Get it Right

The social network post that started it all…

 

My face at work as I hear police being called for a large unruly crowd b/c "some shoes came out today" and somebody done got arrested. We still doing all that for Js? I hope Jordan gon bail y'all out. Oh wait. He don't care that's why his shoes keep going up in price

So apparently that post didn’t sit well with some folks who called me out for “judging” others. First off, one of my BIGGEST pet peeves is for someone to go out of their way to zero in on your page all to be a negative dick. You don’t like what I posted so ummm why are you on this page? How many users are there online? You can’t find one person’s post you actually agree with?

Ok. Now back to the original post at hand. Now apparently I was being judgmental for not feeling that police should be called for an unruly crowd of people wanting to rock the newest pair of Js.

At first, I thought it was some white lady afraid of black people and the sight of a bunch of black people outside a store in a huge crowd was all too much for her pale little heart to cope with.

 But no, it was the store manager calling.

 Now wait a minute folks, Jordan has been dropping his $150+ shoes damn near every weekend for how long? And how many stories have we heard of fights breaking out, people getting robbed, killed all over some damn shoes?

Maybe it’s time that the black community starts judging its people. We need to start holding each other accountable and believing in one another. Don’t say well “they don’t know any better.” That’s a lame sorry excuse that doesn’t even work for children when they reach a certain age.

 

We should know and be better.

But as long as we claim to not judge or stay screaming “only God can judge me,” then we will forever be behind.

Why is it okay to be arrested all in the name of some 23s? I’ll admit I used to be out there with the masses, huddled up in the winter and baking in the summer just so I could say “I got them Js today.”

But then I got wiser and I also learned what it was like to have to pay bills. All of sudden spending a buck fifty on some shoes didn’t seem all that appealing – not when rent is due – not when I gotta go buy some groceries.

So my Facebook dissenter proceeded to call me an Uncle Tom and claim I didn’t like being black all because I’m calling my people out for acting a fool outside the shoe store.

So let’s get this straight (as if I really need to) I love my people – which is why I’m even in the news business. I’m tired of our young black men (and women now too) being posted on TV for the most trivial things. A mother who left her kids in the car for 20 minutes while she went in to check on a client of hers is not worth the 20 seconds of air time.

But a shooting right outside of a youth club is worth the air time. And my hopes are that while someone at home is watching we begin to hold each other accountable.

Why do these men constantly think it’s okay to let bullets fly within feet of an innocent bystander?

Maybe it’s because no one was judging when that would-be trigger man was doing something deemed minor years before he picked up the gun…Maybe people were giving excuses on how he “didn’t know any better.”

I’m not condemning anyone from going to get Jordan’s on a Saturday morning. If you can afford it—then more power to you. In fact, I’m somewhat envious of you because I can’t.

But let’s get it right; being able to afford some $150+ shoes means you can also afford your rent, food, utilities, car payments, daycare expenses and any other life essential as well.

So to my Facebook dissenter, you are mistaken.

I love my people that much that I will judge and I will call some shit out if I don’t like it.

Not because I think I’m any better than the next, but because I know that we as a people should be doing better and we will do better.

P.S. It took everything in me not to go in, but as I said we can do better. So I refrained myself as much as I possibly could. And just to show how polished I am, I decided not to name this guy, see below.

 

 

Excuse me while I publicly mourn...

Me & My Grandma circa mid 90s

It’s only been a week since we laid my grandma to rest… and it still seems unreal. I keep imagining that she’s still at the nursing home – just unable to call me up like she would do on the regular.

But the funeral was very real – the crowd who came out to celebrate her was very real. You know how you go to a funeral and there are all these nice, flowery epithets to describe that person and deep down inside you’re saying to yourself “yeah right.”

This was not the case for my grandma. Every kind word and thoughtful memory shared of her was true. She was the classic grandmother figure. Sweet, thoughtful and caring.

 And I honestly miss her. When I saw the two missed calls from my Mama in the middle of the day – I knew what it was but I wanted to believe it was something else. I still wish it was for something else. Maybe Ma was calling because she had forgot her lunch for the day and really needed me to bring her something – or maybe she couldn’t remember if she had locked her door and wanted me to check. I wish her calls had been simple things like that.

But my heart broke when she told me Grandma was gone. And even in the midst of her own heartbreak, my Mama’s first words to me were “Are you okay?” I had to lie and get off the phone. I didn’t want her to hear me crying when I should have been asking her if she was okay.

But she wasn’t. In my short time on this earth, I’ve seen my Mama cry all of two times in my life – when I went off to college and at the funeral. In the days leading up to the funeral, I didn’t see her cry. Her voice would quiver from time to time, but she didn’t shed a tear.

When we first went into my Grandma house after she had died, my Mama still did not cry but yet when I hit the threshold I wanted to bawl but kept it in. I cried in the driveway though.

But at the funeral I somehow managed to hold my composure. A part of me saw how normal Grandma looked and felt everything was okay or at least would be. For the last nine months of her life, she was at a nursing home she clearly did not like. Grandma wanted to go home and whether that meant her Bond Hill home or a heavenly residence I’m still not sure.

What I do know is that she’s is definitely not somewhere she no longer wants to be.

 And that’s the only way I’m able to get by. Maybe I’m being dramatic but the relationship I had with my Grandma was like no other. In her healthier days, I literally saw or spoke to her nearly everyday.

A note of condolence from a friend made it real simple for me – cherish the moments I did have with my Grandma because not everyone is as blessed as I am to have had such moments.

 

My Grandma lived long and saw a lot.

 

I can still distinctly hear her voice and remember what she sounds like – her thick southern accent never faded after years of Ohio living. I remember random conversations we had. I remember calling her Election night when President Obama won, and her saying she thought she never would have seen a black president in her lifetime. I remember telling her I was pregnant -- both times and her giving me "that look."

 

I remember so many random moments and for that I am forever grateful.

I am also forever thankful to all those who came out to celebrate my grandmother's life. Thank you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Letter to my City

Dear Cincinnati,

I been meaning to get this one off my chest for awhile now. I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be telling you this but I think you and I will need to split. As much as I don’t want to, I have to. You’ve been there for me for the past 21 years and I’ve enjoyed it. Avondale is truly the best—and all I gotta do is mention two words: Blair Park.

But as I’ve grown from a sneaky flyy girl running the streets tryna make it home before those street lights, I’m afraid to say you have not grown much. In fact, you’ve downsized. The Jazz Festival or should I be correct here and say “Macy’s Music Festival” is no longer the premier social event of the summer like it used to be. Earth, Wind & Fire has been the headliner since I can remember. Now don’t get me wrong I can jam to some old school tunes but really can’t we switch it up a little?

Secondly, the social scenes at Eden Park on a beautiful Sunday afternoon or the Strip during afterhours have both dwindled down to a select few trying to keep the tradition strong but who can’t keep others on the bandwagon. Honestly, you’re not much fun anymore. You’re not trying new things. When I see up and coming artists’ tour dates, you are a rare stop. Only established artists stop to visit because you can’t give new artists the love they need. Hell, you don’t even give your own the love they need. There’s talent there that needs to be fostered but you’re not helping much.

And as much as I wanted to stay in denial and say that you really can be like New York or Atlanta, I know the lies have to stop. And they have to stop NOW. Let’s face it. You’ll never be like them. The only similarity among you all is the cesspool of wannabes: ie, models, promoters, rappers, singers, and whatever other “–ers” there are. But at least some wannabes in other places make it to the “being” stage.

But with you no one ever progresses and this is why I have to move on. You will always be my favorite but I gotta do this for me. Sorry.

Yours truly,

Ms Mila J