A Smile to Remember, RIP Big Daddy

Posted on by serenitisparkles

Too often we never get the chance to say goodbye.

It all happened so fast. Like a lightning bolt that strikes down a beautiful palm. My best friend called me crying. Kenya got shot. Chills ran through my body and I remember feeling so helpless. I could hear her deep pain. And I understood why. Kenya aka Big Daddy was larger than life. He had a smile that made your heart melt. Kenya was like a teddy bear. He was there to help and never to harm. All I could remember thinking was WHO could be so evil.

My best friend told me he was on life support at a hospital about 20 mins away. She told me that the whole family was there. I dropped everything and went to be with them.

What would come next would stay with me forever.

When I got to the hospital I saw the family crowded by his bed side as my best friend walked out to tell me, he’s gone.

That day ended in pain and tragedy, but what it would bring was a sign of unity never seen before.

In order to tell this story properly, let me give you some background on my experience with my best friend, Kenya and the family that you won’t know if you are just reading this.

About 5 years before this tragic day, I moved to the south from New England. My white skin and love for Hip Hop music would make me an awkward fit at the time for this heavily separated town. When I first entered the high school lunch room it was obvious that most groups were separated by color or ethnicity rather than interests or life experiences.

I felt alone at the time because I related more to the black kids in the school because of Hip Hop culture, but I wasn’t necessarily accepted by them at first. Until I met my best friend, Kenya, and the family. They just truly saw ME. Me and my best friend became inseparable and Kenya’s smile became a reassurance that I was always good where ever I was in town. I was so blessed to have each and everyone of them in my life, especially Kenya. They were the definition of what family stood for. Always together, and I was always welcome.

I had come from a broken home and family that was separated by 1000 miles. My mother, whom I was living with at the time, was suffering from breast cancer, and I just remember feeling the embrace that I needed from all of them. It came right on time.

As the years passed on I saw Kenya grow up from a boy into a man. July 4th was the last day I got to spend with him. I remember there was a cookout at one of the family members houses and Kenya was the reason that July 4th was a hit for all of us. He brought hundreds of dollars worth of fireworks and began the show. We were outside for hours that day, basking in the beauty of the fireworks show that Kenya was putting on as he poured his energy into it. He was a bright light for all of us, and that day, he did his thing. Less than a month later, he was gone.

Hopelessness and sadness filled the family circle, but like always they stuck together. As the years would pass, his brother, sister and cousins would start an event for his birthday in his name. RIP Big Daddy. In the beginning, maybe a couple hundred would show up and celebrate and the police would always try to shut it down. Every year, more and more began to come. Like a fire igniting, it would continue to burn. Whether we realized it or not, Kenya’s energy lived far beyond his death.

This year, thousands would gather in the name of Big Daddy and Ending Gun Violence. The police that used to try and shut it down, would be forced to get behind the cause.

I don’t believe that our energy ever really leaves this earth and I believe that Kenya aka Big Daddy is proof of that.

I will always miss you, but your smile lives in my memory bank to remind me that life is worth smiling about. RIP Big Daddy.

Silence is having blood on your hands…It is time White People

Posted on by serenitisparkles

For my entire life thus far, I have watched as some of the people I cared for most in this world being tormented by a system built to oppress them. Through the years I have seen what the simple color of my skin meant to my experience in this world and more specifically this country. The shame I have, to see others that look like me and that hold the same privilege sit in silence. The pain I’ve felt watching my friends and family members be treated as less than or overlooked despite their clear capabilities. The sickness I feel every time I see the outright mistreatment by law enforcement.

Let me be clear when I say, you may love your neighbor no matter the color of their skin, but if you do not speak truth to power, then you too have blood on your hands. How many times do we have to see the blatant disrespect and disregard for human lives? How many times do we have to watch the difference in being black in America vs white in America to know we must not be silent? I’ve written hundreds of articles, praying they reach someone else that needs to hear these words. I’ve listened to my friends and family of color so that I can be better in the fight against racism.

