How Much Is A Life Worth?

batonThis past week has opened up my eyes to what so many people see me as. When you get caught up in being in your bubble you tend to forget that there’s a world out there that will always see you as a nigger. In my 6 years of writing this blog, this may be my first time saying this word.

These past two weeks have opened my eyes to something I was ignorant too. No matter your education, your intelligence level. The way you speak or the way you dress, too certain segments of this population seeing a black face means the same.
The moment I walked into my doctor’s office and told them I had an accident the first question they asked me was, “What lawyer sent you?” Thought that was odd but okay. I go back a week later and tell them I need a refill on my prescription, they ask, “You sure you’re in pain?” Thought that was odd but okay. I tell them my job needs an update and I’m told, “We can make sure you’re off work for months if you don’t want to work. They’ll pay for it.” Now it’s not odd, now there’s no okay. I want my fingers to heal so I can write, I want my shoulder to not feel like it’s in a vice grip every time I sit down or lie down. These implications that I’m a scammer or junkie or don’t want to work are offensive. “But sir, we didn’t ummm…” You didn’t what? Realize that these dumb ass assumptions are either racist or ignorant?

We can tell these boys and men out here to speak better English. To present yourself better, to watch how you talk to people, hold your head down, don’t make them feel uncomfortable. Don’t ask questions, don’t put yourself in a position to be misunderstood and shot. What is it going to take for us to stop asking these questions? To stop going at each other and realize we need each other? Would it be easier if a man like me was shot? A guy with no criminal record and no questionable pictures, a guy that has hundreds of blogs and articles people can quote? Life is life and not everyone’s life comes in a pretty package but they still deserve that life if they haven’t done anything to lose it.

Peace

Some people blog to get discovered.

Some blog because they want to have a voice or they love a certain facet of life and want to talk about it.

I blog because I like letting people know that they aren’t alone with their thoughts. That they aren’t the only ones in the world feeling like they’re feeling at that specific moment and time.

I wish I had some calm, some peace, a sanctuary. No matter how hard I try and find it, it doesn’t come. I’ve never been on a battlefield, I’ve never seen a man die or a plane bomb a building but in my imagination I feel like that’s what’s going on inside of my head and heart at the moment. I feel like a battle is taking place and I don’t know how to get off the battlefield.

I don’t even listen to music when I drive anymore because it’s where I do my best thinking. It’s quiet, the windows down, I can talk to myself without looking crazy. I don’t know when I started doing it, I just know my iPod has been dead for almost two weeks and I haven’t even tried to charge it up.

College and high school teach us a lot. We learn math, history, science and now they even have religion and cooking classes. But there’s no class on life. No class on how to fight the demons and how to overcome fears and struggles. The only class is the battlefield. The only class is learning how to deal with as you’re going through it.

At times I wish I wasn’t a writer, I wish I didn’t internalize and think things over and over and over again. A moment of calm, of peace, of clarity. I lie in bed at night dreaming of those moments, wondering if they will come.

I fear they never will. IMG_0148

How to Discredit A Black Man? Just Call Him Angry

Kanye West and Eddie Murphy

Kanye West and Eddie Murphy

This morning Kanye West gave an interview on the popular morning radio show the Breakfast Club and almost immediately the reactions started to pour in. Everything from he supports child molesters and slut shaming to he’s crazy for loving his wife. Now to be fair you also had the “he’s a genius crowd,” which is also understandable.

Let’s talk for a minute about what Kanye is. He’s a man that’s pretty open about his faith, one of his biggest hits was “Jesus Walks.” He’s a man that dropped out of college to literally become one of the biggest musical stars in the world. Something we praise Mark Zuckerburg and Steve Jobs for. He’s never been in prison or fathered a bunch of children. He’s never glorified the selling of drugs of pimping and killing of women or children. Everyone that works with him talks about his work ethic and passion.

Let’s talk about who Eddie Murphy is. This is a man that at 19 saved Saturday Night Live. A writer, actor and director that has always hired black people not just in front of the camera but behind the camera. Everyone he’s worked with raves about his loyalty and comedic timing.

