Stories from a Momma Bear (and wife) #5

Today on our way back from Iowa...we stopped to get gas at a nowhere little gas station in a nowhere little town. We've stopped there once before so it's a little familiar to us. But I know that we aren't familiar to them.

We pulled up to the gas pump and my son hopped out to go in and use the restroom and look for a snack. My husband got out to start pumping the gas. I'm quickly throwing on my shoes and jumping out of the car. Looking to my son heading in the gas station. Looking at my husband running the credit card in the pump. And I look around the parking lot taking surveillance of the patrons around us. Door. Son. Gas Pump. Husband. 

I feel a sense of panic. And I feel frozen. And I stood between the car and the store---making odd small talk with my husband--with one eye on my son now walking into the gas station---until he is pumping the gas and there is no more odd small talk to make and I head into the gas station. And I have somewhat bated breath until we are all in the store together figuring out what snacks we want and then heading to the car together. 

The day before?  My husband and I stopped for gas heading to Missouri...same kinda gas station...same kinda town. And we got out of our car at the same time that a man got out of his car on the other side of the pump. I see him glance. Once. Twice. And I hover. I hover around the car until my husband starts to pump the gas and he and the man are making a little small talk. Then I breathe and I enter the gas station. 

I let my husband and son know that how I hate being at gas stations and they separate. Because I want to stay at the pump with my husband. And I want to go in the gas station with my son. I want to see and hear if anything crazy pops off. I want to intervene if someone says something horrible. I want to be near if any officers show up. I want to keep them safe. 

I know that none of us can guarantee another person's safety...so I'm asking you to refrain from sharing the stranger danger kind of 'I know just how you feel' stories. 

I could list names upon names upon names and show videos upon videos that would curl your stomach and make your heart ache....of men, women and children being murdered by the police, by everyday citizens....and there would be so very, very few who paid any kind of legal consequence because of their actions. And there would be person after person, comment after comment of the many many justifying reasons and excuses that they deserved to die or they somehow brought it on upon themselves.

I could.

But I'm too tired.

Because you see...I have a husband and sons to keep alive.

And the reality is that I can't. 

And the reality is also that some days....some days that weighs so heavy in the deepest part of my heart that I just don't have the desire to verbally spar with others or help you understand.  I don't have the patience to reassure you that yes, I know there are good officers and I know there are nice white people and yes, my mom  is white and no, I haven't forgotten that means I'm white too. I don't have the heart to 'stand strong' and face adversity with 'peace and a desire for harmony' although I do understand your need to remind me of those things. I don't have the stomach to listen to one more MLK quote or the many suggestions of very nice and sweet pacifist ways to make a point without belittling others. I don't have energy to let you know what you can do to step up--figure it the fuck out yourself. 

Because you see....I have a husband and sons to keep alive.

And the reality is that I can't.  

Because if they

walk down the street,

play at a playground,

buy a hot CD,

wear a hoodie,

listen to their music too loud,

have a tail light out,

stop for directions,

seek help after a car accident,

enter our home,

they could be shot.

They could die.

And if that bullet comes?  There is absolutely I can do to stop it.  But I will 100% die trying.

Love, what if?

Love.
What if love isn't pretty
it isn't roses

What if love isn't sweet

it isn't soft

and it isn't meant
to be about
what we think or
what we wish
and what we pray for

It's messy
and ugly
and wandering
and lost.
It's rainy
and windy
and covering
the ground.
It's up
and it's down
and it
rarely is still.
It's more than my imagination
can begin to dream
It's more than my heart
can bear to feel

The man on the cross...
He loved
and we claim to be about
the love that he was
but
we aren't.
we judge and we fret
and we look away
we run when it's hard
and we hide our own pain

we ignore more than we listen
we avoid more than we face
I wonder if pretty and sweet
would make us feel
more willing and able
to be about the love
that he so freely gave

what if we set down
our own agenda
and instead looked
out
around
in
and embraced all the
good things
there are in our sight.

people
with stories
not like our own
and places
that seem strange
and far from home
but those
people and places
are where we must start
extending ourselves
as we begin to love.

when your soul begins to feel
and your tears are mixed
with heartache and joy
you are loving

and when you feel the warmth

of tenderness

even through your pain

you are being loved

and it may not be
what you thought
because you aren't in control
and you don't get to choose

It's messy

and ugly

but also lovely and kind.

