Saturday, April 25, 2015

Big Game Hunting In the 'Hood: A Look at Pay-To-Play Po-Po

I’m tired of seeing this shit in the news every few days.
You know the narrative:  white cop, reserve or sworn, shoots black man. Black man dies, is memorialized as a hashtag on Twitter. In most cases, white cop gets paid administrative duty although lately some have been charged with manslaughter or murder and eventually acquitted, found not guilty, or his/her charges are dismissed.
It’s a broken system, that American criminal justice one. What makes it worse is how the public shows more empathy to the shooter than the grieving victim’s family – which is precisely what is happening with Tulsa reserve officer Robert Bates and the late Eric Harris. Why did Mr. Bates have a gun? I understand the badge and uniform, and even the Taser, but the gun in the wrong hands leads to tragedy all the way around.
You hear about the reserve deputies program that most cities employ – Shaquille O’Neal is perhaps the best-known reserve officer around, and you’re just not running quickly away from a 7’1”, 300-lb nimble giant who happens to be a first-ballot Basketball Hall of Famer – and shrug your shoulders because for a relatively nominal fee, anyone can get firsthand experience in the lives of our law enforcement officers. These volunteers generally are limited in scope regarding their roles:  providing a uniformed presence at events such as information tables and crowd control so the regular full-time officers are freed up to focus on street crime and investigations. Like the National Guard, these men and women give back to the communities by donating time, effort, and experience as well as changing the perception of secrecy within agencies. Pay a few dollars, attend classes to become certified, and maintain said credentials including emergency driving; use of force; critical-decision making; and less lethal and lethal weaponry:  Seems like a way to vet for hiring full-time staff when positions eventually become available.
Not bad.

So why did it go so tragically wrong for Robert Bates? Was he improperly trained – and wanted to do the right thing – or was he big game hunting in the ‘hood, with black and brown men as presumed targets? Let’s take a look at pay-to-play po-po and disseminate the known facts.
Fact #1: Bates was the CEO of an insurance company. That meant he was making a boatload of money and really good at his job.
Fact #2: For one year, Bates had been a Tulsa police officer. Perhaps becoming a reserve deputy, in his eyes, was the opportunity he relished to make a difference that eluded him in the 1960s when he had previously served.
Fact #3: Bates is 73 years old – well past the age of mandatory retirement in most local, state, and federal law enforcement agencies. Would age have been a deterrent in being effective? In most professions, no. Law enforcement, probably. From the photos taken, he wasn’t exactly in the best shape.
Fact #4: Bates was Tulsa County Sheriff Stanley Glanz’s re-election campaign manager in 2012. He donated cars, equipment, and at least $2,500 to Glanz. As with every county in the Sooner State, Glanz benefitted from a strong Republican Party and a conservative citizenry that considers law and order bedrock to maintaining certain privileges for the wealthy and/or well-connected along with a slanted appearance of being “tough on crime”. As one of the spoils of victory, Bates may have in theory bought his way into being a reserve deputy sheriff thanks to his fundraising prowess. It is within the flawed American psyche to equate dollars with good character despite having the ideology blow up in the faces of the advantaged.
Fact #5: After pleading not guilty to second-degree manslaughter (in Oklahoma, it carries a maximum sentence of four years), Bates left town for vacation in the Bahamas showing a tone deafness not uncommon within a certain segment of our populace. While it is certainly true that he apologized for shooting Harris, it does not erase the fact that a gun was excessive when other officers had already subdued him.
Fact #6: The sympathy tour Bates’ legal team has embarked upon landed on the Today Show where he initially called the killing the “second-worst thing” that has happened to him (after cancer) before amending that statement and conceding that killing this black man was indeed the worst.
Could Bates have been a victim of “slip and capture” – when a person intends to do one thing but instead does another in a high-stress situation – when he picked up and used his personal .357 instead of a much larger Taser? Or is he using a failed defense to justify murdering a man?
This is where justice can go terribly wrong. A few influential citizens who pay-to-play po-po think that they can shoot a man, plead a fake apology (#sorrynotsorry), and move on as if nothing ever happened are the reserve officers that should worry us all. Put the shoe on the other foot and I can guarantee the brother gets a long sentence – and no trip to the Bahamas. The closest he’ll get to an oceanfront view is in his dreams. To me, this situation smacks of an era where executing black men is the next best thing to lion hunting in the safari, and for some, it hearkens to a darker period when we could be publicly exterminated for being.
“Well, he was running like a man with a gun.”
Yeah, Harris was hauling ass – he sold a dirty Lugar pistol and ran for it because the customer was an undercover officer. If you’ve paid any attention to runners or sprinters, you notice that their arms pump to maintain a certain stride that maximizes efficiency. For people on the lam who are protecting a gun in the waistband, they are doing whatever it takes not to lose that weapon. Even if he were hightailing it with heat, there are a number of nonlethal ways to stop people. Therefore, why are black men are shot first before the questions are asked? Does it take only a few thousand dollars to engage in big-game hunting in our ghettos, barrios, and lower-income communities?
Nearly one hundred years ago, the Tulsa Race Riots set in motion some of the worst things Americans can do to one another when the successes of black Tulsans were bombed, shot with impunity, and imprisoned in droves by jealous whites with the help of the US government, specifically the Wilson and Harding Administrations. By only charging Robert Bates with second-degree manslaughter, white privilege continues in our legal system – and this makes no mention of the trip to the Bahamas after he pled not guilty to killing Eric Harris. All it takes today to play po-po are a few grand and well-placed connections to the political world even if the “actors” are vastly unqualified. If they make an “error” – Tulsa County Sheriff Stanley Glanz’s words, not mine – then the actors can go home to resume normal lifestyles, taking solace in prematurely ending a black man’s life after the obligatory fake apology to cover deep-seated racism.

