Fed Up Friday - Ride or Die

I get so irritated when I am on social media and someone says that they are “Ride or Die” for their significant other/this week’s bestie/co-worker/sister of a friend of a friend, etc. I mean, I am glad that they feel some closeness to someone TODAY, but how long is that loyalty going to last? One month? One year? What is the life expectancy for the relationship that all these people are claiming to be "ride or die" for? Call my a cynic (right!?!) but I don't think I am going out on a limb by stating that "ride or die" for every relationship you have is just not feasible.  I rarely use that turn of phrase because I feel like the overuse lessens the meaning. I can’t lie—there is a group of people that I am ride or die for… my immediate family. Honey, listen: don’t come for my family. You will not like the fallout. There are a LOT of us and I live and breathe and for those folks. They get on my nerves sometimes… but they are supposed to, we are family. I want to punch them sometimes (and have a couple times)… but that is ok, we are family. I can talk about them ALL day and you might even be able to co-sign my objections… but you BET NOT (better not) even think of throwing in your own two cents. Dude, that is my family you talking about. And when you talk about them, thems fighting words to me.

Case and point: Y’all know that I head to my brother’s basketball games whenever I can. He is a freshman in college and he is adorable. I have not introduced the kiddos on the blog, so let's just call this brother Superman. So Superman had a close mid week game and I was able to finagle my way to leaving work an hour early so I could make it down there to watch. Super excited. Rode down the highway with my favorite guy-- Poppa Hot, Black and Bitter. Night was off to a fantastic start. Until we sat down. Now listen, I know that some people really get into seeing their children play sports, and can sometimes be a little... much at sporting events. Oh, but Wednesday night, it was not a parent, it was a drunk ass student. 

The amount of deep breathing that I had to do when he was screaming when my brother was on the court cannot measured. Cannot be measured because I am sure that I may have sucked up all the oxygen in that gym. I was trying hard not to say anything while he was woo hoo hooing it up the ENTIRE game, and while he did not really heckle my brother, per se, he was taking too much joy in heckling a court full of 18 year old kids who were playing their hearts out. The overprotective sister just LEAPT out of me, y'all. I could not help it. Totally a case of bad impulse control. I can admit it. I called his ass out. I flipped him the bird. Unapologetic. Sorry, not sorry style. His friends were telling him to be quiet and amazingly with three minutes left in the game, it was silent. Thankfully. And I told my father that if he was talking shit about my brother, the exchange would have been even more heated. Trust that.  

Here is the thing-- I am loyal, the epitome of ride or die. I am loyal to my family and to the people that my family counts as friends (until they show that they deserve no loyalty). That extends to sports teams, lab partners, tutors. I don't care. I know people heckle to get under the skin of the opposing team. To get in their minds, make them second guess that last pass, that last field goal attempt. I get it. I swear I do. But check this out, these are KIDS. Superman turned 18 after he started college. Kids. This ain't the Knicks and you have no money riding on this game. Our team wasn't jawing it up on the court and the parents who were there were not acting out of line. If you come to a basketball game, drunk and decide that you are going to try to dog my brother and his new found family, you have me to contend with. If you are representing a school that purports to exhibit "values that include integrity, service, simplicity, equality, peace and social justice and respect for all persons" and the "distinctive values of the "Religious Society of Friends (Quakers)" um, I am definitely going to correct you when you get out of line. If there are small children sitting right behind me and you are showing your ass, I will get you in line. And if you come for my brother... BABY... I am coming right at you, guns blazing, straight for the jugular, my friend. Don't do that. Save thyself! I am Ride or Die up in here!! Here is hoping that there is better behavior tomorrow at the game. I might get put out. LOL 

For The Sake of My Siblings

I have nine brothers and a nephew. That is ten, count them, TEN men that could possibly been seen as a threat and ripped away from my family in the blink of an eye. Well, let me revise that statement: I have 1 Black nephew, 1 Bi-racial brother, 7 Black brothers and 1 White brother. In our family, I can honestly say, that the race of my siblings do NOT matter, ah, but here in America, it matters. Looking at the history of our great nation AND the events of tonight, it is easy for me to see that my youngest brother, my White brother, will not have the same lifetime experiences as the others. The way that they are raised will be the same. The consequences for bad behavior in our house will get you the exact same punishment that has been handed out since I was a kid. My parents haven't changed; what is right and wrong hasn't changed, but somehow, my sweet little brother Jonathan has the possibility of being treated like a HUMAN BEING, while, at some point in their lives, that WILL NOT be afforded to my nephew and my other brothers.

