#and even if i don't respond to the asks where people are blatantly violating /again/

[slasherscream]

really wish people would read blog rules more, it makes running blogs like this very low reward and you feel like a machine if people aren't commenting and aren't even abiding by one of the, honestly, very few and politely phrased rules i even have

[robyndehood]

My Son's Story (pt. 1)

DISCLAIMER: I Know it's a bit of a long read, but it's important. Please read. I promise it isn't boring. Thank you!

Hi Everyone,

Intro

This is my first real attempt at Tumblr. Please contact me if anything I post violates a rule or is not considered appropriate. Anything I post, I truly mean no harm nor offense to anyone. But I need to write daily again to regain my gift and share it with the world. I have been working on my version of the "great American novel" for years. As a child, I was well on my way to becoming a successful author, but people had other ideas for my career path - and to put it bluntly - my contribution to society. Writer's block set in and then what was second nature to me - creative writing, became a lost skill. Or maybe a distant memory. Writers know that half the struggle as an artist is the dilemma of our own aspiration towards perfection. But nothing is perfect. It is a social construct and the antithesis of true beauty.

The Ultimate Birthday Gift

So, that said, let's talk about my son. He's three - he's actually turning four in December. He was born on my birthday and has been the greatest gift that I have ever received. I won't pretend that he is perfect or even generally compliant with my directions. But he's loving. He's empathetic. He's brilliant. He's beautiful. And most of all, he is the sweetest person I have ever met.

I am going to go slightly off-topic for a bit; just to paint the full picture. I don't want to ramble and I am definitely a believer that a short and to the point message is almost always far superior to a long and complicated message. But bear with me because this snippet of the backstory is essential. And my son's story is important.

Appalachia

We live in Pittsburgh, part of the Appalachian Mountain Range. There is no other way to say it than the unadulterated, ugly truth of it - Pittsburgh is racist. Very racist. Beyond that, there is a general lack of common courtesy to outsiders, customers of businesses, other patrons in stores, etc. And the rudeness, is actually pretty much unrelated to the racism. It sounds strange and surely, minorities who are on the receiving end of it would certainly assume that racism was the reason why they said "excuse me," "thank you," etc. and about half the time are ignored like they're a ghost. But don't get it twisted - there are many times the aforementioned behaviors by many Pittsburghers IS induced by racism AND a lack of common courtesy and manners. You see, their deep-seated tribalism is indoctrinated into many Pittsburghers so completely from a young age that they know no different. It would be difficult for them to understand this article and I'd bet anyone ten bucks that if enough PIttsburghers read this post - they will attack my analysis of Pittsburghese culture as though the post itself is a blitz on the entire city.

Brown or White?

I am latin and there aren't many latins in Pittsburgh. But when we moved to Pittsburgh when I was in seventh grade, people knew my last name. Summer had just passed and I do get brown. I can get brown very quickly in the right type of sun and I get brown eventually in the sun that exists in cloudy and northern Pittsburgh. In seventh grade, some boys decided it would be funny to call me "estupido," and up until two years ago, I avoided sun exposure that would reveal my "brownness" like the plague.

Subversive, Subconscious, and Secret Racism

So, not long after I started that strategy, I was treated as white. (Side note: latins can be any race; but it seems that societal constructs are seeking to change this long accepted designation and categorize latins as some in between, brown race and not an ethnicity. To be honest, I am ok with that and now proud to be latin.)

The reality of being treated white in Pittsburgh for many years was that I learned what white people actually said when they were only with other whites. The most common thing that was said was one white person mumbling to other white people that someone was a "dumb n******" or a "dumb monkey." I've heard white adults refer to children who were black as "n***lets." But it was always this crocodile smiling through their teeth behavior. They'd never dare say it to a black person. Instead, they'd just indirectly discriminate against them.

I do have to mention that by no means do all Pittsburghers behave this way. It's just too many of them. I don't know the percentage, but if I had to guess I'd say - 50% plus.

