Hello Faithful Reader,
I hope this edition of the Black Birds Eye View finds you well and in good spirit. Earlier this week I encountered something that bothered me to the core of my being. It was around 8am. My bath tub was draining slower than normal. I, wanting to be proactive, decided to head over to the rental office early to make sure they were aware and that the maintenance man was scheduled to fix it before it stopped draining completely.
As I was walking to the rental office I noticed a little boy who could not have been more than 4 years old outside by himself. There were two maintenance men on lawnmowers. One yelled to me and asked if I knew the little boy. Turns out he was confused and did not know where he lived and was unable to tell us his parents name. I asked him all kinds of questions to get him to take me to his apartment. I asked him to show me where he slept, were he ate, where his toys were….to no avail. Ultimately, he was taken to the rental office where the police were called.
It amazed me that a little boy was left to his own devices without any form of supervision. Anyone could have snatched him up. He could have been gone in a blink of an eye. I realize that it takes a village to raise a child. In this day and age, the village is almost non-existent. I could only imagine what back lash the poor property manager would endure for involving the police, who undoubtedly would contact the Child Protective Service. Parents are getting younger and younger. I am in no way saying that a young parent cannot be a good parent. I am saying that where I live the young parents need parenting themselves.
I will be the first to tell you that I reside in what is known as “the hood.” It is not uncommon to see gun fights, fist fights, knife fights, and be awakened in the middle of the night by the sounds of gunfire and violent arguments. It is not uncommon to hear mothers speak to their children worse than they would speak to a rabid dog, calling them stupid and telling them how they get on their last nerves. It is not uncommon to see mothers walking so fast with their toddler that the toddler is literally being dragged.
When my 7-year-old Grandson came to visit this summer. He asked if he could bring his friends in to see my artwork. I was a little skeptical because I don’t like strangers in my home, but I allowed 2 little girls and on little boy to come in. What struck me was the expression of pure awe when one of the little girls exclaimed, “Your house is so clean!” I thanked her for the observation and wondered what conditions she lived in. We went into my studio and I showed them my artwork. Having them there reminded me of how much I had enjoyed teaching art years before. Then suddenly the other little girl became fixated on a plaque on my wall. A few years ago, I was featured in the local newspaper and I’d received the article mounted on a beautiful wood board in the mail. The little girl spun and looked at me and asked, “What bad thing did you do to be in the newspaper? I was taken aback by the mere notion that it never dawned on this little girl that people do good things too.
It saddened me that these children were not being fed the knowledge of the Kings and Queens they stem from. It broke my heart that they believed that all there is to this world is all they see. All I could do was shake my head and try even harder to be the change I want to see in this world. Most young women are raising their children alone while the father plays “Scarface” and God Father” in these street that continue to kill them. If not by one another than by the people paid to serve and protect.
The Set Up:
Young hopeless Brothers taking what they imagine to be the easy way out. Seemingly realizing what reality is all about. Cause fast money can buy gold and expensive tennis shoes that leave their own invisible scars and bruise. No matter how much money they make, they seal an unredeemable fate. Born to this world with a one-way ticket to jail…Because it’s a given…that it will be dope they will sell. Attempting to be hard with no regard to the pain they cause by breaking societies so-called laws. They’re caught up in this system of life and thugs, hanging out, pushing drugs. A set up from the start, cause white folks smart. Young brothers who all have the same look in their eyes, eyes that reflect silent cries. I’m tired of watching black men get carted off to jail with no hope of parole or bail, for making the decision to take chances with their fate, ending up becoming inmates. It hurts me to imagine the pain that they will endure, a pain that apparently…has no cure. No one wants to be poor or do without, that’s what they say selling drugs is all about. So, they take chances, thinking that they will not be caught. They don’t see that it’s all been a set up...from the start. I am so afraid that one of my sons will fall prey and be convicted one day. The rivers I would cry would drown my soul. I can’t even bear to think of my children alone and cold needing mama to hold…Waiting for yet more drama to unfold while being poured in the mold that was made to keep a people at bay to ensure we stay so preoccupied that no one can think to question the lies because our cries impede our hearing and the system has us fearing it so naturally we end up adhering to it. This is what scares me We are poor, black, a well-known fact is we’re under attack with no slack, easy prey for the people who are hired to protect. Police brutality is not seen as a form of disrespect, cause we reside in the eastside project.
This situation confuses me, continues to elude me. Young Brothers trying to make a way to not have to wake up worrying every day. But still, the set-up is in full effect. Brothers seek wealth and respect. All the while thinking they have got the right stuff. They the last ones to hear the sirens and see the handcuffs. They walk into the courtroom dressed in orange, without shoes…and the clues are everywhere. The cycle continues to turn and turn, on and on. It started the day their fathers were born. ~Robin S. Mills
Thanks for reading. Until next Time.
Commenti