Tuesday, July 28, 2015

#DearWhitePeople

Because, you know, there are some things that you still just do not get either because of willful ignorance or simply having blinders on about what it really means to be black in America.
Look beyond the post title and semi-popular hash tag #DearWhitePeople and try to see the world from my eyes. You are valuable and I LOVE the cornucopia of friends and neighbors I have - do not let that be a slight at all to you. However, social media has proven to show the worst of us all.

To break from paragraph format, I've chosen to air my grievances in lists as to not seem too articulate and wordy for dummies.

A. Turn signal misuse is only a minor traffic fine in most locales, yet seemingly a capital offense when the violator is black. It's also a quick way for revenue and to put people "on papers" since law enforcement officers may "find" a violation to arrest, jail, and impound. Imagine what could've happened to me that night in Avon had Ashley not rolled down the passenger window before the cop saw me. Case in point:  Ferguson and the events surrounding the late Sandra Bland in Waller County, Texas.
 
B. You worry about a store yet cast a dismissive eye to our houses of worship. A few months ago, social media was outraged over a CVS in Baltimore being looted. Where was that anger when black churches and mosques have burned recently across the South and in Ohio? That misguided furor shows me that the almighty dollar > almighty God to a fair number of you.


C. A bag of Skittles and a can of Arizona tea are not deadly weapons. They are a sugar rush. Everybody likes colored candy and sweet tea, especially at a low price. That being said, Trayvon Martin should still be alive. 

D. President Barack Obama is not the antichrist. Get over your blatant racism. While I personally do not agree with everything POTUS has done since 2009, Brother Barack does deserve some respect if not for the office he holds. For you to say "it's Obama's fault" for your putrid lives, unemployment situations, and bad decision making confirms (for me, anyway) that you are ignorant to world events and quick to blame the smart black guy with the funny sounding name for your ails.

E. We like good schools and safe neighborhoods too. Two years ago, my wife and I moved to a then all-white subdivision which happens to have the city's best-performing elementary school in our residency zone. Not long after, the murmurs came out that the black people (I won't use the actual words) who moved in are dropping their property values. Really? Being homeowners is a huge part of the American Dream, but to them, we belonged to Gravel Hill. Since then, at least four other nonwhite families now call Springhill Manor home in addition to us. Those rumor mongers should've been more concerned about the meth addicts than the minorities; their racism got in the way.
F. Even if/when we've arrived, we still haven't made it. If driving nice cars (read: Audi, Mercedes, Lexus) is am outward sign of success, it takes one second for that to come crashing down courtesy of jealousy. I find it strange that I was given more mess in a Hyundai than a Ford. 

G. Last hired, first fired. Trotting out the one black face to justify diversity repeatedly is not diversity. It just means we're supposed to fall for the same Negro - always lightskinned and smiling - over and over again. Ask where that guy is in six months to five years from the photograph; he or she could've been a Shuttercock feature. How about allaying my fears of last hired and first fired by professional encouragement or better yet, maintaining consistency in employment practices? I'm not one to waste my credentials in retail or fast food just because you (the interviewer or hiring manager) are remotely threatened by me, so meet me at my level and let's become greater. Besides, last hired/first fired reinforces the good ol' boy system. 

H. The Confederate flag does not mean heritage. It's hate. Period. I'm acutely aware of the hijacking of the rebel flag by the Klan and Southern politicians protesting school integration, so this should be obvious. The Stars and Bars (and the Don't Tread On Me one the Tea Party uses) on your vehicles and social media images tell me more about you than your interactions with me.


I. When one makes a mistake, stop lumping the entire group as thugs. We don't do that when the lone wolf kills a bunch of people (see Aurora, Charleston, and Lafayette). Give us the equal respect in the same category. Otherwise, we'll bring your dirty skeletons out of the closet. Then again, Arkansans do it every day to Razorbacks athletes - if you don't believe me, read the vile comments posted on THV 11's Facebook page or when black people in general make the news. Even in positive situations, you treat those as aberrations and quickly sweep them under the rug like African-Americans are incapable of good.