Yes, Racism Happens All The Time Even if You Don't See it Happen

Many white people will tell you that racism is gone because they don't ever observe it and Obama was president - a black president. Therefore, everything is now over. I can admit that I have experienced my share of discrimination when my skin darkens. But I had no clue how bad it was for black people out here until my son became the recipient of the ugliness of it all. To me, racists are by definition ignorant cowards; so it makes sense they'd pick on a small boy whose only family is his mother.

Evil Always Starts Slowly

If one reviews history, every evil dictator or regime began slowly chipping away human rights. By the time the citizens realized the dire state of their country, it was too late. Their freedoms were already taken away and mechanisms to fight back had also been methodically erased.

When my son was born - a boy who is half African (his father (if you want to call him that since he is basically not involved) is from Ghana); no issues arose for the first two and a half years. But then the indirect discrimination started. The same rules that applied for white children didn't apply to him. I could give so many examples. But let's just say, as a rambunctious boy, if my son mimicked a white boy's same rambunctious behavior, we were confronted and the white family was not confronted.

One day I made an appointment for my son's hair to get cut at Philip Pelusi. They made the appointment knowing that he was only two and a half. The receptionist let me know that the stylist was a "Grade A Stylist," so I would have to pay more. I was fine with paying more; cool. After the appointment was made, I mentioned to the receptionist that my son was mixed race. We ended the call and I began to get my son ready to leave. Within ten minutes, the salon called back and informed me that they didn't/wouldn't cut my son's "type of hair." I promptly returned the call and explained his hair was curly, that's all. They blatantly lied and told me that the stylist doesn't cut ANY curly hair. Right. So, if a white lady came in with curly hair she would be turned away? I doubt it. Either way, the stylist is "Grade A." She is also licensed to cut hair by the state. Shouldn't a requirement for state licensing require one to know how to cut all "types of hair"?; I saved the recording, by the way, and still have it.

As months progressed, little by little wherever my son and I went in "white areas," we felt hostile vibes. Other incidents occurred that couldn't be proven as racial discrimination, but I knew. Whites behaved as though my son didn't deserve to be around them.

Southern Hospitality

We traveled down south a few times in the past year. Yes, some of the south is very racist still to this day. But not where we drove. Suddenly people responded when we said "excuse me," "thank you," etc. No white families prevented my son from playing with their children. No one told me my son was a nuisance or put out that vibe.

The Lesser of Two Evils?

But we had to come back each time because we live here and I've been working my way out of the projects that I have lived in for four years. Shootings. Open drug use and sales. The smell of crack in the hallways. Infestations in other apartments that come our way no matter what we try. People peeing on the hallway floors. Yes, seriously. Young children being encouraged to bully and beat up other kids. Children stealing or attempting to steal my son's toys because their mothers buy them none. Gamgmembers as young as twelve.

So, I concluded: "yes, we will move, but until then, we only sleep in our apartment and we do not play at the projects' playground." I figured IF I saved a certain number of money since I have a car that I saved for and bought last year, we would make it in our new, chosen city (Tampa or Jacksonville).

But then the racism against my son in the "white playgrounds" became worse. One day he was playing with a five year old boy at an indoor playground. The mother had no issue with it. The father of the boy arrived half an hour in, promptly scooped the boy away from my son, and told his son that he had told him he was not to "play with n*****s." My son couldn't understand why he could no longer play with his new friend and kept calling to him, "friends again!" while sobbing because he thought he had upset the boy. I had to leave with my son because of it.

Another time, a ten-year-old boy taunted my son on an outdoor playground and called him a "dumb monkey." My son first attempted to yell, "I NOT DUMB MONKEY," a few times; but the boy persisted and even smirked in my direction. My son ran to me and asked me to make the boy stop. No parent in sight and again, I just had to leave with my son.

Enough is Enough

Finally, last month or so, my son and I were at our usual laundromat doing laundry. We had finished. My son skipped a few steps in front of me and tried to open the glass door but couldn't push the bar to open it because of his height. He placed (yes, placed..lightly) his foot on the door to try to give it a bit more of a nudge. I was a few seconds behind him so just pushed the door open and we went to our car to load our clean laundry into it. In retrospect, I saw an older white male go next door to the beer store right after we walked out of the laundromar. The beer store employee approached us as I loaded my laundry into my car and then intended to leave.

