Fight The Stereotypes

I earned my High School Diploma from Rich Central High School in the suburban utopia of Olympia Fields, IL. I have a Bachelors of Arts degree in Mass Communications and Media Arts from Southern Illinois University. I have had a successful careers as a Media Producer, Radio Personality and Youth Development Professional. I've never been arrested. I've never even experimented with drugs.

I have spent my entire life attempting to be a positive person with a solid cultural background. I have studied African American History and I am a firm supporter of educating youth of all races in the trials and tribulations of the civil rights movement and the struggle for equality for Black People in the United States.

Unfortunately, I will always remember July 8th, 2011 as "The Day I Set Black People Back 50 Years".

The day started off as another average, ordinary day. I woke up and took my wife to work. I came home, ate a bowl of Honey Bunches of Oats with almond milk, and began my daily online job search. While debating on whether or not to drive my Hyundai Santa Fe the 7 minutes it takes to get to my parents' house in their plush Summerlin neighborhood, I received a phone call from my eldest sister.

My sister, who is staying with my parents while in the process of recovering from a serious illness, had a simple request. She asked if I would stop by the grocery store on my way to Summerlin and pick up a few items for her because she wasn't feeling well. She only wanted two things, so I didn't even have to make a list.

I pulled up to the Albertson's market located in my parents' neighborhood. I turned the volume down on my car stereo as not to offend the people in the parking lot who were unfamiliar with the classic stylings of Andre Young and Calvin Broadus. I walked inside and proceeded to select the items that were requested by my sister.

I was standing in the checkout line when I noticed a quirky smirk from the older gentleman in front of me who happened to be of European descent. I looked back at the Asian lady behind me. She was putting her groceries on the conveyor belt, she looked up at me, smiled and said "It must be lunchtime". I wasn't hungry, but in my eagerness to avoid small talk, I quickly agreed and pulled out my wallet in preparation for my pending transaction.

That's when it hit me. I took a fast inventory of my items and cross referenced it with my cultural identity. Here I was, a 6'5" BLACK MAN with flowing DREADLOCKS, standing in line at the grocery store, about to purchase 8 pieces of FRIED CHICKEN and an uncut WATERMELON with my government issued State of Nevada Eppi card that I received as a result of being UNEMPLOYED.

I could literally feel the progress of generations of Slaves, Freedmen, Sharecroppers, members of The Talented Tenth, supporters of the Tuskegee Machine, Civil Rights Activists, Freedom Riders, Black Panthers, The Blackwatch Movement & The Native Tongue Family being erased from the annals of history.

I'm pretty sure I felt the miniature ghosts of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X appear on each of my shoulders. One called me a "porchmonkey" - The other called me a "coon". I couldn't make out who said what, but I'm almost positive that I could smell the scent of angel tears mixed with a hint of indignity.

I attempted to pay the cashier. However, she was captivated by my hair, so we had a brief conversation about the cultivation and maintenance of my dreads. After telling her the standard answers to her common questions (Since 2001. Yes... It's my natural hair. Yes... I can get it wet. No... Actually, I wash it often. You have to twist it.) I was finally able to complete my transaction and walk out to my car.

I turned on the vehicle, rolled down the windows and turned up the volume on the stereo in order to get the voices of my angry ancestors out of my brain. The GANGSTER RAP anthem, NUTHIN' BUT A 'G' THANG, blasted through the speakers, solidifying my image as Most Stereotypical Black Man in the Summerlin section of Las Vegas.

I made it to my parents' house and poured a red plastic cup full of GRAPE KOOL-AID - at least it wasn't a 40oz of MALT LIQUOR.

Posted in: Culture,Envy Green,Scribbles