Until I Answer

Until I Answer

The morning started like most bad days start. I overslept, which meant that Simon overslept too, because at 14-years-old, he still managed to only wake up, after I stuck my head in his room and screamed like a rampaging drill sergeant.  Now we both bumbled around the too small apartment snapping at each other for every small offense, until we were finally able to make it out the door. As soon as the car door shut and I slammed the car into reverse, still hoping to catch the 7:38 train, which would still make me late, but might allow me to slide in by 8:30 without too many people noticing, Simon yelled, “wait, I forgot to feed Bonkers.”

“GOD BLESS AMERICA!” I cried, a term I had adapted when he was a baby to avoid ruining his virgin ears with cursing, that had never gone away. “She had no food left in her dish?” I asked, all hopes of making my train draining as fast as the rain I could drumming against the roof.

“No,” Simon said.

“Hurry up,” I said, trying to calm down as I threw the car back in park, knowing that word didn’t exist in this child’s vocabulary.

Ten unbearable minutes later, when Simon strolled back to the car, I peeled out the garage like I was in a drag race, for no reason, since my train was long gone.

“I’ll have to drop you at Avalon today, because I’m already late and can’t afford to miss the next train,” I said glancing at clock. “Will you be okay walking the rest of the way in the rain?”

“Yeah, mom,” he said, his tone, screaming leave me alone, as he crammed his earbuds into his ear.

I intended to talk to him about a test. I wanted to remind him to be careful coming home. I started to remind him, not to lose his lunch bag or key, but I was still annoyed and knew the grunts I could pull from a sulky still half sleep teenaged boy would not lift my mood in any way, so I turned on the radio and drove the few short blocks in silence, him listening to whatever he called music, me listening to celebrity gossip. By the time, I pulled into a parking spot at the train stop, Simon had dozed off, and I had mellowed out.

I poked him in the chest. He jumped like I had dashed him in the face with cold water. I laughed as he struggled to untangle himself from his earbud cord, shooting me a dirty look as I grinned back at him.

“Bye,” he mumbled, barely looking at me as he reached for the door handle.

 “Do you want the umbrella?” I asked.

“No, it’s just rain,” he said pulling the hoodie up over his head.

“Fine, have a nice day.” I said, my flash of good humor disappearing with his grumpiness.

 “You too,” he grunted.

As I watched him walk away, hoodie pulled up, head bent against the rain, my heart stuttered. Where had the time gone? Tears stung my eyes as an image of him at aged 5, clinging to my hand as we waited for the big kid’s bus leapt into my head, a skinny little kid missing his 2 front teeth. He was still skinny, but tall now, taller than me. It wouldn’t be long before those shoestring arms started to gain muscle. Wouldn’t be long, before the girl’s started coming around. Just yesterday he had mentioned the same little girls name three times in the same day, how long before he admitted that he had his first crush.

As I turned, to get out the car, I noticed his glasses left on the seat, and shook my head.

On the train, I burrowed into my purse then my book bag searching for my phone, and came up empty. For just a second, I considered bolting from the train to go back home and get my phone, sure that if I didn’t have it, disaster would strike. But, I just didn’t have the energy to fight against this day any longer and it was only 8:00am.

As soon as I stepped into my office, the phones started ringing and never stopped. In between the phones and more walk-in customers than I had seen in a while, I didn’t have coffee until 10:00am.

I was sitting at my desk combing through a case file, when my head exploded with a pain so fierce I had to lean forward and hold onto my desk to stop myself from throwing up. I laid there, with my face pressed against the warm wood of my desk, tears inexplicably falling from my eyes. It was 11:00am.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled myself to my feet and stumbled into my boss’s office to tell her I had to leave.

“Go. You look like death,” she said, waving me away. “Oh, they done killed another black boy.”

“God. Where, this time?”

“Right here. The news just broke. I believe it’s in your neck of the woods actually.”

“Shit. I got to go before I throw up on your desk,” I said, barely able to see as I stumbled away.

The train ride home was torture. Every step closer, I felt worse and worse, until I wanted to scream. I must have looked like a drunk as I drove home from the train stop, and prayed that I wouldn’t be stopped. I saw the police cars, 3 of them, with their lights going, no sirens parked in front of my building. I turned my head away, going around the back into the underground garage.

As I walked from my car through the garage, clutching Simon’s glasses my sweaty hands, my legs shook so badly, I didn’t think I could make it. I heard voices in the front foyer and the click of handheld radio, but I didn’t look their way as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, desperate to be inside, safe.

As, I closed the door behind me, someone called my name, but I slammed the door close.

The apartment was dark and stuffy. Simon had forgotten to turn on the air, I thought. Bonkers meowed at me. As I sunk into the chair, she leapt into my lap and nestled, like she did when I was sick. My phone lay on the table. It buzzed as I looked at it and the name Mom popped up on the screen. I didn’t answer. When it stopped I could see I had missed 50 calls and my message tab said I had 100 new messages.