It's rainy

and windy

but will also blow your mind.

Love.

Stories from a Momma Bear #4

Some days are harder than others
when you see that look in other's eyes
That look that is hard to explain
to someone
who might not know
who doesn't see
what you see
but you know when you know.

So this basketball tourney
Had me feeling that way
With teams from the city
as well as around the way

The white people stare
just a little bit longer
Wrinkle their noses
And give
that look.

But surrounded by folks who don't believe
the look is real
I mean get out of your feelings
don't you know that color doesn't
matter
and people are just people
and if you always make it
about race
it's you.
not them.

So my son might seem safe
in a school where he's one of a few
black kids on the team
with all the white parents who love
them so.
and don't know the look.

But as we approach the next court
 i see in the ref
that look.
up and down.
unsettled.
toward my son
who is loud and funny
full of spirit and fire
he backs down for noone
and he likes that just fine.

and i know that he knows
the look oh so well
he's in 8th grade and wise
he doesn't pretend.

The game begins.
every foul is his.
and i see this ref muttering
narrowing his eyes
and his gaze
does not deviate
as my son begins to dominate
and his whistle can't
blow fast enough

My son does his thing
but i am watching the ref
watch my son
and i am waiting.
Because now every foul
comes with a lecture
My son turns it up
Because that is his nature
He's tossing up 3's
since he's making a few
And I hear the rumbles
of parents beginning to wonder
why does that ref
seem to just not like my son.

A dad gets upset that he keeps
talking to my son
And he's wondering out loud
what it's all about
I try to explain
What I think it's is
but of course
that's too much,
of course that's not it.
but it's escalating
and my son is getting mad
i know his body language
i know when it's bad

Then the whistle blows and
he runs to my son
he's muttering something and
then starts to run
to the scorekeepers table
and my son is pissed
as he runs to the bench

I start to get up
they bought to learn today
but a dad steps in and tells me to stay
(believe that's another story for another day)
But i'm much too pissed so i let him go
and 'save the day'

My son looks at me
and i know.
i don't need that dad
having his 'man to man'
with the referee
to come back and tell me
what he 'discovered' just now
cuz my sons know the look
and they know that i know

So it seems
that all through the game
when my son gets a 3
he put up his hands
maybe you've seen it
in the NBA?
index finger to thumb
and a bump to the chest?

So the referee tells my son
'Hey, no gang signs in here.'
And my son told him that
he didn't know what he was talkin 'bout.

This went on a few more times until the last straw
When he kicked my son out of the game
for refusing to stop
putting up the gang signs
that were not.

So i ask this dad
what did he say
and he said that he told the ref
Oh know, i know that kid
and he's not  that way
but he understands his perspective
 and can appreciate.

My eyes met my sons.
and i looked to the dad,
and all the other folks up in the stands.
'Yea that doesn't cut it.
Not what I'm about.
Ya'll can think what you want
I already know what it's about.

So I find who's in charge
and give them the info
Then i get back in the gym.
And confront the ref
with many of the parents
giving disapproving looks
why am i so so much
why can't i leave well enough alone
I mean really,
can't we all just get along.

No we can't.

because my son knows that look
and he knows that i know
and it's my job to step up
so that he can always believe
that we don't let the look slide
we face every stage
And even when alone
we are alone but brave.

I don't know if that day
more people could see
that the look is real
and maybe believe.
I no longer worry
about what you believe
about the look
or me
doing the most


It might not be the way for most
Some might prefer more tact and hope
that i would smile and take it in
and not assume the look is real.

I love all my kids
and i can tell you this
i best not ever see
that look on your face
cuz you won't be pleased.