J. Just because we make it look good (or easy) doesn't mean it can capitulated as your own. Everyone loves a winner. Yet, it seems like you don't appreciate the in-your-face greatness of Tiger Woods, Venus and Serena Williams, Dr. Dre, Oprah, etc. because it doesn't fit neatly to the Western standard - and when it is, the superlatives are always belated. You thought MLK and Mandela were raging communists and agitators until their deaths, and now as their ideologies become clearer daily, you steal their true legacies and whitewash them to your convenience. More recently, wave caps, corn rows, sagging jeans, and pricey basketball shoes were considered "urban" until Eminem or the Jenner kid made then fashionable - and let's not start on Angelina Jolie's full lips and Kim K's supple derriere. We've already lost most of our music and credit for patented inventions; let us keep something!

Even if you don't get it, for far too often you benefit from our labor,  strength, and brainpower as if lacking melanin is supposed make you superior to me. #DearWhitePeople is not meant to mentally beat you into submission, for a fair number of people know how I've spent most of my life. Rather, I wish to bring empathy to the forefront as the news portrays us as subhuman. Underneath it all, we're the same. Respect our differences and treat us as partners in the marathon called life.
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Tuesday, July 21, 2015

What The Future Holds

Over the past five-and-a-half months, I’ve had a steady stream of thoughts and insights pertaining to the Dad Chronicles and our journey into parenthood. Now that we have Caeli home with us, I am spent in nearly every way possible yet excited for the next steps in our adventure. As I sit in my office hoping that I do not have to pick up the walkie-talkie to answer relatively redundant questions, I reflect on life in the NICU.

Where do we go? What do we do? What does the future hold?

Fortunately for us, we have some world-class people only one phone call away to help with anything pertaining to baby bear’s health. However, I am unable to keep them on payroll at my house – at their rates, it wouldn’t be a good idea to do so, but pediatrics and neonatal care are their strengths, just as I excel with the written word and simplifying technical processes into bite-size pieces to digest. I think I could’ve done more to be prepared for this day, yet no one is truly 100 percent ready to make steps into an unknown world.

This is where I must dig deeper into my faith.

It was easy when I had something to battle daily, but how do I handle the prosperity of a healthy daughter? God knows the answer; surely He will manifest it to me in due time. I’ve constantly blogged about our days, nights, weeks, and months as a therapy, but what happens when the Dad Chronicles are completed and no one is interested in the life story anymore? Will my wife and I be able to return to relative anonymity as new parents, or is this an omen of something greater we are both called to do?

One thing I definitely do know is I do not want to miss Caeli growing up. I need to find a day job that pays our bills well enough; I am not looking to become a one-percenter after struggling for so long overnight although I’ll accept the role if I can keep an active presence in her life.

What do I mean?

I’ve worked almost constantly for the past twenty years in okay situations (for the time) and dead-end roles, and for most of that time, it has been evenings or the graveyard shift. I’d like to become the father I had as a kid who always had time for his progeny (Thanks, Dad!) even if the money didn’t fall out of the sky when I wanted stuff. Looking back on it, those Air Jordan V sneakers fell apart within one year of finally getting a pair. Maybe he was on to something there.

Maybe not to the extent that Chastity will miss interacting with the nurses at UAMS and ACH daily, but they’ve all grown to become extended members of the C. Armstrong family. I’ll definitely miss them. Can I fit them all in the backyard for a late-summer cookout? I do not know, but I bet it would be some kind of fun to see all of you and them in the Dub.

The future does hold the usual fistful of pediatric care for our blessing as well as all of the memories to be made with her. In addition to teaching her about all things Reddie, introducing her to great R&B music from Blackstreet and other groups, and seeing her achieve milestone after milestone at her pace, Caeli is afforded a privilege that people seemingly dismiss:  a God-fearing two-parent home in the suburbs with a great school nearby and better neighbors. Will every day be perfect? No, but we make the best of any situation we face.

