My life lessons learned

Geeks Club

  How come we let our society only celebrate and honor the pretty people?   Every high school has a pep squad, cheerleaders, best dressed student, and jocks.   An honorable mention may go to the debating team.  But everywhere you go, there's always a group of individuals who feel like outcasts, loners, and geeks.   Why haven't anyone had the courage to start a geeks club?   Why?  Because no one wants to honor someone not in the norm.  No one wants to celebrate the unattractive.

        Why are we allowing the select few to put value on our own lifestyles?  Why?  Because we are too shy, too scared, and/or have too much fear of rejection to do it for ourselves.   At age 30, I've decided to not leave my lifestyle choices in the hands of the approved few.  I run my life. 

       I learned why I couldn't decide what I should college to go to, what career I should have, what clothes to wear, and what was the proper way to act to get people to like me.  The reason why was that I constantly looked for someone else's approval.  I realized that I never approved of myself.   Now, that's all changed.  I'm not afraid to say I like the quirky things about me.  I not afraid to say what I like and dislike in life.  I now celebrate the crazy part of me.  Of course, many people always and still tell me you shouldn't do that.  You shouldn't say that.  You shouldn't go there.  You shouldn't hang around that person.  You shouldn't work there.  You shouldn't eat that.   

         I now accept the fact that people are not going to like everything that I do or anything that I do.   Trust me, I'm related to a few of those people.  Now, that's not a big deal to me.  I now ask myself, "Do I like it?"   I will only change something about myself because I don't like it, not because my neighbor doesn't like it.    You have no idea how much stress has been lifted from my chest.   The only thing is, I wish I had realized it sooner.

Dr. Phil says, "The only thing worse than suffering for 20 years is suffering for 20 years and one day."      

LESSON LEARNED:

• People are going to find reasons to not like you, no matter what
• If I only improved myself for someone else's approval, that makes me a follower.  If I improve the way the world works, that makes me a leader.

Why do we label people?

I've heard that question being asked for many years by many people.  My niece asked me that question when she was in high school.  That was the only time I decided to answer that question for someone.   She asked me, "Why do people have to call me the light skinned girl or the white girl?  Why can't they just call me by name?"   I explained to her that labels are nothing more than descriptions.  It's an adjective.   It's up to you how you handle that description being made of you. 

I'll give you an example of why I've used labels on people currently and in the past.   

Did you know Mike's wife just had twins? 

What Mike? 

You know, big Mike. 

You mean Baltimore Mike?   

No, that's drop out Mike. 

You know who I mean.  Big 6 foot Mike. 

You mean basketball Mike? 

No, not crazy leg Mike.    You know, tall Mike.   

Oh you mean white Mike? 

No, black Mike. 

You mean dead eye Mike? 

No, broke Mike. 

Oh you mean big, black, tall, broke Mike from south east DC? 

Yeah, him.

If I don't label you with a description, how can I identify you?   What if someone walked up to you and began a conversation on a subject you had no interest in or knowledge about?   What if someone introduced you to someone else and all they could talk about was gay people?  Then your question is why is that the only thing you can talk about?  Then your friend breaks in and says, "Oh my gosh, you misunderstood me.  I said she was a thespian, not a lesbian."

You can create you own label for yourself or let others label you.   I'm a black woman.  I'm an American black woman.  I'm a college educated, middle class American black woman. 

Or you might not like the label others give you.  You might find the label someone else gives an insulting one.  So that means you flip the script and re-label yourself.

The other side on the coin is when people tag you with nasty hurtful labels.  That has the purpose of boasting the ego of the name caller.  You're just the available victim.