At its most noble intent, reserve officers and volunteer cops bridge the gap between the general public and agencies unveiling the shroud of secrecy. For some men and women, law enforcement may eventually become a career, and the programs are a manner of dipping a toe into the water. When a few people buy their overzealous way into a badge and uniform, it can come at a cost far greater than anticipate, that which holds consequences exceeding the adrenaline rush. They treat the blue line as a legal method in suppression – and you wonder why N.W.A. released Fuck Tha Police in the early 1990s. Instead of the safari, poor black men – many with criminal records – are now prey in the urban jungle and pay-to-play po-pos are predators without leaving the comforts of their hometowns.

This shit has to stop.

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I Know A Dude Who Knows A Dude...

Over the past three years, I have really noticed an uptick in the strong sense of association among people within six degrees. You have your direct connections, and then the dude who knows a dude that knows you, and so forth; even LinkedIn – which I do not utilize enough – has a hierarchy consisting of 1st-degree, 2nd-degree, and 3rd-degree relationships. This extends users’ reach beyond the narrower direct contacts that we normally associate with and builds commonalities with shared interests.
But seriously, this is supposed to be a humorous blog entry.
In case you didn’t know, six degrees of separation is the theory that everyone and everything is six or fewer steps away, by way of introduction, from any person in the world, so that a chain of “a friend of a friend” statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps. (Thanks, Frigyes Karinthy!) The 1993 cult film Six Degrees of Separation starring Kevin Bacon and Will Smith explores this theme a lot deeper than I expect to, yet it portrays Stockard Channing as a woman who desires a connection by any means necessary, even with a confused young con artist, as Smith plays.
There is so much you don’t know. You are so smart and so stupid. – Ouisa Kittredge
Without having to physically write a chain letter, we all can make the claim. Got a friend needing a job? Hook him or her up with a supervisor or an “in” such as a human resources coordinator or a respected employee. I run into this all the time. My first day Rineco, I encountered a former Razorbacks football player that I had partied with in college who remembered me because he and a roommate pledged the same fraternity the same semester, only at different chapters (Chrys was a #3, while Jack was a #4. Shunn was the #3 on that pledge line at my school). Imagine the faces of senior management when they saw two brothers giving dap, handshakes, and otherwise chopping-it-up from an era bygone! On the flipside, my boss and a close childhood friend roomed together at the hometown university. I guess, in a sense, I’m good to come through with people from 72 of Arkansas’ 75 counties; I would not feel exactly comfortable in Polk or Sharp counties – and I haven’t set foot in Columbia County since 2002. That one can stay that way, for all I care.
I know a dude who knows a dude that plays a dude disguised as a dude. Are you that dude?
Oops, I digressed. Beyond social media, it is amazing that we are all connected by six degrees of separation. When we utilize those links, we are enthralled not by what we have in common, but who you know – feelings not included.

