Finding Peace Amidst Injustice

I won’t lie to you, I am angry.  I am that type of angry that makes you want to cry, the type of angry that, if goes uncontrolled, can cause you to make bad decisions.  When I found out on Saturday night that a jury of six women in Seminole County, Florida had found George Zimmerman “not guilty” of murdering Trayvon Martin, my heart sank.  The pain hurt in a way that is indescribable, and it is a pain that will not go away anytime soon, and I don’t want it to.  I want to remember this feeling for the rest of my life because it will cause me to not be complacent, to not settle for the status quo, and to always speak up against injustice when I see it.  It’s the least I can do to honor the memory of Trayvon.  And while I didn’t know him personally, I have family members and men in my life, who could have been him.  What this verdict symbolizes to me is that the life of a person of color, especially African-American males, is not valued.  That somehow we don’t matter, and that is not okay.  While this verdict was shocking, sadly, it wasn’t unexpected, and for those people who were wondering whether or not we live in a post-racial society since we now have an African-American President, that verdict was a stark reminder that we aren’t even close.  So, where do we go from here?  How do we move on?  How do we heal?  I wish I knew.  What I’m standing on right now, as Trayvon’s parents seem to be doing as well, is my faith.  It’s my belief in knowing that God “knows the end from the beginning,” and I have to trust His plan in all of this, even though I don’t understand it.  I’m not supposed to.  In the meantime, I will keep my brothers of color covered in prayer.  I will love and support them, and remind them that regardless to what society may say, you are of excellent worth if for no other reason than that you are children of the most High God!  Keep your head up!

Why Can’t Talent Be Enough?

Recently I went to see the cop-buddy comedy “The Heat” starring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy.  I’ve been a fan of Melissa McCarthy’s ever since I first saw her on the hit sitcom “Mike & Molly” a few years ago.  What I liked most about her on that show (a comedy centered on two people who meet at an Overeaters Anonymous meeting, fall in love and get married) is how witty she is with the one-liners.  She is a big girl who is just the right amount of self-deprecating that you laugh with her, and not at her.  I appreciate that.  So, back in 2011, when the movie “Bridesmaids” came out and I saw she was in it, I knew that I would at least enjoy her role.  I did.  However, this was not the Melissa McCarthy who I was used to seeing in primetime.  This was an edgier version.  Still funny, but edgier.  Then came “Identity Thief,” again funny (seriously, every time she throat punched someone, I hollered), but this time what I noticed is that the number of times I hear her use the “F” word was alarming.  I was disappointed.  Even with this, and because she’s my girl and all, I still decided to give her another shot and support her latest movie, the aforementioned “The Heat” (I’m a glutton for punishment, I know).  I settle in, fully ready to laugh heartily, but what I witness instead is a steady barrage of “F” bombs for about two hours!  You’re breaking my heart Melissa!  Now, don’t get me wrong, I can take anything in its place, and in the proper context, but when the behavior is gratuitous, and one uses profanity for the sake of using profanity (her liberal use of the word felt more like it was ad-libbed, than scripted), I’m instantly turned off.  I find Melissa McCarthy to be ridiculously talented and funny, so why does she have to cheapen that with vulgarity?  Is she overcompensating in some way?  Why can’t being funny be enough?  One of the things I love about movies and scripted television is the creativity behind it.  I love when a show or film evokes emotion; is thought-provoking; or takes your mind off of the stresses of the day, for a little while anyway.  However, some of the movies and television shows out now (“reality” or otherwise) depend on profanity, sexually-explicit behavior, and even violence to keep audiences engaged.  Give us more credit than that.  Trust that your audience is smart enough to appreciate quality work, over something done to get a cheap laugh.  See, while I still love Melissa McCarthy, and love the message that it sends that a woman who isn’t a size 2 can draw at the box office, supporting her next feature film project will not be high on my “to-do” list again.  Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to enjoy those reruns of “Mike & Molly.”

In Memory of My “Friend”

Last week I was made aware that a friend I had known from childhood had died suddenly.  I was stunned because this wasn’t just any friend, but this was a guy who was my first boyfriend: my first love.  With the exception of some messages we traded back and forth over Facebook (“How are you?”  “How is the family?” “How do you like living in Charlotte?”, etc.), we had lost touch, and I hadn’t spoken to him in years, so why do I feel so affected and heartbroken about his passing?  Since I heard the news, I find myself thinking about him all the time – even dreaming about him.  However, before the news, I honestly can say that I didn’t think of him that much.  Through the power of social media, I was able to get a glimpse of what his life was like before God decided that his presence was needed in Heaven.  He was married, had kids, and was even a Grandfather (a point he made sure to mention to me in our message exchange last year.  I felt his sense of pride in the words he typed).  He was beloved by all who knew him, which did not surprise me because he was a pretty cool dude (it was nice to see that others thought so as well).  I can still vividly remember the night when I first met him at a house party, in Brooklyn, more than twenty-five years ago.  I remember that he was sitting down talking to some friends, and he and I looked at each other, and neither one of us could turn away.  I can’t remember what happened next, but I know that shortly after that house party, he became my boyfriend.  He was tall, handsome, and had the biggest prettiest eyes I had ever seen.  I was the envy of a lot of girls my age.  He made me feel special, made me feel that big girls were worthy of love too, and we had a lot of fun together.  He said he loved my middle name (“Monique”), so he took to calling me that instead of my first name, so much so that if he ever called me “Tara,” it sounded strange.  Although, to hear him say my name (either name) made my heart melt, you know that knock-your-socks-off, butterflies-in-the-tummy, weak-in-the-knees type of melt.  Now, I won’t completely romanticize this relationship because there were some hard moments, and my heart was broken, but that is to be expected when you’re young and in love (or so you think you are).  However, I have zero regrets about the time we spent together because in every relationship, whether it is romantic or platonic, you should learn, grow and walk away with great memories.   I did that with him.  While we were not meant to be together for the long haul, there is a part of me that wishes that I could have gotten to know the man he was before he passed away.  I wished we could have had consistent communication.  I regret that I didn’t make more of an effort to do that.  I will, however, cherish the time I got to spend with him, and I will always hold a special place in my heart for that young man who locked eyes with me, one night at a house party in Brooklyn, more than twenty-five years ago.  I will always love him. 

So rest in peace my dear sweet friend, and thank you for what you’ve added to my life.  I’m forever grateful.  By the way, if you’re looking for some tips on how to navigate Heaven, my Grandfather has been up there for a while now; he’ll show you the ropes!