A number of my classmates asked me what fashion was like in the hood and among black people. I couldn’t answer them because what attention I did pay
led me to not dress in the same way.
This relates to the first story in sixth grade. Oft times, I wasn’t really Black if you were to ask my Black peers, or in fact anyone. But whenever a “Black opinion” was needed, or some… ‘Minority Validation’ required, it was asked of me to represent all of Colored-Kind.
In a series of events, I remember that my mother had been involved in a neighborhood improvement group. One of the large events was the beautification and renaming of a local park. I cannot remember its name prior to the change, but it became known as Boston Daniels Park, named after the first Black police chief in Kansas City. Near to this was an effort by a local artist for a commissioned mural.
While I do not remember interactions with my Black peers without an edge of bitterness, I can remember many adults that aimed to make a better world at least for their children. Places to play and inspiration for the future.
The highest ideal of any warrior should be to fight for a world in which they are obsolete.
This phrase that I use is how many adults I have seen work. They want the world to be a better place for those that come after them. Hard work is worth it if your children prosper. It is worth it if they do not suffer the same hardships you have. The fact that I did not feel as though I was doing everything possible is part of why I write in some of the facets I do now. I do not want this string of stories, of shadows, questions, and ambiguity, to continue for another generation. I just want children to grow up, and for all sentient beings, to live in peace. Real peace. Where we have settled age old problems. Where we talk about and settle new ones as they arise.