This is getting to the point that it is NO LONGER acceptable for you to just love thy neighbor, you must also be willing to fight for thy neighbor. Imagine a world where every time you walked out into the public, you had to fear that you would be in harm’s way or treated as less than. Imagine that you were treated this way every single day of your life, not because you deserved it, but because of the pigment of your skin. It may not be you that engages in racism or hate. It may not be you that assists in the breakdown of another human’s rights. But it is because of you and your silence that we have witnessed a rise in racism. It is because of that silence that white supremacists marched on the capital as if they would have no repercussions and not be held accountable for such hate.

I am going to keep writing and keep telling white people what they need to hear. I am going to keep speaking up against the most dangerous type of hate that exists in America. The mentality that you or I are better because of the color of our skin is a fallacy and one we are responsible for deconstructing. If you choose to not speak up against what is happening with racism in America, then you my friend, have blood on your hands. PERIOD.

Oh, You’re “that type” of White Girl

Posted on by serenitisparkles

The racism I have endured from my own color folk. Here’s my story. 

Growing up, loving Hip Hop, making multi cultural friends, primarily black, I realized very quickly there was a stereotype and hate for someone like me.  Subliminal hate rules over many parts of our country.  Being pulled over for no reason, escorted out of clubs by the swat team, surrounded by cops cars with their guns drawn, discriminated against because of my association, hate words spewed at me, all my experience for being white and loving my black brothers and sisters.  

I was never accepted by the majority of my white peers because they believed I was trying to be a part of something that wasn’t for me.  Snickerlicker, ghetto, and wigger were just some of the words sent my way.  Since the age of 14 when I fell in love with Hip Hop music and culture, I became the “other” type of white person.  My love for Hip Hop would give me the most amazing friends and experiences I could have ever imagined, but it would also put me in the category that most of my black friends and family were born into.  

My experience isn’t unique by any means.  Just ask the ones like me.  But my experience gave me a unique perspective inside of a world that most can’t possibly see.  Many people that look like me have chosen to do the white thing, while I chose to do the right thing.  

People are not a color to me.  Everyone is a unique soul living on this planet and many have a collective experience.  Unfortunately for our Black Americans, that experience has not been kind.  In many instances, that experience has been the definition of criminal.  The hate, oppression, judgement, and misrepresentation that Black Americans have faced is a disgrace to humanity.  Or at least it should be.  

One of my white friends once said to me when I was the only white person on the step team, aren’t you worried about what people will think of you?  My answer, said 20 years ago, still holds true today.  No, because anyone that sees my happiness and inclusivity as wrong, doesn’t need to be in my circle.  

Standing for Black Americans is easy for me, it always has been.  Though my experience was just instances of insight into the Black experience, I have been humbled, time and time again.  To think that my friends and family are treated in this way on a daily basis is one thought that will never leave my mind.  My only hope is that others are humbled by the unlimited amount of information that we have collected to understand that racism, hate and systematic oppression is real.  Just ask , the “other” type of white person.  My hope is that more of us can break the stereotype and stand up as white people for all people who are silenced or treated unjustly.  If America is the greatest country in the world, it’s time we start acting like it.

Love is a terrible thing to Hate

Posted on by serenitisparkles

This blog is an inspiration from my best friend who has not only taught me what love is, but that as long as it’s love its LOVE, period. Think about your first love. Think about the many or few after that. Bring yourself back to the moment you met them. Bask for a moment in your first kiss with them.

Doesn’t it feel amazing? Isn’t this feeling one of the things that makes life worth living? Aren’t these moments the ones we cherish and hold onto for our lifetimes?

We all want love. Most of us want it to last forever.

Now imagine that because of this love, you were ostracized by others. Imagine being tormented online or in the streets for nothing more than WHO you love. Imagine not being able to marry your ONE TRUE LOVE.

What kind of life would that be? Living in love in the shadows. Being undeniably attracted to that person and not being able to share it to the world.

Moments cherished in hiding.

