blk4mascblk's Blog

"Hey mom, come look at this!" "What is it baby? I'm trying to finish a report for class tomorrow." "Kanye West just walked up and took the mic from some white girl who was making a speech at the MTV Video Music Awards. The crowd is booing." Jenelle put down her laptop and walked into the small, poorly lit living room. She got to the tv just in time to see the camera pan over to a mortified Beyonce, then back to the face of a stunned, silent Taylor Swift. As the young country singer was escorted off the stage, Jenelle asked, "What happened?" "Kanye thought Beyonce should have won the award, so he walked up and said so. And it's live tv." Mother and son broke into simultaneous laughter. They laughed because of their long running inside joke about black people and inappropriate public behavior. "They should have known you can't invite everybody to a live telecast. Don't they know Kanye is IGNANT?" Jenelle says with hands on hips. "Mom, he actually stopped her in the middle of her acceptance speech. It was her first award ever", said Joshua. "That poor girl. Hope she doesn't develop a complex about black rappers and microphones," Jenelle joked. Pun intended. Jenelle started back toward her bedroom and her homework. "Don't forget to take out the trash before bed baby." "Okay mom, I won't forget." Joshua continued to watch the VMA's. Jenelle could hear a host with a British accent in the background as she sat on her purple, green and blue striped Fingerhut bedspread. She picked up the worn but reliable Mac Powerbook as she thought about Joshua. She had done a good job raising him. She worked hard to make sure he had a fairly safe environment, the latest clothes, and the new Wii video game. The next things he wanted were a new Sidekick phone (the old one was two years old and looked every bit of it) and a laptop of his own. But he was a good kid. He was an obedient son and had always helped around the house and gotten good grades. He deserved the best a mother could provide. As a matter of fact she was in school now to get a better paying job so she could help him through college. She was two semesters away from her bachelor degree in Information Technology. In two years Joshua wanted to go to Morehouse to major in Afro-American Studies or Architechture. He hadn't decided yet. Jenelle was proud of her son. He was 16 years old, an honor student, wasn't in a gang, and didn't have any children of his own, thank God. The sound of her cell phone ringing interrupted her thoughts. She picked up the G1 next to her and looked at the caller i.d. It was an 866 number. A creditor calling to collect on one bill or another. She took a deep breath before answering. "Hello," "Hey, what's up? Could I speak to Jenelle please?" said the voice of a white guy trying to sound as cool and as ethnic as he could. "Jenelle isn't here right now, may I take a message please?" she lied. "I know this is Jenelle. We have spoken before," his voice changing quickly to that of an uptight, conservative white man. "When do you plan on paying your Mastercard bill?" he says with a nasty tone. "I will pay it when I can," Jenelle says, becoming irritated. "Well when is THAT going to be? We haven't received a payment in two months. And you are over your limit, with late fees included." "Sir, I am not in the habit of not paying my bills. I'm having a tough patch right now. I need a little more time, okay?" "You don't have much more time. If we don't receive a double payment in thirty days, your card will be cancelled and we will begin collections on your account." She could feel her blood pressure rising. "You heartless bastar..." "Mom. Is everything okay?" Joshua was standing in her doorway. She looked at him, breathed again, and nodded. Returning her attention to the bill collector, she said simply, "I will do the best I can. Goodbye." Before he could respond, Jenelle pressed the end call button. Jenelle turned her glance back to her son and hoped her dream of giving him an opportunity for a better life than hers wouldn't come crashing down around them.