I had that attempted on me practically all my life, especially in school.    Starting from kindergarten through 12th grade (5 different schools), kids have teased me about my name, my height, my glasses and style of clothes.   I was the tallest kid in my classes.  I was taller than quite a few teachers too.   To be honest, I didn't care about the name itself.  I was embarrassed about the fact a group of kids felt they had something over me.  I was made to feel like an outsider.  When I walked by, everyone would laugh as if on an inside secret against me.  That's the part I hated.  That made me hate myself.  But I did learn a valuable lesson on the subject and I took my power back.   I stopped holding my head down when someone called me a bad name.  I'd smile and say hi back as if nothing's wrong.  It took the air out of many balloons when I gave no negative reaction.  I was polite back as if we were great friends.   I also realized, that I wasn't the only one in school with a crazy label.  In my high school, we had "Puss Head (his head was shaped like a pimple that was ready to pop),  Thang face (because she had so many thangs on her face),  Swamp (her green eyes looked like swamp water), Fats ( he was fat), Doo doo (he was teased and disliked his real name Adam), Foots (he had really big feet),  and many others I can't remember now.   

I learned to build my tolerance of my ignorant and stupid classmates.  I also learned how to dish it too.  I was then respected in 12th grade, after being teased all those years.  I stopped being the loner and then had people I could call my friends.

My mom found out in my senior year that I was called dirty names.  She was very upset.  She wanted to go up to the school and set a few people straight.  I calmed her down and told her Its a funny name that I laugh at.  It doesn't bother me.  My mom put her hands on her hips and tucked in her lips and declared no one on this planet is going to call my child a nasty name.    I told her if you get involved, you'll screw things up for me.  Before 12th grade, no one knew me.  I was ignored.  I was too shy to talk to people.  I had no idea how to start a conversation.  I was socially inept.   My new stupid nickname now adds me to the list of other students with descriptive nicknames.  I feel included.  Strangely enough, I became popular. People began walking up to me to ask what was my real name?  No one asked that before.  I then pulled my grades up to honor roll because then I wasn't scared to show how smart I was.  I wasn't afraid to raise my hand and most of all, I wasn't as scared to speak up for myself.   I got my reward for that  when I got asked to join a group of people for lunch.  JACKPOT!

I now appreciate my height, my weight, and most of all myself .   Instead of people teasing me, people compliment me.  

At my current age of 38 years old, no one can tease me about anything any more.  Name calling rolls off my back.  I can now identify with my younger relatives about being teased about something and I teach them my lessons, which in turn helps them learn their own lessons.

LESSONS LEARNED:

• It's not what you call me, it's what I answer to
• I am the best example of how the world is supposed to treat me
• If someone calls you a scumbag and you believe it, everyone else will believe it too

Holes

I saw this Disney channel movie about a punishment camp for boys in the desert.  The camp counselor had the boys digging holes in the sand throughout the desert.  The boys asked, "why are we digging these holes" and the answer back was, "you're digging for prosperity and character building."  That was a lie because the camp counselors were crooks and looking for old buried treasure. 

But it had me thinking.

What's the purpose of a hole? 

The purpose of a hole is to either dig it or fill it.  The choice is yours.  You can dig your hole with ignorance, stupidity, envy and/or anger.   You can fill your hole with flowers, candies, memories, and/or love.

You can dig your hole to bury old hurts, past mistakes, mourn the sorry soul you used to be, or just dig your hole to build character by humbling yourself.    You can fill your hole with sarcasm, bitterness, loneliness, and/or addiction.

Where are you in life?  Are you digging or filling?  Is your hole half full or half empty?  Are you digging or filling a hole for yourself or someone else?

Many people think they are teaching their kids how to make due with what you have, when actually, they are passing on the knowledge of poverty.   Many people think they are giving the inheritance of prosperity, when actually, they are passing on immediate gratification by creating spoiled brats.

What's the purpose of your hole?

