At Work. I Slay.

Ok...

"This" lady is in formation.

Ok... I slay. All day!!! Ok.

Around Here. Touching Hearts.

For the second time in less than a month, I've caused a woman whom I don't even know to shed tears. The first was a vibrant young lady, probably all of 18-years old. I went to sandwich spot called California Steak and Fries while my eldest daughter was at her tumbling class. She was the cashier there and full of personality.

For some odd reason, she began sharing stories with me about her cute boyfriend and an ugly one. Laughing within. She tickled my heart with her forwardness and I found myself not wanting to leave, but my daughter looks forward to me watching her practice so I had to jet out. I even told my children about "this" young lady.

The next week while on our way from my daughter's tumbling class I stopped by the sandwich spot again. I was hungy. Not that hungry, but I wanted to see if the sweet young lady was there and she was. I was happy to see her as if I really knew her. I asked her about her boyfriends and she said, "that" she let go of the cute one and replaced him. She told me how the ugly one was getting on her nerves and "that" she was going to replace him too. "This" little lady!

I guess "this" particular night was my night to share. I pulled up my younger daughter's fan page to show her how we had made some attempts towards getting her exposed to the entertainment industry. She made some suggestions and said we should just create a youtube channel with some interesting content instead of going the cattle call route. She said her former cute boyfriend was Instagram-famous and if we wanted, she could get him to shout my daughter out. I appreciated her enthusiasm, but we're on hold until further notice with "that" pursuit.

I inquired about her family and she said she was a middle sister of three girls and two boys. I said to her, "You all probably drive your mother crazy." I forgot what else, but I asked another question about her mother then she said her mother had passed away from breast cancer last December. I shared with her how I lost mine in 2014 to lung cancer. I told how abruptly "it" all happened and she began to tear up, which caused me to do the same. I beckoned for her to come from around the counter so that I could hug her and we cried together for a brief moment. "It" was an embrace "that" I believe both our hearts needed. Whether I ever see her again, I'm forever touched by her sweet spirit and strength.

The second occurance happened just about an hour ago. My youngest daughter and I were shopping inside of a Family Dollar discount store searching for some items for her school project. The place was cluttered inside and there was a long line with only one cashier. After finding what we needed, we got in line. "It" moved fairly quickly, however, some of the people in line were a little impatient.

One very ignorant man walked up to the front of the line and very rudely, asked the cashier, "You mean to tell me, you're gonna have me stand in this long line and it's only one cashier?" The cashier replied calmly, "I'm sorry sir there's only one other cashier and I sent her to lunch, plus she's new." The man responded, "So that's the answer?" She said, "Unfortunately sir, yes."

If the expression on his face was a loaded gun, she would've been shot. He signaled to his friend to come on and as he walked toward the door he said to the cashier, "Time is money. By the time I make it up there to you, you'll owe me money." The nerve! This man was dirty and had a whole lot of nerve being so disrespectful towards "this" woman. As he and his friend walked out of the store we were next up. I said to the woman, "GOD Bless you working here. I couldn't put up." I thought, that she began to appear flushed and when I looked up at her to grab my receipt, tears were streaming down her face. I told her don't cry, just pray and look for other jobs; to try temp-agencies.

As we walked out, my daughter said, "that's sad." I agreed. When we got into the car I felt so bad for the woman knowing all "that" she must put up with working there. I sat in the car for a moment thinking about what I could do to help her. I did the only "thing" I could, which was write down my contact information, the name of the temp-agency I worked for, and noted that I could help her with her resume if she wanted. I went back into the store and she still hadn't totally regained her composure, but I got her attention anyhow and passed her my little note. She took "it" and said thank you.

I'm glad the man left, but the entrance to the place is on the side, not facing the street and there was no security guard present. Just cameras throughout the store and probably in the parking lot. Bottom line, the location is not safe, especially for a woman to be manning the place alone. I'm strongly considering making an attempt to get in contact with the owner on her behalf, but the complaint is mine and mine alone. I wouldn't want to jeopardize her job. It's obvious she needs "it."

Why else would she subject herself to "that" treatment working there? Yes, I witnessed just one situation, but I saw deeper pain in her eyes and I wanted to remind her "that" she has options no matter how far-fetched the possibilities may seem at "this" present time.

"Where there's a will, there's a way."

#PrayingForUsAll

Fantasy Happy. Wednesday!

