THE SHIT THAT COMES WITH RACISM

Growing up and coming of age in 1960’s/70’s California, was an interesting, to say the least. The news media of the day made quite clear that those of us living in America that were black, or as we were sometimes still called back then, Negro, knew it. As liberal as Californians were made to look by the Press, black people (us) knew we were still segregated in many ways. However, as a kid, growing up in a predominately black neighbor of a racially mixed city did had its advantages. It allowed me to see the little white kids and Asian kids I went to school with as people, first. In grade school, none of us really looked down at any kid because of their ethnicity. Sure, we teased each other for a variety of reasons, but none of which had anything to do with skin color. As I recall, that issue did no surface until our junior high school days.

In my elementary school years, I became aware that being a minority, really did not mean much in the grand scheme of things. I am black. OK, so what? Why do you have a problem with this?  Was I to process that as to mean I was inferior, and shit as some were leading me to believe? 

My earliest recalled encounter with racism came one summer at YMCA camp. My father was a camp counselor at a time when my brother and I were actually too young to attend camp. But, some how there we were with my older cousin and a bunch of racially mixed kids from all over the Bay Area of northern California. There were many camp counselors milling about making sure all the kids were safe and supervised. One counselor I remember was an ethnic Italian. “Neat!” I thought. Never met a real Italian before. He seemed to take a liking to my younger brother. Always putting him on his shoulders, and entertaining him in various ways. I sort of felt left out. I'd hoped that he would take me onto his shoulders at some point during our time at camp but that shit never happened. I waited, and waited, watching my younger brother get all the attention, when one day the counselor actually talked to me.  During the conservation said.

“Oh, I can tell you two apart”, this said with his head outstretched upward, slightly as he looked downward with his eyes towards me. I was so excited that he was speaking to me. That he actually knew I was alive. OK, he was about to make a comparison between my younger brother and I, but that was O.K. Maybe I’d finally get that ride on his shoulders. I listened intently as he was about to explain to me how he could tell the difference between me and my lighter skinned younger brother, who, granted, was the same size as I, and we wore pretty much the same style and color of clothing. A direct result of my mother’s bargain shopping and her relishing in the fact that most people thought my brother and I were fraternal twins. Twins of any sort was a novelty back in those days. We were only 13 months apart in age, so I could see how people might believe that we were twins of sorts.

“Oh yeah, I can tell you two apart” He said “Its easy, You’re the ugly one.”

This said without batting an eye, cracking a smile or offering up an I’m just kidding! This consular was serious an unapologetic. Believe it or not, I didn't take the statement personally. I was just stunned. I was ugly? I stood there looking up at the counselor, trying to process what he had just said to me. Trying to understand the words. Trying to understand. Was this a black and white/dark and light thing, I wondered. I was too young to ask what kinda shit is that to say to a kid but I did contemplate that thought later in life. You don’t easily forget shit like that.

In my teens, I recall a Klu Klux Klan member quoting a passage from the Christian Bible to justify why he believed black people of African descent, the Negro race, were inferior to the Caucasian race. “A leopard can not change his spots” was the line I believe he quoted. I seem to recall looking that passage up and not obtaining the same meaning as he did, but in any case, it was clear that he and a large number of Americans believed this to be true. He claimed being black made us inferior and that fact would not change, no matter what we did to bring about change.

In college, there was a girl who I was attracted to, who happened to be Mormon. I asked her out. She said yes, and then changed her mind two days later. I was excited at the 'yes' and disappointed at the 'no'. So, I of course asked why the change of heart.

"John I like you and think you are a fun guy but I can't go out with you because you are black." She went on to tell me that her Morman religion made it impossible for us to go out on a date. And then she gave the quote. "A leopard can not change its spots .” Deja vu. She went on to say that black people are black because they (we) did not accept Jesus Christ, or Christianity, or some shit like that. I don't remember all the details just that she was allowing outside influences to control her inter being; her fondness for me.

There is a Chinese saying I recall hearing as a kid. You are now, what you always have been. I believe this saying addresses one’s character; one’s self, and may be a more appropriate interpretation of what is said to be written in the Christian Bible. 

...continued

Understanding the word Shit

A lot of shit will had already taken place by the time you're able to understand that you were a sentient being. By age of two, "No" surely was the strongest word within your limited adult vocabulary. Using this word too often in front of your parents may have resulted in you getting the shit slapped out of you and thus you began to learn the art of internal thought. Think before you speak. Think before you act and somehow the shit that was bothering you became a bit more bearable.
By age three, you may have started to see yourself as something other than a sponge, trying to process as much shit as possible. Every day brought forth a new adventure stimulating your cognizant thinking skills. All of the things you where now coming in contact with began to unwittingly, shape the direction of your life. You had begun to learn the art of higher learning without realizing what was taking place. Wanderlust. A sense of a twinkle of self realization. If possible, go back and look at photographs of yourself at age two and three. Do you see a difference in the awareness you appear to project? At that point in time life had just become more interesting for you.

