trust issues.
all I care about is money and the city that I'm from
i'ma sip until I feel it, I'ma smoke it 'til it's done
and I don't really give a ____ and my excuse is that I'm young
and I'm only getting older, somebody should've told you
i'm on one (eh), ____ it, i'm on one (yeah)
i said I'm on one, ____ it, 'i'm on one, a strong one…
the anthem. if you do not know the song that is being highlighted here, I strongly suggest you get right. if you do, cut that joint on as you read for the next few minutes, as the song will put everything I present here into a perfect frame of reference. The primary message of the song is an expression of trust issues and the reasoning for which. I believe this song to be a certified anthem because I constantly struggle with trust issues. It is incredibly hard for me to let my guard down because life experience has taught me that it is those closest to you who can harm you the most. As a child, I was forced to helplessly watch (numerous times) as my loved ones were hurt and abused by those who were supposed to love and protect them. I have also heard conversations as people whom I share a last name with have told my girlfriend (at the time) that she is better off without me; that she should leave me because she ‘deserves better.’ I have been falsely accused of crimes against people I did not know by police who profiled me. One of the worst grievances to date has been when I tasted the flavor of betrayal as blood uncontrollably exited my mouth…leaving me scarred to this very day. Here’s the truth…
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It was a breezy winter evening in a small town in southern Illinois. I was there in celebration of the coming New Year of 2013 and the anticipation was higher than that of a Frank Ocean album release. I had returned to southern Illinois to visit because I was on break from college (sophomore year of undergraduate studies at Western Illinois University). My biological brother was also in attendance, which excited me because we only see each other once a year (twice if we are lucky). That night, we decided to go to a house party that a close friend was having at his house because all of our friends were supposed to pull up. *cue This Is How We Do It by Montell Jordan* The party was a predominantly white setting but I didn’t bat an eye because I was with 3 family members (one of which was my cousin, the 6’2” 230 lb area favorite) and we were going to a friend’s house that we had known since we were all babies (literally). We get to the event and things go as usual; we run the table in beer pong and then hit the dance floor (yes, that was a flex and I still have the juice. try me). As the night progresses, the house evolves into an Asher Roth video (I Love College reference). I retired from the table and begin to float around, only to notice that my good friends from the neighboring town had shown up. We dap up quickly and share the usual pleasantries. I left them in the garage for a quick second to see who else had entered the house, only to return to chaos. When I returned, I noticed that there were people standing on the second level of the garage huddled together like an American football offense discussing their next play. They consume my attention, and as they ‘break the huddle,’ I notice that they are positioned directly above my friends from the neighboring town that had just claimed ‘next game’ on the table. Then, I watched as a shower of spit left their mouthes, claiming the heads of their victims below. The group above laughs as the group below prepares for, well…retribution. I immediately step in to deescalate, and we (on the ground) agree that it’s best that my guys from the neighboring town be the bigger men and leave the party. I walked them out to their cars and watched as their taillights disappeared like fireflies into the darkness.
Once I returned to the house, all hell broke loose. The lights were on in the living room (which was already somewhat alarming) and as I made my way through the house, I found my brother and a (white) guy arguing over the (white) guy’s usage of the n-word in a song. My brother, like me, didn’t feel that this guy should be using the term so I joined the effort to respectfully explain our stance to the (white) guy. The man got upset with us, said it was a ‘free country’, and proceeded to call us the n-word…with the hard r. Everything from that point on is somewhat of a blur, but a small shouting of words turned into survival of the fittest in the living room. Luckily, my uncle was also in the room…so it was us three versus 70% of the people at the party; 3 Black guys vs a whole lot of white guys. The living room turned into a sea of shouting, punching, shoving, and throwing of bodies. To be honest, we were holding our own until one specific moment when I knew we were in trouble. I looked in the corner to see my brother pinned against the wall with a screwdriver to his throat. My uncle was also pinned down by two guys in the kitchen. As I took notice of the situation, I was tackled over a coffee table. They had gotten me on the ground, and I’m sure you can guess what happens next…
The guys in the living room swarmed me like a mob of angry hyenas and I protected myself the best I could. As I laid on my back with my arms protecting my head like Money Mayweather, I watched the fury of angered faces drive their steel-toe boots into my face and torso. In the midst of the madness, I recognized one specific face at my nine o’clock and it was at that very moment that I stopped feeling pain. Numbness. My eyes were no longer following the kicks, and for a moment, I looked directly to the ceiling through the circle of clearance created by the tops of their shagged heads. I thought to myself: this is the world that i live in and this is what the rest of my life will look like as a Black man…getting bombarded by a storm of depressive forces from white males as I exist with limited hope for survival. As that moment passed, I thought about everything that I had to lose and I knew that I would not allow this to be the end. I had to get up. I had to help my brother. I had to help my uncle. Screw it. I began to see nothing but red and go on the offensive because quite frankly, I would rather go out swinging than to let someone break every bone in my body. Just as I started to fight back, I remember vividly as the legs started to decrease in number and more light began to appear above me. To my surprise, my 6’2” linebacker of a cousin had risen from the garage and began to clean freakin’ house. One by one, he threw the collection of white hyenas out of the way and helped me up.
Him - “You okay, cuzo?”
Me - “Better than ever, my dude. ‘preciate you.”