Nineteen Years Ago. "This" Date.

I was 19-years old. I almost accidentally checked out of life due to personal lack of self-control and rage during a moment... which eventually passed. The experience changed me. I'll have to say for the better. Had I not gone through suffering the consequences of such behavior "that" day; there's no telling what today for me, would be.

"It" may have been around "this" very hour on March 11, 1997. I remember waking up in the intensive care unit at Daniel Freeman Memorial Hospital, hooked up to monitors with my family surrounded around me. I remember exactly what my mother and brother said to me. My mom said, that I had been in surgery a long time. My brother asked me who was involved and told me he would go blow up the spot...

###

Time really does fly by.

 I love & miss them... They each equipped me with the strength and courage to stand. As I do now.  

Life checked me.

GOD Saved Me!!!

#LessonsLearned

*Daniel Freeman Memorial Hospital's emergency staff were on task, highly-skilled in their medical professions and helped to save my life. They also helped me give birth to new life and assisted with saving hers. How could a place like "this" close?

It's all about the money.

My Black History: Day 9.

I'm flabbergasted, that I still remember the very first house I lived in with my mother and brother. I have vivid memories about living on Fedora Street in Koreatown for my first 6-years of life. I used to play with a little girl named Patricia, but was never allowed in her home. No problem with "that." It's just something I recall. She used to sneak across the street to play with me because she wasn't supposed to leave her front yard. Needless to say, her parents were very strict.

At "this" time of my life I didn't know much about differences in culture or "that" any divide existed between various ethnic groups.

I'm really blessed being alive and having the ability to blog. I reflect back to my childhood and think heavily about a particular incident where nothing, but GOD kept me from becoming an abducted child. Patricia and I, were almost victims of kidnap. On one afternoon, we both snuck around the corner on our Big Wheel tricycles. "This" was also during the era of the "night-stalker" who was a serial killer on the loose in Los Angeles.

We were halfway around the block when an old white man in a station wagon pulled up alongside us. I'm not sure about Patricia, but I don't recall knowing better than to talk to strangers so when he stopped and spoke to us I responded. He pushed his passenger door open and asked me to come closer. I got off of my tricycle and I remember telling Patricia to come, but she stayed put on her tricycle and shook her head no.

As I approached his vehicle, he pulled out his private part and asked me if I wanted to touch "it." I remember being afraid and telling him no as I began to step back. I was actually close enough for him to grab me if he had done so instead of grabbing himself. He asked me if I wanted to go for a ride and I said no. Patricia beckoned me to get back onto my tricycle and we screamed as we peddled away as quickly as we could, returning back around the corner from which we came. The man didn't follow us. He proceeded forward and we never saw him again.

Thank GOD!!!

We told our parents and I remember my family being pretty frantic about the ordeal. They thought the man might have been the "night-stalker." He wasn't him, but still a pedophile. Although, I described him above by skin color and age, based upon my memory. I don't hold his actions towards me against any other old white man. Unfortunately, I've experienced other similar scenarios during my teen year, even some as an adult and guess what? The men involved weren't white.

Individuals should be held accountable for their actions and not be deemed as representatives for their entire ethnic group. "This" kind of grouping is unjust, invalid and ignorant.

"This" experience is one I just haven't forgotten. All the news stories I've heard and read about regarding child abductions takes me back to "that" memory. "It" causes me to be very overprotective with my children.

With so much else going on in the world, it's pretty unbelievable how some people choose to focus on the color of someone's skin and/or their past. My childhood friend Patricia was Korean. I grew aware of "this" fact long after we moved out of "that" neighborhood. "It" was never an issue and still today, "that" isn't what I remember most. I remember her being a wise little girl and perhaps, saving my life by knowing better than to talk to strangers. Had she be in agreeance with me, I may not have ever seen today.

My Black History: Day 3.

Without a Black History month too many of us wouldn't have any idea about the challenges our ancestors faced and how hard they fought to be treated with dignity living here in America. We would have no pride in our culture because it would've been rewritten completely. Totally.

The watered down lessons taught during our childhood continues to be exposed and quickly via the rapid information highway online, which we know as the world wide web. The Internet.

The truth can be found when it's properly sought, but lies can be taught as truth and an ignorant mind will accept "it" at surface value.