The knock on the door was firm, but not loud. Three quick raps. I didn’t move. A few moments later, it came again. Tears ran down my cheeks, falling off the bottom of my chin, wetting Bonkers fur, but for once she didn’t move.

Someone called my name, a woman, but I couldn’t hear what she said, I wouldn’t.

The apartment was empty, deserted, lifeless, but until I answered, he could still be alive. 

No Black Children in America

I was wrapping up my day today, when this article from the local news popped up on my Facebook page. The headline took my breath away: RTA pursues criminal charges against student who forgot free bus pass.

Just in case you're not from here, let me explain. The Cleveland Public School System and some suburban school districts do not provide transportation to children in high school. To address the lack of school transportation many districts provide either free or reduced bus passes for students.

New high-schoolers are typically 14 to 15-years-old. For many of them this is their first time using public transportation alone. It's a big responsibility that can be scary for both the student and the parents, many of whom are forced into this situation, because of work schedules and not having someone to take their child back and forth to school.

I have one of these new high-schoolers, he's 14-years-old and typically never travels alone. I am fortunate to live on the train line that runs in a straight line between our house and the school, only 6 short stops away. Further, because of some work flexibility, I'm able to drop my child off at school in the morning, but he is on his own getting home safely.

Now I don't know about your child, but my 14-year-old has the attention span of a gnat. He forgets his house key so often, I have a sign posted on the inside of the door reminding him to take it. He still manages to forget it every now and again. He forgets to turn in his homework, and to complete his chores. Hell, he can forget something I ask of him between the short walk from the front door to his room. It's annoying, but should he face criminal charges because of it? Sounds stupid, huh? Probably, because it is, but the rules for our children (black children) are a little different than for white children.

Our children are not given the freedom to be just kids, because too often they are just not recognized as children by people in authority. It's why there was no national integrated unified outcry against the murders of 12-year-old Tamir Rice, or 15-year-old Trayvon Martin, or even 18-year-old Mike Brown. This inability to see our kids as children, the same way in which we see a white child, is killing them, literally. The idea that you could criminalize a behavior common to most kids that age and put a child in the criminal system for a bus pass, that if paid for out of pocket, would cost less than $1.75, is shocking, to say the least.

RTA's defense is they have 130 cases of improper use of student bus passes. This justifies treating a child like a criminal? How much did RTA make in profit last year? How many people ride the train each day? I do, and more than 130 others in 1 trip up and back downtown.

The idea that the only way for RTA to defend itself against a child who has lost or forgotten, his paid for by the school system bus pass, is to participate in this pipeline of black folk from the schoolhouse to the jailhouse, is despicable.

There is no dispute that this child is a student, and that he was riding the bus during school hours. Therefore, even without the actual ticket, RTA has already been paid, so what exactly was his crime? RTA sent 1 letter to this child’s parents trying to collect $25 for a ticket that had already been purchased by the school district, again, why? The idea that so little value is placed on our children's lives and their futures is incomprehensible.  

According to the story, the child's record would be expunged if he completes a program for first time offenders. "First Time Offender," that statement makes my head spin. This child is not an OFFENDER. HE IS A CHILD!

RTA states it developed this policy in conjunction with, the NAACP (huh, so did you know you were going to be targeting black folk?) and the ACLU. I wonder if the NAACP knows that you charged 45 children with a criminal offense, given 45 children a criminal record, put 45 children in the criminal justice system, for the cost of one letter and a $1.75 fare. RTA should be ashamed, and we all should be outraged.

The overcharging, over sentencing, and eagerness to place black people in the criminal justice system is this country's worst kept dirty little secret. Excessive incarceration destroys our families, robs us of our right to vote, which steals our voices leaving us powerless, makes us unemployable, leaving us little option, except to return to crime, which returns us to jail or an early grave. It starts with these kinds of sneaky foul little policies that go unnoticed until someone decides to stand up.

This 14-year-old's mother decided to fight. I hope we all stand with her, or it could be your child next.

http://www.wkyc.com/news/local/cleveland/rta-pursues-criminal-charges-to-teen-who-forgot-free-bus-pass/455775234

