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When I was a little boy (7-8) I had a blood disorder called ITP - Basically a blood disorder characterized by an abnormal decrease in the number of platelets in the blood. The end result is that I bled too much too long when cut and bruised at almost the slightest impact.
At the onset and after many doctor visits, I was admitted to the hospital for ~ 1 week and submitted to a battery of tests. One of those tests was for leukemia and is called a spinal tap. I remember being taken from a common play room with other sick children to a room with multiple doctors and nurses. They told me what they were going to do and that it would hurt. I layed on the table in a backless gown and they gave me an injection of anesthesia. I thought that this was the test and remember laughing in relief that “it didn’t hurt that much.” Then they stuck a needle in my spine and I screamed like you cannot imagine. When I came out of that room crying and confused, there was one person waiting. The little boy that was my roommate in the hospital. Not my parents, not my grandparents, not other family members or friends. Just my roommate. He had Sickle Cell Anemia. He was my age and for the life of me and to my shame, I cannot remember his name. But I remember his face 30+ years later. I remember his pacing as was I rolled out of the procedure room. I remember his concern for me as he had had the same procedure himself. I remember him. I say this in this way because he is surely long deceased. But not forgotten. Awareness.
My father grew up in Northern California without his father. His widowed mother, my grandmother, and his widowed grandmother, my great-grandmother - neither with even a high school diploma -each worked tirelessly to raise he and my uncle, send them to college and ensure their success. In doing so, they worked menial 2nd and 3rd jobs, some of which were considered at the time beneath “white” standards and in many cases, they were the only white employee among peers. They shared the same religion, attended the same church and socialized as close friends do. My grandmother never held a prejudice. She instilled in my father that same belief and he in me. Awareness.
I relay these stories to you not to self promote how liberated or enlightened I am, but because these events shaped me. They made me who I am and I venture to guess, although taking a different form, others have similar stories to tell that have made them who they are. Awareness.
Last night I heard a speech that I will not forget. In fact one that made me remember. It was a speech about honesty and belief. It was a speech about commonality and difference. A speech that avoided divisiveness and sought unity. It was a speech about America, or how it is and how it should be. It was a speech about and, the first time in a long time, TO you and I. Awareness.
Many have claimed that hope is not a platform. It is not experience. Speeches don’t make a leader. Like = fanaticism. Perhaps. But an idea is of foundation make. Many succeed beyond the wildest imagination when given the chance. Like is the first stage of love. Awareness.
We here see through a focal lens. Mistakes made, promises broken and ideals trodden upon. All viewed with both intellectual and inane perspective. None of which should be mistaken for anything other than passion. Passion for beliefs, passion for a people, passion for a country. Awareness.
We have a potential great leader in our midst. This leader happens to be an African American of mixed decent. To some, it is transparent. To others, this is an issue that needs to be addressed. The speech from Philadelphia yesterday was more than a calculated attempt at addressing this lone and long standing stigma. It was a head-on affront at all issues that face this nation. It negates the jaded cynicism of the status quo and embraces the cumulative life experiences, guidance of elders, intelligence, passion and emotions of us as a nation. It places ownership in our lap(s). It offers guidance and mentorship, but make no mistake, what we face takes all of us. Awareness.
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