If I’m at a movie, deciphering the plot is my second priority – mapping out an escape route in the event of an attack is my first. Trips to the grocery store used to be my thing. I’d spend 30 minutes reading magazines, 15 minutes shopping, and 10 minutes in the checkout line. Nowadays, I walk in, grab what I need, pay, and leave.
Classes are out for the summer, but each time I run past the elementary school that anchors my neighborhood I can’t help but think about the innocent children who will soon be filling those halls. As I look at the colorful, engaging swing sets and courts with basketball rims that hang low enough for the little ones to experience the joy of a shot made, I can’t help but notice how vulnerable it is. I can’t help but wonder if it or one like it will be the next to experience a senseless attack.
If you’re going to worship, regardless of your denomination, church is another place that requires we remain on alert. But that’s nothing new in the Black community. Terrorizing Black Churches or church bombing as it was commonly referred to, has always been a go-to strategy for hate groups and those who felt threatened by the Black presence. This was especially true in the Southern States like Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana, Georgia, and Virginia.
All those states have at some time, or another experienced a church bombing. Tragic is the only way to describe them. And while they were all tragedies, they all pale in comparison to the one that took place in Birmingham, Alabama on September 15th, 1963, when a bomb destroyed the 16th Street Baptist Church.
When the dust cleared, the church that once stood as a beacon of hope for the Black community lay in ruins. Pews that only moments before held worshippers had been strown about. Lovely stained-glass windows that typically played host to brilliant sunbeams were shattered. Sturdy red bricks, once the foundation of the structure, had been reduced to dust. And in the basement, four little Black girls lay dead. Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson, and Denise McNair … four little Black girls lost their lives before their lives had actually begun … because a coward felt they didn’t deserve to live.
Chaos broke out with riots all through the night as the Birmingham Black community went into shock and mourning. There was bloodshed, arrests, burnt buildings, and a river of tears flowed as families on every corner grappled with the loss of those six precious lives. That’s right, six lives, not four. You see, each year around this time, we’re reminded of Addie, Cynthia, Carole, and Denise. Make no mistake about it, those beautiful angels deserve a prayer of remembrance each and every day … but so do Virgil Ware and Johnnie Robinson.
Virgil Ware and Johnnie Robinson were two little Black boys who also perished that day. While riding on the handlebars of his brothers’ bike, Virgil was shot by a White teenager who brought his gun to the riot intending to help, “restore order” … sound familiar? Moments later Johnnie was shot by a White officer who claimed he was throwing rocks at passing cars. Even if that were true and it has never been proven to be, does throwing rocks warrant the death penalty?
Every single time I hear of an incident of domestic terrorism, I remember Addie, Cynthia, Carole, and Denise – the four little Black girls. But I also remember Virgil and Johnnie –the two little Black boys that the world seems to forget.
***
A few months back, I walked into a McDonalds just to get a drink. My days of Big Macs, Quarter this and Quarter that are over, but every so often, I’ll catch a craving for a soda and that was one of those days. As I stood placing my order, a group of boys, little Black boys came in. They were loud, boisterous, and if I’m being honest, disrespectful. They placed their order and I changed mine to get a couple orders of fries.
Our orders arrived at roughly the same time, and I drifted over to where they sat. I struck up a conversation. I found out that they play football and run track here locally. We laughed and joked as I told what I would’ve done to them had they been around when I was out there doing my thing on the field and track.
As we parted ways, I told them I’d be looking for them on the field, looking for them on the track. But you see, it wasn’t about the field or track. When they walked in, I could tell by their conversation, somebody had forgot about those little Black boys … I wanted to make sure they knew I remembered.
Driving down the road late last week, I saw a rather peculiar image that has become all too common. I saw a little Black boy with his pants hanging off of him to the point where he may as well have taken them off. Sagging is what they call it. They think it’s cool or hip to let their pants hang down, showing off their colorful undergarments. Some believe it’s a fashion statement that began in prisons, but in reality … it goes deeper.
To maintain control, Southern slaveowners resorted to any number of tactics and one of them … was sagging. You see, the slavers had to dampen the warrior fire that burned within the African men and in many cases, wardrobe was their weapon of choice. Male slaves were often forced to wear long shirts that looked like dresses. All day, every single day they were mocked, and their manhood was questioned at every turn. In other instances, they were given pants, but no belts which caused their pants to fall below their waistline … caused their pants, to sag.
As I think back to that little Black boy I saw walking down the street, I realize somebody forgot to tell him he hales from warriors. I can only hope that one day, somebody remembers to tell him. And if and when they do, I can only hope he never forgets.
***
This is a dangerous world we’re living in, and no species is more endangered than the little Black boy. If you happen upon one, look deep into his eyes and speak life-affirming words into him. It’ll only take a moment. Your voice could be the spark he needs to re-ignite the warrior flame that resides in them all; the one that was quenched so very long ago. Our lives are busy, filled with remember this and remember that. As you go about your day remembering this, that, and all the things in between … do the world a most special favor …
