Funny Papers

Less than twelve hours after a first draft and I'm in the paper!

http://www.courant.com/opinion/op-ed/hc-op-brathwaite-police-stop-african-american-0201-20150130-story.html

My nephew Tyre (pronounced "tie-REE") is a bright, skinny, bespectacled youth who loves comics and zombies and video games. And girls. Mostly video games and comics, though. When he isn't playing video games or reading comics, he can usually be found somewhere alone, scribbling out short fiction.

Thursday, just like millions of other teenagers, my nephew got up, dressed for school, ate breakfast and walked out the door toward his bus stop in Hartford. Unlike the other millions, however, my nephew was stopped by the police.

Three police officers accosted him while he walked down the sidewalk, demanding he put his hands up. That skinny, African-American kid in glasses with a book bag full of comics and homework posed absolutely no threat to the three adult, armed and well-trained police officers. What's more, he had violated no law. Still, they came at him shouting, "Put your hands up!"

They shined a flashlight directly into his eyes and stared him down for a while. Then, with no explanation, they moved on. "All right," they said, and walked away.

But it wasn't all right. It isn't all right.

I started talking with my nephew about the police a few years ago. I made it clear that it's very rarely ever a good idea to disobey an officer. But, more important, I let him know that, given where he lived and what he looked like, it was likely that they would start "noticing him" soon. He asked me what that meant and I said, "Just do exactly what they say. Usually nothing happens and they just let you go. It's when you give them a reason to hang around that you can get into trouble."

The events in Ferguson and New York over the past few months made our conversations about police more frequent. I try to remain neutral on the subject, eager to protect him but equally intent on not scaring him.

The first time I spoke about the police, he didn't believe me. "That can't happen!" he said. "I thought racism was pretty much over!"

And he meant it. He truly believed that there were no such thing and, for a minute, I believed with him. I imagined how pristine and inviting the world must feel, or, at least, how fair it all seemed. In his world, race was a feature, not a factor.

Coincidentally, the same day I first spoke to him, my nephews and I were pulled over. I did what I always do; pulled over immediately, cut the engine, rolled down the window, quickly removed my wallet from my front pocket and placed it on my right leg, rested both hands on the steering wheel and relaxed. The kids, excited, began asking questions. "This is serious," I said. "Do not joke, do not talk, stay seated. If he asks you anything, tell him the truth. We haven't done anything wrong, we should be fine."

When the officer came to the window and asked for my license and registration, I told him what I was going to do before I did it. Then I did it, with careful, deliberate motion, hands always in sight. He returned to his cruiser. The officer came back and handed me my things. "You can go," he said. No explanation.

"Why'd he pull us over if he was just going to let us go?" my nephew chimed in loudly. The officer turned again and looked at us. I shot my nephew a look of death and he looked at his shoes, silent.

"Have a nice day," the officer said as he turned again to leave. I waited a few seconds before starting the car and pulling off.

This would not be the last time we were pulled over together. The world seemed determined to teach my nephews early just how things might be, how they could be, that things could certainly be fair but that they sometimes weren't, and that, sometimes, unfairness looked like this when you look like we do.

Last night, my nephew insisted that he had been walking to school and nothing more. I knew it was true but pressed him anyway, my anger getting the better of me. And then I apologized. For losing my temper. For the officers. For the world and the people in it who hadn't quite gotten their act together in time for him to miss all of this.

"Remember when I told you that they'd start noticing you?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Well they've noticed you now."

Drew Brathwaite lives in Manchester.

‪#‎newsworthy‬
‪#‎stayoutofthecomments‬

Recall Notice

When the officers approached my nephew from behind that morning, they shouted, "HANDS UP!" with no introduction or explanation whatsoever. And he was walking down the street with a book bag.

I've been puzzling over that all day and a few questions occurred to me, but primarily this:

Where they trying to get him to run? Or fight?

Did they suspect that he might be up to know good of some kind and, instead on engaging him and questioning him, they decided to spook him and get him to A) Take off running or B) Fight them out of surprise/self defense?