Love me or hate me, I know a dude!
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Mission:Impossible

Last year, I wrote Mother’s Day For the Childless Couple not knowing what and where God would take us over the next twelve months fearing in that Zechariah and Elizabeth fashion that Chastity and I would never be able to conceive a child. Fast forward a few months later to a pregnant spouse and further to February 13 when Caeli Elise made her debut and changed our lives dramatically – and for the enrichment of our family. What was once impossible in man’s eyes is eternally possible for God - and for both instances, Zechariah and Elizabeth were blessed with John, later known as the forerunner of Jesus. Likewise, our beautiful daughter is a blessing from Above.
One happy family

When Joshua faced the extremely well-fortified city of Jericho already in lockdown, he may have felt as if he were facing an impossible situation. But then a Man with a drawn sword appeared to him. His identity is unknown although many theologians speculate this as Jesus; Joshua anxiously asked him if he would back the Israelites or the Jericho inhabitants in the upcoming battle. “Neither one,” he replied. “I am commander of the Lord’s army.” Joshua bowed his head in worship before taking another step. That day, he did not know that God would deliver victory to Joshua, but he listened to God, worshipped Him, and obeyed His instructions. Seven days later, the Mission: Impossible became Mission: Accomplished.

With the Lord, there is no need to worry. Choose trust and remember that nothing is too hard for Him.
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Finding Caeli Childcare

Monday marks two-and-a-half months of Caeli being here with us. Although she is ten weeks old and still in the NICU, we still have to think about the day she gets to come home and the type of care she will be able to receive. Premature babies are more susceptible to illness than their full-term counterparts, and common bugs such as RSV and the flu can cause serious complications. Additionally, some preemies have chronic health problems or developmental delays that make finding quality childcare more difficult. Her bedroom is mostly finished (no, I’m not painting wall yet – she get two opportunities for that, once at three and the other thirteen years) save a changing table and a rocker. The funny fact in Caeli’s bedroom is that she has the closet Chastity dreamed of a few years ago when we were house hunting.

 In the coming days, we will interview pediatricians and potential childcare providers; with the latter, we may very well go it alone to save some money. The days of dropping the baby off every day with Grandma are long gone, but at her age, this is an option to consider, as my greatest concern is Caeli’s health.

 Several options exist for us regarding Caeli’s childcare. All have benefits and drawbacks, depending on the direction we venture:

A Parent At Home. In case you’ve slept underneath a rock since 2007, I work the night shift. Staying at home with Caeli can be a great money saver versus the eventual daycare because I can take her to all of her appointments as well as prepare cheaper meals at home. Since one of the cars is paid off and in good working condition, I now have no excuse in not building for her future.

A Family Caregiver. Offering this job to a family member sounds like a no-brainer…until it is not. Having this card to play means Caeli gets the benefit of a nonsmoking home with limited germs and illnesses, and the bonus of a 1:1 adult-to-child ratio to help enhance learning and development. Understand your relatives may parent differently than you, or may have different schedules or nutritional standards. For example, your beloved uncle who cannot pass a McDonald’s drive-thru without entering may not be the best person to manage your child’s nutritional needs.

 Nannies. We po’, not even going there.

Home Care Child Facilities. In-home childcare facilities vary greatly, from small businesses owned by stay-at-home moms who only care for a couple of children to the larger establishments that employ assistant caregivers and more kids. In-home caregivers may have extensive experience working with children and be able to help parents care for their preemies, even those with special needs. Aside from having a parent at home, this is often the most affordable option.

Daycare. For most parents, daycare is a necessary evil. For the high weekly costs, daycares do offer educational programs, healthy meals, and extended hours for working parents. The staff may have experience working with special needs – and parents with heavy workloads do not have to worry about a regular caregiver being sick with substitute staff available. Daycare works with set teacher-to-child ratios depending on the age of the child, but classes may be combined so more children may be placed together.

 No one specific style of childcare will provide everything Caeli needs. Our main goals are to keep her healthy and safe and to maximize her cognitive and emotional development. Below are my parameters:

 Limited exposure to other children. I’m not trying to make Caeli a mini-grownup, yet this restriction limits exposure to germs.

 Strict sick policy. This is in place to keep her away from other sick kids because of her compromised respiratory system.

Flexible toilet-train program. She may not be ready to potty train at the same time as other kids; let her wait. Strict hand washing procedures. It’s for staff and students: Everyone MUST wash their hands! This is a deal breaker for me.

Appropriate educational program. I want Caeli to enjoy learning. Treating Little Stars or Ding Dong like an Ivy League school could potentially frustrate her, but if it’s too easy, you’re doing no favors.

