Revolution!

I went to bed last night with the news of Alton Sterling weighing heavy on my mind. I'd seen both videos showing two separate views of the murder and the images will forever be burned into my brain. I tried avoiding watching the videos as these types of things have a tendency to replay themselves over and over again in my mind, but perhaps watching them was exactly what I needed to do, what we all need to do. We must all watch and see these senseless acts of aggression play out by those we pay to protect us.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep well.

Then this morning I woke up to find out it happened again. This time in Minnesota and the victim was named Philando Castile. In case you haven't been paying attention, both men are black. Both shot dead by police officers.

I was angry. I don't know how else to say it. Angry doesn't quite cover it, but I lack the energy to try to explain the ire that pumps through my veins.

All that changed this morning when I got in my car. My rage turned to sorrow. I looked around at other drivers and I saw faces, black faces, that must have felt like they were walking into enemy territory just by leaving their houses this morning. I could easily imagine any one of them getting pulled over for whatever reason and making just one wrong move and putting their lives at risk. One wrong move in the eyes of a racist, shittily trained, trigger happy, pansy-assed cop. This could be reaching in the glove box after the cop asks for their license and registration. This could be reaching into their pocket for the same reason. This could be exasperatingly tossing their hands up in the air in frustration. This could even be mouthing off at a cop for profiling. Maybe it isn't the smartest thing to do, but does it mean you should die over it?

Alton Sterling was selling illegal goods. He was guilty of a crime. He resisted arrest. He may or may not have had a gun. But what he didn't have was a gun in his hand. There were two cops restraining him. The cop that pulled the gun on him held it mere inches from Alton's face. If Alton were capable of getting to his gun, then he was capable of getting to the cop's gun. Should you really be putting your service weapon where a suspect can get ahold of it?

Alton Sterling was a gang member. He was a sex offender. He was a violent criminal. But what was he doing in this moment!? That's what matters. Alton Sterling could have been a kid doing what he needed to do to raise money for school. He could have been a man, down on his luck, trying to provide for his family. Anything was possible in that moment when he was shot. Don't let the media tell you that it's okay that he's dead because of his past. That past was revealed after he was already dead. Nobody deserves to die for selling illegal DVDs or loose cigarettes.

I'm waiting now for the background of Mr. Castile to hit the media. What kind of rap sheet will they have for him? What will they tell us to make us believe he deserved to die for a broken taillight? How many more times does this have to happen before change occurs?

I'm a gun owner. A responsible one. But if we made guns illegal in the United States of America, I would gladly turn mine in. There is a problem in America. That is obvious. Clearly, our police officers are no better trained in handling their firearms than the average gun owning citizen. So if we must give up our guns and have the police give up theirs to start a path toward a better country with less of these senseless murders, then so be it.

And for anyone out there that thinks white privilege isn't a thing, pay closer attention. If you're white, have you ever feared for your life just getting into your car? Do you fear for your life every time you talk to a cop? You will be given the benefit of the doubt where a black person in your same position will be given a potentially life taking bullet. That's the truth.

I'm not saying all police are bad. I'm not saying all black people are innocent. But something has to change. Our parents' generation got shit done. They protested. They staged sit-ins. The made so much noise our government was forced to listen. Maybe it's long overdue that we do the same.

Where the Fuck am I?

Amanda and I are still settling in. Today is the first day I've felt like there was enough done at home that I could break out of the house for a bit and get a little writing done.

So here I sit at Amelie's French Bakery just down the street from my new house. The pastries and sandwiches are delicious, but the coffee could be better...already missing Bagel Pub's cold brew iced coffee.

My neighbors across the street are very nice as is one of the guys next door to them. For those who are unaware, it's pretty customary for neighbors to welcome you to the neighborhood (yes, that shit still happens) and then proceed to tell you that if you need anything, feel free to stop by and ask. Even my landlord (who lives directly next door to me) offered to help us move in and unpack. It's also pretty customary to NEVER take someone up on their offer to help. So really it's just a thing people in the south say but would never do themselves.

People smile when you go out to eat. They great you warmly. The Target doesn't look like it's in Somalia. There are no cabbies cutting you off. If you honk, you better be ready to fight. It's like I have to learn how to be a southern boy again...

