of one of the world’s greatest country. Last night was an epic moment of what this pandemic has revealed in America’s commander in chief. Prepare.

I sat and pondered at how divided our broadcasting stations are in this country. Divided like race in America. Divided like politics in America. What I hope for is probably a dream far beyond reach. Can we have faith in America like once before? Do I still have faith in her?

America.

As a Black woman who knows what is systemic racism and is living proof to its system. I dream that America will realize its destruction and destroy the old ways of its system. I know what it’s like to have a dream. I have degrees but I have loans that may prevent certain dreams to harvest like so many people of color who graduate with degrees and have outstanding student loan debt that prevents them from buying their first home or opening their own business. That debt determines your credit worthiness. No silver spoon here. Applying yourself and not getting anywhere in the job market or just at the front end filing papers and not making it to the back of corporate office meetings, same degrees, just a different color. The green dollar is a different shade when you are Black in America. The bank loan for that house sometimes never gets signed if you are Black and holding a huge amount of student loan debt.

Lets talk about America’s huge student loan debt crisis among people of color.

Your kids may not get a fair share as their other peers of an other race in the educational system, zip codes determines your success in society, income, educational level, health care plan and in some cases even your employment salary. Blacks are sometimes caught in a trap door system, especially if they didn’t have the privilege of growing up in good neighborhoods where there is more access. Health issues are at an alarming rate in communities of color. Lower scores in reading and math. Higher unemployment rates. Higher alcohol abuse. Less access to wealth building opportunities and resources. Many times, educated individuals who live in underserved communities don’t know or have anyone like them who can connect them to resources. It becomes a vicious cycle that keeps vulnerable people at bay unable to achieve dreams. Poverty is a circle, try escaping it when your consistently in the middle.

Like I mentioned, I have dreams. Starting my own small business online recently has inspired me by how our world is changing. Pop up shops as a freelancer was great but due to Covid-19, business has to reinvent itself as technology and how we connect in the world is shifting gears. Forcing people like me to catch up and advance in this new age. After last nights view of the two candidates, I shuffled through some orders I received and prepared shipment on my new venture, hoping to contribute greatly to society one day and achieve economic stability.

A company aim to help women like me start their own small business. A company that gives women who look like me a chance to build self sufficiency. I want to give 9 Black women every year, a grant that allows me to help them in need of resources to self start. A company not only aimed at helping women of color but also helping our environment in a big way. Global warming should ring bells for any candidate that will lead this nation. Something I wanted to hear more about. I want a leader that will give women like me a chance to help shape our world and contribute effortlessly to fight for a cause and promote economic growth among entrepreneurs like me. I have a dream but systemic racism sometimes becomes barriers for women like me who want to grow their business venture.

So while we watch, there are questions and answers and we need answers. How can a leader lead a great nation onto the future inspiring so many to dream. We need a commander in chief who is willing to defend us from invaders. One who will fight against a racist systemic system and acknowledge that Blacks lives matter too and their votes.

Not let our dreams fade into chaos.

Last night I held onto my dreams and know that we must vote, we must dream and aspire to accomplish those dreams.

Perhaps next week we’ll hear from our future commander in chief.

Some where in America there are people like me who still have dreams in a divided nation.

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THESE DAYS I’M SINGING “ALL BY MYSELF….”

These days I  at stare at the looking glass and use all my might not to break it or even breakdown inside.

I don’t look like what I’ve been through at all and I can’t help but to force a smile across my cheeks. At 39, I can easily past as some 30 year old on my best days. I kid you not, because people are amazed when they find out my age. I state my age so proudly, when they ask if I was telling the truth about my age or the fact that I am a mother of a fifteen year old, which at times is challenging I must admit as a single mother. I am searching for creases along my smooth face, as I gently massage my forehead in tiny circular motions. I am in no position to have Botox. I financially cannot afford the luxury of cosmetic maintenance surgeries, not even skincare products from my local drugstore these days. Simply cool water during the days and at night warm water, no soap. I don’t have the perfect flawless skin, decent enough however, and just great coverage on days, I am force to dress my face for with makeup for meetings, appointments and interviews.

I look back at my youth in a glossy 5×7 and many 4×6’s in an album. She seemed to have it all in many of them. She would not know half the journey she would face later on in life. She has seen plenty in her younger days but not the world in its true form now. She  posed in everyone of them but behind those eyes, fear would lay ahead. What could have I told the old me there? What could I have done differently to secure the future today? Today would have far more promise filled already, but I guarantee there would still be something missing in her life.

