Stay Out of the Sun, Boy.

My dark skin had always been a gift, although I didn’t quite understand it was at the time. For most of my life, I’d considered it my burden, my cross to bear. My mother said my Black skin was beautiful, but I couldn’t tell. Perhaps its beauty could be found hidden beneath snide jokes, criminal tropes, and slave references echoed throughout our society.

The inferiority complex sat comfortably atop my shoulder. Hyperaware of my hue, I secretly wished to be lighter. I felt judged by white and Black people alike. Colorism in all of its ugliness invaded my subconscious. “Oh, you’re getting so dark.” The shoe always dangled. “You need to stay out of the sun, boy.” My own grandma echoed these sentiments. It was believed your life would be difficult if you were too dark, alas my inferiority complex was born. I carried those ignorant beliefs with me until I realized they were rooted in fear and self-hatred.

I once considered myself collateral damage in the struggle for identity. I was ill-prepared to navigate the complexities of the Black experience. We rarely had real discussions about such matters in my home, school, or church. Shame, as I later understood it to be, was a difficult concept to conceptualize as a child who yearned to understand his place in the world.

My reflection in the mirror often made me feel uncomfortable. I’d look down when I’d lock eyes with myself. Over time, I became accustomed to being called too Black. Naturally, I didn’t hate my skin, but I often wondered why everyone else did. Demeaning words carelessly spoken validated my fears and insecurity.

Through life experiences, self-realization, and a deeper understanding of my history as a Black man, I learned to see this dark skin as a crown of glory. I am no longer the little boy who felt he paled in comparison to others. I am a strong Black man who is standing comfortably in who he is and embraces all aspects of his being. To those who’ve spent their lives feeling insecure about their dark skin, I understand. You were not cursed with darkness. You’re amazing just the way you are. All hues of Blackness are equally the embodiment of perfection.

Today's Reading: Digging Deep Within: A Story of Courage and Liberation (Chapter 1)

In today’s reading, B.W. McKay reads chapter 1 of his 2018 Novel, Digging Deep Within: A Story of Courage and Liberation.

To Purchase Digging Deep Within, please click here.

Shameless

I sat my phone down at the corner of my desk. My fingers dribbled along the edge as I processed what had just occurred. My ears burned from the lamentations. To put it as frankly as I can, some people don’t understand how absurd they appear. Being a chronic victim is not a badge of honor. People who pretend to care to mask their wants are disingenuous. When did blaming others for the bed they’ve made make them noble? I’ve always prided myself on being able to avoid or limit contact with people like this, but there are times they slip through the cracks. Just because we love someone doesn’t mean we have to deal with their unsavory behavior.

Answering the phone blindly while deeply entrenched in my writing wasn’t something I should’ve done. I should’ve ended the call as quickly as it began. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. How do we deal with the people in our lives who never have anything good to say? How do we manage our relationships with people who treat others poorly by consistently taking more than they give, using others with reckless abandon, all while claiming to be the perpetual victim? They’re shameless.

I used to answer the phone when I should’ve blocked them. I’d let people talk when I should’ve interrupted them and ended the interaction. I don’t have time for drama and foolishness in my life. This was an important lesson that I had to learn. Now more than ever it’s important to enforce boundaries. Protecting our minds is of the utmost importance, which means we must be selective with the energy we allow into our lives. You can’t be concerned with how they’ll take it, especially if you’ve already shared how you’ve felt. Shameless folks don’t appear to have social awareness. I’m all for giving people a chance, but there comes a time when you’ve said everything that can be said. Accountability doesn’t always feel good. Making excuses for friends and family who continue to violate your boundaries has to come to an end.

Today, I ask you to consider your feelings. Are there people you’ve been continually extending grace to with no change in behavior? How you feel matters. It’s time to make your well-being a priority and it starts with defining your personal boundaries. Once they’re defined they will govern how you interact with the people in your life and will also help you determine what you will and will not accept from others. The truth is not easy to share, but it must be spoken. It’s okay to be selective in regards to the people you choose to have around you. This chapter of your life is about peace; it’s okay to make it about you for once.

The Church: Love of God or Covert Abuse?