Thanks to all of you for supporting us all of the way through our pregnancy and early entrance to parenthood with your thoughts, wishes, encouraging words, prayers, gift cards, meals, helping hands, and so forth. Certainly I’d love to name all of you in this section, but I’d mess around and miss someone so it is best I do not omit anyone. You know who you are.

God bless, I’m out.


#CAELISTRONG
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Conquerors

Conqueror – one who gains by force of arms; to get the better of: overcome

One of my all-time favorite songs is “Conquerors” from the Kirk Franklin & the Family album Whatcha Lookin’ 4 released in 1996. It speaks to me in ways that few people can relate to, and it seems like every time I sing along with it on CD, radio, or Spotify, I tear up. Keep in mind those tears come from an extremely difficult place in addition to all we have endured as a new family. Prayer and this blog have been the two constants throughout the 146 days of Caeli Elise’s lifetime. Without the former, we wouldn’t be here today as conquerors – and sans the latter, no one would truly believe everything Chastity and I have gone through nor watch the transformation from a micro preemie some would consider too early to live outside of the womb to a bouncing beautiful baby girl busting out of newborn clothing and into the hearts of so many souls near and far.


The storms we deal with are here for a season; for us, it seemed like an eternity. Imagine having to visit your only child at the hospital daily for months and riding the roller coaster of the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) and one day, her condition has improved enough to bring her home. Then, trade the hours of worry in for the euphoric moment when her pediatrician says “she can be discharged for home.” From what I’ve read recently in the Bible, the closest thing that can parallel those words is when Jesus says “well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

Because of Christ, now we can say that we are conquerors.



This is not to say that every day has been a cakewalk. Far from it. We’ve both made extremely difficult decisions that ultimately have been best for Caeli’s health as well as our own. I do apologize to the people who saw zombies at the Department of Health and Rineco because there were many, many days which we did not know if we were coming or going as a result of being so tired. Day after day, test after test, bill after bill yet we managed to give each day a fighting chance. Even in the days when it would’ve been easier to stay at home, we kept running our race and fighting for our daughter. Through the resuscitation and transfusions, intubations, self-extubations (done twice), retinopathy of prematurity (ROP), surgery, scans, and all of the IVs and foot pricks to check blood gases, we still carried our cross for what was right not as her parents but also as practicing Christians. Our sole promise is a critical one:  that one Caeli made it here and through every battle imaginable, the three bears would become living embodiments of Joshua 24:15. If you haven’t read it, here it is:



In the upcoming days, we will have more than a truckload of doctor’s appointments as par for the course with newborns and still have to provide safe care for our angel. Caeli will catch up and exceed our wildest dreams and highest expectations because of what she has already encountered in the last five months. She will keep growing and being beautiful like her mother, and one day she’ll understand our love story.

Because that’s what being a conqueror is all about.

Standing in the face of fear, not knowing that our baby would make it through the night in those early days of life, all we had was an unwavering faith that indeed did question both God and the medical staff. Don’t get it twisted:  when I questioned God, it was why us? I’ll follow you to the end, please take care of Caeli. How do we manage postpartum depression with a baby nineteen miles away in an incubator and wife not only healing from an emergency Cesarean section but also trying to recollect the details from her labor? What about my ostracism from the operating room to just outside the door in which two lives hung in the balance? Damn the fact I did not get to cut the umbilical cord. What would I have done had I lost both my wife and daughter on those wee hours of February 13? Then what?








With babies, every day is a brand new day.