This is what so many endure in the LGBTQ+ community. There are still many places in the United States where people are treated obscenely. Places where love is treated with disgust or hate.

Can you imagine? What it would feel like to have finally found love in a world full of hate, only to have to deny the full potential of that love because of others.

Though we as a country have come a long way, we still have many states, cities, schools, apartment communities, housing districts, and neighbors that want to rid the LGBTQ+ community of their human right to love. Let all of our voices be louder than theirs.

Let us stand for love, because if we are lucky enough to have found it, no one should ever be able to take it away.

Learning People From The Inside Out

Posted on by serenitisparkles

I often tell my daughter that when she meets someone new, to close her eyes for just a moment and feel their energy. Are they warm? Do they welcome you? Do they make you feel at home? Or are they cold? Are they rude? Do they make you feel unsafe?

In an instant our spirit can tell if someone is a friend. It is built in us, it’s in our DNA. Animals are the best example of this. They use their senses to tell them if danger is present.

Yet, humans, not all, but some, have the idea that because of the way a person appears to be on the outside, that must represent who they are on the inside. In every other example, that notion is ludicrous, yet with human beings it is not. Does the color of a car tell you if it drives well? Does the color of a cake tell you if it’s delicious? Does the color of a house tell you if it was built with a good foundation?

The answer is NO. Does the way a person looks tell you if they’re a friend? That answer is also NO.

I like to bring this story to the beginning, when we all began to be human. I’m not talking about when human beings first walked the earth, but when we were innocent children. We grew up in different households, with different circumstance, different clothes, different experiences, and our skin was different colors, but we still played together. Most of us, before we entered school age knew no difference. We were all “fun”.

Then society and the world around us began to change our minds on what we fundamentally knew. Somewhere along the way people stopped playing together and grouped themselves into communities against one another. Somewhere along the way the world tarnished our view of humanity.

And, many of us let them. Now more than ever we must feel each others energy and trust what is good. Covid-19 is even telling us to keep away from our fellow humans. (It’s too dangerous).

I believe the most dangerous weapon against humanity is separation and lack of love. Humans need to remember that the majority of us are good and want the same things for each other. A happy family, food on the table, blissful moments are what most of us desire for ourselves and for our fellow humans. We can’t let the few evil people lead us to hopelessness. Fear is what people who are no longer in tune with their childhood spirit feel.

No matter what you look like, today is the day to reach out to someone and say, “We may be separated in this moment, but I am with you my friend”. Let us be #SeparatebutTogether2020

I didn’t know speaking about equality would get me REJECTED from FB

Posted on by serenitisparkles

I have always been a person of deep spirituality. Prophetic some might say. I have always thought about what it means to live with purpose. Purpose is what drives me to write. I’ve never been paid to write or encouraged to go against the laws of the land. But what happens when my free speech, and sharing it with others is rejected.

For the first time in my life, power has silenced me. My voice is no different than any other average American. I am not famous or powerful. I am humble. I want nothing more in my life than to leave a valuable message for the generations that live beyond me. I want nothing more than to right the wrongs or at least try to.

Never would I have thought that one of my blogs, written from my heart with only good intent, would be rejected by a platform. Speaking truth to power is important, but what happens when power won’t let us be heard.

I wrote a blog yesterday about supporting my Black brothers and sisters in their fight to gain true equal rights from a system that has silenced them for too long. It was nothing more than what every faith lives on; Treat others how you want to be treated. It is so simple, yet so complex in the world we are living in. An opinion is all. An opinion that spoke of love and support was rejected by FB. I didn’t understand it so I dug further.

I found that in order for me to write about equality, I must first disclose my name, phone number, and address to the platform for approval. Why would I do such a thing, when I watch whistleblowers from around the world be silenced and forgotten. The people in charge want to know who I am before I can speak about what is right. Why? I am not a politician. I am not organizing the resistance. What is the resistance anyway? Isn’t this something we ALL want to see before we take our last breath?