I lingered in the car long after the garage door had come to a close. The heat from my quad exhaust radiated throughout the garage as a single bead of sweat trickled down my forehead. What was supposed to be a chill evening with a friend had unfortunately morphed into something far more sinister. The mental strain of our conversation weighed heavy on me as I finally made my way into the house. How could a conversation birthed out of genuine connection turn into a compassionless rant about hell, sin, and God’s judgment? His words might as well have been knives. “These people out here are going to hell, bruh. They’re living in sin,” he said indignantly. “We’ve got to be holy.” He lambasted the choices people made with their lives as if he were faultless. His ears were not open to anything other than his points of view.

The Bible was his reference. It was the basis of his indignant call to action. It brought back memories. I was reminded of the many years I spent in that church, stumbling in the dark trying to find the light of free thought. It’s interesting how we’re asked to use logic in every other area of our lives, but when it comes to the things of God, we’re met with anger when we don’t understand. Use faith, they say when we become inconvenient. Our faith has brought us a mighty long way, make no mistake about it.

I’ve spent a majority of my life in the church and I honestly wish I hadn’t. The constant in-fighting regarding doctrine and theology became confusing at best. The “love of God” they bestowed felt more like covert abuse. Sincere questions triggered crusade-like attacks and differences of opinions led to stark condemnation. Often times the pastor loved to hear himself talk to the point where he believed we had to consult him before we made any major decisions in our lives. If you didn’t get his approval, you were banished, forgotten, and in some cases, the unfortunate object lesson in his sermons.

I can still remember the forced prayers and angry verbal lashes when we failed to follow orders. The subtle programming is hard to recognize. I lamented my youth for it. I spent a great deal of those years believing it was my duty to convert others. I was taught to ignore people’s own personal convictions, because after all, Christians know what’s best for everyone. Each person I could convince to believe in Christ became a notch in my belt. My church began to feel like a cult that bred us to become machines used to progress the “Kingdom of God.” Their use of the Lord to cut down, judge, and destroy the self-esteem of others began to cause me to take personal inventory. I cringe at the thought that I used to be this way. Years of extreme control destroyed my zeal. If that was love, it certainly didn’t feel good. One day, I decided to no longer participate. Church friends looked at me differently when I decided to walk away. I was the ultimate sinner, it seemed. Suffocated, unable to breathe, I had to leave for my own sanity. The Pastor I once looked up to as a young man no longer looked my way. I felt like a dirty outsider at first, but soon after, I gained my second wind; I was free.

Our spirituality is deeply personal; our faith in God is just that: our own. Over the years it’s been difficult for me to separate mainstream Christianity from racism, misogyny, and hatred. Some of the most radical people I’ve ever met were found right in the church. As a Black man, I often wondered why my church never dealt with slavery and the darker side of the faith. My views on institutionalized religion have dramatically changed.

While my experience is uniquely my own, I know others who share my critique of the church. I write this piece as openly and honestly as I can. I share these words to spark conversation. This is my truth and I’m not shying away from it. Know-it-all Christians will attempt to diagnose my thoughts. Some will read this and immediately begin to label me an unbeliever with a reprobate mind because of my authenticity of thought. I accept that and quite frankly expect it. Life isn’t black and white. If you dig beneath the surface you’ll discover you can believe in God and still question what you believe. This earthly experience is a remarkable journey.

Today, I stand tall as a free-thinking Black man who is no longer bound by the fear of my sincere thoughts and ideas. I’ve casted aside the box I once allowed the church to keep me in. In conclusion, I leave you with this: always remember you’re free to grow and evolve. People won’t always agree with your growth and that’s okay. Above all you must stay true to yourself.

Soliloquy of Peace

I’ve learned to prioritize peace in my life. For my own sake, I had to. Sure there are things that happen in life that justify perpetual anger and bitterness, but that would only destroy us. For instance, there was the time my mother’s house was ransacked shortly after she died. To this day I can remember my sister’s frantic call with vivid clarity. I rushed over to the house unsure of what I’d walk into. The adrenaline navigated me through the thick D.C. traffic with precision despite being unnerved. When I arrived the police were already on the scene. The officer looked around for a few minutes, took some notes, and left without a single ounce of compassion. That was it. I was stunned, angry, and confused.