Understanding of child development. Help me watch for developmental delays.

Be CPR certified. Accidents happen and babies put everything in their mouths, so be ready. 

Nonsmoker. Our daughter cannot be around smokers whatsoever because of her lungs and the potential for infection.
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Friday, April 17, 2015

Relax. Read My Note to Razorback Nation

Disclaimer: While I am specifically discussing the backlash throughout Razorback Nation when Bobby Portis and Michael Qualls decided to forego their collegiate eligibility to turn pro, this could easily apply to any school, any state. 

Relax.

I just love how you super fans of a state's flagship university get your tighty-whities in a wad when student-athletes make the decision to become professionals in their respective collegiate sports. While so many of you bellyache about Bobby or Michael leaving the University of Arkansas for the NBA to care for their families, why were you silent last weekend when University of Texas phenom Jordan Spieth ran away with the Masters? He left school after his freshman year in Austin. Whether they (or for that matter, any underclassman) is NBA- or NFL-ready is in the opinions of the draft scouts and front office personnel; they make the big bucks serving as kingmakers for their leagues. You would think the guys who suit up in the red-and-white were paying your bills or something the way you caterwaul and criticize 19- to 22-year-old young men for following their dreams. Just because you played your last down or bricked your final layup some twenty years ago in high school - which you barely graduated from - does not mean pass judgment on their for your entertainment. I honestly pity uber-Razorbacks fans, the majority of which would not have qualified academically to attend school in Fayetteville, for casting a year's hopes on young adults and entering a deep depression or eliciting anger when a star athlete departs school.

In Division I, the term student-athlete is a joke. The one-and-done rule magnifies that.

Anyway, relax. R-E-L-A-X.

Why wouldn't you want a man to better himself and his family? Oh, to entertain you, gladiator-style every Saturday afternoon in the fall and winter. How come baseball players aren't subject to the same scrutiny? They essentially do the same thing plus there are minor leagues that farm many players for their development (the NBA does have a developmental league called the NBDL. Two of my former students - DeShone and LaQuentin - play in it.) In addition, the American economy is built on capitalism, and for the talented, serves as a meritocracy:  Pay us properly for our talents, hard work, and success. Fifteen years ago, I recall several of my friends dropping out of Henderson State for computer science careers that paid six figures for a year's knowledge of code writing. Matter of fact, some of the greatest tech minds (Gates, Jobs, Zuckerberg) were all college dropouts, yet we do not complain about Microsoft, Apple, or Facebook when a security breach or a vital update occurs.

So, what is it?

Could all of the complaining stem from a not-so-very covert racism of sorts that precludes black UA athletes from making their own decisions and pursue professional aspirations? Many of you super fans show that side as if they should be treated as common property, disposable in four or five years with a useless degree or connections that dry up once you realize ballplayers also have complex minds and ambitions beyond working for Wal-Mart or sports talk radio, I don't know. It seems like "the help" is glorified until it is not, and then it is vilified worse than a piece of rubbish along a two-lane highway.



 Am I a Razorback fan? Not really. All of you should know that I am a proud Reddie by now.

You guys need to R-E-L-A-X. Relax. Some 18-year old talent will come to Fayetteville, be widely deified before crucified by a rabid fan base and overbearing news media presence. Stop living in the past and wake up to 2015 when four-year lettermen from the Power Five are more anomaly than otherwise; it's not like you appreciated greatness when Coach Richardson was in your faces with 40 Minutes of Hell and the 1994 national championship. The title-winning 1964 football team doesn't exactly count because it was before UA integrated. Get over a provincial mentality and expand your horizon's beyond the state's borders.

Did I already tell you to relax?

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Tuesday, April 14, 2015

I'm Back!

Three years ago, I was completely, unequivocally, 100 percent burned-out. Without a shadow of doubt, I was exhausted. I loved my day job, yet loathed the district politics and commute around the city to get to it. My second job was overnight - and physically taxing - yet it was the way out of debt. I had gotten married eight months earlier to my still-incredible wife, and at the time, I hadn't hit the wall. Was I irritable? Yeah, but that was if I had slept fewer than the four hours daily I had become accustomed to during the week. Saturdays were made for sleeping and bill paying, I reasoned as the weight gain and Eff You looks mounted. Besides, that is the day I only worried about the pets department at Wal-Mart. My zone supervisor was OK with any end cap decisions made because 1) my selectons sold quickly, and 2) it was something he didn't have to worry about come Monday morning. As for Sundays, ours were centered around the following:  sleep, church, the families, and grading classwork. Planning the current week's wok also fell on this day; some classes were simply ahead because they grasped the concepts quicker, while others required an act of Congress to complete a five-question pop quiz over the material we had reviewed.