Both are proud and talented men who’ve recently been given the “angry” label. Eddie Murphy chose not to make fun and mock a man he’s looked up to for all his life so he’s “angry.” Kanye talks about his love for his wife, defends his best friends wife, makes a song dedicated to his daughter and late mom. He isn’t passionate or a standup guy he’s angry and emotional.

We diminish black men’s thoughts and concerns by reducing them to temper tantrums. We allow the media and trolls to highlight a sentence here or quote there and turn a valid point into a catchy punch line.

I’ve often been accused of being too serious but the world lacks serious men. Everything can’t be about getting a laugh or fitting in. You have to stand for something. And if you decide to stand for something and have a voice people will try and silence that voice.

Conversations Between Adults “Fighting Over the Remote”

Conversations Between Adults

Conversations Between Adults

“We’re not watching basketball!” She was standing in the kitchen warming up the food even though neither one of us needed another plate. We were eating just because it was there.

“What’s the matter with basketball?” I hid the remote behind my back.

“Ummmmm. Beyonce is on!!!” She said that really loud like I was supposed to care, I mean, Beyonce was fine, but she couldn’t dunk a basketball.

“I don’t really care that Beyonce is on, you don’t like her anyway! All you’re going to do is talk about her, hater!”

“Since I’m such a hater, how about you come in here and fix your own plate and what’s the fun in watching someone on TV if you can’t hate a little. It’s not like I’m doing it around anyone but you.” I stood up and stretched.

“You never know, I could know Beyonce.”

She smiled, “And I could know Denzel or Prince William but I don’t!”

She walked in carrying the two plates; I grabbed some paper towels and forks and a bottle of wine. I have no idea why we got so much Chinese food but since it was my first night off in awhile and she this was her cheat night it was all good.

No sex tonight.

“I’m serious Allen, we aren’t watching football! OKC SUCKS!!! They aren’t winning this series without that fine African guy and Kevin Durant is too skinny to be Jordan!” She was really passionate about trying to watch Beyonce.

“Who cares about Beyonce’s 105th television special?! Does she ever take a break; don’t you get tired of seeing her on Awards Shows?! If I’m not mistaken, you’re the one that told me you get tired of her.”

She put her plate on the coffee table and just stared at me like this conversation was just that serious.

“I care and since I made the plates and called the food in, we’re going to watch what I want! Now where’s the remote boy!?”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!!!” I couldn’t stop laughing.

“You took food out of a container and put it on a plate, you can’t take credit for that.” I poked her in the chest.

“But someone had to unwrap the food, put it on paper plates, warm it up and all the other stuff. You weren’t trying to do it; you’re too busy trying to watch stupid basketball! NOW GIVE ME THE REMOTE! I’M NOT PLAYING WITH YOU!” She was really getting mad, it was cute.

“If I don’t give the remote, what are you going to do? You can’t beat me up.”

My plate was snatched out my hand with viciousness!

“GET OFF ME GIRL! GET OFF ME!” She jumped in my lap and started tickling my sides and yes I was a grown man that was ticklish.

“ARE WE WATCHING B?! ARE WE WATCHING B!? WHERE’S THE REMOTE ALLEN?! WHERE’S THE REMOTE!?”

“OK! OK!” I reached behind my back and handed her the remote. She jumped up and down like she’d just knocked me out in a Championship fight.

So for the next forty five minutes we ate ourselves into a coma and watched Beyonce on ABC. I can’t even lie, it was cool as hell, but I would never tell her that. I listened to her talk about the poor girl like she’d stolen her purse or something.

“Now, can we please catch the end of the game?” She threw me the remote.

“No problem baby.”

“DAMN GIRL! Look at what you’ve made me miss! San Antonio is beating the hell out of them.” She finished off the wine bottle.

“They’re not going to win, you wanna bet?”

“You hate gambling.” She went and got two Limearitas out the fridge.

“Who said anything about money? It’s obvious we are both beat from all the running around today but we can’t leave the kitchen dirty.”

“So we’re betting to see who’s going to clean the kitchen?”

“Of course, but that’s no fun by itself. So this is the deal. The loser has to clean the kitchen, run the winner some bath water and bathe them and has to pleasure the winner before bed. No kissing, no “my turn!” Just straight head to the victor, are you down?”

“So let me get this straight, if I win, I get to watch SportsCenter while you clean up the kitchen, give me a bath and then I get a blow job. If I “lose,” I have to wash a couple of dishes, play with you in the water and then do something I would have done tonight anyway?”

