Prologue
I had begun to lose myself. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had taken on the identity of the woman that I claimed I would never become; the one who sits idly by waiting for the phone to ring, or for a text message to come through. In my case, it was often the doorbell or keys sliding through the locks that I waited in anticipation for.
When we know what a person is telling us is right and we get angry about it and continuously do what it is they’ve addressed instead of correcting it, it’s solely because we’re selfishly stubborn. Selfishly stubborn is when we purposely overlook our unfavorable behavior because we don’t want to give the person who has addressed it the satisfaction of knowing they were right. So a selfishly stubborn person will continue on with the very same adverse behavior opposed to correcting it.
Another reason why selfishly stubborn people dismiss the claims of the person who has addressed the behavior, is because this person is usually an outside presence. Meaning a friend, girlfriend or boyfriend. This person is hardly ever a family member. In an effort to avoid conflict and distress in the family, family members often shy away from making critical assessments about a loved one’s behavior. This is likely why selfishly stubborn people become so irate at the “outside person”. They feel as though if my mother, father, sister brother, auntie or uncle haven’t addressed it, then why are you. But what these people fail to understand is that “outside people are put in our lives for a reason, mainly to show us things about ourselves that family often will dare not do.
At the end of the day being selfishly stubborn is a vice. It’s one thing to be selfish. It’s another to be stubborn. But to be selfishly stubborn…well that’s destructive. It’s a vice that leads to a downward spiral. Personally, I’m glad I left that behind in my twenties…early twenties at that.
For as long as I can remember, I have chosen not to recite the pledge of allegiance. I want to say that I was around 11 or 12 when I made up my mind that I would no longer recite it. In the 6th & 7th grade, I would stand up anyway just to avoid getting a detention-which were handed out at an exponetial rate at the private school I attended- but yet I wouldn’t utter one word of it. Upon entering high school I stopped standing altogether. At assemblies, sports events, whatever may have been going on, I could be found sitting down while everyone else would be standing reciting the pledge of allegiance to a 5ft piece of fabric. I just couldn’t do it. I can remember the looks and glares I would receive from the white kids that noticed I wasn’t following suit with the illogical action that they so chose to follow suit with. I would always give them this look like “say somethin’ to me if you want to”. Needless to say no one ever said a word to me about it.
Last night while talking with the girls a.k.a my daughters, about the ills of America, we somehow ended up on the subject of the American flag. I began to explain to them why I’d chosen at such a young age not to recite the pledge to a flag that I felt did not represent me, and the people from which I am a descendant of. Now mind you at that age I was a pretty conscientious and socially aware kid who knew how society operated. I blame this all on Dennis. Dennis Cole that is. The man who had me reading articles from the Chicago Tribune while everyone else was reading Judy Blume books. Dennis is also the same man who allowed me at the age of 11 or so, to read his copy of The Autobiography of Malcom X, knowing full well I could not fully comprehend everything I was reading. But I guess since it was a book about Malcom X it made him no never mind. So yea, my Dad had created a little ‘Militant Princess’ to say the least.
I also told my girls the story of how at age 9 while in the fourth grade, I’d told my teacher Mrs. Koladich that she was prejudiced. She became so angry with me for doing so that she called my Father in for a meeting. In this meeting I explained to my Dad the reason why I called her such an adjective… She kept calling on Keith (white kid) to answer all the questions, and blatantly kept looking over me while I feverishly kept raising my hand to answer the same dang questions. After I’d had enough of her doing so on this particular day, I blurted out to her-not under my breath either- that she was prejudiced. She was fuming. It still makes me laugh when I picture her face all aghast. *sinister laugh* In this very same meeting Mrs. Koladich told my Father that I could not possibly know what that word meant, and that I shouldn’t be saying it. In this most suavest of moves I’ve ever seen my Father do, he turns in his chair, looks me in the eye with a smirk on his face and poses this question to me, ” Well Princess, what does prejudice mean?” All along my Dad knew that I knew what it meant. He only asked me in order to prove it her and make her look foolish for calling a G4 Classified meeting about it. My response must have been so succinct because the only thing I remember after that is my Dad tossing his head back in laughter, arising from his chair and saying something along the lines of “I think we’re done here”.