Within five weeks I told myself both jobs could suck it.

How could I surrender my dream? Why did I despise my passion that final year? And what was I doing holding on to the employer that really had not done much for me since my college days so many years ago? I sold my company stock four years ago and the 401K was something of a no-no to consider touching. In effect, retail jail became county jail. I lifted weights ( just kidding, only 1,600 lbs. of dog food); ate when I was told; and kept my mouth shut. The blue t-shirts did not exactly help my case, nor did the other restrictions (no headphones, pants up, hats are for outside, etc.) management seemingly pulled out of thin air and added to company policy. All the hoops I had to jump through for a 50-cent raise and the red tape preventing the other dime? Keep it. You're the reason why I have to take Flexereil for my aching back, the tennis elbow that won't stop, and plantar facscitis in my left foot. Paying $300 per shot is not worth my health - and certainly not my happiness. That same money should have gone somewhere else, like savings or toward gas for two SUVs.

Fast forward three years to the present day. My graveyard gig which pays marginally better than the day job I left bores the piss out of me. This is the picture of a dead-end job albeit a very easy role.

What exactly do I need?

I want to be paid fairly for what I know and make a positive difference for many years in the lives of so many people. Perhaps that is the new father in me talking because I want to be able to watch my daughter grow up. Will a 8-4, Monday through Friday make me happy? What if I have an anxiety attack in rush hour traffic? Or I realize I'm so socially awkward that I fail to engage with other "normal" daytime people and find myself retreating to night shift?

Well, why don't I teach again? one would (often) inquire. It's a subject that my wife has broached twice in the three years since I left the education profession, and recertification isn't exactly cheap. I do not know if my heart would be fully committed to the next twenty-five to thirty years in a field more disrespected than President Obama yet I think the time away has provided enough perspective toward a more successful return. Then again, I'd rather write for a living but there is no money in that for an average guy in a crowded, complex world of full-time writers, bloggers, and so forth.

Three years ago I burned-out. Today, I feel the flames of passion reigniting for something greater than myself or what being a peon could ever provide.
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When The Poop Hits The Fan

It happens to all of us whether or not we wish to admit it. For me, it was my father's discovery of prostate cancer last year and the premature birth of my daughter in February. Both times, I've had difficulty focusing on what needed to get done. As much as I'd like to have the time off to help Dad get through chemo or stay in the NICU until Caeli can come home, doing so means that my source of income would have dried up quickly because I am an employee (currently) who relies on a steady paycheck. Putting on my "big boy" pants and making sure the show goes on should have indicated to my supervisor and boss that through the fire, I am reliable and able to endure in the rough times.

With Caeli's birth - the only time I've missed work - my priorities are now in an upheaval, as her stay in the NICU has been a roller coaster. For my sake, Rineco has been a surprising source of therapy. Many nights I have dead time to write or think - in the control room, my early morning activities are limited to research and cleaning, in a nutshell AND for a few hours. Here's how I've survived the smell.

Get organized. From 6:45 pm to 7:10 the following morning, I know that I am some one's peon. As a result, I have created a system that works for me and a rough schedule of how my night works. For example:

  • After clocking in around 6:45 pm and walking upstairs, I typically get debriefed by the daytime counterpart and note any restrictions plus ask pertinent questions.
  • 7 pm:  I pray for a safe and productive night. Since my faith is a hallmark of who I am, I often recite Philippians 4:13 after said prayer and print paperwork for the fuel tanks. 
  • From 7:10 to 7:35, I review the attendance and tanker logs, update software as necessary. At night, my extension is also the call-in line.One prime advantage in the role is that I work without any supervision; if I need to either cram in or stretch out tasks, it is possible.
  • Around 7:40, I send work-related emails to the guard on duty and senior management.
  • At 7:45, I flash the production workbook for weight/drum updates. I do it every thirty minutes simply to stay abreast of each crew's progress. By creating and adhering to a basic schedule, I am able to mentally check off the list. I also have an end-of-shift checklist that is pretty similar to this one. 
Take breaks. Just because you're at work doesn't mean to drown yourself in solely work tasks. Since I toil alone, taking breaks is easier than it would be in an otherwise busy office. I can stretch, walk from one end to the other, surf the Internet in small doses, and even rock out to the tunes on the radio! Knowing a break is near has become an adrenaline rush to complete tasks in a timely manner, but if I do not finish, it can wait. Not only is management evaluating your performance, but your co-workers will thank you for keeping the ship sailing along smoothly,

