At A Moments Notice...

Damn. And I thought I had issues.

So this weekend a couple of Sdot's long-lost cousins from Indiana decided to pay him a visit, to do some shopping, catch a bite at Juniors, and take in a Broadway play or two. Last year they visited around the same time, but seeing as we had just moved into our spot hours earlier I barely spent a moment with them. A brother had major unpacking to do. This year things would change. Practically settled, I was actually looking forward to the Saturday jump-off Sdot had planned in their honor.

Lights. Cameras. Action!

The first two and a half hours everything went as planned. His family arrived, the drinks began, and all was fine. They talked about New York and its stark differences to Indiana, their family and how neither of them really knew they existed, more history, the future and blah, blah, blah, blah.

"Ummmm, who made you all's bed?" Felica asked, after having passed our bedroom several times.

"I did." I remarked, proud of my handy-work and eager to know where the conversation was heading.

"Damn! Were you ever in the army?"

I laughed, because I knew my moms was somewhere smiling. "Nah. I just like things neat."

"Neat is an understatement," she chuckled, "it looks like a museum in here." Suddenly, as if on cue, her sister Chantel rushed passed us, jumped on the bed, ruffled the sheets and tossed the neatly arranged pillows to the floor. I gagged, and for a second felt the fire rage inside of me as I desperately tried to understand why the hell would someone do that.

But I'm working yall, remember? Instead of feeding the fire I accepted what happened as a simple life lesson: shit happens, get over it. As a perfectionist the act of destroying my perfectly made bed triggered quite a bit of frustration in me, but as a realist I knew and understood perhaps her act was targeted to help me confront my everything must be perfect demon, thereby forcing me to deal with a little unexpected chaos. It worked. I looked at my pillows scattered across the floor, and let it go. After all, it was just a bed.

"Damn Chantel, why'd you do that?" Felica's boyfriend Simon asked amazed.

"Because it was too neat!" She responded stretched ever-so-carefully across my bed. "And it aggravated me."

"Well I think it's cool to see brothers taking care of themselves." Simon said. "My place is neat. And its good to see theirs is too."

I nodded because I too like to visit my brethren and find their shit in place, it says something of their character and upbringing.

"I hear you Simon," I remarked, "we brothers are doing it for ourselves."

"What?" Chantel asked jumping to her feet. "You brothers are doing it for yourselves??!!" Her question left little doubt that a battled leered just beyond her words. "That's part of the problem," she sneered, "what's up with you brothers doing it for yourselves?"

I knew where she was going. I felt it. But I praying, "please God no! Don't let her go there! Don't let her start this shit in my home! Please God, please!" But before I could complete my prayer...

"The reason I can't find a man is because you brothers," she hissed pointing at Sdot and I, "are doing it for yourselves."

All I could do was inhale, count to five thousand and listen to her explain why an attractive, educated, successful woman like herself could not find a man. She had numbers, charts, pamphlets and er'thang to support her case. And when she felt she couldn't win on her presentation alone, she brought in the weapon of all weapons: the bible. "Show me in the bible where it says a man can be with a man, and I'll leave you alone."

I collapsed on my unmade bed. She'd gone and done what religious zealots have done since the beginning of time: used the bible to defend their radical beliefs.

"If man was meant to be with man, woman with woman, then there would be no you, you, you, you, you or you." She said diligently pointing to every person in the room.

Damn! How the hell do you compete with that? How the hell do you say you're wrong when clearly no two men, or women can bring forth life on their own free will. How do you reason with someone who clearly sees your life, and its many decisions as a mistake? How do you convince someone you are not the reason why they're single? Or that your decision to do you is precisely that: your decision.

I'll tell you how: you don't. I spoke my peace. I spit my knowledge. I dropped science. I even spoke the word. But if one's mind is defiantly made up, and is determined to blame you and the rest of the world for the condition they are in, there is nothing you could do but pray they find their way. I used to believe I was sin, and that I was born in sin, and that my whole life would be lived in sin. Just like I used to believe I had to convince white people to see me as an individual instead of a color. Or every security guard in the world that when I walk into a store I am indeed shopping, and not stealing. I cannot control how people see me, or even how they attack me. But what I can do is control how I react to their shit. I am not a criminal. I am not a nigger. And I am not sin. I am Christopher David, born to a man and woman, sent here to live my life without apology, or grief, or the belief I have to be what some else wants me to be. And if anyone has a fucking problem with that, then tuff.