We seemed to wake up from Martin's dream

Please Don't Tell Martin 

by Bitter B 

Thank you Ms. Coretta for the grace, strength, and dignity that you displayed. Since your wonderful husband was assassinated by the bullets of fear and hate. You know they killed him because of their ignorance. Thank you for not allowing bitterness and anger to engulf your very existence. Now that you are reunited with Martin tell him that they are stripping our rights away, day by day, but his fight was not in vain. Tell him that although my generation glorifies drugs, debases black women in song, and calls us vulgar names - that his dream still remains. Our men no longer celebrate our natural black beauty - we have to have long weaves, small waists, and big ole booties. The videos are so degrading, they mirror soft porn. Us Blacks own television stations now, but that's all that's shown. Tell Martin that my generation apologizes for its lack of respect for his legacy and the dormancy of our elders, we might as well call this the Civil Rights of Unmovement Era. Tell him that although we as black people make more than we've ever seen, that we squander it on diamond clad teeth, 24 inch rims, and designer clothes due to our sagging self-esteem. Tell Martin that our babies are growing up without fathers, while the mothers are catching buses just like he remembers. Our children take to the streets in droves, not to march or proclaim the injustice of this nation, but to pledge their gang affiliation. I can't rhyme to this next line. On any night thugs hang out while bullets ring out - not freedom. And yes we continue to be judged by the color of our skin by America but I wonder most about the lack of the content of our character. Advise him that the grand-daughters of the Civil Rights era are making their money as strippers. The Grand-sons of the marchers are ignoring their sons and daughters and hanging and slangin' on corners. They're going to jail in mass numbers, not for protesting, marching, or defying racism, but because they commit illegal acts to gain materialism. Our children are making babies, ignoring education, committing felonious capers, I wish they'd read his Birmingham Jail Papers. Tell Martin that those in the ghetto are not the only ones forgetting his dream. There are those who've forgotten where they came from because of a little cream. Who refuse to give back to the community, because their motto is 'More for me'. They've forgotten how to lend a helping hand, to help their fellow man - all the while thinking, 'If I can make it, they can'. Looking down without offering a leg up, getting on elevators with their noses up. Some of us are even republicans now, but that's a very exclusive black crowd. Striving to get to the top of the ladder, to make their pockets fatter - instead of doing something that truly matters. Leaving the 'hood' in droves and only moving back when Whites buy up all of the homes. Tell Martin that we still like to dance and sing, but not Negro spirituals  because we've got Beyonce grinding and shaking her thing. Ms. Coretta, this may hurt poor Martin the most - it just may seal the deal, we as a people don't attend church anymore. Because we've gotten a little education and found out that God wasn't real. For those of us who still believe, it makes us want to holla, we've got a pimp named Bishop and a Bishop named Dollar. I don't know Ms. Corretta, maybe you'd better not tell Martin that for all that he's done to make us free, equal, and just - that we still migrate to the back of the bus. I'll bet looking down - he doesn't recognize us. We've forgotten how to march, protest, and vote - but be at the club, standing in line for hours - in the freezing cold. Sporting the latest gear; stilettos, hoochie clothes, teeth that's froze, and Tims - driving cars with less tire more rim. Dying to get in so that we can  "shake it fast", "drop it like it's hot"  - forgetting the respect and dignity that we were taught. I never thought I'd think this thought, but please don't ever give Martin your report.

Ms. Coretta, maybe you should just avoid mentioning my generation all togetha'. 

Bitter B 

Released: January 31st, 2006

Are adults afraid of kids?

   Two years ago, I took a ride on the subway train and noticed the usual: kids terrorizing the public. These kids yelled, screamed, and played as wildly and as insane as they could get and you know what happened? Nothing. No adult had a backbone to make the kids stop. I got offended by the kids when I saw an older woman clutched her bag and pushed herself against a wall to become invisible. No authority from the subway system showed up, no police, no adult man, no one took a stand.

I was already stressed out and didn't need the abuse. I said to myself, "as long as they stay up there, I'm fine." Of course, life doesn't always work out like that. The 3 kids ranging from ages of maybe 12 to 15. They began running in circles around people standing still on the platform. They banged and kicked the phone booth, maps and other signage on the platform. I had enough. They were maybe 10 feet away from me and I blew it. I screamed at them to stop it and have respect for your elders. I got cursed out so bad and called every nasty word by these kids that you would have thought these were 30 year old sailors.