How could this happen? She lived in that house for years. The neighbors were friendly on the surface, considerate, and often checked on her as she battled terminal cancer. People couldn’t possibly be that evil, could they? It was violating to see her belongings scattered amongst the scuffed wood floors and dirt. The big-screen TV she saved for years to be able to purchase was gone. Her medical papers lay amongst a heap of trash and debris. Humanity can be ugly. People can be vile. How can we keep our peace when there are so many things that seek to destroy it?

A few weeks ago I went to a family event and there was a family member there who tested positive for covid and knowingly spread it. This individual traveled hundreds of miles exhibiting symptoms and still decided to come without any regard for anyone else. People whom I dearly loved were infected and the person didn’t apologize or even acknowledge what had occurred. I was angry, to say the least. Even when pressed they casually blamed others and didn’t take any responsibility. This is what we have to work with sometimes. There’s often no restitution. These anti-peace bandits often appear to disappear behind the horizon unscathed. Cynical? Maybe. In spite of this, we have to press forward and protect our well-being. We do this by limiting contact with problematic people, removing ourselves from unfavorable circumstances, believing in better days, and holding ourselves and the people we love accountable.

We all have our challenges. As much as we’d love to be able to control every aspect of our environment, we can’t. This truth doesn’t have to rob us of our contentment. We can choose how we’ll respond to the things that happen and ultimately decide how we’ll move forward. This is our gift. We have the blessing of being able to view the glass as half-full. May we smile in the face of difficult times, press forward through our darkest days, and choose to believe we deserve the best this life has to offer. At the end of the day, everything works out for our good.

The Black American Experience: Rising From the Ashes of Pain

Where do we go from here? I’m angry and exasperated, but I remain firm in my reproach today. How long must we pretend this county is a sovereign nation of safety, power, and sanctification? A nation built on morality, Godliness, compassion, and love would not continually find itself at this bloody crossroad. America’s grandiose belief that it sits at the proverbial right hand of Almighty God is utterly laughable as it is sad. A reality check has been long overdue for those who believe racism is dead. As a Black man, I’ve always been acutely aware of the world I live in, in fact, you must if you want to survive as a Black person.

My grandmother would often worry about me when I left the house as a young man. At the time I didn’t understand her fears. “I’m just going to play basketball up at the school,” I’d say to reassure her. I could see the discomfort in her eyes as she struggled to let me grow up. My words hardly reassured her. She lived in a world void of social media. Her stories of pain, tragedy, and grief were passed down from one generation to another. She lived through her own trials and tribulations as a result of her Black skin. If she were alive today, she’d have much to say. Today, I understand her concerns as I watch the world around me reveal itself to be more barbaric by the day. Mass shootings should not be a normal part of American culture.

I’m tired of Black people being slaughtered like animals. The mass shooting that took place at Tops Friendly Market in Buffalo this weekend shouldn’t have happened, but it did. My heart goes out to all of the families that have lost loved ones. When I sat down to write this morning, my spirit was disturbed. I thought about Mother Emmanuel in Charleston, South Carolina. To this day I still have difficulty grasping how someone could walk into a church, killing 9 people, and be peacefully apprehended. The anger that filled my soul that day returned as I read articles that detailed the events from Buffalo. Is this what America continues to allow itself to become? Hateful ideas are incubated and supported by those in leadership. The media plays on fear and gives platforms to folks who divide and spread false narratives. The echo chamber couldn’t be more clear.

Do not be mistaken, Black people will not become footstools. We will protect our homes and our families. We will love ourselves and each other. We will not turn the other cheek and cower before those who wish to destroy our way of life. We will continue to fight for equality and justice. Black people across this nation are strong, beautiful, and overcomers. We are here today as a result of the strength that has been passed down from our ancestors who endured the treacherous journey across the Atlantic and suffered through over 400 years of slavery. America has no choice but to accept that we’re here to stay. We will continue to rise above the ashes. Our fallen brothers and sisters did not die in vain. We are Black and we are proud. We will continue to move forward whether they like it or not.

