I'm going to try to keep up with this blogging this, albeit inconsistently, but it will be something.  :)

Over the weekend the company I work for held a two-day event at an upscale resort. We have been doing this for a few years now and it never gets old. The location is great but the facilities themselves are tremendous. This year my room, that opened onto the beach, had a luxurious deep tub that I took full advantage of. The food was delicious with a full buffet spread that included nutella and parfaits, fruit energy booster shots, all manner of baked goods (read: croissants, chocolate cupcakes, sticky buns, bagels), meats, potatoes, and omelets cooked to order with self-selected ingredients and toppings. I could go on about the breakfast but I'm gaining more weight just typing about it. The staff all over the resort was always courteous and helpful. One evening, before dinner, my husband went down to the restaurant to order food for the children and while he was standing at the front waiting to speak to the host a couple walked up at the same time...and the woman addressed him about wanting to place her order. She was polite. He was polite in his response when he told her that he too was trying to get information for his order. She was obviously embarrassed, esp. and my husband and her husband got a laugh out of it. When I heard the story I was not amused. Maybe it's not a big deal. I don't know. But why on earth would someone ASSUME that my husband is part of the staff instead of just ASKING first? Take a step back, assess the situation, determine what is what before you open your mouth. If you don't know, ask. It's not that difficult.

I guess it's that time to make that post I've been avoiding. Because I didn't want to write it. Because I didn't know where to start. Because it was unbelievable times, and still it.

Shootings of people who look like me. Have been going on for so long. And you wonder who really cares?

A few days after yet another shooting of an unarmed black man... My family and I are at church, a predominantly black church in a predominantly black neighborhood. The sun has set so its dark outside. My 13 year old son asks if he can walk to the corner store with some friends, other black teens. And I hesitate to answer him. I hesitate. Never before have I hesitated for fear. But I hesitate. I decide to let him go. I don't want him to feel my fear. I don't want him to be afraid. There is no "healthy" fear to instill in a child or in anyone, yet THAT is our daily reality. Be vigilante, obey the laws, be respectful, don't give any reason for others to fear you. You hear it all the time. It's real. It's a real spiel we tell our children all. the. time.

My son went with his friends. And returned without incident. One of his friends stuck his head through the door of the balcony to let me know they were back. His words, "we made it back alive." What life is this that that statement could be a joke based on reality? It bothered me the rest of the weekend, the rest of the week, the month, every time I think about it. I wasn't upset that he said it. I was upset that it was in his mind at all. That it had to be in his mind at all.

It's saddening. I didn't grow up like this. I did not have fear as a child. There was trust all around, except, of course, of strangers, who we were always told to be wary of. I came here and things were different. I came at 17. Naive, ignorant. Not blissfully so because the awakening is indeed rude..But my children! Why do they have to live like this, with this, not being free, because of others' fear of...what? Fear of realizing how small and insignificant and unhappy they themselves really are is my guess. Sounds like a bully to me.