I had to write about it, like so many other things. More than ever, I had to speak up for what I see as wrong. I had to speak up for those who can no longer speak. I had to speak up so that the day I take my last breath, I know I never walked away from the truth. We should all be working towards love. We should all be working towards a better future for each other. These blogs are for my friends, my family, and anyone that ever needed confirmation that love is the way. You can silence me today, but just know I will keep writing, unapologetically.

Power to Black People, Means Power to THE People

Posted on by serenitisparkles

A statement with so many layers. A bold statement, misunderstood by ignorance. What exactly do I mean? Power to Black People? Does this mean Black people deserve more power?

A simple answer is, yes.

The same people that have made it their duty to oppress Black people, have made it their duty to oppress the people.

But ALL people are not oppressed?

When 99% of the people are within the lower bracket of our country’s economy as we know it and only a few hold the power to control government with their money, aren’t they? Aren’t most people living under the umbrella of Big Pharma, For-Profit Education Companies, the Banking system, and Corrupt Government?

The continued oppression of Black people is symbolic for what most people living in this country suffer from. Black oppression is the worst of the worst.

When this country turns the tables on how Black people are treated, won’t that set the bar for how all people should be treated. We need the tide to turn. We need the tide to turn in a big way if this country has hope to survive and thrive. Fighting for our Black brothers and sisters isn’t just about fighting for them. It’s about fighting for all of us.

Power can only sustain its power if they divide us. The media, painting pictures of us as if most Americans don’t want the same thing. Why do we continue to believe them? Why do we allow them to act as if they aren’t the ones benefiting from the oppression? Do you not understand that only 6 Corporations own 90% of the media that is fed to us? Do you not think they, the rich and powerful, have an agenda?

But have you talked to your neighbor recently? Have you spoken with your friend of another race? Your co-worker?

We can’t be so blind to the fact that they want all of us to believe that we don’t want the system fixed for ALL of us.

In order for that to begin, we need to see the power, the rights, and the respect put back into our Black countrymen and woman. We are ALL citizens of this beautiful country. We are members of an exclusive place called the United States of America. Don’t you think it’s time for the system that was built by the people (ALL PEOPLE) and for the people, do what it has promised? There are 324 Million people living under the thumb of the 1%. Shouldn’t it be the majority that rules?

The C word VS the N word and why they are not the same.

Posted on by serenitisparkles

“Cracker” is what I would be referred to at times and it never bothered me.  Not because it wasn’t derogatory, but because it literally held no actual weight on society as I knew it.  “Crackers” weren’t systematically oppressed.  “Crackers” weren’t being targeted by the police.  Being a “Cracker” didn’t affect your place in society.  “Cracker” was just a word.

Many people ask well “if the N word is so bad to say, then why isn’t the C word as bad” One is a word and the other torments you.  One word is used as a clap back and the other is used to cut you.  One is the word of the moment, the other is a word derived from the cruelest moments in our nation’s history.

Other people ask the question, “Why can’t I say the N word if Black people say it to each other?’  

It is because THAT is their word.  The N word has been used as a racial slur and a representation of the oppression for centuries.  Since the blood was first placed on the white hand by the slavery they instilled in this nation.  That blood, stains.  Every time a white person says the N word, it cuts like a knife in an open wound.  The N word represents all that is wrong with White vs. Black in this country.   Our Black American citizens decided that rather than let this word be used against them, they keep it.   That by being so restrained in its use, it gives white Americans (specifically) a taste of what it is like to not be entitled to “do anything they please, anywhere.”

So no, the C word will never be equal to the N word because Black Americans have never been offered that same opportunity.  They have been kneeled on by the power of government and law in a country that’s primary principle is that All Men Were Created Equal and All Men Deserve Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

So “Crackers”, if you find this word offensive, think of what a lifetime of being exploited feels like.

Living on the “White” side of things

Posted on by serenitisparkles

No, I did not say living on the “right” side or that white had any other influence in my soul than the color of skin I was given.   Colors mean something because we have allowed them to separate us.   Groups, placed by the few powerful, to separate all of us from our greatest strength, ALL OF US.

