"What do we do when our conscience calls & we’re too... fucked up within to answer?" was a question I started & my father finished.
It began with a conversation about nutrition. My father asked “Are you going to eat (as he’s reading the label) this Black Forest Chocolate Cherry Cake?” with a grin on his face. I respond “Yeah, I’ll probably take a big slice, leave one for you & throw the rest away,” I say since my father and I are supposedly very health conscience and our family and friends see us that way.
After my bowl of cinnamon toast crunch (hahaha) I put the box back, my father gets curious & asks, “Is that cereal there?” Of course, thinking about my father’s health, “This is just sugar, pure sugar,” I tell him as he takes the box out of the pantry and reads out loud the grams of sugar. I begin to complete a meal of quinoa, rice & lentils that I started last night, turn back around and my father is eating this stuff, thinking out loud in moans of measurement, intrigue and pleasure “MMmmm, MMmm.” "And this is what they feed our kids, this was one of my favorite cereals,” I tell him.
I got this box from the food pantry “FOOD PANTRY?” my father says in a surprised questioning tone, as we both are amazed at the expiration dates and amount of sugary food given out there. Nevertheless I’m always thankful & grateful when I go there & glad that they exist, never asking myself “why am I here.” So yesterday pops gave me a ride to the food pantry (Inter-Faith Ministries) to get some information on how to get my car fixed for free, since a very loved friend of mine told me about the resource (and pick up some food of course) and of course I see the same thing as I always do.
Over weight white women that are missing a few teeth on Crystal Meth and some that would be looked at as white trash, men securing boxes and bags of sugar filled foods(cakes, doughnuts, chips, Danishes w/canned essentials) to their bikes, Mexican families, and usually, well, hopefully (I know this sounds bad but I’ll explain later) one black person.
“I watched person after person, all over weight, I saw two old overweight ladies piling that stuff into their car… and my eyes teared up,” explained pops…and I too see it all the time. We spoke about how sad it is to see these people, out of jobs, resorted to lining up for this tasty but very bad food. I notice many with cars that were new six years ago, Lexus, Toyotas, S.U.V.s, minivans all not too old (which tells a separate story), and we gawk as we, as I myself experience the realities of disadvantaged & neglected America. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to even go in there, especially because of how I start to feel,” I relay to my father as I begin to describe the demographics and atmosphere in this blessed place of help called the food pantry, including an old Back man I noticed sitting near me who was also waiting for his name to be called.
He wore a pair of denim overalls, old baseball cap, walked with a slight side to side wobble as old men tend to have, kind of like the old folks I remember in my home town of East Palo Alto, the kind always going on fishing trips and playing dominoes out side of the retiree community center at Bell St. park. These wise figures of my past, these men are filled with so much wisdom it’s amazing, most having old ties to the country somewhere that you can hear escape in their lively conversations about anything in particular, yet I said nothing. I spoke to one middle aged White guy about books, sci fi, fantasy and some of the classics I noticed, although fantasy is not usually my cup of tea when reading. The White dude even drove to his house, which wasn't far away to get a few books for me (political in nature) but still I said nothing to the old guy I wanted to get to know.
I mean, I knew him, not personally, but his story was most likely similar to many that I have grown to know. He was another Black man and that alone was a strong article of truth we mutually had. I wanted to introduce myself, ask his name and where he was from but nothing happened, nothing came. I remained silent. When the time came for him to get his food and use the carts available to wheel it to his vehicle, I opened the door for him and said “alright now,” but said nothing more. I told my father this and he told me of a time near Santa Cruz in an old restaurant with hicks, rednecks & other back-country folk when he noticed an older Black woman sitting by herself. My father explained that he wanted to say something to her, to sit with her because he knew she wasn’t used to this. He felt her, he knew her, not personally but in a racially charged society, ethnic ties in understanding are as strong as, if not stronger than any steel cable supporting the George Washington or Golden Gate Bridge.
So a question and commentary in poetic form that I leave us with has to do with “What do we do when our conscience calls?” I guess for myself, next time I’ll force myself to speak. By the way, I asked pops what he thought about the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and he tells me he doesn’t plan on ever eating it again.
Calling Conscience, Calling Conscience…
Is anyone there… is there…
Anything more to give than a hello, silence of a blank stare?
What do we do when our conscience calls?
What do we do when our conscience calls?
Fed to fulfillment we are like pigs in shady air conditioned slaughter houses
Awaiting the slaughter…hearing the squealing yet ignoring like it will never be us
Abandoned children misled to pimps & slave traders
Giving our very own souls
So that others may luxuriously live
Like some of my ancestors the Cherokee holding tight blankets with disease
Taught that grinding hard for the dollar is the American Way yet
Trying & fighting too hard for your beliefs might get you killed but see…
I wasn’t even a being into existence when puddles of the first blood spilled
Yet I see the madness, lack of unity & lack of interactions in the planned disaster
Of a very much-loved place, which we all call, home
Some chalk it up as the way of things the poor & rich but
From country to country coast-to-coast all we hear & see is the same sad song
The meek need power, the bible says in the end we will win
I believe the morally grounded as really being the strong… yet
The fortunate prey on others, our future at times seems dim
Don’t need to resurrect Marvin Gaye to see what’s goin on
I have heard the cries, stories, & seen the dead, poor and
Those that thought they were better off gone
Many crowded in houses sleeping on floors with nothing more than faith
When hustle was once their friend and success was a trusted neighbor
Who is to judge in sludge so thick that not even whales can swim?
Who can, who Dare laugh at the misfortunes of others?
When even lawyers, doctors, & Internet geniuses are caught surviving on whims
We can do like communities do & make due with what we have
Come together, share resources, hire friends, build businesses & create dividends
Cook together, grow our food, teach our own youth, and attend city meetings we can…
Stand together, talk, sing, cry, be a shoulder to cry on, pray together work…
On our differences yet praise our common struggles, interests & dreams we can…
Do anything…Alone we are a pillar
Together we can help build a foundation for growth, learning & Prosperity
When something is shared we usually either say “No thanks, I’m cool,” or
Are ever so open to receive
So thanks we give and some refuse to suffer
Having fear is not living
Surviving is fine but struggling is not living, just merely existing
Being confined in any way physically, emotionally, financially or spiritually blinds
I know many that lived their years just fine with little… but me
I want more for myself and all of my family & friends
I want to inspire Big Time, touching hearts & enlightening minds
Like diamonds that once poked everywhere out of African soils… rich
I hold dreams serious enough to pave the world over twice in gold so I must
Make it happen & Live, Focus Hustle & Give
I no longer can sit here… I have to Do Something!!! So…
I urge each & everyone to Do Something!!! Anything to persuade a smile to grow or
Say something, lend a hand in some way, shape, manner, form, or action
Do any small thing, which would encourage another to stand tall
I want to make a difference yet still I wanna ball
What will you do when your conscience calls?
You don’t have to be 100% sane, rich, or completely okay to bring a little light into someone else’s day.