Confide in someone. Honestly, I have had issues with this stemming from broken trust in the past. With Dad's cancer, I quietly took a day off as a result of knowing when his surgery and appointments were scheduled. However, Ryan (my boss) and Jacob (co-worker) both received emails and phone calls concerning Caeli so they are both aware of my situation and trust that I am able to continue fulfilling my duties.

The poop will hit the fan sooner or later. Disagree? Don't believe me, just watch. Working through major sickness of a parent and a child can endear respect from others as long as your work performance does not dramatically fall. Regardless of your situation, your good health matters more than any dollar; what good are you going to be if you're unable to continue? Eat three meals, sleep eight hours, and find some me-time to serve as a break from work and personal stresses.
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Monday, April 13, 2015

My Baby's Wearing Clothes!

Saturday, April 11, 2015.

Guess what I came home to from slogging it out for twelve long hours at work to seeing on AngelEye:

My baby's wearing clothes!

For full-term babies, that's not exactly a big deal. I'm a preemie dad, so seeing Caeli in a sleeper is monumental. It means that she is keeping the weight she has gained, and is now beginning to regulate her own body temperature. After two months of seeing her only in a diaper, my daughter can be dressed in her preemie clothes!


Sleeping beauty at two months old growing up before our eyes
I cannot contain the excitement. Hallelujah! (Now say "my baby's wearing clothes!" the same way Martin Lawrence talked about his mama's biscuits. That's where I am.)

When can preemies wear clothes? 
  • Her skin is fully developed. While we've been able to kangaroo care since two weeks, Caeli's skin was still too thin for cottons and polyesters. 
  • She's stable! Until the baby's cardiac, respiratory, and digestive systems are stable, nurses and doctors need to keep her chest bare so that it's easy to assess and see.
  • Umbilical cord lines are removed.
  • IV and PICC lines are no problem. Some outfits have special flaps that open to allow for IV lines, and others can be made to work around those lines. 
  • To wash preemie clothes:  They should go in warm or hot water in a smoke-free environment using detergent that is perfume and dye-free. Dreft is a commonly recommended brand that can be found almost everywhere. Fabric softeners and dryer sheets are discouraged due to sensitive skin and delicate respiratory systems. 
Don't get it twisted now. Just because Caeli can wear clothes doesn't mean for everyone to dash over to Babies R Us for preemie or newborn outfits and stock up her bodysuits and dresses. She's going to keep growing meaning that we can anticipate the bigger sizes in the not-too-distant future.

In the meantime...my beautiful baby will be able to stay warm in her outfits. For us and most parents, the benefits are twinfold:  less stress and improved bonding. Our daughter is wearing clothes like a big girl - I just hope she's not asking for a new car anytime soon.

While we know the NICU journey isn't over, we thank you for your continued prayers from the bottom of our hearts from late January to today. We love you all and stay #CaeliStrong!


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Friday, April 3, 2015

Parenting #BlackGirlsRock

Seven weeks ago today, my wife Chastity gave birth to our precious daughter Caeli Elise. Throughout the Dad Chronicles, I discussed how our lives have changed – and if you haven’t read the five installments, I strongly encourage you to check them out). I still won’t divulge too many intimacies as the three of us need to keep some things within the family. I’m completely unsure of how we’ll parent Caeli, but two of the major proponents are for her to know that she is the special child God blessed us to care for and love, and that black girls – and women – do rock.

What is #BlackGirlsRock, you ask?
#BlackGirlsRock affirms all of the positives of black girls and women not limited to the dreams fulfilled; being loved; having other sisters to emulate; and of course, being in the forefront of an ever-changing world. The label also honors all of the amazing women of our past and present whose unique leadership, strength, resolve, wisdom, talent, and spirituality has catalyzed the advancement of humanity, yet who are often left uncelebrated or have gone under the radar in mainstream society, media, and history. This affirmation does not mean other girls do not rock nor does it serve as a base for vanity. However, Caeli will know that black is beautiful in all shades in a nod to our Afrocentric thoughts, tendencies, and expectations.