As a kid, I really didn’t know what shit was, how it begin, or how it ended. But I knew that it was out there. I didn’t have a great command of the English language during my pre-teen years, so trying to associate the word with action or object, was a bit confusing. My parents, like most parents of the 1960’s, tried not to use inappropriate words around children. Didn’t want them to learn bad words, as if somehow, their children would be the exception to the rule, and shit. Growing up as sugar and spice and everything nice. Invariably, a bad word or two would slip out from an adult’s mouth during extended family gatherings. Say, a Labor Day Barbeque, or a Super Bowl Sunday. Excited moments or a tendency to be a bit more relaxed than one could afford to be within a work environment brought forth forbidden words. Shit, was always included on the short list. It was the word that slipped out most frequently as a result of an excited utterance.... 

"Come on, Tom. Let's finish this shit the way we started ..."

Are you familiar with the book series Harry Potter? The fictional character Harry Potter had the deal with a lot of heavy shit long before he was aware that life had pushed a bunch of shit his way. First, his parents are killed in an attack by and egotistical wizard, while Harry was just an infant. Harry was marked for death by this guy but survives. Not being conscious of any of the events which lead to the death of his parents, Harry had to be told by others of the terrible events that clouded his life and of the courageous shit his mother did on his behalf, and of the crazy, egotistical shit-head who killed his parents.

Harry Potter survived to became the talk of the town. Those in the know around Harry began to direct his life. Harry's Aunt and Uncle treats him like shit. His School's Head Master treats him like the son he never had, but has a hidden agenda planned. Harry bonds with two first year classmates who are dealing with shit of their own. One is born to non wizard parents and is looked down upon by the wizard community because of her mixed blood. She works extra hard to prove she is just as good or better than the others. The other friend, although born into a loving family, believes he's happiness is tied to the intangible and seeks materialism to gain social acceptance. He is never really happy with who he is.

Throughout Harry’s school daze, he is reminded of who he is and that his family is gone. We are shown how much love Harry holds for the parents he never knew. In many respects, Harry is not allowed to be present, being consistently reminded about his past by others and holding onto it, himself. Basically Harry Potter does not like his life and longs for something more simple. He really wants to know what love is and would rather not deal with all this shit about saving the world. Harry becomes known as “the chosen one.” This attention is not sought after nor wanted by the young wizard. Celebrity status. He can’t take a shit without something significant happening around him that effects his life and the lives of others. So, was it Harry’s destiny to help/hinder others in a big way? Was the bad shit he had to live through part of his life's journey? In some way, helping him realize the nature of his true self? Or did he, deep down, allow his ego to make him believe he was the shit, and the only person qualified to deal with the bull shit that had marked him from infancy?

Ain't That Some Shit!

Back in the day, football meant everything to me. It was the shit! I attended Junior High and High School during the 70’s, playing football as much as I could and dreamed about being an American League football star. Before band practice, there was football. Before girls, there was football. Before being called in for dinner, there was, football. I dreamed of playing along side Darryl Lamonica and George Blanda of the Oakland Raiders. Beating the shit out of Terry Bradshaw and Franco Harris. Delusions of grandeur swirled in my head. When my friends from the neighborhood and I took to the streets, we were the embodiments of our favorite professional football stars. On most days we played touch football in the street, and if some kid was bold enough to allow us to play on their front lawn, we played tackle and usually, tore the lawn to shit. But more often than not, the street was our stadium. Sure, we got the shit knocked out of us on occasion from running into stationary cars, being hit by moving cars or fighting over some stupid shit, but by and large, we had a great time playing for hours after school until dust and on the weekends. However, like I said, even though I loved football, I was not a warrior. So, for me, being a part of the high school football team helped me stay safe in what I viewed as a hostile learning environment. Being a part of a team also helped me grow up.
I remember that I got hit relatively hard the first day we ran through some drills. I laid down on the field and cried. A team mate saw me and said “Hey. Coach, he’s hurt.” He said exactly what I wanted him to say. I could see the coach looking back at me as I laid their crying on the grass. Seconds later. ...“He’ll be OK.” the Coach said and then walked away to begin some more drills. The Coach made this assessment of my situation from ten yards away! He didn’t come over to me and ask what was wrong. Didn't tell me everything was going to be alright. Nothing. I was still crying but remember thinking to myself. “Shit! What’s his problem?”... 

When the Shit hits the Fan

Do you see yourself as a victim, thus justifying the lack of control you believe you have to change things in your shity life. There may be a correlation here. But, Ah!, you say. You’ve tried to do mostly right by others and yourself, and it still seems that you can’t get a break in life. Appearances can cloud the truth. We often see, or view things as we want to see them, ignoring the things that do not appear to serve our interests. "The World according to Brooks" a friend used to tell me. Dreaming of what I believed should be rather than accepting the way things were. Many of us walk through life wearing blinders, refusing to yield to anything we do not understand or perceive as a threat.