Why else would three adult come up on a child in the early morning and shout HANDS UP out of nowhere? What other reaction would you expect but for him to freak out? There's nothing constructive at all about that approach.

He had no indication that they were police officers at all because they gave him none. Just "HANDS UP" from behind. If someone came up behind me and shouted HANDS UP, my first thought would be that I was being robbed. And I'd either turn to face my attacker, prepared to fight, or I'd take off running.

Both reactions would get me into series trouble if the person shouting "HANDS UP" was a police officer.

It kind of a miracle that my nephew didn't take off running. Still, I can't help but wonder what might have happened if he had reacted in the most natural and reasonable way and took off running?

I don't know. And won't say.

But I can't help but think... *shudder*

Proper Notice

Good News, Everyone!

Thanks to my wonderful friend, Doug, the piece about my nephew has gotten the attention of The Hartford Courant and they've decided to run it.

I promised my nephew that I'd make sure that this "made the news", and it has.

Hooray!

‪#‎achievementunlocked‬

Notice

My nephew Tyre (pronounced "tie-REE") is a bright, skinny, bespectacled youth who loves comics and zombies and video games. And girls. Mostly video games and comics, though. When he isn't playing video games or reading comics, he can usually be found somewhere alone, scribbling out short fiction.

Yesterday, just like millions of other teenagers, my nephew got up, got dressed for school, ate breakfast, and walked out the door toward the bus stop. Unlike the other millions, however, my teenage nephew was stopped by police on the way to school.

Three police officers accosted him while he walked down the sidewalk, demanding he put his hands up. That skinny kid in glasses with a book bag full of comics and homework posed absolutely no threat to the three adult armed and well trained police officers. What's more, he had violated no law. Still, they came at him shouting "PUT YOUR HANDS UP!"

They shined a flashlight directly into his eyes and stared him down for a while. Then, with no explanation, they moved on. "Alright," they said, and walked away.

But it wasn't alright. It ISN'T alright.

I started talking with my nephew about the police a few years ago. Mostly, I made it very clear that it's very rarely ever a good idea to disobey an officer. But, more importantly, I let him know that, given where he lived and what he looked like, it was likely that they would start "noticing him" soon. He asked me what that meant and I said, "It's always a good idea to obey the police. Just do exactly what they say. Usually nothing happens and they just let you go. It's when you give them a reason to hang around that you can get into trouble."

The dramatic unfolding of events in Ferguson and NYC over the past few months have made our conversations about police more frequent. I always try and remain neutral on the subject, eager to protect him but equally as intent on not scaring him.

The first time I spoke about the police, he didn't believe me. "That can't happen!" he said. I thought racism was pretty much over!"

And he meant it. He truly believed that there were no such thing and, for a minute, I believed with him. I imagined how pristine and inviting the world must feel, or, at least, how FAIR it all seemed. In his world, race was a feature, not a factor. And, looking into his eyes that afternoon, it was hard not to want that to be true so badly that I ended up embracing it as true, if only for a moment.

Coming home from the bookstore that afternoon, my nephews and I were pulled over. I did what I always do; pulled over immediately, cut the engine, rolled down the window, quickly removed my wallet from my front pocket and placed it on my right leg, rested both hands on the steering wheel, and relaxed. The kids, excited, began asking questions. "This is serious," I said. Do not joke, do not talk, stay seated. If he asks you anything, tell him the truth. We haven't done anything wrong, we should be fine."

When the officer came to the window and asked for my license and registration, I verbally informed him of what I was going to do before I did it, then did so with careful, deliberate motion, hands always in sight. He returned to his cruiser and we waited. The officer returned shortly and handed me my things. "You can go," he said. No explanation.

"Why'd he pull us over if he was just going to let us go?" my nephew chimed in loudly. The officer turned again and looked at us. I shot my nephew a look of death and he turned his gaze toward his shoes, silent.

"Have a nice day," the officer said as he turned again to leave. I waited a few seconds before starting the car and pulling off.

This would not be the last time we were pulled over together. The world, it seemed, was determined to teach my nephews early just how things might be, how they could be, that things could be certainly be fair but that they sometimes weren't, and that, sometimes, unfairness looked like this when one looks like we do.