From the suffrage movement to the civil rights movement, social change organizations and programs were created from sheer necessity. #BlackGirlsRock will enable her to know about sisters Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth, Ida B. Wells, Lena Horne, Shirley Chisholm, Dorothy Dandridge, Rosa Parks, Coretta Scott King, Daisy Bates, Nina Simone, Michelle Obama, Condeleeza Rice, Oprah Winfrey, Shonda Rimes, and so many countless others who have paved the way in or out of the limelight as example for excellence for our daughter can strive to be like if not greater than. Let us not forget the unsung heroes:  her own mother, grandmothers, great-grandmother Dorothy, aunts, cousins, family friends, nurses, teachers, engineers, managers, and any other role black women own. We’ve come a mighty long way from seeing our women limited to cooks and nannies, so why not celebrate?

Caeli’s empowerment will not be limited by anyone, not even me. The world stage has plenty of room for all girls to rock – and this is another reason to be #CaeliStrong.
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Come On, You're Better Than This

Note: Since the note-taking and thought formulation of this post, Arkansas Gov. Asa Hutchinson signed SB 975 which mirrors the RFRA that President Bill Clinton passed back in 1993. This post concerns my opinions of HB 1228 – which could potentially have legalized discrimination. The lessons we Arkansans should pick up are twinfold:  1) be wary of the people you elect in November; and 2) the citizenry still has a voice contrary to what a few xenophobes/homophobes may think.
Come on, you’re better than this.
HB 1228 is a noted byproduct of what happens when people vote against their interests and allow the least qualified among us to make laws. Without a shadow of doubt race is involved in Arkansas’ hatred of anything President Obama touches or comments on (see PPACA when the Heritage Foundation supported it during the Bush years and is so vehemently against now, and when he empathized with the late Trayvon Martin’s family), our band of xenophobic Republicans from that northwest corner has pivoted from hating African-Americans loudly to now becoming homophobes, bashing LGBTQ members. When will you legislate against obesity, Mr. Ballinger? That will likely be the day after Mr. Harris does hard time for treating the most vulnerable – children – as dogs that can be re-homed at will and Mr. Rapert attends a NAACP meeting.

 Guess who I blame for the shenanigans in the Capitol? Us. The Arkansas voter.
By allowing HB 1228 to become law, Gov. Hutchinson will potentially be linked forever to former Gov. Orval Faubus regardless of how lukewarm his public face shows. Have you noticed that no other state officeholder has come out for or against the bill publicly? Yes, I’m looking at Tim Griffin, Leslie Rutledge, Mark Martin, Mr. Milligan, and the others who won their elections way back on November 4. Silent voices are complicit voices. There was a time not that long ago when my own relatives blatantly experienced ostracism solely for being black – heck, almost everyone black has a similar story. I can go on about how my wife and I have been treated in some restaurants around town or the shock others have shown when I tell them of my professional background and experiences. What, brothers cannot work as contract technical writers? Surprise!
1 Corinthians 5:9-13 lends a religious viewpoint that our Pharisees in government so conveniently forget. Thank the Apostle Paul for the following words in the King James Version:
9 I wrote unto you in an epistle not to company with fornicators:
10 Yet not altogether with the fornicators of the world, or with the covetous, or extortioners, or with idolaters; for then ye needs go out of the world.
11 But now I have written unto you not to keep company, if any man that is called a brother is a fornicator, or covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner; with such an one no not to eat.
12 For what I have to do to judge them that are also without? Do not ye judge them that are within?
13 But them that are without God judgeth. Therefore put away from among yourselves that wicked person.
While Scripture has been used to justify some sins (which some white people have used Colossians 3:23 to defend slavery, and later segregation), we in the Bible Belt often forget that God is anti-divorce as well. So…if you’re judging someone based on a lifestyle preference, skin color, etc., do us all a favor and take that plank from your eye. If gay people make a mockery of marriage, then what about the people who have married more than twice? Again, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?
Of all the harebrained schemes the state Legislature has worked through this session, this bill takes the cake. In 2015, I think it is past time for the hijinks from the local, state, and federal levels. The willful ignorance of some politicians and covert dumbing-down of our populace has to stop. Arkansas has the opportunity to advance in time – something that didn’t happen fifty-eight years ago at Central High School; when Wal-Mart put the brakes on bad legislation, then you definitely have a problem.
Come on, Arkansas. We’re better than this.
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