Our journey to today did not begin on February 13 in the NICU – it started about a year and a half ago when we made the decision to finally start a family after much prayer and deliberation. Weeks in fertility clinics of becoming hot potatoes for the specialists we saw, mounting medical bills that insurance companies refused to cover, and the emotional challenges that accompanied it all not limited to those well-intentioned barbs (what’s taking so long?/Ya shootin’ blanks?/all you need is some Levert and some candles/try the “baby in a bottle” pills/etc.) that made it hard work. For one to understand what the past nineteen months have been like he or she must acknowledge that not all transitions are smooth and painless nor are they rife with spiritual or emotional aches too great to bear. One must linger, to build ebenezers – stones set on one another to mark a place of great transformation, a liminal place of having met or reintroduced to God and seeing His rescue.

We are more than conquerors. We’re also Caeli Elise’s parents.


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Thursday, July 16, 2015

I Quit - To Travel. What Did I Learn About Myself?

I quit my job as a trainer nine years ago to be a paid backpacker.


Seriously.

If you’ve read earlier posts, then you may recall that I stuffed my country boy lifestyle into a then-two-year-old SUV and moved cross country to a culture and world completely foreign to me. While my resume lists the actual job title as teacher, in reality I was a paid backpacker traipsing across New England with groups of twelve to fifteen tweeners. Trust me, it’s not as sketchy as it sounds. It was more the sense of adventure that had gnawed at me for years being fulfilled than anything else; those travels truthfully covered seven states in ten months.

What did I learn?

1.     I don’t need a whole lot of stuff to keep me happy. I mostly wore jeans and t-shirts and a trusty pair of hiking boots scored on sale from EMS (Eastern Mountain Store – East Coast people should check it out, particularly the Worcester location) and since I was home primarily to sleep, the stereo, baby blue lamp, 27 dress shirts, fifteen pairs of dress slacks, and three suits were stuffed into bags underneath my bed. Aside from the Saturday jaunt into town to watch the Razorbacks football team play on ESPN, I really had little use for a TV.

2.     There’s no place like home. Regardless of where I found myself day-to-day, there was no place on earth like Conway, Arkansas. I failed to discover the extent of which I had become homesick, which made my final months in the woods exceeding miserable. The Connecticut portion of the Appalachian Trail – and photo at the summit of Mount Frissell – had nothing on pulling into the driveway on Friendship Road.


3.     People are people are people. Contrary to the misguided stereotypes, people in the Northeast are similar to my Southern brethren and I say this as a 28-year-old black man. We all work hard, play hard, and share similar values. I’m not understating racial profiling (it’s strange to for some people to see a brother in the woods, much less in their towns and bars), of which is very real, but we’re mostly in the rat race together.

4.     There’s really nothing special about backpacking culture…but it’s a unique point-of-view of life. Certainly, we all like to escape our troubles for a while or simply want a spice of adventure to our bland macaroni and cheese lives. The latter is why I chose to join Nature’s Classroom back in 2006, as my then-girlfriend provided the out I craved so desperately. Yet, I found that one thing I needed was good ol’ camaraderie with likeminded peers. No matter if you are a flaming liberal or a raging conservative we are all human beings capable of running the emotional gamut and enjoying a cold beer after an extremely long day.


5.     But it’s still freaking awesome! I strongly encourage you to travel often (and if possible, live somewhere outside your native region for at least six months) even if the trip is a complete crapshoot, the story is still there to be told. The world is vastly bigger than the 100-mile radius you call home or the annual trip to Destin.

Go, see something!


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Thursday, July 9, 2015

Red, White, Black, and Blue

Disclaimer:  This is neither a black militant nor a singularly uplifting post. As most of you waved the Stars and Stripes and enjoyed various grilled meats this past weekend (I worked), July 4 serves as a reminder of incomplete dreams, work-in-progress promises, the eternal pursuit of freedom and liberty, and what true patriots are like. Patriotism is not solely reserved for “real Americans,” but all who are here.
-A. Ced A.

Happy belated 239th birthday, America.


Hope it was a blast.

