“I did something good: I made Juneteenth very famous…It’s actually an important event, an important time. But nobody had ever heard of it.” ~ Donald Trump
“Thanks so much, Donald” is not a sentence that easily spoken for me, but I mean it. I have always considered myself a smart enough guy. But I had never heard of Juneteenth until the furor over Trump’s campaign rally in Tulsa tomorrow. And I didn’t know about the 1921 Tulsa massacre either. Well not entirely true… I heard about in the HBO series, Watchmen. But that was a story, right? A comic book?
These events should be something I’d remember from history books, so I can only assume it wasn’t taught. I haven’t seen or heard about any documentaries. They haven’t been covered on the news until the past two weeks. No Jeopardy questions. Nothing.
Over the past few days I’ve done some research.
Damn… I’m embarrassed.
I’ve realized another embarrassment in the past few days… there are very few black people in my life. But I’m not really sure “embarrassment” is the right word… I don’t know.
Cue my excuses…
I didn’t know any black people growing up in the the late 60’s and early 70’s in the Parkwood section of “lily-white” Northeast Philadelphia. Yeah, that was a term in the those days (probably still used by some). There were no black kids – or teachers – in my Catholic grade school, and maybe a couple in high school. I met some great black people in trade school, hanging out everyday for a very enjoyable year. We didn’t keep in touch, though. And I met many black people in my business travels across the country, but none I consider friends. Wait! My neighbors are black, two doors away! Emmet and his family… but I don’t know all their names.
As I re-read that last paragraph, I am overwhelmed with more embarrassment, sadness and the innate sense of political correctness I felt I had to ignore to see some truth.
The fact is that after sixty years on this earth, the few black people I know are acquaintances, at best. If you are one of those acquaintances… I love you.
I have white privilege. So does everyone in my family, because they are white. And so do my friends, because they are white. If we don’t realize that, we should.
I never understood it, and if I’m being truthful I must say that still really don’t get it. Not fully. The current situation in my country has forced me to reevaluate a lot of things. Not just my beliefs, but also what I am really willing to accept about myself.
Part of my current re-evaluation stems from a statement I’ve heard many times over the past two weeks, from some of my privileged brethren: “I understand and agree with the protesting, but I don’t understand why they have to destroy property.”
This statement has been made over and over on social media, and answered with heated debate. I will state unequivocally that rioting and looting has no place in this world, but it has been wrongly associated with the scores of people committed to peaceful protesting. But the key part of the sentence is this – “I don’t understand”.
I don’t understand what it means to be black person in America, and I never will.
Never.
There is not a white person on the planet who can say they do.
Not a one.
If you are looking for answers from me, I have none. I have questions. I have observations.
And I have fear.
I have fear because we’ve been down this road before and Americans quickly forget. Rodney King was a wake-up call in 1991, right? George Floyd and Ahmaud Arbery are the big topics today. How about six months from now?
The Baltimore riots in 2015 were supposed to be the last straw… be honest, do you remember the name of the young man killed in the back of that police van?
How long before the murder of Rayshard Brooks is forgotten? Just a reminder to those turning blind eyes… it just happened, a week ago in Atlanta.
Here’s the deal for me: I’m committed to getting better. I’m listening. I’m learning.
This morning I went into the kitchen, and I picked a lighter color banana versus a darker one. I believe this is the only example of when it is okay not to like something because of the color of its skin. A simple belief, but one that has my commitment.
I’m also committed to saying that Black Lives Matter. And I’m not going to diminish that effort by immediately adding “but all lives matter”.
I firmly believe that statues of civil war generals and politicians should be taken down. And rename the bases, too. And burn Confederate flags. And lose Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima while your at it. If that gets your nose out of joint, do better. Bad figures in history should literally NOT be put on a pedestal. You’re not erasing history, if you can still read a friggin’ book.
I stand firmly behind Colin Kaepernick and anyone else peacefully protesting. I didn’t always feel that way, but I’m listening and learning. Despite what we are being told by some who are trumpeting a derisive agenda, they aren’t desecrating the flag or the anthem. They are standing up for the oppressed. It’s very American… you should try it.
I place my hand over my heart, and stand and sing during our national anthem. And I will applaud anyone who decides to make a peaceful statement.
Because in every instance, justice is more important than patriotism.
I wrote this piece in June 2020, then got sidetracked and never published it. Still resonates with me… As with anything I write, I welcome your comments and spirited, respectful debate.
I remember the Sandy Hook school shootings and the sadness we felt. I remember the beautiful words above from President Obama and all of the other lawmakers. And then nothing was done. Nothing. Twenty children were brutally murdered that day, and our country did nothing. Those children were just a number… like the Orlando 49, the Virginia Tech 32, and now the Vegas 58.
Or we can speak out.
I’ve recently been watching the television show “Shark Tank”. If you aren’t familiar, the show introduces entrepreneur contestants to several high-profile investors, hoping they will back their product or business.
The other day I had a short conversation with Bruce Wilson. He and his wife Erin are founders of 
The company I work for has been providing the technology they use to make the various products – name tags, patches, t-shirts, key chains, etc. I remember when Erin first contacted us a couple of years ago, and explained the idea. Their 13-year-old son Jay has moderate to severe Autism, with limited language ability. He had gotten lost in the past, so they came up with the idea out of concern and love for him. Their “system” provided a measure of security for him and greater peace of mind for them.
Bruce and I were talking about the business relationship, how it all started and what it has become. He said something that resonated with me… “It was just a small idea because we wanted to help our son.” But it was a tremendous idea, and one that needs to be shared to help people in similar situations. There have been so many success stories, about people who have wandered and been quickly found.
I don’t remember Father’s Day much growing up. I think because my Dad worked two jobs most of that time, and probably wasn’t home. My Mom wasn’t given to sentimentality, so Mother’s Day is not very memorable either. Those days were certainly simpler, different times.