When I was little I did not know that I was “Black” until my big sister told me. The information was divulged when I was about 5 or 6 and I had a homework assignment to draw a picture of what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was in my bedroom that evening doing my darnedest to draw BLONDIE. My sister, (who is only 3 years older than me) took it upon herself to inform me that I was Black and could never be “Blondie.” — Today I look back on that day and I laugh my head off. I can’t believe I didn’t know that I was Black. Now that I think about it my parents never told me that I was Black. 😀 They did tell me that everyone was my brother and sister and that we looked different but were all the same. The words white and black – never came out of their mouths. I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school, again – it never came up. I honestly didn’t know and when my sister delivered the news she did it with a smirk. What a jab. I didn’t know whether to be mad that I was Black or that she knew first and I didn’t. I wasn’t sure what “Black” meant, but I could tell it was something “smirky.” Later I would find out about my history and the struggles and about the dual law system and societal differences and about the not so distant social rejections (Whites Only dining, water fountains, etc).

My parents are the coolest memory of the ’70’s – that I have. They were easy going, had suave house parties with hanging beads and the likes. We traveled a lot as a family beyond my fathers USAF assignments, we laughed a lot, lived in awesome communities and had fun. I loved those days! My parents told us that we could grow up to be anything we wanted to be because we were equal– of course. It felt like THANKS to all of the marching in the 60’s and the many, many lives lost — that America had taken a turn to end racial division and that equality and unity were in progress. I believed them. They gave me hope. Then I graduated from high school, then college, had kids and remained hopeful, still. My peers of all races seemed to be on the same page of unity as myself (+/-) – – or so I thought.

My children have now graduated from high school and are in college and not much has changed in the Civil Rights column. What happened? Did my peers raise racist kids while telling me they were color blind and loved my children like their own? I’d like to say, NO they did not!  But then there’s DATA. Unchanged Data…

And with that, I don’t know what else to say.
The TURK has put it all on the plate today.

He rewound historical time to show you the views of yesterday.
He fast forwarded to today and the same kind of RACISM is in play.

What am I to think, what am I to do?
I can’t be Blondie, but can my life matter too?

I have a 3-year old g-daughter and she knows nothing about hate.
She’d take off in a sprint if I addressed her on topic: RACE.

But not before saying, “Get on your mark, get set, ready – GO!”
She’s a chip off the block of her athletic Uncle Joe.

She’s got great speed and agility traits,
but she has no idea she’s a target for hate because of her race.

She has no idea that it’s been this way for centuries.
AMERICA – stop saying RACISM doesn’t exist and prove that YOU SEE ME.

Prove that you care for civil rights and equal rights for all men,
by pressing play on the video and thinking things through again.

#DataMatters TOO

WE CAN DO BETTER.