Blaze for them

“I don't want to live in the kind of world where we don't look out for each other. Not just the people that are close to us, but anybody who needs a helping hand. I cant change the way anybody else thinks, or what they choose to do, but I can do my bit.” ― Charles de Lint

*BREAK*

This story is from an exchange I had with three black men, the Sunday after the Charlottesville massacre, August 2017. Sorry for the delay-- Enjoy.

It was nearing dusk and I had been barricaded inside my apartment all day. I decided to kill some time at the park up the street. I lived in a central ass location-- literally. I was virtually 10 minutes from every direction; we were located right next to Dallas' medical district. The area is predominantly Latino, with a large, displaced block of government assistance homes [Solely populated by Black families.]

It was a brisk Sunday evening,which usually meant that everyone feeding in from the projects next door, came together as one and fellowshipped freely.

**[proj·ect/noun:ˈpräjˌekt/1. [NORTH AMERICAN] a government-subsidized housing development with relatively low rent.]

Being the friendly neighbor that I was, I decided to pop a squat and chat with the locals. Sunday nights at the park are most lively, because there is an overall sense of warmth and community. There were families barbecuing, children playing, parking lot pimpin' at the car wash across the street-- A good ol' fashioned weekly block party, if you will.

I shuffled passed the lively herds of kinship, towards a table with three black men. We'll give them names so that there's a clearer picture: Billy*, Tyler*, and Chad*. Judging by their mismatched body language, these three were not related; they weren't even necessarily friends. But there were three of them, and they'd established some sort of mutual coexistence.

At the far left of the trio sat Billy--he seemed hella nuanced, business attire, quiet, yet absorbed with his surroundings--27. In the middle, there was Tyler, who seemed slightly inebriated , baggy attire--late 40's early 50's-- seemingly defensive; cackling wildly. Chad was positioned on the far right with his back turned slightly away from Tyler-- his fingers jutted like lightning as he texted fervently, distracted by his phone. A product of today's generation, dense and basic--29.

I plopped down sloppily across the table, coyly asserting my femininity per jokes and light conversation. I've found that while speaking to Black men, there is a constant level of peacock-ing that goes on.

**[peacocking : Ostentatious dress or behavior employed by a man in an attempt to impress women.]

Look at me, hear this, hear me, pay attention.

As I babbled on, I noticed that out of all three men, Tyler* was the only one taking offense. I shrugged it off. I have a blunt sense of humor--sarcastic and dry. I've come to terms that some people will always take offense-- but that's the very reason I love humor! It's raw and real-- get mad if you want, but there's a glimmer of truth behind each jab. Jokes are sheer perspective, that's the entire point.

Once the discussion was in full swing, it was becoming more apparent that Tyler had a problem with the points I was hitting. There also seemed to be little to no consideration that said points stemmed from solid facts. No matter, he was upset.

"How old are you?" I lowered my tone, with a stern squint in my eyes.

"How old are YOU?" he mocked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

The four of us sat there, amidst the buzzing fellowship of community. There were people scattered everywhere by this point.

As I waited for a response,Tyler cackled loudly, still not answering the question. I persisted,

"I asked how old you were." I stayed firm as my eyebrows crept up my forehead-- he chuckled in shock,

"Oh really?--I'm old enough to not answer this question," he let out an awkward howl of laughter-- a wave of cognitive dissonance; his ego was shot. Billy's eyes sparkled sincerely, as if I had peeled back the mask in which he wore on a daily basis. Chad had long tucked away the phone he was so lovingly attached to earlier. I could tell by his eyes that he desperately wanted to know where I was going with this. As Tyler laughed wildly to himself, I took a deep breath, weighing the pros and cons of how this exchange could go vs. how it actually would.

"Let me tell you something, " I started, as his eyes widened in sheer disbelief. How dare I question the views of a Black elder-- How dare I?! .

"First of all, understand that no one is questioning your intelligence. I see you, I hear you," I began gently.

Tyler's* grin quickly faded into a palette of apparent vulnerability. It's as if I'd broken the spell-- as if I'd said something he'd been waiting to hear his entire life. His gaze softened like that of a scolded child-- I had his attention. Chad* and Billy* had matching astonished expressions. Apparently, Tyler* had a reputation for being loud and boisterous around the neighborhood

How did she change his mind?

Three Black men, from three different walks of life, at three completely different seasons of life-- I had all three's undivided attention.

I proceeded,"You see what just happened?" I blurted, turning my focus towards Chad* and Billy*, "You see how Tyler* stopped challenging my perspective once the hurt beneath his mask was acknowledged?" They remained dumbfounded, nodding in unison.

"By acknowledging the root of the problem, I was able to gain a level of respect from the opposing party. Without watering down his emotions, I was able to pinpoint the fault of his approach."

I leaned closer to them, hoisting part of my body weight over the weathered picnic table.

