SAYING GOODBYE TO FLORENCE/GRAHAM

I grew up in the Florence/Graham area of unincorporated Los Angeles, California. The area is just under 3.6 square miles and is surrounded by Watts, South Gate, and Huntington Park. My parents came to the area in the 1960s from the South during the great migration, like most of the other Black families in the area. Whites were moving out as Blacks moved in. The neighborhood was comprised of working-class folks who struggled to make ends meet. They worked hard, hung out with friends and family on weekends, and went to church on Sundays. Growing up in a predominantly Black neighborhood where kids played outside and used their imagination to entertain themselves has given me fond memories. We played games outside until we had to run home before the streetlights came on and got in trouble for following the crowd when we should have known better.

The Florence/Graham area today looks nothing like where I grew up. Almost everything about it is different. A few Black families remain, but now the neighborhood is mostly Hispanic. The last time I drove past my childhood home, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. It felt like the newcomers had invaded the spaces where my memories lived and physically removed evidence that my family, neighbors, and I were ever there. The landscape had changed, and I didn’t like the change. I didn’t like the crowded streets, with parked cars on both sides and cars hanging out of driveways. I didn’t like the Mexican market that had replaced the Jewish market or the street vendors pushing their carts down the street. I didn’t like that I couldn’t see myself with my mom, dad, and siblings in the front yard, mowing the grass and pulling weeds on a Saturday morning. It took me a minute to realize that what I really didn’t like was that the people who made it anywhere we were home were gone. My childhood was gone. The house I grew up in was still in the same place but was home to someone else. My home was not a physical place anymore, and perhaps it never was. The sound of my mother’s voice and the crazy stuff my father said and did will forever be with me. I only have to be still and remember them to go back home. The neighborhood where I rode my bike around, trick-or-treated in, played in the vacant field on the corner, and fought kids in the alley in the back of our house is no longer my neighborhood. I don’t live there anymore, and it doesn't exist as it once did, but in my heart, it always will, and I can go there whenever I want.

My upcoming book, “Rolling In The Deep,” is a journey through time and emotions. It is set in my beloved neighborhood, spanning the years from 1964 to 2010, and reflecting on its evolving landscape. The heart of the book focuses on love and its many forms, which are intricately woven around a mystery and a touch of the supernatural. Writing this book has been a joy, and I am eager to share it with you, hoping that you will find it as captivating as I do.

"Rolling In The Deep," to be published this summer.

BLACK KIDS DON'T WANNA LEARN

What a shocking statement, but what is more shocking to me is that a twenty-something African American young person made this declaration in mixed company, as my mother would say. The young woman prepped the classroom for what was to come by saying, “You’re not going to like this, but…Black kids don’t wanna learn.” A young African American male roughly around the same age backed her up by uttering, “Speak on it,” as she continued to explain why she felt that way. What she said after that, I couldn’t say because I think I must have stroked out for a moment. I remember initially saying, “Only you could say something like that.” I wanted it to be crystal clear to the class that the only reason her ass hole was still intact was because she was Black (I’m kidding---not kidding 😊).

Anyway, after I came back to myself, I raised my hand, and my response when called was, “Perhaps the Black kids in school with her had become disillusioned with the education system. A system that lied to them and expected them to fail.” I also went on to tell her how dangerous it was to make broad, general statements about a race of people.

Instead of telling you how sad her statement made me, I want to do something different with this topic. I want to ask you a few questions.

1.      What was your initial thought when you read the blog title?

2.      Do you agree or disagree with the statement?

3.      Are you surprised that a young person feels this way?

4.      Are there topics that should not be discussed in mixed company?

BE COURAGEOUS

I recently turned sixty-five, and the word courage kept popping into my head. This birthday and one other made me stop and ponder my life. When I turned thirty, I felt as if I should have been further along in life. Thirty, for me, was a rite of passage where I fully entered into adulthood. At thirty, I had a child, a good job, and a mortgage. However, I still didn’t feel like I had measured up to the standard of success I had set for my life because I didn’t have a husband. Looking back, I could see how silly it was to feel that way, but emotions have a way of crushing you and blinding you to all the wonderful things that you have. I can look back now and see how much I had accomplished on my own and how courageous I was.

A few days before my sixty-fifth birthday, the icy hand of fear touched my spine and remained in the background even after my birthday had passed. However, a word rose up in my spirit to combat the fear, Courage. One meaning of courage is “strength in the face of pain or grief.”

Pain and grief were exactly what I was afraid of. Sixty-five is a big number. One could say, “Your days are numbered.” I know I don’t have sixty-five more years ahead of me, so one has to face one's mortality and make peace with it. Fear comes with not knowing how and when it will come and whether it will be a lingering, painful death.

Getting older requires courage. It is not for the faint of heart because your heart will be broken every time someone you love leaves this world. You will need to be strong when you are no longer able to do the things you once did. You will need courage to face the uncertainty of life.

One day, I will look back at my sixty-fifth birthday and think how silly I was. Until then, I gather the courage needed to tap down my fear so that I can enjoy each day and make plans for the future.