You know, you’re a democracy entering middle age who has done quite well:  winning wars, promoting a certain brand of freedom, creating a utopia called the American Dream that rewards both hard work and playing by the rules, serving as the world’s policeman, innovating numerous industries, and so forth. The rest of the world admires our successes; consequently, every nation has sent its best and brightest to learn at the feet of our esteemed higher education system with the intent of those citizens returning to their homelands to raise a national standard of living. Sometimes it works, and other times they fall in love, get married, become irresistible to domestic employers and stay around, eventually becoming permanent productive citizens that make a positive impact on our communities.

In that respect America is truly beautiful.

This beautiful America (for me and countless black people, a case of battered wife syndrome) is supposed to love us even as she abuses us regularly. This is the only place my family expects to live business opportunities notwithstanding, yet am I supposed to whitewash the anguish and emotional scars brought forth by this serial abuser? I admit I do look forward to the Summer Olympics every four years mostly to watch American-born athletes utterly destroy all comers in track and field and men’s basketball, and the women’s World Cup winning soccer team continue to give cause to chest thumping, but what happens when the bright lights are turned off? Do we enjoy the full tapestry that comes with being American, or do we return to that dark place in the corner?

So…why are we told to get over it?

You’ve never heard me make the sentiment about the Confederate flag, of which I see as racially intimidating due to our history together. When you get over losing the Civil War and leave the Stars and Bars in museums, history books, Civil War re-enactments, and on the General Lee, then we’ll make a concerted effort to love this place. It’s pretty obvious my blood bleeds red, as do the rest of us.

Keep in mind Crispus Attucks was the first man to die in the American Revolution. That fact alone should signify the history of black American patriotism.

Politicians trip over themselves appealing to “real Americans” – code for white, heterosexual, Christian conservatives – when that sliver is only a small piece of what this nation looks like. What, does my skin color not make me an equal? I have family members and friends who have served heroically in war time only to be slurred on their home soil. Their white bones had been mangled in battles near and far away, and now, their second war is waged against a society that covertly tells them to get over it. Remember, this country was founded on contradictions:  All men are created equal…except for the slaves I presently own as I write this Declaration of Independence and confirming it via the Three-Fifths Compromise; liberty; thievery; and free labor.

Why should the red blood that stains my cotton white t-shirt proves to you that I matter in the grand scheme of things? I’m just as patriotic – see, I have Roman candles and bottle rockets with my smoked ribs, grilled hot dogs and hamburgers, and the American flag hanging from my house.

There was a time when one could meet brute violence simply for being black on the wrong side of town. Disagree? Ask any community elders of a certain age what happened at dark if you were caught across the tracks after hours. Also, recall a time in elementary school when we once sung of Columbus sailing the ocean blue to the New World (to Europe) already occupied by Indians and Africans alike.

Where was that blue water when those crosses burned in yards and fires destroyed churches and businesses with unifying fervor?

Freedom is symbolized through blue skies, so pure and clear. Am I right?

How do you see truth?

Despite the phrase “true blue” bandied about our lexicon, America does have some inconvenient truths she wants to remain in the closet. As I’ve learned firsthand and probably to a financial detriment, the truth can set you free yet impact future career prospects in some organizations. One example stems from when I thought I was having an off-the-cuff conversation with a parent explaining the black experience (some may say the respectable black experience, but I was being candid) of having to work twice as hard for half the respect and none of the pay. The latter somewhat implied free – or cheap – labor. In right-to-work states such as Arkansas, bright ideas that mature into good fruit are considered proprietary. Intellectual property is a four-letter-word to many employers.

Until that modern example of inconvenient truth is rectified, the contradictions continue. The Native Americans received a large amount of Oklahoma as reparation for being forcibly removed from their lands (Trail of Tears), yet the black survivors of the Tulsa Race Riots have gotten nothing but deferred fake apologies and nearly whitewashed from history. 

Does putting sin aside for a second in the name of patriotism justify the pain inflicted upon us the rest of the time?