My daughter inspired me to write this because she has been affected by this “group” she is associated with.  She is a half white, half Colombian little person just beginning to understand the barriers society has placed on us.

She came to me the other day and said, “Mommy, the worst thing anyone ever said to me was, white girl white girl white girl.”  She said it wasn’t because of what they said but how they said it.  The girls taunting her were young black girls in our neighborhood.

We lived in a neighborhood where she was the only white girl.  She and I believe in rich culture.  Money didn’t define us,  our relationships did.  We were poor, but making it through.  Like everyone else in the neighborhood.  We understood what it felt like to go with bread and eggs in our refrigerator because her father was not providing financial support.  We understood what it felt like to have to do laundry and walk a mile to get to the laundry mat just to save money on washing clothes.  But in the eyes of our peers, we were White.   My daughter looked up to those girls.  They were a part of her home.

I grew up, up north, in Rhode Island where everyone was blended and the beauty of mixing cultures was ever so prevalent.  My best friends were triplets mixed with Native American, Black, and White.  I moved to the south at 16 years old to live with my mother as my father had gone to federal prison.  I moved to a southern town, dated in its appearance to the time before the south had lost.  Every culture was there, yet separate.  Every cafeteria table was a different “group”.  I wasn’t raised to see the differences.  I was taught to embrace the similarities.

At that time, 16 years old, I was also poor and my mother was sick.  I didn’t want to live there, I didn’t want to go to that school.  I didn’t want to be “grouped” with others because of what they believed I represent.  I let music decide what I would do next.

I was very much into Hip Hop as I was a beat away from NYC where it was flourishing.  When I got to the south, I began to hear the sound of Trap Music and Caribbean vibes and fell in love.

From that moment on, I would stand in the culture and break the stereotype.  I would teach my daughter to learn people from the inside out.  Celebrate the beautiful differences and though many will only see you as the color of your skin, remember that we are more alike.  Not understanding each other is one thing, leading with blind prejudice is another.  Whether you are black, white, asian, or any other race, we shouldn’t judge each other by the one thing in life that we didn’t choose; the color of our skin.

 

Enough is ENOUGH!

Posted on by serenitisparkles

enough.jpg

Tamir Rice, was 12 years old when he was gunned down by police for playing with a fake BB gun.  There is a saying that, Boys will be Boys.  When I think of that saying, I remember growing up with three younger brothers.  Fighting, video games, playing with toy weapons and being rough was what that statement meant to me.  I found it silly that they liked to pretend that they were superheroes, cops, and robbers, but to them it was the best time of their lives.  These were the activities they loved most.

Now I imagine one of my brothers, playing in a park with their toy gun, pretending to be a villain and playing out scenarios with their FAKE weapon.  How could I ever prepare them to be careful when doing so because the police might shoot them down?  How could I teach them “TOY GUN SAFETY” and explain to them the proper procedure of carrying their FAKE weapon?  The fact is, I couldn’t.

Tamir Rice could have been my little brother.  He could have also assumed, as would I, that police don’t just shoot people down without giving fair warning.  At 12 years old, my brothers didn’t know much about the world, but they knew that if they were in danger, to call 911.  What happens when 911 is why you are in danger?  How could they EVER be prepared for what happened to Tamir Rice.

My heart aches for the family of that precious child, who was at the wrong place, playing with the wrong toy.  I yearn for justice but I don’t know if the system has the strength to carry out the justice that this country needs.  What I know from the bottom of my soul is that ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.  Evidence, policing, and laws are supposed to be in place to protect us, and most of all to protect our children!  How can we sell toy guns in stores, if being shot down because of one is a possibility?  I’ll say it again, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.

Change MUST happen with our police system.  Our BABIES must be kept safe from this corruption or we as the United States of America have failed our forefathers.  We are failing each other if we all do not come together, despite race and religion, and protect the people we cherish most in this world.  As moms and dads,  it is our duty to protect our children, even if we are having to protect them from the system put in place to protect us.  #ENOUGHISENOUGH