I turned the volume on the game up, “I’m down!”

Twenty minutes later the game was over and you would have sworn she belonged on ESPN as a special commentator.

She slapped me on the ass and jumped on the couch, holding the remote like it was a Gold Medal. My baby was such a sore winner but I guess that’s just another thing I loved about her.

I washed the dishes, wiped off the counter and stove, mopped the floor and put up the food. I cleaned up the bathroom, changed the sheets on the bed and ran her bath water. Bath salts and lots of steam and bubbles but not too hot. I knew she hated sleeping in panties or clothes period so I grabbed a towel and her robe and laid everything out.

I walked back in the living room and I already knew what I would see. She was on the couch knocked out, holding onto the remote for dear life. I just stood in the doorway and watched her sleep. A pair of fitted purple sweats on, a white tank top. Pail pink toe nail polish.

I picked her up and carried her to the bed, “You know you still lost the bet baby.” She was talking but half sleep.

“I know, I’ll pay up tomorrow.”

“Okay, I love you Allen.”

“I love you too.”

I didn’t bother taking off my jeans or t-shirt or even my light sweater. We didn’t even get under the covers. I got in the bed behind her and wrapped my arms around her while we fell asleep to the sound of the night.

Faith, Family and Words

a holiday The bible is just a book of words to me. I do believe that there are life lessons to be taught and words that can inspire us but it was a book written by man translated time after time over centuries. For me faith is much more important, believing that God is real and that he watches over us and that believing in not just him but in seeing the best in people.

For me faith is walking and talking and trying to be the best man possible for my family, my readers and my future wife. Faith is knowing I’ll fall short, knowing I’ll do things that I’m not proud of but that no matter how far I fall I’m never beyond God’s outstretched hand.

My faith is what sustained me when I had to bury my grandfather. My faith is what keeps me strong when I watch my grandmother crying. Faith tells me that no matter what I want to happen or what I think is going to happen God has a plan for me and he’s simply waiting on me to become the man I’m supposed to be before he blesses me with what I desire.

Family. That word gets thrown around a lot but family isn’t blood. Family represents the people that are there for you when you need them. Family represents the people that you love unconditionally no matter what they do or say or how mad you get. Yes, family is cousins and uncles and mothers and fathers but more than anything our family starts when we are married and have children. That’s the way I look at it. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. My grandfather was the glue and without him I see the family I knew as a child fracturing. So now it’s time I start my own.

A wife is more than a lover, then a mother, then a best friend. A wife is the second part of life. I’m aware that people read my writing and feel like I may be exaggerating but I don’t care. I don’t care because I mean everything I write. It would be easy to stick to writing about sex and why good women are single. That stuff gets the highest views but I need to be sincere and sincerity lies in me being upfront with the fact that I’m going to put a lot of weight on the woman I take vows with. They’ll be times where I need her way more than she needs me and that scares me. It scares me to know someone will have that much power over me. It’s a scary that I can accept because it means I trust and love a person enough to share a home, children, memories and uninhibited passion with them.

Honestly, I’ve never been comfortable asking anyone for help. If my truck stopped and I didn’t have a dime to my name I’d struggle to call someone. I can’t tell you why that is but I can tell you that I wouldn’t be uncomfortable or struggling to call my wife or even a girlfriend.

Words are my babies. I write them for pleasure, I write them for fun, I write them for work and everything in between. I take joy in writing emails and text messages and letters. Demez F. White was born to be a writer and I know that with all my heart. Maybe that’s why I’m so used to solitude because when you write as much as I do you spend so much time alone with your thoughts. Words define me just as much as my faith does and just as much as my family will.

Stand for Something or Fall for Anything

black historyThis past couple of days has shown me a lot about some people. I find it disheartening when I see so many that simply don’t care. I’m not asking that you become a freedom fighter or boycott or march for peace. I’m not asking that you start to care about social issues or care about people that aren’t as fortunate as you. What I can’t understand though is how you don’t care about this Trayvon Martin issue? It touches at the soul of ignorance, racism and privilege.

