For many days, I stewed in a mix of emotions. Thick and mucky. And – uncertain – as to what the muck would strain out to be, if it wasn’t all stewed together.

So, I reached out to a friend. A long-time friend who I think knows me pretty well. One who has similar values as I do. And, who is honest in calling things as he sees them. He is not one to sugar-coat things. He was my person. The one I knew who would help me sort out my muck.

Our meet-up was very – of this moment. We sat outside on a bench overlooking a Santa Fe waterfall, in the early evening, and ate homemade bread. (Because, the quarantine may be over, but my bread-making obsession continues….)

I tried to speak. Articulate. Make sense. But, I was saying a lot of nothing. He started expressing himself…Despair. Shame. White Privilege. How are we still here? Where had he gone wrong?

Yes.

That was it. How are we still here? And, where had I gone wrong?

I started sharing with him my deep-seated shame. My upbringing in a racially divided city – the one that hosted the heinous Rodney King incident – with extremely intolerant parents. My vow – at a very young age – to fight the injustice. The hate. The fear and violence. I was going to be on the front line.

How did I get so off-track? And, how has absolutely nothing changed since the 1992 Los Angeles Riots? Since the last several hundred years?

We – my peers and I – were supposed to be smart and powerful and determined – make the difference. Be the change.

My friend reminded me that there are many, many people in this country that Black Lives don’t Matter to.

Right.

I shared with him the number of books on race that were being special ordered through the Bee Hive – and throughout the country. Distributors have not been able to meet the demand. Which is amazing.

“But”, I said, “Now is not the time to read! We’ve got to take action!”

He laughed at me. “Says the book store owner.”

Another person told me that I need to be like a grain a sand. And meditate my way through this.

There have been many things in my life that I have tried to take the grain of sand approach to. And, I truly do believe, in a lot of cases, it is the way to go. But, I am not evolved enough to be a grain of sand in this moment. And, honestly, I feel like right now we’ve got to be talking. To each other. Our families. As James Baldwin said, “Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.” Man – we have A LOT to face. And own up to. We have been turning the other cheek for a long, long time. Shouldn’t we be working hard to create a shift? Rather then this just being a moment – this is an opportunity to be  a collective Movement – for long-overdue lasting change.

“And, there is the shame. That which has lived with me for my lifetime.”

So. How?

Personally, I am not leading any rallies, or changing any laws, or making any speeches. Damn it.

And, there is the shame. That which has lived with me for my lifetime.

What do I do? Where do I go from here?

Once again…

My attention goes to my kids.

My friend, the-discussion-over-bread one, suggested that, because of white privilege, it is impossible for white kids to be colorblind.

Ugh. That is something I am still mulling over…

I do know that my daughter knows more about black history at this point then I do. And, that she has read so many books from such a variety of different people’s perspectives that she has developed a fascination and respect, rather then fear or discrimination, for people who don’t look, or speak, or have the same background as she does. I have huge admiration for her scope of perspective at age 12.

My son’s idea of a crew of gods would be the NBA. He studies the players – not just their strengths on the court – but where they come from, their backgrounds, and family histories. He LOVES THEM. And knows, probably more then he should, about the good and the not-so-good, of a lot of the players personal lives. Cash’s bottom bunk is a cave – a shrine – to African American athletic power and beauty.

A long-time music fan (see #7 – The Rock History Schooling Of A Seven-Year-Old) at the age of ten, Cash plays the Blues on the piano; is a fan of old-school Hip Hop (just like his mom); and I recently introduced him to John Coltrane. He was smitten at first listen to A Love Supreme. He is now super-into learning as much as he can about the history of jazz.

His favorite grown up friend is Black.

As I write this, I feel like a white person making concessions for years of complacency,  Well, my kid likes basketball and has black friends!

And, yet.

I do feel that raising anti-racist kids — or raising kids to be people who see us all as just…human — is possibly the strongest super power in our arsenal.

Familiarity. Respect. Knowledge. Admiration. Openness. Understanding. Curiosity. Aren’t these the things that nurture a feeling of equality? Of Love? Of Oneness?

The unknown creates fear. Which seems to, in turn, create raging hate – that continues to be passed down from generation to generation.

Knowledge is Power. And, in my experience, is the only thing that breaks cycles.

A couple of months ago, my daughter and I were having dinner together. We were discussing the characteristics of the different generations that have come before hers. She asked me what distinguishing characteristics make up her generation – Generation Z. I said that I didn’t think there was enough to go on quite yet for there to be any discerning factors.

She replied, “Maybe we will be the generation that changes the world.”

I didn’t tell Olive this, but – I am planning on it, actually.

I want my kids to be living in a world that they are proud of.

One that reflects how they, right now, see people of color. With love, equity, and awe.

But mostly…

I want them to be badass warriors.

That have no shame.

 

(This post is dedicated to my friend, and all those friends, who are helping us get through the muck that is this moment in time. Thank goodness we are all in it together. May our conversations continue…🧡)