That night marks one of the worst grievances I have ever experienced, as I left the house with the taste of betrayal as the result of one of my closest childhood friends (a white guy whom I, as a baby, shared a crib with from time to time) participated a racial attack that ended with me being jumped in his living room by 10+ white males. It wasn’t until I got in my car that I realized the geyser of blood spewing from my mouth was coming from the gaping hole in the bottom half my mouth; they had legitimately kicked out a tooth. I went home and had to explain to my mother what happened. She could not believe it when I told her who was involved in the attack, as her mother (my grandmother) and his grandmother were best friends. Heartbreak. Betrayal. Treachery.
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The guy has apologized many times since that night, and he has expressed that he will never forgive himself for partaking in what happened. For a while there, he could not look me in the eye because he was ashamed of what he had done. He said to me, “I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry. it all happened so fast and I saw my buddies fighting so I helped.” Your buddies? What about me? We shared a crib together and spent countless hours together for the first 20+ years of our lives. How was it that we were so close for so long, but once I get called the n-word by ‘your buddies,’ your feet join theirs in the march against my sternum. I simply do not understand, but I understand. I really do, because I understand that it’s easier to swim with the current than against it. I am most certainly not excusing the behaviors tied to treachery and deceit, but I am saying I understand what it feels like to be alone on the side of honor.
Sidebar: this idea also applies to divide between Black people like me in America and police officers who are in place to ‘serve and protect.’ It’s hard for me (and my people) to trust officers of the law when so many of them have wrongfully killed so many of our Black brothers and sisters…some of whom were unarmed. I have personally been a victim of police brutality, so my distrust runs deep in my veins. In addition to that, I have been tear-gassed and placed under sniper surveillance during protests…so how does that lead me to trust when I am the one in the crosshairs while exercising my first amendment right? Police are supposed to protect people, but that doesn’t always happen when people share my level of melanin. There exists an ideology in the Black community where calling the ‘cops’ is not really an option because the intentions of the police who arrive cannot be trusted. I do not like that things are this way, but I do understand why my people have this thought process. When I was a child, my mother made it a point to tell me about the ways to act when the police were around. “Stay on your P’s and Q’s, Lil man. Don’t give them any reason to approach you. If they do approach, be sure to show them the utmost respect; yes sir, no sir, yes ma’am, no ma’am.” One time, my mother told me, “treat the po-lice with more respect than you treat your elders because your elders won’t kill you…but po-lice certainly might.” Imagine that level of fear and confusion as a child. I learned in school that police were protectors and heroes, but I learned through life experiences that the police could also be there to assault you and take you to jail. Very rarely did I see positive representations of police when I was growing up; police that swam against the current of their domineering imagery, but that does not mean I hate everyone who wears a badge. To be crystal clear: I do not subscribe to the ideology that all cops are bad. I have some great friends who are police officers, and I love them dearly. At the same time, I do think that there are also people out there who have the badge for the wrong reasons, and subsequently tarnish the image for the collective. I will save the remainder of that explanation for another post…but just know that I understand the conundrum of choosing whether to swim with the current or against it.
For these reasons (among many more), it’s tough for me to trust people…especially when I have been harmed by all of the people placed on this earth to protect me and my best interests. Granted, I have forgiven everyone who has ever wronged me (police included). I have made an intentional effort to let go of those grudges because hatred is too heavy of a burden to bear. It is important to forgive people…not necessarily for their sake, but for your own psychological fortitude. Regardless of someone’s desire to be forgiven, I choose to forgive for the sake of freeing myself of the burden and allowing myself to move forward. I have chosen to show grace and love to those people and allow those grievances to be lessons in my book of life. Don’t worry, we all good. I am great at forgiving but not so good at forgetting, which could quite possibly be the greatest gift from the experiences. I now possess a very keen sense of who I can trust and who I cannot. I now also understand that it is very important to be careful who you let into your heart because some people will not treat that access with love. Some people will fight to protect your heart, and others will stomp on it. Please don’t take it personally if it takes me longer than the average person to open up and truly trust you. I have just been beaten down one too many times to let my guard down.
I try my best not to hold past grievances against my present (and future) connections, but its quite a monumental challenge when you are reminded previous injustices every time you open your mouth. I have considered a surgical implant and realignment of my teeth to fix my crooked smile, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. Honestly, I may never get it fixed…even though it is my greatest insecurity. Fortunately for me, I am resilient and much stronger because of an egregious event that would’ve crippled most people. I survived being jumped by 10+ people and left with an injury that I have chosen to keep as a reminder that I cannot be beat. I was down, but I was never out…and for that reason, I will always fight. I can also find solace in my cousin coming to the rescue when he clearly did not have to. He fought for me when I was not able to take it all myself, and for that will always thank him. Shoutout to my brother and my uncle as well, as I know that they did their best as well to help during those battles (and plenty of others).
I may never be able to unequivocally trust heartbeats, but I have become very secure in my ability to feel things fully and allow people to see what truly hurts and what does not. I realize that being hurt is inevitable when you trust people (whether it’s intentional or not), so I keep my circle small to try and minimize the damage. But hey, to quote the late GREAT Prince, anything beautiful is worth getting hurt for…(to be continued)
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savant song selection: trust issues // aubrey graham