Tonight, America has had the real opportunity to see what the justice system is like. Not a Law And Order episode, but real life. The story of Mike Brown could have taken a real turn towards America actually recognizing that Race Relations are not anywhere close to where we want it to me. It could have given hope to those who had lost it; it could have restored some faith in humanity; it could have been a representation of the justice serving those that can do nothing for her (and that is rare). It could have. But it did not.

Let me be clear, for those of you who don't know-- a grand jury has ONE job, it is to say "hey- this is enough evidence to go to trial." That is it. An indictment does not mean that Darren Wilson would be found guilty or pay the price for shooting a Black child in the street and letting his body fester in the August heat. An indictment does not mean that Michael Brown was completely innocent in this situation. An indictment does not mean that race relations would get better in Ferguson. An indictment would simply mean that the state could move on to TRY Darren Wilson in a courtroom. That is all. So when I see that the grand jury could not even muster an indictment, could not even say that "hey, ONE of these autopsies show something that y'all should discuss at trial", or "hey- there is an UNARMED teenager lying dead in the street and maybe someone should be held responsible for that." The fact that they could not even move on to a trial... you can understand how I would be dismayed. Shocked. Angry. Frustrated. Right?!

This case is not about fairness. It is not about protecting a police officer. It is not about ridding society of a leech. It IS about Blackness in America. It IS about the overreaction of police officers when dealing with Black men. It IS about the awful reality that Black children are far more likely to be killed by police officers than their white counterparts and it IS absolutely about the vast majority of Americans closing their eyes- WILLFULLY- to the suffering of their fellow man. Continuously blaming these victims for their OWN deaths. It IS about Michael Brown, Eric Garner, John Crawford, Ezell Ford, Dante Parker and Tamir Rice. It IS. It IS about my nephew, Justus. My brothers: Jeff, Ronald, Frank, Christopher, Tyron, Les, Joshua, Jackson and Jonathan. My father. My cousins. My neighbors. My city. My state. It IS about entire states showing that they don't give a damn about the lives of more than half of their constituency. It IS about the legal system disregarding the rights of the Black and Brown populations. It IS about an entire system which continues to persecute races unlawfully and without remorse.

It keeps me up at night. It makes me worry. It makes me happy that Lefty and I do not have children that would be subjected to this unkind, unfair and unnecessary treatment. It makes me want to hug my brothers and watch them, wherever they go. I am sad, y'all. The people of Ferguson have been done a huge disservice. The state of Missouri SHOULD be in uproar. Major cities that have large minority populations should be epicenters of (peaceful) protests-- even though they don't deal with US peacefully. The Brown family should sue Darren Wilson, the City of Ferguson, the Police Chief, the Prosecuting Attorney and whoever else they can think of for the wrongful death of their son. As of right now, the legal community that I once wanted to be a part of so badly has let me down...again. And not just me... I have nine brothers and a nephew.

Diary of a Fat Girl

With my brothers getting ready to graduate from high school and all the other stuff going on around these parts, I have had a little time to look through photos and reflect on my high school/college years. Lefty and I were at Momma Hot, Black and Bitter's house a few weeks ago and we found most of my college acceptance letters. I headed home and started to look through pictures, walking down a mental memory lane. I came across pictures that I have not seen in years, and saw a ME I have not seen in years. Want to know my conclusion?

I'm FAT, y'all!!

I looked at a couple pics and this was me…

 

Now, don't start sending me emails… I do NOT have any body image issues. Honestly, I like my body MORE now than I did when I was in college. I was VERY thin in college… and I don't think that was the healthiest look for me either. So, what makes me think I am fat? Well, for one thing, I am short…compact…fun-sized. Whatever you want to call it, I am close to the ground. Close to the ground means that an increase of numbers on the scale is not too fabulous. Those pounds run out of places to go, clothes start to get tight, pictures look very different, for lack of a better term. And I look different. 

Some people will HATE this post, because most people who have had weight problems want to be the size that I am right now. Fortunately for me, the largest size in my closet is an 8, but trust me, sizes are all relative. If you are 5'10" and a size 8, you do not look very similar to a person who is 4"11" and a size 8. Actually, I don't want to lose much weight, but I can see the slippery slope, my friends. I refuse to get pants bigger than an 8. I refuse to be "chubby"; I refuse to conveniently forget what a size 4 looks/feels like.

So, today - April 1, 2014, I am signing up for my first triathlon. It will be a mini, and it is taking place the weekend of Lefty's birthday, in the suburb I currently work in. Also, I have already signed up for a half marathon at the end of this month. I will definitely be using the walk/run method during these 13.1 miles, but I am going to finish, even if I have to walk the whole thing. I will do at least three races this season. Now I just have to figure out what kind of fundraising I will do before these races. Either way, darlings… wish me some luck. Pray that I will tone up and not have to buy bigger pants! :)