MARCH 1993... Jenelle Mason waddled down the isle of the grocery store, her very pregnant belly ahead of her. She was uncomfortable in the bra she was wearing because her nipples were tender and leaking. Sometimes she felt so alone and overwhelmed. Really she didn't need to be in the store because her mother kept plenty of food around the house. But she needed to get out of the house and get some air. She loved her mother but knew they could not get along well enough to live together long. Her mother would not let her get over getting pregnant instead of staying in college after high school. And granted, her mother was right, she should have finished school first. But this wasn't planned. She hadn't intended to meet a guy at work and end up falling for him. She was as surprised as anyone of meeting someone older with a background very different from her own. Actually the most unlikely romance developed very innocently. He came into the small diner regularly for lunch with clients or potenial clients. Men in suits. There was something about how they shook hands before and after the meetings that told her they were men of importance. And she knew by the bits of conversation she overheard that they worked in the construction industry. She served them lunch one day and became his preferred waitress. Middle-aged, handsome, classy gentleman type. Asked for her by name, which made her manager happy and her co-workers envious. He had a great smile, and was a really good tipper. That always impressed her, meeting people with money who were humble and giving, instead of arrogant and cheap. But in her line of work, she experienced a little of both and a lot in between. He eventually became the little patch of joy in her days. Then it happened...one day he came in as usual with a client. They had lunch as usual. And he said "Thank you very much Jenelle", before paying the check, as usual. But this time, as he handed her the Visa card, his direct look into her eyes lingered a few beats too long to be usual. She didn't realize until she got to the cash register, that underneath the credit card was his business card with the words "call me, Robert" written on the back. She was instantly both excited and afraid to think of what this could mean...Jenelle was from West Palm Beach, Florida. A small city not far from Miami. The side of the city she was raised in was very poor and very black. Knowing he didn't understand her world made him attractive to her. But some part of her was afraid to imagine that he could be attracted in return. The question in her mind began to build, moment by moment for hours until she reached for the phone and dialed his number. They spoke for hours late at night. They planned. They met in planned places, discreet locations, rented rooms. Within a month, her period stopped. Immediately, she stopped seeing him. Soon after, she quit the diner. Eventually, the number he called daily was out of service. She would soon move to Atlanta with her newly divorced aunt, Peggy. Standing in the long checkout line of the grocery store, she shifted from foot to swollen foot. She thought back to meeting him and had no regrets. But she wondered what the future would hold for her baby, as she had decided to raise him alone. "There's an Angel around that baby." Jenelle turned toward an older woman in a yellow flowered print dress standing in line behind her, breaking from her own thoughts..."Hunh, uh what did you say?" "Honey, there's an angel with a sword guarding that baby you're carrying. God's watching over THAT one. Remember that, okay?" The woman said this as a matter-of-fact. The woman was so sure that it sounded like an ordinary thing to hear from a stranger. THERE'S AN ANGEL WITH A SWORD GUARDING THAT BABY...Jenelle repeated the words that came to her with such timing, as if in response to what she was asking. And she began to believe that her child was special in some way that is meaningful. Many nights in the coming months, she would rub her belly and tell the growing baby inside, "God is watching over you."

In the news today is a case we have not seen in mainstream news before. A female South African runner is being made to PROVE her gender, according to Olympic officials in Berlin where the sporting contests are being held. The 18 year old Caster Semenya, after genetic testing, has been found to have both male and female characteristics. "Semenya is claimed to have NO womb or ovaries—and has internal testes, the male sexual organs which produce testosterone. The row over Semenya’s biology has caused huge divisions—with South African politicians calling slurs she is a man “racist and sexist.” Her birth certificate has the teen listed as female and urine tests showed that, despite her having higher than average male hormone levels, they are within the official limits for a woman." (American Rennaissance.com) The teenaged Olympian is now under suicide watch because the gender test results have been made public. There is no indication that she knew of her hermaphroditic biology until now, as she was raised as a female. Should Semenya be banned from the Olympic games? Should she be ashamed of her genetic make-up? I say "No." to both questions. I believe this is mostly a fear by opposing teams, and negligence by the media. Because Semenya is a dominant force as an athlete, her opponents would rather not compete. Something about this rings of the sisters Venus and (especially) Serena Williams, even Tiger Woods. Another dominant black athlete shunned by their sport. Certainly, the element of race plays a part in how the situation was handled with the media. Have we ever heard of doctor-client priviledge? Perhaps the teenager should have been better protected from such a humiliating display of her personal medical information being made known to the world. Caster Semenya has done nothing wrong. All she has done is excel at her sport. Shame on the people responsible for making a spectacle out of this.

FRIDAY MORNING... An attractive, red-headed receptionist sits at the pale wood and glass desk, headphones on, answering and placing calls on hold as she answers the next call in cue. After about five minutes, she stands, walks over and gestures toward Harold's office door. "Mister Lewis, Mr. Bernstein will see you now..." Thank you, he says on his way inside the large corner office with a fluffy beige lambswool rug surrounded by a glossy red and brown tile floor. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the air as he enters. A small suede couch, a coffee table and a flatscreen HD tv sit in an area to the left of Harold's desk. Harold, an excellently dressed Jewish gentleman in his early forties, appears from a side door just as Robert gets seated in a swivel chair in front of the desk.

Harold sits down behind his desk, presses the intercom button, and orders two cups of coffee from the redhead.

