Keep Fighting, Young Man

A shocking moment I witnessed yesterday...

I went for a walk around my neighborhood yesterday. I strolled into the park and rounded a corner on the trail near some basketball courts. A group of young teenage girls sat on a bench whispering, looking at their phones, and goofing around. Suddenly, they erupted into laughter, so I assumed they were having a good time.

Just then, a vehicle stopped in a nearby parking lot. The doors flew open. Out jumped a young man and a young woman, presumably in their late teens or early twenties. They began shouting at the group of girls. For a brief moment, I assumed they knew each other and were joking around. I quickly realized this was no joking matter.

The young man was angry in a way that’s hard to describe. I saw rage in his eyes as he struggled to contain his actions and words. He approached the group of girls while holding his phone up and recording whatever was going to unfold.

“I’m f*ucking sick of this sh*t,” he screamed at the girls. “I’m f*cking sick and tired of the way you treat her! Do you have any idea how hard it is for us? We deal with this sh*t all the time and we’re not taking it anymore.”

I stopped walking and froze in place. My heart raced when I heard his words. I took a closer look at him. He was extremely tall and thin with dark black skin. So was the girl he was with, and I presumed she was a sibling, although it’s possible she could have been his friend. Based on their appearance, I assumed they were of Sudanese descent, but I quickly reminded myself that it’s unwise to make assumptions. Nevertheless, it was apparent what was happening.

“You’re f*cking racists,” he screamed at them. “Every one of you. And I want names! I want to follow you home and talk to your parents. Do they know what you did?!”

As an empath, my stomach turned like a cement mixer. I could literally feel his pain, his anguish, the irate mentality of a man who’d been pushed too far. I studied his every movement, prepared to intervene if necessary. I quickly deduced he had no plans on getting physical with them.

By this time, the half dozen girls were on their feet. Some of them held up their hands and claimed innocence. Some of them pointed fingers at their peers and deflected blame. One stared at the ground, and another turned her back altogether.

99 times out of 100, I would defend a group of young girls who were being confronted with such aggression. But in this case, I simply pulled the young man aside and asked if he was okay.

He huffed and threw his hands up in frustration. Tears filled his eyes, and his chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. These freaking girls, man…. I just can’t take it anymore.”

I assured him that he didn’t need to apologize, let alone to me. I suddenly felt uncomfortable in my own pale skin, and I wondered if he might view me as part of the problem rather than the solution.

I said, “Is there anything you need? Can I do anything for you?”

“Nah,” he said. “They just keep tormenting my niece, and she’s had enough. They’re racists! All of them. I’m type one diabetic and this sh*t’s got me all worked up and my blood sugar is out of whack…”

I looked a few houses up the street. I know the family who lives there and briefly considered asking them for some juice or something to help this young man’s blood sugar. But my train of thought was quickly interrupted by more shouting.

“I want names! I’ve got you on camera and this sh*t ends now, you hear me?”

By this time, the group of girls had begun dispersing in multiple directions. Local residents and park visitors had started walking over, wondering what all the commotion was about. I followed the young man and his ally back to their vehicle. She climbed into the back seat with a young girl who was maybe ten years old. The little girl looked very upset and had been crying. The young man got back into the driver’s seat.

I struggled to find my words as I said, “They don’t speak for us all, you know.” There was a moment of silence before I continued, “I just want you to know that.”

The young man looked me in the eye and said, “Thank you.” He knew what I was trying to say, even though I couldn’t quite articulate myself. And for a brief second, the fire in his eyes faded just long enough for me to see the real him… a guy who is typically gentle, respectful, and well-spoken. A young man who doesn’t like conflict and would give the shirt off his back to someone in need. This mental download happened quickly, as the raw emotions had unlocked my psychic senses, which are usually kept under lock and key.

As quickly as it started, the situation was over. They drove out of the parking lot. I’m not sure where they went. I don’t know if he actually followed the girls home. I have no idea what they did to his young niece, or how many girls in the group were guilty. Was it an act of discrimination? A prank gone too far? A full-blown hate crime? There is no sense of closure. No sense of justice. And it won’t be covered on the evening news. But for the youth who were at the park yesterday, it’s a moment they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.

