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.