I recently signed a petition on Change.org created by a high school student whom was offended that he wasn't taught the truth about Native American history in the 4th grade when the information was first presented to him. He said, that it was unfair being lied to then, when some truth would eventually be revealed as part of the high school curriculum. He found it insulting and took action by creating the petition.

Look at the state of current affairs regarding the vast differences in culture present in our society.

There is, and has been one too many factual Black History lessons omitted/misinterpreted during grade school years along with the lack of effective communication within the household and between family members. If Black History month didn't exist, there'd be an entire ethnic group of people who would view themselves as someone else.

Like an African-American, for example. Our ancestors didn't accept slavery forever. We will not accept identifier-labels and stereotypes forever, either.

Knowing what we've been through and where we were, better helps us to appreciate where we are and to realize, what more we can be doing to reach higher heights. Individually and together!

My Black History: Day 1

Defining My Black

What am I? Black or African American? 

I've debated with folks about trying to differentiate the two, but If I'm forced to choose, I can tell you.

I AM A BLACK WOMAN. 

To date, I haven't been interested enough in tracing my family tree to its original roots, but with knowledge passed on by some of my elders from my mother's side of the family, we're linked to the Cherokee Indian Tribe. I don't know a single African member of my family. It's no one's fault. Just a fact. 

The Black vs. African American argument can get complicated, but for me it's quite simple. I won't state it here, but I can't omit how the "N-word" plays a significant role in "this" as well. I'll explain further.

In a former Cultural Pluralism class I took at CSUDH  one of my classmates got into a heated discussion with our professor about his personal experiences interacting with Africans in America who were originally born in the Motherland. He said, that he was looked down upon by Africans as an African-American man born in America and because of "this" he doesn't consider himself African-American, but a Black-American. He went on and on about how Black-Americans are perceived by Africans as ignorant Americans who don't know their history without any real connection to Africa.

Of course, his experiences don't define mine, but Africans, African-Americans and Black folks, have a continuous problem, that other's can't fix for any of us. The onus is on us. There are no ifs, buts, or any way around "this."

I wish there wasn't so much residue still present from the times of slavery. I wish "that" none of us possessed the "(house) N-word or (field) N-word" mentality; let alone, the existence of the word in any dictionary. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream and I have wishes.

Blackest vs. the not-so Black = N-word vs. African-American.

We divide ourselves. I recall being in the 7th grade when I first learned, that I was a "light-skinned" Black girl. Before then, I only knew "that" I was Black and stemmed from a Black family. Being labeled as such brought on a lot of confusion and the need to defend myself as a real Black girl, but why? 

How dare anyone discount my belonging to Blackness, simply because I have lighter skin? That's how I felt then and still, now. I'm more attracted to darker skin, however, Black is Black as far as I'm concerned.

I'm not mixed; both my parents: Black. It's not just "something" I identify as. "It" is how I was born.

One of my childhood bestfriend's is a dark-skinned chocolate beauty. I used to have a hard time believing her when she said her mother treated her lighter-skinned siblings better. Until, her children shared their own experiences with me about how differently they're treated by their grandmother. "It" seems unreal, but unfortunately, it is and her family isn't the only Black family guilty of influencing the division present in our culture.

Black people are an ethnic group. African-Americans are those whom haven't traced their roots of origin, but were born here in America and simply accept the identifier-label as a Black individual. The exception: Africans born to American parents or those who are actually mixed, having one African parent and the other, American. All Black folks regardless of their origin, were referred to as "N-words" at some point in history and even in some cases still, today. 

Do I use the "N-word?" When speaking in slang, which is my native tongue, and only in conversations with people who comprehend my language. For others, I'm aware "it" offends, therefore, I exercise courtesy and consideration of their feelings by refraining from using "it" in their presence. 

Words are as powerful as we make them and allow them to be. I am much more concerned with how people treat me versus what's said. Words have meanings, but don't define anything substantial without action.

Back to the "N-word?" I had an argument a few years ago with a man I was dating who tried to convince me, that there's a difference between a "N-word" and being Black. In a nutshell, all the examples he used to make references to what a "N-word" is offended me on several levels because I fell into some of those categories. He wasn't bold enough to say "it" to me directly, but he insinuated that "N-words" come from disadvantaged backgrounds, generations of ignorance, and aren't capable of acclimation. Remember, slang is my native tongue so what he was attempting to state or how I interpreted "it" was simply, that "N-words" come from, live-in and act "ghetto." Not Black people.