Blackness: A Beautiful Testimony

My mother’s southern drawl was always a sweet touch. I used to say things to rile her up so I could hear it come alive. “Boy, if you don’t stop playin’ with me,” she’d say with a laugh. Those were the days; I’ll always cherish them. My mother was a healthcare worker who worked long hours: sometimes as long as 13. When I’d come home from school I always phoned her, and often the voice at the other end of the line was unrecognizable at first listen. At the time I didn’t understand why she suppressed her natural tone. I used to think it was funny, but today I don’t find it amusing.

After having spent several long years in corporate America myself, I understand the struggle. The unspoken pressure to tame our natural tone, word choice, and inflection became increasingly unbearable as I continued to climb the proverbial career ladder. The work voice, as I call it, is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to how many adjustments we’re expected to make to move forward within non-Black spaces. It’s rarely comfortable, and to be quite honest, is something we shouldn’t have to do.

There’s nothing wrong with being ourselves. I understand the need for professional decorum, but should we as a people continue to allow ourselves to be held to a Eurocentric standard? They’re telling us being Black by default is unsavory and needs to be tweaked. Our name, hair, voices, and demeanor are constantly critiqued, amongst other things that do not define us. Thriving in this world is a delicate tight rope walk between being ourselves and what others believe we should be. We must take the power back by continuing to create our own spaces and lanes so we may authentically be ourselves with no pressure to conform to standards we never agreed to.

Despite all of the progress we’ve made as a people, the anti-Black agenda is still strong in this nation. We understand this deeply as we experience the day-to-day challenges of living in a world that relishes the fruits of our struggle, but does not value our humanity.

I write this piece as a reminder of our great existence. Being Black is an honor although our journey through this earthly plane is filled with obstacles, valleys, and hills to climb. In the midst of it all, we’ve found a way to rise like a phoenix. We must always own our Blackness. There’s grace in our struggle. May we find rest in our strength. After everything we’ve been through, we’re still here growing stronger each day. Our existence is a beautiful testimony.

The Slap: Pearl Clutching At It’s Finest

I’ve been up for a while. I partially blame the thunder. The sound of the rain hitting my window should lure me to sleep, but tonight I’m too distracted. Against my better judgment, I went down the Will Smith rabbit hole.

I’ve had a chance to read a few think pieces on the infamous slap: the slap that has white folks in a tizzy on social media. I told myself I wouldn’t write a think piece, but here I am writing a think piece.

There are so many ideas floating around the web, but there was one that stopped me in my tracks. One brotha wrote he believed “the slap” set Black men back. While I appreciate differing opinions and thoughts, I have to kindly disagree with that sentiment. Here’s why.

Will Smith’s behavior was indeed wrong and he admitted that. The notion that his behavior set us back is a fallacy at best. Black people have always, and will always be held to a higher standard. We could exhibit undeniable brilliance, like Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson, and still be subject to unreasonable scrutiny. This is one of the unfair aspects of the Black experience.

White folks stormed the capital, openly praise the use of deadly force, salivate over guns, refuse to acknowledge the damaging effects of slavery, participate in systematic racism while stating they don’t see color, willfully look the other way when Black men and women are murdered in cold blood, but somehow are deeply wounded by a slap that honestly has nothing to do with them? The proverbial clutching of pearls is disingenuous and is being used as a way to perpetuate anti-Blackness. Society continually hunts for reasons to demonize Black people. This time is no different. In fact, this demonization is deeply American, and will likely continue to be the case.

White fragility has always been the common denominator when critiquing the Black community at large. When you dig beneath the surface you realize this isn’t really about a slap. They don’t give a damn about a slap. The outrage is a convenient excuse for whites to pick apart the Black community under the faux guise of virtue. We’ve seen this before.

Sometimes I feel like people create strawman arguments because they’re bored and intellectually lazy.

But, I Don’t See Color…

As a Black person living in a country that’s hyper-obsessed with political correctness and faux wokeness, you’re bound to confront problematic ideas sooner or later. We seemingly stand in the crosshairs of tone-deafness daily. Everyone has an opinion these days. Race, being one of the more polarizing topics, is a surefire way to ruffle feathers. I intend to do so today. Let it be known, I don’t write these words out of spite, but out of a pure desire to express authentic thought.