I watched a juror on National Television say in front of the whole world that she felt sorry for “George,” that she could relate at the pain and suffering he went thru because of what happened to “that boy.” I watched person after person that doesn’t look like me say that a sidewalk was a weapon. I watched person after person say that it was both their faults.

You want to know why I’m not mad at these people walking on freeways or blacking out their pictures or being angry? I’m not mad at them because I’ve watched person after person say that this could have all been avoided of Trayvon would have just ran or told Zimmerman what he was doing walking at 7pm. Do you want to know what would have happened if Trayvon would have ran, he would have gotten shot in the back. Do you want to know what would have happened if Trayvon would have killed that man or really hurt him; he would be in prison at this very moment.

So we’re on the same page, I wasn’t even upset on Saturday night. When I heard the verdict my logic was a jury heard the case and voted what they thought was right. Over these last three days though, hearing the background of the jurors, their mindset. Hearing the attorneys and Zimmerman’s family, seeing the ignorance on social media, now it means so much more to me.

How can you only care about yourself, how can you only want to post pics and talk about your haters?

Those that know better do better!

Those that don’t, well… They end up running this same damn rat race.

Demez F. White

It Could Have Been Someone You Loved

youngSometimes we get so caught up in race or the moment that we ignore the injustice. Imagine getting a call while you’re at work or while you’re cooking dinner that he’s dead? Or that she’s not coming home?

He can be your son, your man, your father, your brother…

She can be your daughter, your wife, your bestfriend, your lover…

In May 2009, 9-year-old Brisenia Flores and her father Raul Flores were murdered in Arizona. Three men walked into their home and killed them screaming ‘Go back to Mexico!’ They followed them, waited until it got dark and killed them. After they shot her father, the little girl screamed ‘Please don’t shoot me.’ And she was then shot in the face. The mother watched shot and bleeding as her husband and daughter were executed for being Hispanic.

The Huffington Post

The family was 5th generation American.

“On March 13 2012 when five men pulled up alongside them in car while shouting anti-gay slurs. One of the victims was hit in the head with a baseball bat four times and lost consciousness, while other man tried to fight back and was caught in the passenger side of the attackers’ vehicle and dragged a short distance.”

These two men were black and weren’t even homosexual.

The Dallas Morning News

On November 25th 2006 Sean Bell was shot on the morning of his wedding. 50 bullets were shot at an unarmed man. The police wore plain clothes and never identified themselves as officers. Charges were brought and they were found not guilty.

No weapon or wrong doing was ever found on the victim’s part.

On February 26 2012 Trayvon Martin was walking in a hoodie with candy and a tea and gunned down in a gated community. No record, no weapon… He was simply black in a neighborhood where his father shouldn’t have been able to afford to live. There was a scream, there was a gunshot, there was silence.

His killer is still at large.

A mother watches her husband and daughter die because they were Hispanic.

A wife buries her fiancé instead of making love to him on their honeymoon.

Two families stand in hospital rooms hoping their sons make it because they were beat with baseball bats and dragged simply because they looked ‘gay.’

A mother and father give interview after interview about their son being murdered in cold blood instead of getting ready for his high school graduation or senior prom. They march and pray that justice comes instead of praying that he makes it home safely from the store.

There’s no color when it comes to discrimination! There’s no sex when it comes to hate! These cowards, these losers hide behind guns and fear and take lives of innocent people! Of children! Black, brown, gay, Jewish! We’re all human and we all deserve to live and be happy and safe! It could have been me, it could have been my little cousin or my brother or my nephews!

It could have been your son or your brother or your co-worker! Shot with candy and fucking tea! Murdered because you’re Mexican and living in America! There are a million cases of Trayvon Martin’s in America in a million different shapes, sizes and colors!

There are evil bitch ass white men in this world and even worst black men! Don’t make this about race, make this about justice and life! We have to stick together and we have to have a voice! If I died tonight all I want to know is that I was loved and that my death meant something to someone!

This kid’s death means something to everyone! So let’s give him the future in death that that coward took from him in life! If you see discrimination or hate or participate in it, STOP! Because the next time it could be someone you love! The more people that speak up the more people will second guess pulling up to a black man or woman or person in a hoodie and pulling a trigger!

RIP Trayvon Martin

RIP Emmet Till

RIP Sean Bell

RIP Matthew Shepard

RIP Countless Others…