Life is not meant to be perfect. There is no perfect plan like perfect weather. There will be the ups and downs and many turn arounds and a few surprising twists that will make your hair stand tall. Life is a comedian. Seriously. Go ahead and laugh because there will be times when you will be forced to do just that in order to survive this thing we call life. You could find yourself in the worst scenario possible and find that, that tiny sense of humor is what will help the situation and simply survive it, else, you will find yourself in a deep dark scary place that you may never leave, ever. You have so much control over your emotions then you think.

These days I have come from just that. Controlling my emotions and not letting them get the best of me. I’m not saying you can’t cry, crying is good for the soul, and even great for your heart. Oprah long ago, years ago, when her showed aired on ABC network, spoked about the positive benefits from crying. She told her viewer’s that she is the biggest cry baby around. Well no, I am too. Yes, I cry a lot less than I laugh though. I love a good joke and enjoy comedy. If my day has been emotionally draining, I’ll go and upload a good damn comedy movie on my Netflix or Amazon firestick. There’s always something there for prime members. I have learned as I got older how to balance my emotions, and these days the way my life is going at times, you have to find the balance of your emotions. I have been faced with many highs and lows for the past several years. Gosh. I have compared my life to a rollercoaster and I have been on plenty as a fan of them to know how this metaphor feels like. Hold on dearly.

Despite my youthful face, I look at my body honestly and gravity has lost its course, unlike my body in my younger days. I stand there naked and sometimes I’m freaked out by the image before me and its not my size that terrifies me. I’ve been fat my whole life, mostly, and there have been times where my body has been larger than life, whereas, my clothes are struggling to accommodate the extra fluffy filling in the already curvaceous areas. My size gets attention if your asking, negative and many more positives and now a flock of white older men these days. Who I think are natural explorers to the unknown. Who may just want a exploration and learning course of my body, the quest, the challenge, the champion. I haven’t entertain my body that way, not for the sake of acceptance or pleasure. (Its a mind thing before the sexual course.) My butt has always been a denominating factor in my life when it comes to the sexual attraction of my body. Woman of color would agree that it could be your biggest asset attracting Black men but these days, its about preference and that comes in many races and ethnics for both men and woman, and other sexes not here defined. Kylie and Kim are some examples of women wanting a glorious rear end to be worshiped. I was born with mines but now its losing the form it once had, it holds up in fitted jeans and some form fitting fabrics but nothing compared to my younger years. I look at my breast, the ones that made many mouths drool and wishing to be caressed with their rough bare hands, massaging it tenderly. It doesn’t carry the same perks it once had not too long ago. My hips seem wider now and my thighs now carry its own beat to it. Otherwise, I shouldn’t and can’t complain, because my body now tells a story. A story of my life experiences, there’s a map along every curve and crease I have. I stare at it from time to time, so when and if I meet that person, they’ll know where to start and stop, where they need to slow down, and lookout for the caution signs. Caution!  The signs that warn you to proceed with caution but please take notice of my sensitivity.

At this age, I imagine dating is different, no one should care about your body because honestly everyone at this age, everyone has something present that wasn’t there before. The road is different.

My reflection of my flesh is unsure what suitors would think or appreciate. This thought brings the old insecure me out for a quick second but is knocked out by my inner purrs. I have needs that are not being met. Its not my body. It is me that is being neglected emotionally and mentally, and honestly, I am suffering alone. I am alone with my emotions and mental state of mind.  I am alone with my feelings and no one to share the changes of the seasons with. When I was younger, I was able to live without getting my emotions in the way of things. I could pack and unpack it as I pleased. Like many young adults and those who’ve escaped unfortunate scarred relationships and never looked back. I had that experience.

As you get older, you seek the companionship and security. It’s a total different ballpark and the game is different now. You know all the tricks and position to hold court. You’ve seen it all before.  You don’t become entertain so easily by their choice of words and sights to behold that once excited you. You don’t blush as easily and the smiles tend struggle to come out these days. Give me a break or better yet, something I’ve never heard or seen before. You are more reserved and suspicious of suitors. You aren’t focused on fun anymore. Your friends are all tucked away in their happily ever after and you find yourself single. You can’t gossip for hours on the phone because frankly you are quite busy raising your teen and they have children and even more challenging, husbands.