I’d like to make myself clear from the onset by stating I do not believe all white people are intentionally racist, I do believe, however, many are ignorant to the real trials and tribulations we face on a daily basis. Even those who call themselves allies, don’t fully grasp the scope of the modern-day Black experience.

White supremacy is an exhausting topic, yet I find myself knee-deep in it quite often. Living in the desert has been an incredible experience, but it doesn’t come without its fair share of uncomfortable moments. More often than not, I’m the only Black man at neighborhood events and gatherings with neighbors. Sadly, awkward conversations are the norm. For example, someone thought it was appropriate to tell me how wonderful Martin Luther King was and how they don’t see color while we were eating. This happened unprovoked.

I take pause when I think of people who find this behavior acceptable. It’s intellectually dishonest at best. I’m sure that lady believed what she said, but in reality, we all see color; I know I do. Here’s the deal: It’s okay to enjoy our presence without inelegantly waving your anti-racist banner. We have to normalize creating boundaries around “the talk.” You have a right to end interactions that do not feel natural. It’s not our job to teach anyone about the Black experience, nor should we have to accept these strange attempts to empathize with our struggle. It comes off as disingenuous and we see that. Our experiences should not be used as a platform for virtue signaling.

All shades of Blackness are equally and uniquely beautiful. Being different is something that should be celebrated and not seen as divisive. It’s okay to admit you see color; we didn’t believe you anyway. Authenticity these days is fleeting, I know. It’s a fact of life as the nation at large continues to believe racism is a thing of the past. You can be our friend, support the fight for equality, and still, embrace what makes us different.

To Be Black in White Suburbia

I often sit under my covered porch in the morning. It’s the perfect place to gather my thoughts. The mountains tower above the community in majestic fashion. With temperatures hovering in the low sixties, the winter months are gorgeous here. Each morning, I’m thankful to wake up to such a place.

When we made the decision to move to Phoenix, Arizona, we knew we’d be severely outnumbered. I don’t mention this as an effort to dismiss the notion that I appreciate diversity, I’m mentioning this to draw attention to reality. I’m of the firm belief that as Black people we should not have to live our lives in a bubble, only entertaining specific towns, and cities that have been deemed appropriate for Black folks. Fuck that. We deserve to live anywhere we want in this country because, at the end of the day, it’s our right to do so. We deserve to live in a gated community amongst other million-dollar homes at the base of the mountains just like our white counterparts. I’ve worked hard for this life. It’s my damn money and it’s where I want to be. They’ll have to deal with it.

While my experience in the desert has been great thus far; I’m acutely aware of the demographics. I’ve met wonderful people who I can confidently say have become friends; both white and Black neighbors respectively. But does that mean everyone will be accepting of their Black neighbors? I’d be remiss to believe everyone is accepting of all people. Racial issues are still egregiously commonplace in our nation.

This discomfort and awareness have stopped many people from enjoying the fruits of their labor. There have been many times, I’ve questioned my own decision to move out west due to my own uncertainty during the build process. I don’t blame anyone for moving out of a community they do not feel safe or welcomed in. It’s a shame things are still this way. This is the plight of being Black in America.

We have to scrutinize every aspect of our lives. It’s in our best interest to be hyper-aware of our surroundings. We can’t afford to be ignorant. Life doesn’t afford us many missteps. Many of us often feel the subconscious pressure to avoid being ourselves within our communities in an effort to make others comfortable. I’m not hiding my Blackness from anyone. To not be accepting of one’s self is mentally and physically exhausting. I’m not changing my expressions. I’m not changing my music. We must choose to never be afraid of being ourselves. There is strength in unapologetic Blackness.

I write this piece today to draw attention to the reality of living in white suburbia as a Black person. While I wish many of the things I mentioned here were not true in the twenty-first century, however, we must always be continuously aware and, accepting of the truth at all times. To be Black in white suburbia is to endure questions about your occupation when they see your beautiful home. To be Black in white suburbia is to question whether your music is too loud on your own property. To be Black in white suburbia is to wonder if you’ll ever be arrested for entering your own home. To be Black in white suburbia is to wonder if the new neighbors will be intolerant and racist.