Dying On Our Feet

I’ve been waiting a long time to write this piece. For fear of offending people, for fear of seeming judgmental, for fear of stepping on people’s toes, even the ones that I love, just for fear, in fear. But at some point, this conversation has to be had, this darkness brought to light, this piece written. I am so saddened by it, yet angered by it, that I can no longer ignore the topic...unprotected sex outside of marriage.

It plagues my mind, humbles my spirit, angers my soul, and upsets my love for mankind. With all of the statistics that are readily available regarding HIV/AIDS and other STDs and the statistics surrounding single parent homes, I cannot help but to be completely baffled by the reality that women and men still place themselves in compromising situations where their lives and livelihoods are at risk. It’s one of those things that I just don’t get.

So often, when I speak to women, they use unprotected sex as a security blanket. They think that having unprotected sex is proof that the guy is not cheating on them. Or they have gotten to the point where they feel so comfortable with their man that they completely let their guard down. And letting your guard down is good. How can one expect to receive love if they are afraid of giving it? But that does not include putting yourself at risk or having children when you are not ready. How many times have we been dating someone, especially if we take it back pretty far, and feel that the relationship is going somewhere, really going somewhere? That this is someone I could marry? We quickly get married on scratch paper; you know, when we scribble our name with our boyfriend’s last name attached to it? We thought that it was going to last but it didn’t. So we end up having unprotected sex with all of our boyfriends, because this one, this one right here, this one, is going to last…but it doesn’t last forever. Our consequences do.

And it’s not about education anymore. It’s out there. The truth is out there. HIV/AIDS is real. Single parent struggles are real. But we seemed to have regressed to our teenage years, where we think that we’re untouchable, unstoppable. The problem is…we’re grown. We quickly find out that with our teenage decisions, comes a lot of adult responsibilities, adult reality, and adult heartache.

It’s not even specific to one type of community, or one type of person. There are educated, middle class women that make the same mistakes as uneducated women from lower class backgrounds. Teachers, lawyers, nurses, managers, McDonald’s crew members…we’re all cut from the same cloth. We make the same decisions when we meet a man that satisfies us sexually, mentally, emotionally, financially… or even if he doesn’t.

I have a friend who asserts that women, whether they admit it or not, have come to accept whatever the consequences are, as a possibility. That they have accepted the idea that they could get pregnant by this man, and that they are okay with it, and what comes along with it. I don’t agree, but okay, it’s probably not life or death. But the other side of that coin…have they also accepted the possibility of catching a life sentence? Have they swallowed that pill? I mean truly swallowed it? Because my thoughts are that it has to have crossed their mind at some point...what if? Just sit on that for a second. (second) What if? Truly what if? Why isn’t that “what if” strong enough, scary enough, challenging enough, to correct us?

We’ll continue to kill ourselves, kill our communities, kill our families, because we have not come to grips with the reality that bad or challenging things happen to good people, or that we are not immune from the harshness of life. We have the information we need. We have the statistics we need. We have the protection we need, yet we are dying on our feet (shoutout to King for the title).

And please please, do not waste your energy informing me of how nothing is promised, how marriages these days are not secure either. How your own husband can give you a disease. Save your breath. Save your fingers. Forget about Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and what they got going on. What are you doing to save yourself?

The Hand That Feeds You

I won’t be ignorant or insensitive and quote one of my favorite lines of Chris Rock’s Bigger and Blacker, but if you are familiar with his standup, you will soon realize what quote I am referring to. To put it plainly, I am so tired of black folks. Of course I realize that “all black people” are not one particular way or another, and I also realize that I am using “black folks” loosely. Charge it to my poetic license and not my level of open-mindedness or tolerance. However, the crime and mentality in many black neighborhoods is so devastating to our community and society in general, that it pains me to continue to witness and experience much of its effects. Although I have purposely placed myself in low-income communities to work, my desire to continue my service in our communities has recently been challenged.

As an educator, I see my purpose as helping children to grow and mature academically, emotionally, psychologically, and socially. I know that children from low income families, which are often minorities, often have problems getting the resources, instruction, and proper role models that they need in order to actually develop into the individuals that are going to contribute most to society. So that’s what I feel my purpose is…to help little minority children realize their potential and press towards that potential. But what is sad is, the community sees us not as community leaders or service providers, but as targets, targets for their criminal activity, their vandalism, their ignorance.

My second week on the job, my car was broken into, windows busted, and out of sight valuables, stolen. Just last week, two teenagers were standing outside in the almost empty parking lot, in the rain, with hoods on, waiting for myself and/or the other dedicated lone ranger to leave the building. The custodian had to watch me as I went to my car. And today, a hubcap from two different cars was stolen. All this, from a neighborhood that needs educators that can give their children, their brothers and their sisters, the love, attention, and intellectual stimulation that is so often missing in their own families of origin.

It is disheartening that as an educator, you sacrifice so much of yourself. You give your all. You endure ever-changing policies and methods of evaluation, budget cuts, and subpar pay just so that one student’s life can be enriched because of your service. You take your dedication to tomorrow’s future and become a teacher, a principal, a school counselor (that’s me), a school psychologist, and yet, a target. What happens when enough is enough, and all those dedicated individuals take their dedication elsewhere? A place where they will be safe, their belongings secured, and their efforts appreciated? Where will that leave our little minority children?

This blog was a nice little vent, but a follow-up to what all this means for black America is forthcoming....hold your horses.