"I must tell you I have never heard of anything like this before, Robert. Let me be clear of your intentions. You want to sign over your entire estate to someone you don't even know? "Yet", Robert says, more to himself than to Harold. "What?" says the bewildered Harold Bernstein. "Yet, I said... I dont know him yet." Robert states this as if he is sure he will meet this mystery person. "I have to tell you this is skating very dangerously around the sound mind clause in your will. Have you seen someone about the sleep problem? Maybe it's something more serious." "I'm not crazy. My mind is just fine. I had this dream...really more like a set of instructions. Aren't you a religious man? Do you believe God sometimes shows us a glimpse into the future?" "Yes, like to remind me my wife will be upset if I don't get milk on the way home. You don't go out and will everything you've got to an unnamed stranger because of a dream." Robert rises, walks around his chair, stands with hands in pockets looking out of the 7th floor window, back facing a frustrated Harold. After a few moments Robert turns back around. "Thank you for your concern Harry, but I know what I'm doing. Please trust me, old friend." Harold sits back in his swivel chair, reluctantly opens a drawer, pulls out a document on a leather bound pad and slides it across the desk to his client. Harold stares as his client browses the document for a moment before taking the heavy silver and onyx pen and signing on the signiature line at the bottom. The redhead receptionist comes in after a few moments with two cups of coffee, and to collect the documents. She stamps and notorizes them before making copies for the office file.

Robert turns on the switch to the antique stained glass lamp at his bedside. It was his wife's favorite. Passed down from her father; made from the actual glass from an old church window. He thought of his beloved Angela and smiled a melancholy smile. His wife was long gone now, since the painful struggle with cancer. The middle-aged widower picks up the phone from the peanut butter colored nightstand and dials the number of Christine, his assistant and dear friend of several years. Christine answers on the first ring. "Mister Lewis, is everything alright...?" "Yes Christine, I'm fine. But I have thought about it, and I want to draw up the papers. Contact Harold and let him know." Harold Bernstein was Michael's attorney. "Okay, if that's what you want",she says. But do you know how crazy how this sounds? Are you sure you don't just need some rest, maybe a vacation?" "No, I'm fine. Remember the name is Joshua. Just Joshua. Please have those papers in my mailbox by the end of the week, he says." "I will, Mister L. Give me 24 hours." "Thank you Christine, and see you friday morning." "Ditto sir. Call you later." Michael sits down moments later at the oak desk in his small study to make a list of supplies he would need for his secret task. He scribbles out the items on the back of an old stationary envelope: two heavy-duty ropes, a blanket, two life-vests, and smelling salts. He remembers the reccurring dream as he drives his white 745i BMW towards the local Home Depot. He was determined to be ready this time. He hadn't been ready in time for his Angela. He would make sure Joshua's fate would be different. (to be continued...)

The Purpose. The water rushes past, dragging him away with its powerful torrent toward the River below. He gasps for air as the turbulent deluge dips him again and again. The desperate cries of "Robert...Robert!!!" fade into a distant, barely audible sound under the roar of the flood. He opens his mouth to scream for help, but it is filled by the water. Robert Michael Lewis was drowning. And his arms begin to stiffen, nearly exhausted from fighting to stay afloat. Robert begins to pray his final prayer, hopeless and content. As the current pulls him under, he feels the peace that comes when one has no other option than the one at hand. He stops kicking and flailing his arms, and simply drops from the sight of anyone above the surface. The loud and beligerant sound of the alarm clock shocks him out of his sleep. He scrambles around in the dark, reaching for the snooze button. His fingers find the button and his palm sends an irritated reply to the uninvited early morning disturbance. "Third time this week," he says to himself as he struggles to sit up in his king-sized bed, still clearly shaken. This is the third time this week he has had the dream.

(to be continued...)

In my life and times, I have been to several states and cities around the country. I have eaten steaks in Texas, and walked through the old battlefields of Virginia. I've gambled in Las Vegas, and trained for war in South Carolina. I have jet skiied in Florida. I've experienced the pleasures of sex in California, and practiced celibacy in Pennsylvania. I've gotten dirty in the red clay of the south, and I've been washed in the salty oceans of the west. Ive lived in 7 states and enjoyed something about each one. But although I take the experiences of every place I have been with me through life...I am NOT my journey. It is a peculiar thing to me that we sometimes identify ourselves by the places we come from or by the activities we engage in. We claim our "hoods" and protect them, sometimes, to the death. We call ourselves by the place of our birth. We call ourselves by the experiences we have along the way. Someone who has had same-sex sexual relationships calls herself gay. Someone who has been without money calls himself poor. Someone who has had a problem with drinking calls himself an addict. But with a different perspective, we would see that these are simply steps on the journey of life. And you are NOT your journey. When you walk down a certain path in life, do not name yourself by the path for it was man-made. Take with you the wisdom of the journey. But name yourself by the Way-Maker who calls you children of God. You are eternal. Your possibilities are limitless. You are not to be limited by what people call you. You cannot be contained in the labels the world has created for you. You must not name yourself by where you have been, because then you will not know where you are going. But rather, name yourself for where you are to return...to a land of abundant love and life, a place of no lack. As children of God, like God Himself, call yourself by your rightful name... BLESSED.

