I Love. My Friends.

...just when I'm feeling down with my back against the wall, "something" special happens, which reminds me, that I am fine just as I am and everything will fall into it's proper place at the right time!

My Black History: Day 12.

I don't wanna be anybody else

But me

I won't tolerate anyone, not nobody

Treating me without dignity

One may find me too tough

Too strong

Some just don't know how far

I've come along

Everybody ain't my friend

And "that" is fine

But there will be no Black end

Never, in any lifetime 

So, just let us be

As we highlight Black History

It shall never leave our memories

That we are root contributors to world history

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!

Fabulous Friday in Los Angeles!

Isn't it? 

We lived to see the ending of "this" week and surely, have accomplished some "things." 

Consider how many others who haven't... 

Count your blessings and enjoy the weekend! 

Let's Define: A.S.S.

A.S.S. 

A simple acronym for ANGERED SAD SOULS. We live amongst many. Pray that, they find wisdom and spiritual guidance.