Gotta Start Somewhere

I haven’t been able to blog. Everything hurt.

I can go out for drinks. Great distraction. I can get a workout in. Keeps me busy. I can play with my kids. Necessary escape.

Writing is my way of unpacking. It’s my way of healing and dealing with things. If I wrote about my father’s death, it would be real. I wasn’t ready for that. This thing that came quick and took away someone with such a huge presence…it would be real.

Motivation

A friend said he was looking forward to seeing what I could creatively birth from this pain. I’ve played with novel ideas and posted some poems on Instagram. I just truly feel like I’m in someone else’s body most times. My Daddy was diagnosed with lung cancer and he was gone two months later. Some days I still almost text him, then I realize he’s gone. It was surreal for everyone. We don’t even talk about it amongst ourselves. My paternal side faithfully does zoom calls and I can’t even sign in because I know his face won’t be one of the boxes on the screen. My skin hurts. I’ve learned to just walk around with a part of me hurting. To say I miss him would be a gross understatement. I even miss our arguments.

Today I rose before the sun. Prayed FIRST. I kissed all my kids and got going! I did two loads of laundry including blankets.

My busy two year old

I took my two year old for a walk. I’ve been productive at work. I made it to my meeting on Teams on time. I ate my turkey egg and cheese on whole wheat. My bed is made. I cleared voicemails and paid some bills. I filled in my brows and put lip gloss on just to take my kids to school. I’m tackling potty training with my toddler again. I listened to a podcast on minimalism. I’m trying.

If I’m not giving up…then whether this was great writing or not, it still had to be posted. I have to write just to live. Just to get through this. I have to start somewhere. I’m going to miss my dad’s comments on my posts. He even printed a few and kept them in a folder near his desk. I’m going to miss that feeling of making him proud. Sleep. Xoxo

By Shaun Liriano

Represent! {From the Heart of a Disturbed Colored Girl}

I wasn’t going to say anything.  I wasn’t going to write one word. I have family I love and respect who are retired law enforcement.  I know good men and women who don’t abuse their badges.

This post is not about them.

This post is being written because I drove home from work in tears today.  Overwhelmed because I have colored male friends,  black god brothers, a Hispanic significant other,  An African-American step-father, an Afro-American father. I have a few Negro uncles. I don’t know when the day will come that they will be deemed Niggers and shot down in cold blood.

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I don’t know when someone will decide their lives are worthless and even when they are breathlessly saying, “I can’t breathe. ” No one will take the noose…I mean illegal choke hold off of their throats and let them go home to their six children. 

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I don’t know when we get to stop being the victims of real life screenplays.

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-RIP Mike Brown age 17-

I don’t know when the scab of fear, prejudice and hatred will finally peel off without staining our history with the crimson blood of our children.  I don’t know why they don’t have to come up with excuses or lies anymore.  No more wallets that look like guns. No more self defense pleas or over-zealous neighborhood watch.

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No more …

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…husband-less wives who are widows before they are brides.

I fear for our children who are too busy working on their twerking to focus on freedom.  Freedom from generational racism and shackles of cultural cynicism.  When I was young, my parents would say, “Represent!” They would say it when I’d leave the house for school.  They would say it before a demonstration in my karate class. They would say it before I would read scripture in church.  They would constantly remind me that I am a direct reflection of my family, my upbringing and my ancestry as a whole. I was representing my generation. I was representing women.  I was representing my culture.  None of the victims pictured above were perfect and I definitely don’t claim to be. Everyone makes mistakes.

I ask how you are representing those who are still giving their lives for you not to be considered an animal???

This has everything to do with color, ethnicity and generational prejudice. There are people who don’t see any race but the human race. There are also people who pass bigotry down the genetic chain like money in a will or a piece of old china. 

There is no decision but to represent.  Pray for those who have lost their lives and act so that they haven’t done so in vain.

-By: Shaun M. N.

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Sources:
*www.nydailynews.com
*www.planetill.com
* http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/5665305
* http://www3.alibris-static.com/cover/v44147e43zu.jpg
* http://blogs.bet.com/music/soundOff/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/chaz-shepherd.jpg
* http://www.policestateusa.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/eric-garner-4.jpg
* http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/07/18/article-2368211-1AD7124B000005DC-905_306x423.jpg
* http://assets.nydailynews.com/polopoly_fs/1.1050184!/img/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/article_970/sean-bell-cover.jpg