Last night, my nephew insisted that he had only been walking to school and nothing more. I knew it was true but pressed him anyway, my anger getting the better of me. And then I apologized. For losing my temper. For the officers. For the world and the people in it who hadn't quite gotten their act together in time for him to miss all of this.

"Remember when I told you that they'd start noticing you?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Well they've noticed you now."

The Hush

This is the third day I've hung out in the Rainbow Center between classes to get homework done and I'm not entirely sure I'll be coming back. It's a safe space, sure, so long as you aren't a straight cisgendered person (ESPECIALLY not a male one). Man alive some of the things these kids say; nasty generalizations and awful giggling vitriol aimed at entire groups of people that aren't "family". Everyone that isn't them is ignorant and awful. No one understands them and they wouldn't dare let them understand them. They're too special. Sit down and they'll educate you. Maybe. If they're not too "tired" or "annoyed" or "sick of you and what you represent".

Maybe the self-aggrandizing is a function of their being young and often on the receiving end of hate and discrimination. Still, I would have hoped that such things would have had an opposite effect, engendering openness and kindness to ALL people. I would have hoped that this was the sort of place where everyone was welcome, and where honest conversations take place without name-calling nor condescension.

I've heard this sort of talk each time I've spent time here, and, frankly, I no longer feel welcome. What if I'm more "them" than "us"? What if I've crossed some invisible line and they've decided I'm not "worth talking to".

Maybe that's why not a single person has bothered to speak to me. Not even "hello". Not even after I've said hello first.

Strange to be in a place with "my people" and feel like I don't belong. I'm shocked and disappointed but maybe I set the bar too high. Maybe this is the norm.

Sure seems like it.

From now on, I think I'll do my homework in the library. At least there, the judgments are minimal. And, best of all, silence is required.

Closure

All UConn classes on Monday, Jan. 26 starting at 3:30 p.m. or later are canceled. All campuses are closed on Tuesday, Jan. 27. Visithttp://alert.uconn.edu

Never Mind

Drew: *opens bottle of water* 
Bottle: *hss!*
Student: You're drinking sparkling water?
Drew: Nope. Just regular water. 
Student: Regular water shouldn't hiss like that when you open it. 
Drew: *shrug* that was just a release of pressure.
Student: Or like... chemicals or something. Why would they have to pressurize water?
Drew: Well the bottle was pressurized to make sure it wasn't crushed during transport. You wouldn't want a crushed water bottle, would you?
Student: *blank stare*
Drew: That was a rhetorical question.
Student: A what?
Drew: Never mind. *sips water*

Welcome Relief

You'll all be glad to know that the bookstore restroom smells exactly like a horse barn. I don't know why you should be glad to know it, nor why it should smell this way. You'll also be glad to know that I turned around straight away and headed for another restroom. Because I am not a horse.

That last bit is obvious but, nonetheless, a relief.

You're welcome.

Short

This morning in my first class, an entire classroom of students failed to recognize Richard Nixon in a photograph. One brave student guessed, "Ronald Reagan?"

It was a sincere guess.

Static Turn Off Effect

I successfully resisted chiming in on a conversation about race, despite a young woman's claims that race wasn't "real" and it is "just a construct" I did not tell her that it is both real and a construct, that the two are not mutually exclusive. I didn't tell her that what she probably meant was that race is sociopolitical, not biological. I did not remind her that, of course, there IS a biological basis for skin color but that race and skin color were different things.

I was proud of myself for not chiming in and was saved the burden of restraining myself by way of a conversational segue. To evolution and human origin.

She expressed that she straight up disbelieved that sub-Saharan Africa was humanity's most likely point of origin. She said that her disbelief is not for want of evidence (in fact, she conceded several times that there was an abundance of credible evidence), but because she just doesn't want to believe it. She doesn't like the fact because "people travel and they go to Africa and bring back stuff and are like 'Ooo I got this from Africa!'".

That's it. That was her argument.

There was more but, from that point on, all I heard from her was static.

Weird, no?

The Switch

Switched On - 1/13/2015

12:05 - About 15 minutes ago, I took my first dose of Adderall. Now we wait.

