Be Uncomfortable.

We all have a story to tell.  This story started a year ago, but I only told a few people about my experience.  Why?  I needed to process it, and it was highly personal.  However, I feel the time has come to tell my story.  Stories are meant to be shared when the author is ready.  The author and the  story are ready.

It was Friday, November 20, 2015, and a colleague and I had just arrived in Minneapolis for the NCTE Conference.  (National Council of Teachers of English)  We drove in from the south, and had to drive through a potentially dangerous snowstorm on our journey.

We arrived safe and sound, although a bit relieved that the snow was not going to follow us to the Twin Cities. We settled into my son's apartment (which was luckily vacant for the weekend), and headed to the conference.

The NCTE conference is one of my favorite conferences because there is an abundance of authors, and since I love to read.... I get to "Meet and Greet" with so many authors, but I also bring back lots of goodies for the library.   It's a win-win!

I had made reservations to attend the Cultural Celebration that was to be held that evening at 7:00.  My colleague and I thought it sounded fun and interesting.  Little did I know that the events of that evening would change my thinking and change my life.

The event started as most events do - with hors d'oeuvres.  We ended up sitting with some friends that we had met in line or at lunch.  One new friend was a kindergarten teacher near Memphis, and the other was a lovely lady who immigrated from Jamaica and taught in the Fort Lauderdale area.

We sat and talked about our jobs and schools until the entertainment began.  The first group was called Ketzal/Coatlique or Precious Mother Earth.   This group is a learning community for those who want to study Mexican Aztec dance - and what a powerful dance it was.  With the beating of the drums, the costumes, and the power in the movements, I was swept with the beauty and history that surrounded the participants.

Danez Smith was the next one to perform.  He is the author of [insert] Boy.  Danez Smith wrote the poem to call for a world in which black boys are not feared.  Smith wants a world that is free from violence and where black boys and men can believe they are worthy of love. He read his poetry with all of the force from his heart.  His anger, his grief, his call for change was heard as he slammed his words into our hearts.

Ironically, and tragically, the week before the conference a young black man was shot by Minneapolis police.  There are inconsistent reports of what exactly happened, but the fact of the matter is the young man was unarmed when he was shot.

This isn't the first time something like this has happened.  The anger and tension in the room was palpable.  At a glance, I saw that my colleague and I were two of three white people in the room of over one hundred people.  Was I frightened?  No.  Was I uncomfortable?  Yes.  Did I believe that the anger would be directed at me?  I didn't know, but I felt I deserved some of that anger.

I have never been profiled, or followed by a police officer because I looked suspicious.  I have never been judged by the color of my skin.  I have never been denied a job because of my race or religion.  I do not understand, nor can I even begin to understand what it is like to experience these things on a daily basis for an entire lifetime.  For me to say that I can understand is a ludicrous statement.  I cannot even fathom what it would be like to experience this daily.

The final group to perform was Voice of Culture.  This group works to educate young Black children on the beauty of Black Arts and Culture.  The students involved in this set danced with their hearts.  They danced the theme that Black Lives Matter.

Then it was over.  I was numb.  My colleague was numb.  We Ubered back to the apartment without saying a lot.  We both understood that we had experienced something that changed us and molded us.

The next day we met up with the lady from Fort Lauderdale.  She pulled us aside and apologized if we were frightened or uncomfortable with the events of the previous evening.  I looked into her eyes and said, You have been made to feel uncomfortable many, many times.  We NEED to be made uncomfortable.  We need to try to understand what you live with on a daily basis."

The events of that evening have never left me.  When I see or hear people saying that we are "too sensitive" or that we need to "quit being scared" or "to stop crying around," I think of that night in Minneapolis when I stepped in someone else's shoes and walked around for a little bit.  We can never, ever judge what another race or culture is dealing with unless we live it.  Most of us do not want to become uncomfortable.  To step outside of our comfortable, safe boxes is scary.  But if we truly, TRULY want to try to understand someone not in the majority, we need to open our eyes a little wider and try to be an advocate.

It is so easy to fall into the blame game.  It's easier to do that than work for understanding.  My plea is that you live this with an open mind, and try to empathize and have compassion for those whose lives are so much different from your own.  We are journeying together, and together we are stronger.