I've grown so accustomed to passing people on the street without eye contact that when I hear "Good morning!" it throws me off. Driving in downtown Charlotte, even during rush hour, is a breeze. I might pass by a total of 50 pedestrians in the time it takes me to get from our house to Amanda's building when I drop her off and pick her up.

I can see downtown from multiple places and the three or four building that reach the tallest really stand out amidst the blue of the sky. But that's it. Three or four buildings is all I get now.

The homeless sit by the highway entrance ramps in the morning, angling for those morning commuters in cars. The streets are clean. The buildings cleaner. Everyone seems to have a dog.

It's like Mayberry grew up just a bit and became Charlotte. As metropolitan as I used to view Charlotte is as small town as it feels now after living in Brooklyn for five years.

The friends are still great! The family is amazing! I just wish I could move the house, friends and family all up to Brooklyn for the same cost of living as here.

But the door will never close on Brooklyn. It will always be ajar with the slightest streak of light slipping through, beckoning me to return. Maybe one day.

Transitions

The plan was to leave at 4am on Wednesday to make the long drive down to Charlotte. We woke up at 4am, finished up with the last minute details of getting the apartment cleared, grabbed the truck with the car in tow from a secured lot (big thanks to Chris Hayes, Scott Levy and Phil Warren at Eastern Effects, Inc for letting me do that!), loaded up the remainder of shit and hit the road 2 hours later than planned! Go team West-Rogers!

Where I would normally stress over such a late start, I decided from the moment I woke up to just roll with the day. And that's what I did. All things considered, it wasn't a bad drive. We hit some traffic about two hours north of Charlotte. It was boring and we were tired, but I rolled with it. We arrived a little after 7pm, unloaded the car, got it off the tow dolly and parked the truck in the driveway (yes, you heard that correctly, I have a driveway). We got to hang out with our friends, Su and Evan that night and share a bottle of champagne they brought over for us. I was still pretty tired and numb from driving all day, so the move had yet to really set in.

The next day we were up bright and early to unload the truck. My dad, Amanda and I tapped into the unpacking tornado that is Kellie Brown and we had the entire 16' truck unloaded and in the house in an hour and a half. The outpouring of love and support from our family and friends really helped take the edge off. We were so focused on getting everything situated, built and unboxed that we didn't have time to even realize that we don't live in Brooklyn anymore. It was so nice seeing everyone who came over to help us unpack or even just swing by to say "Welcome back!"

This morning I woke up and looked out of the front window of our room and saw trees. For five years I lived on the top floor of a four story walk up right across the street from a train trestle. Now I have an overgrown lawn and I can walk outside just by stepping out of my front door. So I did. I took care of Ellie who is adjusting well to peeing and pooping in grass instead of a dirty street. I then strolled up to Smelly Cat for some coffee. Walking on a lonely street gives you time to think. It allows your brain to catch up on what you may have missed out on. Human interaction occupies the brain and doesn't allow you really think about what is happening inside you.

As I slowly sauntered down the empty street, I thought about all of the differences between walking to get coffee here versus walking to get coffee in Brooklyn. I passed one person, a jogger, on my walk this morning. I noticed that even though there is no alternate side parking for street sweeping in my neighborhood, there is little to no trash trapped on the curb. I didn't hear a single horn blow. I didn't smell any peculiar, unknown odors. I didn't have to dodge and traffic or wait at any stop lights. I didn't hear the rumble of the F train overhead. I didn't scan my car for any new scratches, dents or foreign paint from some shitty fuckstick who doesn't know how to park. I just walked and thought about all of this. Then a cardinal flew by and perched itself atop a nearby fence. This must have been my late father-in-laws way of welcoming me back. I'm not sure exactly why, but all of a sudden I felt it: I live here now. This is my new home.

As much as I already miss everything I loved about Brooklyn and the friends I had, I have a new life here now. With friends that are happy to have us back. With family that have finally had a dream of theirs come true. It will still take me a while to fully transition and feel at home here. I don't know how long. It could be months. Maybe years. But I now know that no matter where I may go, the love of friends and family will always be there and as long as we have that kind of support in our lives, we'll be just fine.

(Special thanks to Kellie, Dad, Su, Evan, Mom, Barb, Zack, Berry, Chad, Rebecca and Steve in Charlotte. And to Charlie, Kelly, Mike, Derek, Charlette and Meg in Brooklyn. Without your love and support, this would have been a nightmare.)