...To be continued on Day 2.

 

Living & Caring. Loving & Sharing.

Last week, while I was organizing some items I found a white board I had forgotten about. I decided to hang it up on the wall in our hallway, which connects our two bedrooms and bathroom. Initially, I was going to allow my youngest daughter to use it as her personal drawing board.

After observing how my daughters were competing with one another erasing what the other drew and personalizing their stuff with their signatures, I decided "that" the board should be used for a better purpose. A few days ago, I erased the board and wrote the following.

"Do not write on this white board unless you buy your own dry-erase markers or make a contribution towards the purchase of one." I'm so much like my mother. Laughing within.

I told my girls, that they were being wasteful by doodling on the board and if they wanted to continue doing "that" they'll have to furnish their own markers. Come on. I only have two. Yes, I said I. It's mine and I was simply sharing it with them. Seriously.

So, on my youngest daughter's birthday, I took it upon myself to erase my bold statement and created a happy birthday message on the board for her to see as soon she got up "that" morning. Would you know, I had to bring it to her attention first? Apparently, she was on the hunt searching for presents and completely overlooked my sweet and thoughtful art-piece.

I wish that I could post a picture of "it," but due to my lack of self-control the other day with my old iPhone, the picture is irretrievable because it was taken with "that" phone. Dang "it."

The morning after my daughter's birthday she erased my birthday message and drew her own thank you message. A complete disregard to my new rule, but what monster would enforce such upon a kind-thinking 10-year old? So, I let it be, but then of course my eldest had "something" to say about "it."

I came up with a better solution for the white board display in our home. I told my daughters, that we should be posting uplifting quotes & statements on "it." Some "thing" we can all read and appreciate; possibly carry with us throughout our day and perhaps, share with others. My eldest took the lead the same night I had my meltdown and decided to write out a positive quote referencing how we have the freedom to choose between being a prisoner of our pasts or be pioneers of our future.

I told her I had heard "that" quote before and she tried to take credit, but it's still a great start because it kept me thinking. Positively. The next day my youngest posted her own quote suggesting that we do something to help someone. We have a little momentum building with "this." I posted my own quote last night as today's statement. See below.

Reasoning to think better, live better and be a better example for my children and others.

Gut Feelings. Instinctual Reactions.

As I think about some of the choices I've made, I'm okay with them. Even those, that afterwards felt like I had made a mistake. Simply because I have a natural tendency to keep it moving regardless. I don't wallow in sorrow or throw pity-parties.

If the aftermath of a choice that I've made breeds unpleasant results, I just deal with it. Considering the aftermath for too long before making a decision only influences me to straddle the fence. I'm about taking chances while understanding the risks involved.

It's usually my intuition that tells me whether or not to take a risk. If it goes well, awesome. If not, why? I may not expose every answer accurately, but I'll learn from what I find.

Towards the end of last year, I made the decision to move my family from the single occupancy apartment building that we had lived in for nearly 5-years. My children were unhappy living there and so was I. My original plan was to stay put until I graduated. Graduation time was around the corner, but there was an internal tug on my spirit.

The thought of moving before my final semester tickled my soul. I began apartment searching when I had no money saved to move. I just knew that if had gotten approved to move somewhere, that everything would be okay. I was right!

Where my family resides now is where we're meant to be for the time being. I had driven by the place several times and wondered about it. Initially, I felt discouraged about applying for it because it's in residential neighborhood and it just seemed like I wouldn't qualify as a potential candidate.

After being rejected for a 1-bedroom apartment, I really felt discouraged. I almost convinced myself that I needed to follow my original plan and just wait. When I thought that I had accepted this fate, I passed by where we live now and something told me to inquire about it. The next day I parked, jotted down the number off of the for rent sign, then called.

I took my children with me to view the place 2-days later and once we saw the large living room and kitchen, we fell in love. We started pointing where we'd put this and that, whose room would be whose as we peaked out of windows imagining the place as ours. I prayed and claimed victory over all while in one of the bedrooms.

We moved in February of this year and I can't imagine where we'd be now, had I ignored my gut feeling. The transition hasn't been as smooth as I'd like, but it's working out gradually. The most difficult task was accomplished when I received my keys after signing the lease.

The Task? Trusting my instinct. Believing that it could happen. Exercising the necessary manpower.

GOD IS REAL!!!