The Weakest Among Us

It's a cold Friday afternoon in April reminding us that the warm weather we had, in Chicago IL, a few weeks ago, during March, was a loan and we were paying for it now. We've just finished Jumu'ah (Friday Prayer) and have sat down to have some early dinner, drink coffee and talk with other congregants. My mother is on her way to work and lets me know that my father's ride should arrive shortly.

Numerous peeks out the window, several trips to the corner, all to discover that, without conscience, the driver never showed up and he ,or she, has reported my father as a no-show.

Several phone calls to dispatch, and two hours later a sullen looking driver, giving terse one word answers, arrives to take my father home. I walk with him to the van, place his ramp inside and wait for the driver to secure his chair to the floor.

My father is, among other things, a disabled senior citizen confined to a wheel chair. At 64 years old he's a 9 year stroke and heart attack survivor and travels primarily by handicap accessible van.  He's a retired Structural Ironworker (Local #1 ), U.S. Veteran (USAF/USA-ANG),  respected martial artist, writer, community organizer, Imam, and also one of the most well read people on any number of subjects you could ever dream of meeting.

Despite what he has accomplished in life, his gracefully graying presence in a wheelchair affixes the label of  disabled-senior to him, which in the minds of the ignorant means, powerless, ready for the picking, and of no account. The original driver's failure to show up and his/her statement that my father was a no-show is emblematic of that ignorance.

I cringe to think, how many elderly and disabled fall victim to this type of laziness and hardheartedness? My father is still mentally sharp and more than capable of fighting his own battles, but I'm thankful he has my mother and the rest of the family to advocate for him as well. What of those who are unable to speak for themselves?  What of those who have no one to advocate for them? They sit frustrated and powerless, being made to feel of no account.

Something as simple as arriving on time with a smile to pick up a passenger, can make all the difference in how a person transitions from a "normal life" to negotiating life in the sphere of the "Handicapped", "Disabled", or "Differently Abled."

People working in industries offering provider services to seniors and the disabled take on a responsibility which they are likely never to be justly (monetarily) compensated for (there should certainly be some reform in this area). I've met some really dedicated and beautiful people, working in this industry; unfortunately, they are the exception and not the norm.  These individuals are depended on by people to take care of their mothers, fathers, grandparents, and sometimes their husbands and wives. They have every expectation that their loved ones, or they themselves, will be treated with dignity, patience, and respect, and every fear that they will not be. The fear is to be looked at as a broken vessel with no worth, and no voice.

In light of the United States increasing senior population, coupled with medical advancements which have lengthened  the life expectancy of stroke and heart attack victims, conversations around how to best serve them will continue to come to the fore. Among these conversations the criteria regarding the quality of care and service provided to these individuals must be reexamined.

Regardless of where a person falls in the hierarchy of those entrusted to serve our senior, disabled, or both, they must embody a prerequisite modicum of integrity, civility, and respect.
 
It's said that you can judge a society based on how well it treats its young and its elderly. If this is true, we have a long way to go.

Guard Your Grill

No one thinks about their teeth when they're 10 years old. We foolishly think we'll have them forever, and without regular visits to the dentist to scare us straight, many of us float on - in an "ignorance is bliss-like" fog- until the walls come crashing down around us. Tooth loss at 39 is so not cool.

I've had a sweet-tooth for as long as I can remember, and that translated into going to bed, many a night without brushing the old choppers. Flossing? That wasn't even a thought for me, back in 1981. Truth be told, I didn't start flossing until...a few years ago.

In hindsight, what should have been an eye opening dental experience for me, in 2003, was treated like an isolated incident, completely unrelated to my lack of dental diligence. I was standing in my kitchen talking with my wife, Snickers bar in hand, when I went to bite down and felt a grenade go off in my mouth. The pain was UNBEARABLE. Seriously, I almost passed out. It turns out that I took off the bottom of a weakened, decaying, wisdom tooth, biting down with 150 psi.

The frantic search for an open dentist on a Saturday afternoon was almost comical. After a harrowing three hours I was back home, with one less tooth. This should have served as what Oprah refers to as an "Ah Ha moment."