One Gay and one Lesbian Episcopal priest in a local Los Angeles diocese were nominated for promotion to Bishop. The following is from an article written by Duke Helfand of the Los Angeles Times. "Episcopal Church leaders in Los Angeles today nominated an openly gay priest and an openly lesbian priest as bishops, becoming one of the first dioceses in the national church to test a controversial new policy that lifted a de facto ban on gays and lesbians in the ordained hierarchy." (Los Angeles Times) By now, many of us in the United States are desensitized to the headlines and happenings of our society. But this one is a marker for where we are as a people. Let me start by saying I am a Christian. To me, that means I love God the Father, Jesus the son, and respect His word, His church, and His will. I am not a perfect man. Simply a redeemed one. In knowing that, I have no desire to judge ANYONE, lest I be judged the same way. I love all of God's children. But here's the problem: If the church, which is the house of God, does not adhere to the word of Truth on which it stands, how then, can the church lead the world to the Light? It cannot. The Bible is clear on the issues of homosexuality and ANY sexual immorality. God does not endorse it. (Because sexual sin blocks one's ability to clearly hear the voice of the Spirit of God. More on this later...) The Bible is also clear on the qualifications of a Bishop. In those qualifications, it mentions the family structure and the character of the person. It is one thing to invite all people to the house of God to learn, become inspired, get relief and even healing of the heart or emotions. AND IT IS THE DUTY OF CHRISTIANS TO FULFIL THE COMMANDMENT (of Jesus) TO LOVE others. The church is supposed to be a house of prayer. A Holy place. But we have allowed the habits, mindsets, and passions of our society to infiltrate even the highest levels of the 21st century church. Does it take a gay or bi-sexual man to remind us that BECAUSE A MAN ENJOYS SOMETHING DOES NOT MAKE IT RIGHT? It is human nature to enjoy illicit sex or anything else that feels good. It is God's nature to tell us when we are headed in the wrong direction and to lead us back to the right path. Social acceptance is one thing, after all, we all comprise society at large. But shouldn't the church sound just like the God it represents? The implications are bigger than politics. If the church does not remember the way, eventually HUMANITY will have lost its way. The blind leading the blind ends with BOTH falling in a ditch.

"The Diocese of Los Angeles, which represents 70,000 Episcopalians in six counties, is widely regarded as one of the most liberal in the U.S. church of 2.1 million members. Its bishop, the Rt. Rev. J. Jon Bruno, is an outspoken advocate of gays rights in the church." (Los Angeles Times) The arrogance of the church officials who believe they have the right to change the message of the church to a morally bankrupt world is irresponsible at best. I will call it what it is. Let the word of God be true and EVERY MAN a liar. To elect openly gay bishops would be the figurative slap to God's face.

In the wake of an historical election and subsequent presidency of a black man, other black men in the United States must consider the impact of that reality on our own possibilities. As I begin to consider this, the question that arises in my mind is: how did Obama reach the pinnacle of power and influence in a racist and exclusionary post civil rights America? Many factors contributed to this process. But the most obvious factor is his education. Barak Obama was taught the importance of education early on in his development. And though he was not ALWAYS an excellent student, he was committed to education throughout his early adult life. He received an Ivy League education and the world began to open up to him. Sadly, in the 21st century, more black men occupy prison cells than seats in college classrooms and universities. Poverty, unemployment, and violent crime cripple the chances of far too many young blacks. And in the struggle to survive, the importance of an advanced education is lost. Like a pathway to freedom that is grown over with weeds, hidden by shrubs, and forgotten by time, so too seem many black dreams and aspirations. The way may not be as clear as once before, but it is just as sure. A man's education cannot be taken from him. Higher learning is a vehicle than can take us from obscurity to greatness. Our true history is proof that blacks built the greatest civilization the world has ever seen in Egypt. We, in the chains of slavery, built even this great nation. Now, in freedom, we must build a place for our sons, daughters, children, brothers, sisters, and neighbors to thrive peacefully. Education is the building block and faith in God is our daily motivation. Do you believe higher education should be a higher priority to blacks and why isn't it?