Why Invite Only Cabo Was So Important

A lot of people will tell you that they don't watch TV anymore, especially not reality shows, but not me. I enjoy them, talent shows like the Voice or So You Think You Can Dance, of course, but most of my favorites come from Bravo and mega reality show mogul Andy Cohen.
This summer Bravo's reality show machine introduced us to Invite Only Cabo. A simple enough premise, 1 guy invites 6 of his best friends, who don't know each other very well, on a dream vacation to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, put them in a gorgeous mansion and sit back and watch the fun ensue.
I got on board late, probably 3 episodes in, but I was lucky enough to catch a marathon that ended my plans for weekend cleaning and had me sitting on my couch laughing and falling in love with these characters instead.
With each episode, I became more and more invested, more so than any other reality show I had ever watched. I started Tweeting about it. The cast Tweeted right back. I Facebooked about it. I started talking about it to friends, co-workers, and pretty much anyone I came into contact with, urging them to give this show a try. Finally, I started actually watching it live instead of waiting for it to record on my trusty DVR (gasp). I can't tell you the last show I've done that for.
Before I knew it, it was time for the finale, I still can't believe how short the season was, but I guess a vacation can only last so long, but I wasn't ready to say goodbye!
I gathered my friends, put a call out on Twitter for people to watch with me, one of the first people to respond was 1 part of my favorite duo from the show, Jermane. The hour long finale seemed to go by in 15 minutes! I had so much fun tweeting back and forth with most of the cast, people I didn't know, and friends alike.
On Monday I was a little bummed and started to wonder why this little 8 episode show meant so much to me. I talked it over with my little sister and we agreed it was special. But it was on the train ride home today that I pinned it down. Invite Ony Cabo is special because:
1. It is the first reality show that shows real affluent black people doing affluent black people stuff, like taking a luxury vacation with our friends. We do that.
2. First show, reality or otherwise, where the entire cast were black, except for the 1 white cast member. It's usually, noticeably the other way around.
3. It was the first reality show that portrayed black people like reasonable people, with reasonable coping skills, able to resolve problems, get into an argument, without ending up rolling around on the floor yanking each other's hair out (this was a win for women and black people).
4. It was the 1st reality show where gay, bi, and straight characters intermingled without judgement, or having to have a long discussion about somebody's right to be who they were, or religion. One of the cast member tall, dark, handsome, and well-endowed (apparently), Agu, frequently disrobed in front of his housemates without any expressed fear that one of his gay housemates might become overwhelmed by his hotness and attack (refreshing).
For these reasons and a few I didn't name, I think the show, intentionally or not, was ground-breaking. In a time where part of the country seems intent on pushing us back into a time of hate and bigotry, tearing us apart, it was a beautiful thing to sit and watch Larry (the Wizard) introduce his friends, flirt with and tease the beautiful smitten Bianca, always hinting there was something more. Watching the group come to accept and care about a sometimes wild, and a little ratchet, Emily, and admire successful single mom, with the class of a queen and the looks of a supermodel, Kamani, flirt with the equally gorgeous Agu, cracking up with my besties (in my head) Malaku and Jermane with them damn onesies (love).
It was a great ride and I'm glad I was there for it. If you missed it the first time, it's now on demand. And YES I sound like I'm on the parole, honey, but it's only because I so want this show to come back, just the way it is. No added ratchetness, good only for ratings, there's enough of that.
The world needs to see us, black people, as real people, who can get angry without guns, make money without drugs, be a single parent without welfare, and who are no different in the their loves and passion than any other human being. Not only does the world need to see it, be we do too.
I'm tired of turning on my favorite shows whether its cooking, designing, decorating, or singing, and seeing 20 contestants, only 2 of which are black, and are so close to the stereotypes, that they could have been printed from a match the description of factory. IJS.
So, Andy Cohen and Bravo, thank you for introducing us to Larry, Jermane, Bianca, Agu, Emily, Malaku and Kamani. I hope you bring back Invite Only and more shows like it, because if we really want to end bigotry, first we all have to start seeing each other as humans. Why not being entertained, while we're at it.

I've Got Your Back

So, you have a friend who's a writer, or an artist, or an actor, or maybe they have a startup, that new business of their dreams. Of course you want to support them, but how. You bought their product, saw their show, frequented their new business, but you're only one person, what else can you do? So much more.

We live in an age of information. It travels as quick as lightning through our circles, so the simplest, cheapest way you can support your striving friends, is share. But before you tap that button, if you believe in what your friend is doing, take that extra step and tell people why they too should support your friend.

Tell them your favorite part of  that book. Tell them why you love what your friend is doing. Tweet it, Instagram it, Facebook it, and most importantly talk about it. Look for opportunities to spread the word.

In my community, our library has a weekly post where you can talk about what you're reading, it's a great forum to spread the word about your favorite writers. Goodreads is always on Twitter talking about books, a reply takes a second, but it can spread around the world, and most importantly, write that review! It's like handing your friend a blank check. Just think, for every  review you write, you may be giving your writer friend one more reader adding one more step on that ladder to their dreams.

Last week I had the pleasure of being surrounded by a group of people who share my dream, to find and audience to share my story, writers. I left feeling inspired, supported and more dedicated to clearing every boulder from my path.

There's room at the top for us all, so don't hold back your support, push those dream seekers in your life forward and see how much it inspires you to chase your own dreams.