I do appreciate how far the United States of America has come in 239 short years and am cognizant of how much farther she must travel to be consistent with her lofty ideals. That eternal pursuit of liberty and freedom will always continue, even in our most challenging days and as we move from imperialists to capitalists to whatever comes next. Being patriotic is not blindly following symbols as so many citizens seem to do; rather being able to stand proudly with the full acknowledgment that for a moment, otherness can be cast aside for a common cause.




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Tuesday, July 7, 2015

She Scoots...and Scores!

In the past five months, Caeli has come a mighty long way from being resuscitated at birth to being completely off oxygen and ready to come home. Chastity and I have experienced nearly every feeling imaginable and we're better for it. While I won't divulge the full realm of expressions (divorce was NOT an option, nor should it ever be), it was a pretty safe bet that anger was one of the emotions. Why us?, we pondered nightly and daily in our prayers and the conversations with a dwindling number of close friends and praying family not limited to our own blood relatives or Mount Zion.

 This is why the days have become sweeter.

 Today is why we've caught the waves and ridden them from crest to landfall. 
The family that plays together, stays together.
Caeli has been turning her head and rolling over in her crib for some time, but the monumental events are scooting and taking to the bottle with great ease! Today will mark two weeks of the bottle; she no longer is tube-fed. (Sidebar:  She resumed bottle life after last week's surgery.) The way she wipes out formula, I'm afraid she'll eat us out of house and home as she grows up. Today, I'll take it. This means my baby girl is already growing up so fast! Some of her other milestones include smiling; looking around for daddy when she hears my voice; tracking objects with her eyes and gradually decreasing eye crossing; bringing her hands to her mouth; and so many others. 

 This is where I want to give a shout-out to the NICU staffs at ACH and UAMS. You don't know how gratifying it is to have you join our lives at the points you did. Beyond Lorrie and Emily as Caeli's primary nurses, thanks to respiratory, physical/occupational/speech/language therapy, all of the various doctors, Dr. Bradford of opthalmology, social services, nutrition and dietary, and even the custodial staff!


Need validation of putting your faith in an omnipotent God? Watch my daughter grow from micro preemie to busting out the seams of her newborn clothes. We're taking pictures in every outfit since many are one (or two)-and-done to show growth. Over the past five months, we've been thrust into a place few parents travel and come out stronger from the journey. Unscathed? Nope. Let our battle wounds and scars provide proof of where the C. Armstrongs have been and serve as reminders to keep our eyes on the prize as well as to enjoy the present moment.

 O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endureth forever. Psalm 136:1
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Monday, June 29, 2015

Black Skin, Blue Water: What Is the Problem?

Before we get started with the events from Saturday morning, take a good look at the picture and accompanying quote from New Jersey Senator Cory Booker:


Now that we have THAT out of the way, allow me to proceed to tell the story. If you've read the shared posting via Facebook, then you have some idea of what happened. If not, this comes from the church's page.

 Saturday morning, the Mount Zion Baptist Church family took the youth to the Arkadelphia Aquatics Park for Fun Day as a reward for their attendance and behavior throughout Vacation Bible School week. Upon our arrival, the man working at the gate - I failed to catch his name, he wore no ID badge - began to argue with our coordinator regarding the admission policies. Certainly 74 orderly PAYING African-American customers would not have been an issue, yet for him it was a problem. After all, the contract was agreed upon, signatures and deposits made, so why the kerfuffle? We were not a band of thugs nor a group of hooligans ready to tear stuff up although we were treated as such. Each child had a permission slip signed and returned in order for them to go on this excursion. In addition, we (the church) also reserved the pavilion several weeks ahead when we booked the date. 