I’m single and a mother of a teen that challenges my emotions at times. I don’t have that significant other to share my woes and ahs with. Just Sasha. Just me. Its lonely down here. You are kind of in a dark place, that forces you to cry at times, because you are holding it all in. However, you are now dealing with two people, you and now your teen, who is fifteen and is dealing with a whole rollercoaster of emotions. This shit right here is like sky diving, your hoping to land on solid ground, anything else would be a catastrophe with the wrong landing. So lately, I’ve been dealing with the highs and lows of the changes in my life. The seasons are more challenging then I could ever imagine before. I have some daunting challenges these days. I have a teen whose hormones is going out of control, there is a monster there. Oh lord. I can remember my fifteen year old self. I have many written poems and journal entries that remind me of my feelings and thoughts back then. I know it wasn’t easy being a teen from what I documented and written. A lot has changed in the world of teens, technology has more control on who they are and how they see the world. I sympathize with mines, there is a lot more pressure.

I’m approaching the nerve wrecking forty alone and single, making me vulnerable at times. I have a teen who is learning and questioning her environment about herself, her peers, her sexuality and her society and how she sees herself. The energy here is fierce in my home. Gypsy somehow seems to calm that intensity with her meows.

I’ve been through so much, that I managed to park it all in the back of my mind because now I am focused and interested in companionship, that would help me explore some of these things I would like to share. Intimacy is not the feeling of flesh but the feeling and empathy of ones soul, heart and spirit. Connection. It occupies that empty place, where many have not dared, attempt, or executed that challenge there. I have built barriers of metal and bricks. It is great from East to West, and high as the Troll of Norway.  It took many years to establish this great wall I’ve built. My mind is always on patrol for invaders, who only want to use me for temporary or for their own selfish needs and desires. Walls that are not shaken by threats of love or crumbled by their false stance of command, they do not frighten me. I have built a serious and intimidating wall. Like the wall of China, it took more than 20 years to build. Its structure influenced by disappointments, hurt and betrayal was mixed into every slab of concrete. Yeah my face shows attractiveness and my curves still hold some magic as it did decades ago, but my heart has no sign of letting you in. (DO NOT ENTER) There is a huge caution sign at its point of entry, (PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION AHEAD OF ROAD) and it is there, at that point, many will not go along the difficult road. I’ve seen U-turns and some have deliberately quit the journey ahead and a couple of suitors who have lost their self along the hectic chaotic journey, never to return to self or even me. So I am left along this miserable road, waiting to be rescued at that huge caution sign ahead. I may or may never be rescued and that is the scariest thing to consider in this life. Being alone on that open road till the end of your trip. You are faced with that terrifying thought. Alone.  You become a bit bitter at times, because honestly you haven’t had that kindness in a very long while. You aren’t open and that will fend off the suitors. They won’t waste their time trying to tear a wall down that is difficult to break. Moreover, seemingly impossible to some, because she won’t help to break it down herself. She is so over the date night, getting to know you stuff. I’ve built a wall so high and wide Trump himself would be proud if he was ever to accomplish one as great as mines.

I am on this cold and dark road with my emotions running wild. It’s not like the one I’ve spent as a teenager. This one is different, it comes with a few aches and pain. Let me put my feet up on the ottoman. It’s Friday and I’m loading up my watchlist for comedy night. I will settle on the sofa with popcorn and tea, my soft snuggle blanket and Gypsy right at my feet purring away, while my teen is out with her peers for a Halloween party. The reality sinks in that she has a life too, she is living and I am forced now to entertain myself. The mirror stares at me harshly and a shadow reminds me that its okay to try again.

Its okay to open your heart despite your fears. Its okay that the seasons are changing, that your life has had some rocky moments and its okay to tell that person your story. They may want to hear. Its worth the effort because you have bottled so much things up inside. You are victorious and worth the center attention cause you have an amazing story to tell.

My movies are set “Night School” featuring Kevin Hart and Tiffany Haddish, “Scary Movie” featuring Marlon and Shawn Wayans, and in case my eyes are still open, “Boo 2! A Madea Halloween”. Fear and laughter is what we experience in life. Balance.

I am single but I know how to keep myself entertained till they come into my life sweeping me off my feet. They will join in too. I live in a city of millions but haven’t cross that road yet, among the five boroughs for my soulmate. Most people have settled or restarted their chances at love. I gave up long ago and never restarted that journey for quite some time. So focused on being a mother that I forgot me. Me these days needs attention, gentle and warm, without prejudice but with understanding. It all starts we me first. Right? Yes.

 

 

 

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton