As a mother I am saddened. As an American I’m outraged! Most days I can’t tell if the year’s 2012 or 1812. Last I checked justice applied to every single individual, across the board, in spite of race, gender, religion, occupation, choices, etc. Whenever is it okay for a self-appointed neighborhood watch leader to gun down (literally!) an unarmed, non-threatening child, who pleaded over and over again for his young innocent life? When did that ever become okay, especially here in America? Evidently, somewhere along the line, that behavior has been deemed acceptable because it happened here, in our country, in our America! Where is the arrest of this shooter? Of this murderer? Why does there always seem to be a loophole or excuse made on behalf of the non African-American perpertrator whenever it comes to assaulting or killing an African-American (particularly an African-American male)?
Why am I having the same conversation with my dark-skinned teenage son in 2012, that my mother had with my brown-skinned brother in 1983, and that her mother had with my caramel color skinned uncle in 1961? Why are mothers of black boys in America still nervous and fretful of “losing” their sons whenever they cross the thresholds of their homes to go out into the world? Must I repeat that this is 2012?
Funny thing is, My teenage son had this same T-shirt on yesterday!
Goosebumps overtake my skin every single time I see a photo of Trayvon Martin because I can’t help but to see the faces of either one of my sons…or my twin nephews. I see the face of Tommy, a friend of my children’s whose from a trailer park in the backwoods of Louisiana, I see the faces of the biracial children who live in a building over from me, I see the faces of the brother and sister whose family recently immigrated here from the continent of Asia, I see the faces of many people when I see the pictures of Trayvon Martin.
When I see Trayvon Martin’s face I see the face of a child. I see the face of a child who was the citizen of the greatest nation on earth. I see the face of a child who was the resident in the state of Florida. When I see Trayvon Martin’s face I realize that his circumstance could have been that of any child, anywhere in this country. Yes. He was a black child in America, but he could have been the child of any parent in this country! Imagine that!
We all are Trayvon Martin!
Insert the picture of your child or loved one here!
Filed under blogging, Change, children, Family, Life, mommy blogger, Motherhood, Mothering, Parenting, Raising Teenagers, Toddlers, Uncategorized
The competition for “Old Glory” is fierce down in the Lone Star state. Texans are undoubtedly proud and never hesitate to raise their flag high, right alongside Old Glory herself. I’ve got a ton of pictures to prove it, too. Here are just of the many flag moments that I’ve captured!
For the record, I have yet to see one United States flag flying, down here, without the Lone Star State flag accompanying her! Glad to reside in a place where folk don’t get tired of being proud! =)
Proud to be American, proud to be a Texan…..Proud Texan American! Exact description of the folk of this state!
Oh yes I did! I called the Harris County Sheriff on my two oldest children. After weeks and weeks of constant and consistent bickering back and forth, it came to a head Thursday night. My fifteen year old son and thirteen year old daughter got into a pushing match and that was the final straw! I separated them and when they decided to continue with the fussing, cussing, trying to get at each other, my last button had been pushed. As far as I was concerned they’d drawn the line in the sand, crossed it and the disrespect just blew by all boundaries! Being newly moved to Texas, I don’t know the laws when it comes to parenting and I didn’t want to “catch a case” which is exactly why I called the LAW! Need I say, that they both were completely shocked and flabbergasted when they heard me on the phone with the 911 operator.
Well, the oldest boy ran over to the clubhouse to call my mother (in Detroit) while the oldest gal strutted around the place without a worry. She only started worrying when I informed her that I’d called on BOTH of them, not just him, and as far as I was concerned, they both were getting taken the hell out of here. Imagine her surprise!
By the time that the officer arrived, Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield had tucked themselves into their beds (as if that was going to keep the police from coming). The officer had each of them explain what’d happened, he then went on to inform them that the State of Texas allows parents to discipline their children, and that I wouldn’t be breaking any laws if I knocked the hell out of them (those are my words). He looked around the room and pointed out that they didn’t need big flatscreen TVs, Xboxs or Playstations with the way the that they were behaving. He gave them a stern warning and some great advice (about being brother and sister and sticking together). He declined to arrest either of them on domestic abuse charges (since no one was hurt and there weren’t any signs of physical abuse) but he did file a formal complaint, which a detective will handle from this point onward.
I’m glad that I did what I did. By getting the police involved I showed them that I’m serious and I also learned my rights as a parent in this state. The bottom line is this: I’m not a referee. I’m not about to waste energy on negotiating peace between the two of them for a second longer. No more! I’m not doing it anymore! From now on I will call the police and next time I will allow them to be removed from the premises. Hopefully they won’t be foolish enough to call my bluff.
One way or another there will be peace in my home. They can do it the easy way, or the hard way. The choice is absolutely theirs!
There used to be a time when I would get this little tingling of envy in my heart, whenever I would passed by a pregnant woman. Their pregnancy would cause me to reflect back on the good parts of my own pregnancies and I’d wish I could do all of those good parts over again. I would find myself missing the feeling of having a little fist punching and those little feet kicking on the underside of my abdomen, as baby would attempt to get as comfortable as possible in such a little quaint space. Most of all, I missed the niceness and smiles from strangers that a pregnant belly tends to bring out of people. Just like a smile is universal, a wobbling pregnant woman tends to have that same effect.
Well, I guess it took four pregnancies of my own and now having an extreme toddler on my hands, to completely extinguish any form of pregnancy envy. I learned that I no longer harbored these feelings just the other day when I was walking through the mall and encountered several very pregnant bellies. All that I could think about as each of our paths crossed was the heavy, leaking and oftentimes sore and engorged boobs. that comes post delivery. I kept thinking about that painful, paralyzing and inflamed sciatic nerve that most fetuses enjoy pressing against. I reminisced about the sleepless nights, where baby and I both cried relentlessly. I remembered all the times that I reasoned with God, if he’d just get me through the extreme fatigueness, 0r somehow out of the ENTIRE situation that I’d NEVER allow myself to get there again. Those are all of the things that crept into my thoughts when the very pregnant women made their ways by me. I gave each of them that same universal smile that people would give to me back when I was with child, thus silently wishing them luck on their mommyhood endeavors!
I smile because I’m genuinely happy for them, at the same time I’m extremely excited that it’s not me!