 What was promised and agreed upon failed to be delivered. Included are the hours of operation and the rules:



Where do the inconsistencies begin? In order to enter the park, we had to be family. Come on, the church consists of families. What says family more than the church? Regardless if you come from Third Street Baptist Church, the mosque around the way, or St. Andrew's Catholic Church, we are all considered family. We had mothers, grandmothers, fathers, guardians, cousins, and church leaders ALL with permission slips. Those permission slips are legally binding documents PROVING the children indeed were with us in the event something catastrophic (i.e. accident) occurred. The man working also told us that he had to know that the children belonged to the adult entering the park, which they did. One adult = three children. We get that. Of the 74 people, the ratio worked out to a near-perfect 2:1. We were in compliance with Rule 1 - if you cannot read it, I am sorry. Hopefully you can magnify the rules and regulations to an easier-to-read format, but you get the point. It still does not mean make up rules as we move along to support your short-term view.  

 "I don't want them to enter the water and disturb the other families' fun." - Arkadelphia Aquatics Park director

 The demeaning tone itself was implied as one of superiority. Using the us-versus-them mentality divides and separates people; what, was he afraid that the children would have had fun together? Also, are we supposed to carry around blood samples of DNA and birth certificates to prove we had permission to travel, a la American slavery? 

 Another inconsistency stemmed from the various families who entered the pool and were simply waved in. We stepped over to let them pass peacefully, and as they walked in, I noticed that no identification cards nor pool passes were being checked. Could race have played a factor? All of these families who passed through the gates freely were white. Whatever policy is stated for one MUST be observed for ALL. To our young people, that double standard presented itself that the rules do not apply to everyone. For example, if Johnny and Jamal go to the park together, both should show some form of identification. In this case, Johnny got a free pass and Jamal was held at the gate. Both boys have the money, are cognizant of the rules, and yet Jamal was denied entry. Why single Jamal out? 

 Later, we requested a refund for the pavilion deposit and were refused. We were even accused of using that pavilion! How could that happen if we only arrived to the park moments ago and walked to the gate in an orderly fashion? Our pastor called for an officer to settle the dispute, and I noticed that Officer Sparks was defending the city employee's decisions to deny our entry!

 In a final blow, he said he would allow us in under the same restrictions without attempting to improvise his unwritten limitations on our group. We still had to group our children into three or fewer family groups and somehow prove lineage to gain access. The rules were unchanged yet he expected/demanded us to comply to his revolving doctrines, many of which were made up on the fly. In addition, he also explicitly pointed at our coordinator in anger stating that she would not be allowed to enter with us. The unidentified employee's reason:  I don't like her attitude. Racist, much? How about communicating with us like adults? No one likes to be screamed at, so what happened to honoring our contractual obligations? This is after he insulted our youth leaders' intelligence. You just don't do that. It's the cardinal principle of working with the general public. Maybe a career change is in order for him. 

 Understand we did not choose to leave after his failed effort at problem solving. That was not an appropriate solution; rather, it is one that has created a larger issue and rehashed a classic pox. Our youth still would have been classified into three or fewer family groups and forced to prove lineage along with being watched more stringently than the white children already enjoying the park.

Matter of fact, what is so bad about black people using public swimming pools that are taxpayer-funded? 

 History has shown us that the swimming pool has been one of the final places of true equality in this nation - and that is sad. Read the link to understand the struggle.

 As McKinney and Fairfield have reminded us recently, the local swimming pool is the last battle of equality. If it happened to Sammy Davis, Jr., then what makes us think we have overcome in that arena? 
How can a city-owned facility make up rules as it moves along? The last time I checked, city property was considered public property. Private entities have the right to accept or turn away as long as they are identified as private clubs. 
 We had made prior arrangements and patronized the business since the park opened a few years ago, but the hurt I saw on our youths' faces signified that we will no longer return. I have experienced racism in nearly every way possible save the brute violence, but for our children to taste that bitter fruit is unacceptable - and sadly, one that will always be there. 

 I know that the majority of Arkadelphia residents are God-fearing, fair citizens from my days at HSU and the local Wal-Mart, yet Saturday morning reminded us of how far we have to embark for true equality. My desire is that we can come up with an appropriate solution to our treatment; the images of parents walking in could have been seared into their children's minds of us as "the bad people" when that is further from the truth. 


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