Example: Do you feel the need to kill a spider crawling in front of you? Why?

What is the real or perceived threat? What is it you are thinking about at the time you make that nanosecond decision to kill the spider? True, some people have real phobia's of spider's snakes, high places, etc. The bite or sight of a spider for some people may cause allergic reactions, loss of consciousness, or just an unexplained fight or flight reflex. Most people, however, approach fear through learned behavior. Their fears are perceived. They are told to be afraid and thus, are afraid. Taking what is told to them as gospel. Not checking the source of the information relayed. Just believing and retaining the source of their fear. Others are fascinated by the sight of life not like their own and seek out answers to the unknown or simply just enjoy the sights and sounds of life for as long as they can. Seeing each day as an opportunity to grow in some form or fashion.....

A rose by any other name could smell like shit

Its as old as the dirt on this planet and is produced and recycled daily. It can feed the ego or tear it apart. It can be shocking or surprising. Perceived as good or bad, sweet or bitter. Long lasting or short lived. It has the ability to be the answers to all of your prayers and wishes or your Nemeses throughout life. It is known throughout the world but best spoken in English. It must be dealt with by each of us at one time or another throughout our lives. How you deal with it can dictate the course of your future, turning your world upside down or place you on top of the heap.
Shit happens and contrary to what you may believe, shit doesn’t only happen to you. We are all givers and receivers of shit on a daily basis. We create it, smell it, step in it, and recycle it. Some of us are afraid to go through the day without it. Shit can give the illusion of bringing meaning to ones life by becoming comfortable and familiar with shit, leaving one fearful to venture forth or break out from its circle of sameness. Fearful to help others. Fearful to research fact from fiction.
Some among us believe life (should) revolve around them. Blocking out the need to coexist with others. Taking what they can and doing what ever it takes to get ahead of the pack. I will not say that this approach towards life is wrong. I will only say that it can not be fulfilling. This approach towards life tends to concentrate on collecting a bunch of shit from external sources in order to bring one happiness, instead of looking within one's self.
When I was young, a friend once told me. "John, you think you’re so important, and shit. Guess what, man, you’re not. Get over it!" He was correct. My perceived importance through the eyes of others was, for the most part, non existent. Although you may have an effect on the lives of others through out your life, their life's path, or destiny will continue and your roll in directing a small part of their lives is just that; a small part. And that's O.K. No single act you do will last forever in the mind's of another. Seeking recognition for doing "something" should not be your life's focus. If you would like to help someone do so with out attachment. Your influence on one person can send ripples through out time and help improve the lives of others but the act and effect, or effects to follow, may not have been made as the result of your influence, alone........

Beginings

I am dyslexic, and did not find out until I had already graduated from a major university and began a career with the US government. I'm telling you this, because even though I've always enjoyed writing stories, letters, etc. I've never enjoyed reading, nor have I ever been able to proof read my own work. I remember as a kid, I'd ask my Mother how to pronounce a certain word I'd come across in a book I was trying to read. "Sound it out" she'd tell me." How was I to "sound out" a word I had no idea how to pronounce??? My way of learning how to spell consisted of watching TV, hearing a word new to me then paging through the dictionary trying to find that word. Once located, I'd add it to my growing vocabulary, looking forward to using it in a sentence in front of my friends.

Fast forward to my teen years. The girls I'd written letters to must have thought I was really stupid. I'm talking about real letter writing. On paper. Using a pen! Even though I'd pre-write a letter. Look up as many words as I could before writing a final version, invariably, a large percentage of my words, both simple and complex were misspelled or incomplete. I'd read the letter back to myself before placing it into an envelop sprinkled with a little cologne, but what I would read back was a recording. My mind would ignore what was on paper and recall that which was in my brain. So, I would never be able to see, really see what I had written on the paper, unless I'd but the letter away for a month, making it more difficult for my mind to access the file. I f I had grown up in today's society of computer's an smart phones, I'd doubt that anyone would notice or care about how I spelled words. Written communication has become lazy. "How r u?" for "How are you doing?", etc.

So, what's life all about? How do you deal with the shit thrown your way? Do you unwittingly create shit for others clean up or fall into? As I said before, I like to write and create stories. I've not been formally trained as a writer but formal training has never stopped me from traveling down new avenues of life. Although most of my book are fictional stories that teach about environmental awareness, I felt the need to write a self help book about the meaning of life....and shit. Why include shit into the meaning of life? You'll see.

Thanks for reading. Please go to my website if you'd like to see books I've written. And as a qualifier, I don't plan on proof reading the entries to this blog. It would take me forever to complete. Life is short and so is money.