12:30: It's kicked in. I'm sure of it now. I took it an hour ago.

12:53: I'm feeling perfectly and completely clear headed. And sleepy. Very sleepy. It's a strange sensation. I think the dose may be too low?

1:39 - There's a substantial positive buzz that comes along with this. I'm feeling very affectionate. I want to hug and cuddle and nuzzle and tell people I love them. I am still sleepy but now I am holding my pillow. Hugging my pillow. My pillow and I are cuddling.

3:15 - After a pretty intense period of sleepiness and positive love-buzz, I'm coming down. I was much more clear headed than usual but already feel like this dose isn't quite enough. I've been told to experiment with the dosage on my own to see how I respond/feel.

3:26 - I've taken another dose. It occurs to me after taking it that I was only supposed to take half. I am ok with this. Now that I know what to expect, I'm kinda looking forward to it. Tomorrow, I'll try a pill and a half to start instead of just the one.

4:30 - Another HUGE rush of positive feels, this time minus the sleepiness. I'm more focused (?) but the positive buzz is certainly MOST of what I'm feeling. I'm not feeling the profound sense of focus that I was lead to believe I would. I'm certainly MUCH more focused than I normally am, but it's still not quite where I'd need it to be and the effect certainly doesn't last nearly long enough.

5:07 - Repeated bursts of positive feels. Attractive people are MUCH more attractive. Positive feels are intensified. What I thought was focus was maybe more relaxation and happiness.

9:44 - The drugs have worn off but there is still an air of positive glowiness and relaxation. I'm not getting exactly what I want out of these pills but the happiness is not unwelcome in the least.

Left Over

According to the step counter on my phone, I average over 10,000 steps a day on campus. That's about 5 miles (give or take). 5 miles of up and down stairs, elevator pacing, "Excuse me" and "thank you!". 5 miles of book purchasing, tea sipping, book bag hauling. 5 miles of outlines and paper editing. 5 miles of exams and runny noses, broken pens and back pain. 5 miles of reduced calorie blueberry muffins, cheap unreliable umbrellas. 5 miles of worrying and striving and doing better than I ever thought I could.

Getting lost feels easier now, familiar, normal. I'm in a sea of lost people, an ocean of searchers. The campus plays out at once foreign and familiar, but I've gotten used to it, comfortable being adrift and disoriented. I've stopped trying to put down roots and stake a claim here - this is only temporary. This is not my home.

I've got 40 more days of classes before it's all said and done, before I finally finish what I started, before I bury my excuses once and for all and forever, no headstone, no marker, no mourners. And it feels surreal. It feels like maybe I've never tried this hard at anything in my life. It feels like maybe I'm capable of so much more than I thought I was. It feels scary and exciting in all the best ways.

And it makes me feel foolish, remembering, looking back at all the time I spent not trying, comfortable and complacent with "just enough", "not now", "next year", "we'll see", "one day", "wait until". Its embarrassing looking back at yester-me lounging, skinny legs extended, toes outstretched, basking in imaginary tomorrows, as if I had a guarantee, as if I had all the time in the world.

I don't pity that guy. I loathe him. Because he knows better and chooses not to know better, choose not to DO better. Because reasons. So many reasons. All of the reasons. All of the best and good and perfectly reasonable reasons like so many voluntary chains. Like future-fasting. Like a spoiled brat who didn't want to know the difference between opportunity and effort.

But he is me. And I'm here. And I like where I am and where I'm going. And he's pushed me here, in spite of his laziness, his silly expectations, his perfectly reasonable reasons. And maybe I have something to learn from that. Maybe I shouldn't make an enemy of him just yet. Maybe he's the only way I could have gotten here at all.

According to the step counter, I've walked over 1000 miles between today and the day I started. And, if my step average holds, I've got about 200 more miles to go before I finish this final leg of the journey. And I'm going to take my time counting, smelling the wind like strange country, eyeing the bricks and the skirts and the goofy hats in rapturous wonder. Because this is my last go around and I don't want to miss a trick.

I won't ever be back this way again.