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“You can only become accomplished at something you love. Don’t make money your goal. Instead pursue the things you love doing and then do them so well that people can’t take their eyes off you.” Maya Angelou“
After realizing what Hills Like White Elephants (Ernest Hemingway) meant it left me feeling emotional. Being as though I'm a parent already, I totally understand the frustration when you are left to make a life changing decision and not know what the ending result will be.
It wasn’t until the night of April 6, 2014. I put my phone down and take my daughter Gabbi upstairs for bed. It was a little after 9pm. My phone rang as I’m walking up the steps. I can still see who it is while walking up the steps. I continue walking upstairs and say, “I’ll call her back.” My phone had to ring about four more times while I was upstairs. On my way back down the steps the phone is ringing again and it’s my cousin. I answer the phone and she said, (in a slow voice is what it seemed like at the time) “Block said, called Derrick he’s been shot!” I screamed, “IF HE WAS SHOT HE’S NOT GOING TO ANSWER! I JUST HUNG UP WITH HIM SIX MINUTES AGO!” I still called and he didn’t answer. I began to shake but I’m also pacing the floor back and forth not knowing what to do now so I just grab my keys and run out the door. As I drive pass my mom house who is at the top of my block and realize I left my babies in the house. I reverse a few houses back run to the door and yell through the screen, “MOM, GO TO MY HOUSE DERRICK WAS SHOT!” While, her and my grandma are sitting on the couch catching the spring night air. I get back in my car and my phone is ringing. I answer and I hear, “B where you at? We in the ER, my dad was shot!” in a helpless voice. As I walk in the emergency people walk over to me crying so I at that moment start crying and thinking the worse. A few hours had gone by and the hospital staff and security told us that only his children, parents and the person he lived with could go upstairs and wait for him to get out of surgery. After three hours which seemed like forever had pass and the doctors came out and said, “I’m sorry we did all we could do, and you and your family are welcome to come see him.” Walking in all we could see was his body covered by a white sheet and his head and arms were the only visible body parts for us to see. They put his arms over top of the sheet so that we could touch or hold his hands if we wanted to. I asked, “where was he shot?” While walking toward him. In the trunk someone replied. I began to cry and just stare at his lifeless body. How many times?” his daughter asks. “Once in the trunk.” His oldest son and daughter were being consoled by staff as well as his mother and I. As I get closer only thing I could say was, “Gabbi!” in a sobbing voice. The female that was there to console me said, “Who is Gabbi?” “She’s our 1yr old daughter. He hasn’t seen the kids in a few days. I began to cry harder and say, I should have just taken them to the shop to see him before going home.” Almost 5 years later I still feel guilty for being too exhausted to take them to go see daddy for the last time. This is still hard for me to share. 2014 was a hard year for me. Two months after my fiance passed so did my grandma.
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In the My Name is Margaret (Maya Angelou) reading it made me a little angry at the fact that Mrs. Cullinan decided that she wanted to come up with her own name to call Margaret. Out of respect for any human being you should call them by their name that’s given to them. If they allow you to call them an alternate/nickname then you should do so.
While reading the few pages of My Name is Margaret (Maya Angelou) I began to think about my grandma. Her name was Margaret as well. In her younger years she worked for a white woman and I'm not quite sure if she ever came across the experience of the family she worked for calling her MARY. Although, this was back in the 1950-1960s I’m almost certain that she was called names that white people called black people back then. Even now in 2019 people are still calling people out of their birth names. I don’t want to sound racist or bias but this brings back so many unwanted memories. To when I was in grade school and high school. There were kids who called black and white kids out their names. A few times I would fall victim to being one of the kids who would call other kids out of their names. I could never bring myself to call people racist slurs or words that would negatively describe them. If there was a name that I wasn’t familiar with or didn’t hear often I would give someone a nickname or something close to their name. In high school I would ask them if I could call them that or did they have a name other than their birth name that they went by. I began to do this because one I knew how it felt being in a predominantly white school and people not knowing how to pronounce your name and two I was once on both ends of this before. It’s sad because even now to this day we witness people doing the same exact thing to people and sometimes we don’t even realize it. I can only imagine what was going through Maya Angelou’s head at the time. I work in a nursing home where I get called all types of black “NIGGERS” by my residents. When I first started this field 10 years ago and I had my first encounter I was ready to SNAP and quit. I was young and didn’t care and in my head things should be a lot different now. One thing I learned is that we CANNOT change what a person was taught and seen all because it makes us feel a certain type of way. Now being called that I just laugh and come back to the person later. Now if it’s someone like myself who is alert and can fully understand what’s going on, I doubt that I’ll be nice about being called out my name drastically. I feel like people should be sympathetic to people’s feelings especially if they’ve experienced what Maya Angelou has. |
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March 2019
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