I got up from my seat and approached the closet one to me, a boy, and told him to stop before I make you stop. They all laughed and hyped it up further. May I remind you that of the 15 people on the platform with me, no one said or did anything. I stood over 2 of the 3 kids and said I won't tell you again, STOP! They laughed more, made faces, called me dirty names and they all said, "but you can't touch me." At that moment, I slapped the one closet to me. I asked him, "what can't I do?" The 2nd boy did the same thing. "Bitch better not do that to me." I walked up to him as he stood his ground and I slapped him with full force across his face also. May I remind you again that no adult took any action or said a word.

The train pulled up and the kids laughed harder. They ran from car to car cursing and pushing everyone in their way. No one did a thing. I thought well at least I don't have to deal with them anymore on the train. No such luck. One boy realized which car I was on and called the other boy and girl to join him on my train car. As everyone sat down and the train pulled off into the tunnel, the terror began again. The kids ran down the aisle smacking the adults on the back of the head or neck as they ran by them in both rows of seats. Not a word from anyone. The older woman and a few others moved themselves from the aisle seat to the window seat. I couldn't take it. I stood up and ran after the closest boy to me. He laughed and ran further down the train car toward the other 2. The 2 boys and older girl all huddled in the last seat of the train and laughed so hard, they fell over each other like a comedy team. I told them all, I'm not putting up with this foolishness. I grabbed one boy around his throat after he told me again, "I bet you won't touch me." He began to choke and I realized that I had to let him go before I broke his little neck. The girl who's height was closer to my five ten and 200lb body type was the mouthier of the 3 and said the same thing. " Yeah I bet you won't do that to me."

May I still remind you that this whole thing started 5 minutes earlier and NO ONE else said or did a thing.

The train pulled into the next station and I told them that "I'm taking you to the police." I pulled on the boy closet to me. I planned to drag the boy to the station police and hope the other 2 would follow. NOPE. The boy pulled from me and the train doors closed. The girl screamed, "you ain't gonna pull on my cousin like that." "Ok then I'll pull on you." I grabbed her wrist. The 2 boys slipped out beside me as the girl slid on her back in the seat. She began to kick and one kick hit my chin. "OK NOW ITS ON!" I stood over the girl as she was on her back and I was throwing blows at her face. I got 3 punches in before she covered up. At that moment, I wanted to punch her in her temple to knock her out, but she covered that with her thumb. So, I extended my knuckle and began to knuckle punch her in the side of the head. I got maybe 5 or 6 punches in before metro employees stopped me at the next stop.

The girl and boys stood on one side of the employees while they separated me on the other side. They made me stay on the train while they took the kids off. Only one guy jumped in and said, "that's her! get her! she was hitting them kids! she can't do that! she's wrong!"

I had the most disgusting feeling in the pit of my stomach. I yelled back. "Hey he wasn't on this train when this whole thing started. This started 2 stations ago. Where were you?" He said, "Never mind where I was. You was wrong for hitting someone else's kids. You can't do that."

Before the 2 employees took the kids off the train, I yelled back at the guy, "I bet ya beat my ass if you had the chance, but you can't put these kids in their place? You wonder why black women are disgusted with black men nowadays? Congratulations, you helped create 3 new criminals in this world!"

The kids laughed as they left the train. I sat on the train until the next stop and no one said a word. I looked at everyone with sadness.

I went back and told the transit police in order to make a report. The cop said she recognized the description from an earlier report of bad kids.  I asked the cop, "why didn't anyone stop the kids from acting bad or stop me from hitting them?"   The cop replied, "people these days are afraid of these wild kids." 

The kids still rode the train. I saw them riding the train on the opposite platform as I waiting to go home on the next train and one of them threw something at me when the train came to a stop.  They jumped off and then jumped back on before it pulled off.      

I went home and cried because I was so upset at the whole incident.      

LESSON LEARNED:    

• I've learned that some people are more willing to deal with what they consider short term abuse rather than deal with what they consider long term involvement
• I've learned the group dynamic comes into play when personal safety is involved.  If one or two people from the group does nothing, then the whole group will do nothing.
• I've learned that kids are smarter than you think and will push the danger boundary further and further if you let them