The lesson I wanted my girls to take away from my refusal to recite the pledge and blurting out things I felt were right, is that you have to learn to use your voice. I want them to understand that if there is something being done that they believe is wrong, they need to be vocal and active about it. In light of recent of events especially, I felt it was time for them to understand the power of one person’s belief. I used Adolf Hitler and Dr. King as an example. Their sole personal beliefs alone, forever changed the landscape of the entire world. One was just more radical and violent than the other. Nonetheless what each one believed and stood for changed things.
Going forward I can only hope that we as adults instill in our youth that in order to incite change in the world or anything else for that matter; you have to be active. Talking about change is nice. Actually doing something to create change is more than commendable to say the least. Teach them to use their voices, otherwise their silence will be drowned out amidst the confusion.
“If you don’t stand for something you’ll fall for anything.” ~ Malcolm X
Tags: America, justice, lessons, Martin Luther King, Trayvon Martin
My 8 year old son
Skipping the formalities. No hey how are you guys, explaining my absence, no none of that. If you know me and know me well, you should have known that this was coming. I’ve mentioned before in a blog about my love hate relationship with America. The execution of Troy Davis is what prompted that particular blog. I would link to it, but yea I don’t feel like doing all of that on this late night.
I’m not gonna discuss the details of the murder of Trayvon Martin, because unless you’ve been living in the tropical rain forest for the last past week, you’re likely familiar with the name Trayvon Martin. I’ll admit I was a few days late on informing myself about this. I actually asked someone and they put me on to the goings on down in Florida. Upon hearing the story from the person who informed me, all I could do was shake my head.
Upon hearing and reading more and more about the story of Trayvon, I began to do more than shake my head. I began to become filled with anger. My anger then turned to rage. My rage has turned to heartache. And as I look at my own sleeping son, all of those feelings combined turned to fear. Fear that one day he could possibly meet a similar demise as 17 year old Trayvon Martin did.
My fear for my son Dariyan has been present ever since he was born 8 years ago. I want to make that clear. To you. The reader. I need you to understand that in no way am I now scared for my son’s life because of what that maniac George Zimmerman did. I can remember a few years back me telling my Grandmother during a conversation we were having, that I was literally scared for Dariyan in this world we live in. I am unable to recall what the dialogue was about. However I do know that what I meant, was that I was scared for him because he will not always be a little “black” (which is an adjective not a description of race, but I’m using it here because it flows better) boy. He will one day be a “black” man. A black man living in a country that is currently on the brink of a civil rights era of our time. Post-racial America my arse Mr. Obama; who has said before that we are living in a post-racial America. Not!
I’ve watched numerous youtube videos tonight before deciding to blog about this. I’ve read numerous tweets and Facebook posts all expressing their thoughts on the killing of Trayvon Martin. What I’ve gathered from it all is that there are an abundance of racist and hate-filled people amongst us, and compassionate and peace-filled people amongst us as well. You can’t hardly watch a video on youtube without reading a hate-filled comment laced with racial slurs. It doesn’t matter what kind of video it is. If the person watching doesn’t take kindly to your race then he/she will spew out every derogatory term known to man in the comments section. Needless to say I’ve read my share of them tonight.
Out of all the things I’ve seen and read these past few days, there are two profound comments that struck a chord with me so deep that I had to pause my entire life for a few minutes while I processed it. The first was a tweet from @mychalsmith whom I do not happen to follow, but the tweet was re-tweeted by someone that I do. The tweet read as follows: “It’s a life-threatening occupation to be a black man in this country.” If you didn’t already know this 
then I’d have to guess that you’ve been in the same rain forest with the other folks who haven’t a clue who Trayvon Martin is. The next comment I came across while reading the latest at Very Smart Brothas. It came from a woman who had expressed that incidents like this is what deters her from having children, because as she put it she just couldn’t “bury her baby”. This. This right here. This is what gave me pause. And looking at it here on my screen it does something to the very core of my soul.