Before settling in back home, one might have thought I would have done a little shopping first. I should have walked through my door armed to the teeth with a:

• five gallon drum of super-duper plaque & tartar removing tooth-paste, 
• ten year supply of floss,
• motorized toothbrush and replacement heads,
• water pic

Ten years later, I finally got the message: I'm brushing and flossing a few times a day. But, this is after seven extractions (includes 4 wisdom teeth and 1 unsuccessful Root Canal Therapy), and two more upcoming Root Canal Therapies. I'm fortunate, the extractions I've had done are not easily noticed. How would I deal with missing my "Eye Teeth?" I guess I'd have to tell people I was a hockey player.  

Thanks to a great dentist and dental implants, I'll be flashing a full smile in another three months. I kick myself when I think of how I neglected my teeth all these years. Of course I point to myself as I talk to my young daughters about the benefits of regular brushing and flossing; I think they're getting the point.  

Trayvon: The Symbol

Today, when something is deemed newsworthy folks come out of the woodwork to drop their two-cents in the bucket. Right or wrong, informed or walking in on the end of the conversation, everyone has an opinion, an analysis, and now- more than ever- a means to share that opinion, yours truly included. So it was no surprise to see so much public discourse around the killing of African American teen Trayvon Martin and the severely delayed arrest of his Caucasian killer, George Zimmerman.

However, after continual cries of injustice, apathy, and racism, some in the African American community began to ask in all earnestness "What's so special about Trayvon?" especially when inner-city African American youth are being murdered by other African Americans with regularity, minus the news coverage. Why not any one of the others? 


On its face its a fair question, and I don't get the feeling that those who pose it are any less empathetic and/or outraged by Trayvon's killing; its that they don't understand the silence around all those other young men whose lives have been cut short. Why did Trayvon become the symbol representing the gross injustices that young people of color in the United States endure day in and day out?


Trayvon has moved into a space that many of us are all too familiar with; he's become a symbol of the oppression that has continued to plague our African American males, young and old. In death he's become a  de facto spokesman, gunned down in a quiet gated community. He gives voice to an awareness rarely vocalized by many of our inner city youth. An awareness they grapple with on a daily basis, regardless of where they are, they are never safe from harm.


 We've galvanized around his story, donning our Hoodies in support of him and as a way to decry the rampant violence claiming the lives of our young. We don our Hoodies as a way to protest the byproduct of the media's  demonization of the African American male, which has primed Americans for flight or fight responses when they cross paths with these young men. The slanted media depiction of African American youth has some saying "He must have done something to provoke the situation."  


 Freedom fighting journalist, Ida B. Wells railed against the unfair media portrayal of African American men as lazy, thievish, immoral, and lustful. She illustrated the effect of this heinous portrayal as it impacted the nations collective psyche and how it influenced the court of public opinion (particularly in the south). This demonization served as a justification for the rampant lynchings of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.  The anti-Blackman propaganda was so pervasive and relentless  it not only convinced many White Americans that it was only a matter of time before the African American male would "get himself lynched", but it also, gradually, pushed African Americans to see each other through the same perverted lens. Many of us began to believe if trouble befell us, it must have responded to our invitation.

Yes, Trayvon is but one of many, and his murder and his family's pain should push us to see this in a broader context, not as an incident isolated from the killings in Chicago, Detroit, L.A., New York, New Orleans, Cleveland, Washington D.C., etc. If the Hoodie represents anything at all, it should be a reminder that all of our (young) men may fall victim to the same plight if we don't address the systemic issues and understandings  that have caused such unconscious and unspoken fear, disdain and devaluation of the African American male.

The debate goes on about the systemic effects of (mis)education and (un)employment and how these two factors continue to wreak havoc in our communities, contributing in no small way to the violence present there. And, there is also the mindset which has been formed through hundreds of years of constant programming, presenting the African American male to society and to himself through a most distorted and ugly lens. Today, we see and respond to each other through this manufactured lens. 

In order for Trayvon's death to have any meaning it must serve as wake up call to break the glass. Because of - not in spite of- the issues present in so many of our communities, we have to see our youth and each  other with a fresh pair of eyes. We must endeavor to provide our children with a feeling of security and safety which has eluded so many of them. We must address the unbalanced media coverage given to the ills in our communities, often to the exclusion of its successes. Because, even as we are losing lives we have triumphs which go unmentioned and for that we and the world lose an opportunity to see our youth in a different light.  I can only hope and pray that we are able to reverse this image, in half the time it took for us to get here.