The beer store employee told me he was getting "reports that kids were kicking glass." He said kids. Plural. And what he said made me envision a bunch of grade school kids kicking around broken glass on the sidewalk or parking lot. I responded calmly that "I have one kid and he's been with me the whole time. He wasn't involved." The beer store employee wanted drama to transpire. It was obvious. He said in a threatening manner: "Just so you know, I have cameras." My son and I exchanged glances because we were confused. What kids? Kids were kicking glass. Where? What glass?

Again though, I calmly responded that my son wasn't involved and he should check his cameras. He told me he was calling the cops. So I got my three-year-old son in his car seat and set a time limit of ten minutes to wait. We weren't running when he didn't do anything. The cops of course showed up about a minute later. It's ridiculous because in our projects (different police department than the laundromat police department), there have been shootings where children were outside playing when several clips were emptied into crowds and the police station is a block away. I know people called and it took an hour for them to arrive on scene.

Long story short, the laundromat cops knew it was a bullshit call. The supposed "kicking glass" was because my son placed his foot on the door to try to open it when we were LEAVING. The police eventually informed us that was the alleged "kicking of glass." There was no kicking that happened. The door wasn't even dirtier, let alone damaged because my son tried to use his foot to open the door. Lightly, by the way.

Even though the police were kind to my son, for the next week, my usual gregarious child was terrified to go anywhere. He eventually told me it was because "the cops will chase me and take me to jail because I bad guy now."

He's over it now. Mostly.

But we still have to pick between the craziness of playing at our aforementioned projects or going to a "white playground" and risking my son being rejected. It's usually a 50/50 shot that he will be rejected. If he gets rejected, he gets very upset.

Again, these are problems we never faced on our travels down the southern eastern seaboard. We didn't get treated like this at the destinations or on the journey by car to and from the destinations.

I knew we were living in an extremely racist and rude area, but one day I found this. It's a map delineating the results of a study conducted by Google and others regarding the level of racism in different parts of the country.

I already knew this much. But it's good to know I'm right that we are in the worst part of the U.S. for racism and the kindness we received traveling to those certain southern states was no illusion. And I did ask locals before I found this map if I was right that people are kinder to all colors in whichever given area.

Not the Worst Thing That Happened But the Last Straw

People talk a lot about Karens these days. This lady looked like she jumped right out of a Karen meme. My son was two feet away from her while we waited in line and she said as obnoxiously as possible: "Can you handle this? Please get him out of MY space." Yeah, I didn't let it go. At all. Her argument was that she said "please" so it's OK to make my son feel like a "this" and not a little boy. I held him while he sobbed. Long story short, I decided right then anywhere has to be better than this.

It isn't me just knowing people are being nasty to my son and I'm upset. He understands. He had an evaluation for something and he tested very well. He cried about each of these incidents. He just wants to make people smile and make friends.

So, next month we are going for it. I'm no where close to the aforementioned goal. I have some savings. We may end up in shelters at first after savings dry up in a few weeks. But we cannot survive up here. Nor can we advance here.

Side Note

I wrote this mostly to inform others of the status quo and reality of racism and the real effects it has on one tiny boy. And I know it will just get worse if we stay since it's this bad already.

But if you anyone knows of any resources to help us get on our feet in a month in Tampa or Jacksonville (Tampa is my first choice, but either one.) I have applied for housing, even though I didn't and don't want to go back to projects; but I'd take one down there over watching my son endure so much pain any day of the week.

Ok, so final part: I'm going to say upfront I feel extremely awkward with this paragraph because this isn't my way (years before my son was born I was homeless for a stint and never sat with a sign or a cup. Just couldn't do it), but for my son, I'm going to drop my cashtag here. Everyone is struggling and I know there are people with much worse problems. I appreciate anyone who has read this far and can help spread the reality of what I wrote about. That's the reason for the article; but if help is received at all because of it, we would be grateful but it's definitely a far second most important reason for the post. Here it goes, for my baby, in case it'll change his life and give us that better foot up, here it is: $RobyndeHood