Today I did a small gesture by participating in the #hoodiesup and #justiceforTrayvon movements. Hence the photo above of my son donning his hoodies. If you haven’t done so already and if you feel compelled to do so go to Change. org to sign the petition for the prosecution of Trayvon’s killer. There are protests and marches going on all across the nation and people from all walks of life are getting involved. I’m all for involvement in social change and movements that galvanize us as a people. However, deep down I know that whatever is done will never be enough. Never. The truth is that there will be another Trayvon. Another family confused and hurt as to why their loved-one is no longer with them. This is the society we live in and will live in until Jesus himself comes back and ends everything as we know it. So what do we do in the meantime? I suggest the activity of prayer.
In the meantime I’ll be praying for the family of Trayvon Martin. In the meantime of that meantime, I’ll be praying for America as whole. And lastly but certainly not least, I’ll be praying for my son Dariyan Mallory, who will one day undoubtedly “look suspicious” to someone. Lord please have mercy on his soul, and the souls of African-American parents everywhere and their sons whom have yet to experience the adverse effect their race has on a vast number of people in this so-called post-racial America we live in. *Scoffs*
Peace & Blessings ya’ll
Tags: #hoodiesup, #justiceforTrayvon, post-racial, race, Trayvon Martin, Twitter
Since I was a little girl I always knew that I was going to “be” somebody. At that time I didn’t know how or when it was going to occur, but I always knew that I was destined for stardom. Whenever the Mickey Mouse Club House would come on; especially the 50′s version with Annette Funicello (see right
). I would pretend I too was on the show. I would be both watching the show and acting out scenes with a bunch of props. Don’t judge. Then came Kids Incorporated. Oh man, how I so would have cut my finger off back then to be on that show. Then the Cosby Show hit the airwaves. Rudy had me craving the acting bug more and more. The point is like Martin said I felt like “this face belongs on the tizzube.“
So fast forward many many many years down the line, needless to say I’ve yet to appear on the tizzube. Of course with age your wants, needs, goals and dreams shift. The thing is mine have shifted but not drastically so. I still have the urge to be “known”… I want to be known for something great of course and that I can say I’m currently working on.
I see the same urge in my girls, whom might I add are also destined for greatness. I have one teenager who aspires to design clothing, is a music fiend, wants to play the acoustic guitar, be a photographer on the side, act, sing/rap, she sews and makes bows etc. She is artistically inclined to say the least. That description of her alone says she is going to “be” somebody.
I have another teen who aspires to be an author and wants to run track, play tennis, volleyball and softball. Seeing as though she used to cry while doing her Easter speeches explains why should could care less about being on the tizzube. Poor thing she’s uber nervous…about everything.
I have an 8 year old who just may be the next Zuckerberg, Jobs or even the brother Lonnie Johnson (the rocket scientist who created the super soaker water gun). He’s wise beyond his 8 years and is a tech head. And last but not least I have a 11 month old who does nothing but scream. I need another 8-10 years at least to dissect her.
My greatest fear is that all of us will live a long life of mediocrity. This just won’t do. We collectively have enough talent and drive to be a mogul family like the Smith’s. That happening would surpass my dreams. I was thinking the other day about how there is no way that anyone should fail at life if they’re applying themselves accordingly. [Ha I sound like one of my teachers from middle school. She would always tell me "you have to apply yourself", and the whole time I'm thinking but I'm not enjoying what I'm being forced to apply myself to. Ha again.] And to top it off we’re funny. We all possess a comical gene as well. WeTv needs to call me up so we can discuss the time slot after The Braxtons. It’s a reality show around these here parts everyday.
Lord willing, the crew and I will achieve all of our hearts desires and more. I hope the same for all of you too! We were put here to prosper not to linger. In order to prosper you have to follow that dream in your heart that He himself put there. As Yolanda Adams is playing on Pandora I’m gonna say what she’s singing. Never Give Up!
I believe in a God who is bigger than my dream. A God who is able and wants to do exceedingly and abundantly above all that we ask or think…Ephesians 3:20. Get to believing and cultivating that dream so you can get to living how He wants us to live. 
Fear regularity, shun mediocrity, and embrace expectancy to make room for prosperity.
xo
Tags: dreams, mickey mouse club house, rocket scientist, Tv
