August 21, 2004

I have found it hard to cry for people who started killing themselves a long time ago.  Last week my youngest brother was shot.  The doctor patched up his colon, kidney, liver and one of his lungs.  He had been shot with a semi-automatic weapon.  A bullet was lodged in his back for several days.

I sit here asking myself the question, “Why is there so much violence surrounding our youth?”  And I do wonder what will happen to my brother.  Somewhere between his high school graduation and the birth of my two children, he’s been trying to transform himself into a thug.  I never thought a thug could exist in the country parts of Virginia where I grew up.  But its most ghetto-like places have been pools for our youth.  They submerge and resurface baptized into weed smoking, cocaine snorting, drug dealing, gun toting “thug life.”

It’s turned the world upside down.  Our pocket books have become their paychecks.  The white man’s drugs have become their pimps, and there are too many reasons for it.  Blame it on history, upbringing, socioeconomics, being black, etc.  Blame it on bad choices.  Even sadder, the problem is deeply rooted in a past where the youth cannot become real men and women because they have not been taught; parents have  not shown them.

At the thought of my own brother dying, I couldn't even cry.  It’s what can happen when too much time passes.  I realized that It’s not just about him.  It’s about all of them.  It’s about the gangsters who tried to take his life.  It’s about drive by shootings.  It’s about innocent bystanders caught up in the crossfire.  It’s about the law.  It’s about religion.  It's about my own children.  It’s about life.

None of us know where to begin to end this madness.  Enough is really enough when you can't shed tears or fear the death of your own brother.  Perhaps it’s the effect that  years of foolishness can have on you.

What can you tell a brother who won’t listen?  It’s sad, and I pray that he and troubled young people everywhere will be transformed into a generation less blind.  I hope that they will realize that life is not about being bold enough to take a bullet or bad enough to shoot one.  Life is about choices, good ones and being the best that you can be.

My heart aches every time a young person makes a bad decision.  I’ve always thought it easier to do the right thing or to learn from your mistakes. But somehow,  people like me get caught up in our own selves.  While we're busy trying to set an example, the world around us is crumbling.  Perhaps we've got it all wrong.  All I know is . . .  my brother’s been shot, and I have not cried yet.

----over one month later---

They moved my brother from a hospital bed to a jail cell where he awaits a bail hearing.  Three lawyers and 2 dismissed bail hearings, he sits in a cell reading a Bible he bought in jail.  If he remembers and finds God while he's there, everything will be just fine.  Life is about learning lessons, and sooner or later, we do learn the ultimate.  Life is too short to waste time doing all of the things our mothers and God never wanted us to.

Every time an act of violence occurs in the black community, our ancestors weep.  They must,  for we have strayed so far from the paths of righteousness when it comes to keeping our families together and raising strong black men and women.  I'd say our ancestors would have wanted more than just a few of us to make it.  We need all of us to carry us through.  Instead, many of us are behind bars, abandoning the race, and our children.  Who will teach the children?  Who will take care of our women?  Who will carry on the strength that brought us through?

I need my brother's eyes to open. I need his faith renewed.  The black community needs him to be a strong black man.  It cannot be done with guns, violence, drugs and excuses.  It has to be done within the mind, with time and with vision. 
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