recollection #1

It’s been sometime now and I’m not sure that the words will appear in the order I’d prefer them. It’s a combination of excessive text messaging and looking for a clear sense of how I feel and being met with London’s best fog. Only a London Fog on my shoulders to direct me through clouds that were too rebelious to remain in the heavens. Dubois spoke of the dual consciousness that African Americans have as they maneuver through American culture, first seeing themselves as a person of color with a host of limitations, assumptions, and hindrances to be calculated before they could acknowledge their humanity. It was (is) their burden to constantly examine themselves to make sure that their ethnicity doesn’t cause them to behave in a manner that would merit their humanity being denied. I can’t say that I’ve ever experienced that struggle in its most intense form. Growing up in the generation after the Civil Rights movement, I have no personal understanding of the struggles that were my great-great and great-grandparent’s lives.  The discrimination and humiliation I’ve experienced was certainly real in the moment it occurred but if I were to step back and place it in is proper historical context, I’d almost feel ashamed for crying over incidents so trivial as the ones I’ve encountered. 

In this vein, I attempt to examine myself as a social entity and asset. There is none, nor has there ever been in its most genuine form, a desire to brag, I’ve been blessed with the associates, friends, and rivals from all walks of life. I’ve held court with college graduates, doctors, lawyers, engineers, crack addicts, prostitutes, and victims of dementia all at the same. I wonder some days why it appears that my one of God given talents is to be able to comfortably engage anyone who crosses my path? I have shared laughs with men who had no reason to smile and watched men who had no reason to complain finish drink after drink in attempt to numb the pain they’ve come to associate with their lives. Husband, boyfriends, friends, brothers, and lovers alike have watched in awe as the women they hold dear share in my presence a seemingly limitless laughter. Its an intersting feeling to know that the smile that was made manifest was only for the moment it occured and that it couldn't be summoned again with Aladin's lamp. Its even more interesting to see the look on his face as that awkard laugh that is emlpoyed in an attempt to soften the insult, no matter how real or imagined it may be. On more than one occasion I’ve been ready to start a fight when I was wrong and I’ve been there to bring an end to the discussion of whether or not my friends were right. I’ve encouraged much vice, offered counsel in the midst of much confusion, answered questions that I shouldn’t have and heard more tears than I’ve ever witnessed fall. In challenging the norm, I’ve encourage the exploration of the familiar with greater concern for the details, ultimately seeking that which has been taken for granted to be acknowledged and that which was seen as understood to be explained. These instances have not occurred in isolation nor have they taken place exclusively through my own actions and orchestrations. Quite a few of them occurred when I was more interested in being only in my own company. My request for isolation was not to fulfill a burning desire to be alone with my thoughts but rather was my attempt to avoid dealing with that which I was ultimately uncomfortable.

My youth was managed by chicken nuggets from Mc Donalds and quality Saturday morning cartoons, animation and stories that were worth the parental wrath of heaven that would descend because I enjoyed them without having completed the morning ritual that governs everyday of the week: Brush your teeth, wash your face, put on powder, lotion & later deoderant.  I’ve been able to look at someone in almost any situation and see very clearly that which disturbs them, that which causes them great anguish. My mother told me around the time I was eleven or so that this was a discerning spirit and it was my duty to keep these people uplifted in prayer because no matter what I saw or understood that it was only Jesus who could bring about healing and deliverance to their lives. I’ve never doubted that it would take Jesus to perform these miracles, after all I could barely save enough money to merit having a piggy bank let alone help someone whose every dollar went towards something to take the proverbial edge off. As I grew older and my innocence began to disappear, the notion of prayer has become a most sensitive issue. I’ve watched prayers go up daily to no avail and couldn’t understand why they went unanswered, I noticed that my prayers for protection were never ignored but the rest seemed to be lost in translation, somewhere between English and the language of the heavens, my earnest prayers for material wealth and a girlfriend didn’t survive the translation process. It was as though these things were irrelevant to the divine, the foolish desires of man. My intentions were honest if not always pure but I didn’t begin to have a clearer understanding of this dynamic until much later in life. Not that this has allowed me to prevent myself from still mouthing some manifestation of the prayer but at least when it doesn’t get answered I understand why. Almost like a child understanding that fluctuations in global supply trends inversely affected demand trends which resulted in some where along the way the loss of the original Nintendo to forces far outside of his control.

It is in part this understanding, that has caused me much confusion in the oh so clear times of my early twenties. I suppose a little for fog wouldn't hurt but would you pass me a flashlight and the Farmer's Alamanac. It would be nice to know when the Sun is supposed to shine & clear this all away, even if it ends up running behind schedule...