"How many times, as a Black person, have you had to repeat yourself due to lack of attention from your audience? How many times have you tried sincerely courting a woman, and in return, she laughed at your effort? You might have been embarrassed, but did you show it-- No. How many times have you been told to keep quiet even though you were in dire need of support and understanding?" They remained motionless as I continued, " It's because in the Black community, we have this common misconception that past ways are law-- so why bother. Whether it be a mom/dad/grandma -- someone's told you to 'shutup and deal with it'. With harbored feelings of resentment piled on top of each other-- like a ticking time bomb, it's bound to blow up. We're talking about generations of silenced pain converted into pent up hostility. As Black people, a number of us are mad because no one bothered to 'look at me' ...'see what I can do'... 'hear what I have to say'-- shattered. By a system, designed to oppress us to begin with."

Everyone's focus was quickly thrown off by a newcomer to the table, "Hi, welcome to the conversation, what's your name?" I smiled.

"People call me 'Red'", here comes the peacock-ing

"Ooohhhh okay. Well, We have Billy*, Tyler* and Chad* here. What is your government name?" I'm constantly pressing for people's government names-- I would like to know the name in which they were anointed-- It's a beautiful thing.

That, and everyone in the hood has a nickname-- a lot of which, are recycled af:

Dede, Dada,Big Pat, Fat Pat, Red, Nunu, Spongebob, Slim, TumTum, G-baby, Pooh, Kwik, RayRay, RahRah, Big Mike, PJ, lil' craig (or lil' ANYthing)--I can't.

I won't.

LET your name be Da'quan.

LET your name be Jermicia.

LET your name by Daquaylin.

LET your name be Shambraelyn.

"Excuse me? " he mocked aggressively, "My NAME is Red. I don't give out government names around here."He continued to mock my tone, at a tired attempt to steer us from the initial topic. Although I was hella annoyed, I remained calm.

"You do realize you just wasted everyone's time by explaining something, I didn't even ask for," I stated firmly," I asked for your government name, sir-- not a debate." By now, the sky was a navy blue, it had to be close to 8:30 PM. Families were still congregating-- children were still running about the jungle gym. Life was around us, and the environment was welcoming.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" He bucked-- he was in front of other black men, after all.

"She thinks," He began, speaking loudly, overpowering the entire picnic table, "that she can just talk to anyone however she wants. She better gon' somewhere with all that."

Tyler* laughed maniacally in unison, "See, I been trynna tell her that shit."

They went on talking empty shit like I wasn't there, " She think she better than us--"

"Wrong," I interrupted, bringing all heckling to a standstill. "You sir, are the type of person that is going to destroy this revolutionary dawn. The fact that I'm a woman threatens you, does it not?" My face remained thoughtful, as I stared directly into Red's persistent scowl-- I wanted to see where he stood.

"Are you feeling threatened?" He mocked.

"That was not the question!" I exclaimed, catching a glimpse of Chad* and Billy* at full attention through my peripherals. By now, Chad* had shut his phone off completely, placing it coldly on the wooden tabletop. Tyler* cackled aimlessly at another one of Red's weak attempts to derail the conversation.

"I asked you", I moved closer to him, "What your name was, You said, 'Red'. Why did you say Red? 'Cause that's your nickname, of course!" I exclaimed sarcastically. "You are light-skinned with red hair, I see that. But what is your name, hunnie," I softened my tone while remaining at eye level. Red was about 6'2"/200-300 lbs.

Who the fuck does she think she's talking to?!

I rolled my eyes,

"You're not taking me seriously because you were taught that men don't need to explain themselves. You were taught that women are nags and that anything that comes out of their mouths has to be anger-fueled emptiness. For that, I'm sorry."

He was taken aback by my sincerity. The cold scowl he'd worn earlier, had melted into a look of puzzled willingness.

"My name's Ted*." he sighed.

Once again, Chad* and Billy* turned to each other in disbelief.

I channeled my focus back towards my original audience, as Ted* was called over to another group sitting nearby.

"Again," I sighed, "By acknowledging the root of the problem, we gain a clearer understanding of how to find a solution."

Tyler* soon followed Ted's lead, and ran to the corner store across the street.

[**for those of you unfamiliar with the dynamic of urban neighborhoods, each urban area has a heart or a center, where many of the locals congregate on a daily basis: A store, a Park, Apartment complex, etc. There's a level of familiarity, and most faces remain the same. It's literally like being on a block with just a whole bunch of cousins. Everyone knows you, you know everyone-- you're safe there.]

Billy* and Chad* maintained eye contact as I continued,"We are the young people of this movement. We need to make sure-- ESPECIALLY as Black people-- that we correct OUR elders." They both nodded in agreement, "You saw how resistant both of them were at first? It was not until AFTER I acknowledged their hurt, or harbored pain, that we were able to find a solution.

That's all this is!!! Harbored Pain." I paused reflectively for a moment.

"Just like we expect nuanced people of other backgrounds to correct their elders/peers-- We have got to do the same! If we don't address the issue, we'll never reach an organized solution. Anyone can yell a message-- that doesn't necessarily mean that it's received. "

"Get your Parents, Get your Grandparents, Get your Uncles, your Aunts and cousins. Get your friends !-- Hold. People. Accountable."

Suddenly, I felt a violent buzzing coming from my front pocket. I totally forgot My friend was coming over to my place! I quickly pushed myself off of the splintered wooden bench and headed towards the front. As I neared the park entrance, I thought to myself, 'at least they heard me'.

"It was a pleasure speaking with you two!" I yelled from the gate, "Remember, hold your peers accountable."

And with that, I was off for the evening.