Systemic racism is a multigenerational plague that’s yet to be eradicated. The reason is that discrimination, much like bullying, is a learned behavior. We are not born fearing or disliking anyone else based on the color of their skin. Until a certain age, children are the most trusting, inclusive, and kind-hearted beings on the planet. They have no preconceived notions of others and will generally befriend a person regardless of physical differences.

Somewhere along the way, children begin to emulate their parents. They hear and see far more than we realize. They don’t miss much. Side comments are observed and taken to heart. The parents’ worldviews are absorbed and mimicked. And all of this subconsciously influences a young person’s perception of others… for better or worse.

I recall being twelve years old and playing at a park. A couple of boys passed by and began harassing us. We stood our ground and tried to continue with our makeshift football game, but tempers soon boiled over. Things never got physical. But I was perplexed how it had escalated so quickly. I said to the other boys, “We didn’t do anything to you. Why do you have a problem with us anyway?”

He bluntly said to me, “Because you’re white.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Neither were my friends. Even the boy himself appeared stunned by his own words… as if he didn’t know the truth would slip out until it was too late.

Because we were white.

I wasn’t sure how to feel. Offended? Shocked? Ultimately, I was left feeling sad. Not for myself. And not for my friends. But for the two boys who’d instigated the conflict. Even at such a young age, it occurred to me they must be fighting battles I couldn’t begin to imagine. Maybe his dad had been experiencing racism from neighbors. Maybe his mom experienced constant discrimination from coworkers. Perhaps the whole family had reached a point when they couldn’t take any more, and the narrative suddenly changed. Tolerance was replaced with aggression… an outward sign that a person is hurting internally.

That was thirty-two years ago, and I’ve never forgotten it. But that only happened to me once. Ever. I bet the young man from the park yesterday (and his niece) experience racism each week. And whether it’s subtle or overt, I’m sure it hurts just the same.

There is hope, though. There is always hope. The youth of today are living in a world much different than the one I grew up in. They have the internet. They have social media. They have access to an infinite amount of knowledge from all around the world. On one hand, this potentially exposes them to things they shouldn’t see, and perhaps even online bullying. But on the other hand, having the whole world at their fingertips means today’s youth are also exposed to more cultures, customs, worldly events, and ultimately more diversity than I ever was growing up.

They can interact with others from different parts of the world. They can follow trends happening in Asia, Africa, Europe, and South America. They attend classes with immigrants and the descendants of immigrants. The whole world is in their pocket, meaning that cultures and customs that were once foreign are now considered mainstream. Our ethnic melting pot is a little more mixed. And it’s a beautiful thing.

Yet, there are always outliers. Children whose parents failed to teach them inclusion and empathy. Unfortunately, they’re the torch-bearers who may continue the disgusting cycle that so desperately needs to be broken. I want to think that children like this are the exception rather than the norm. I want to believe that most people are honest, decent, and good. Maybe that makes me naive. Or perhaps it makes me a delusional optimist. But I refuse to believe anything else. Because losing hope is a dangerous thing. The world is good because it’s comprised of good people.

Some things need to change, though. Instead of coexisting in silence with people of different backgrounds, we must strive to live in harmony as active participants in each other’s lives. It’s one thing to acknowledge a person with a different skin tone (or religion, or sexual preference, or gender identity), but making them feel HEARD and SEEN is something else entirely.

We must engage with them. Speak with them. Learn and laugh and grow with them. For too many decades now, a true sense of community has been lost in this country. Neighbors hardly speak to each other. Strangers are looked at with suspicion and presumed guilty until proven otherwise. If we’re ever going to progress and evolve as a species, we must overcome petty and preconceived ideas about those who are different from us. We must begin celebrating our differences and appreciating our similarities. Then, and only then, will we live in harmony.

The incident at the park yesterday had a profound impact on me. I continued walking after the altercation, but shed a tear of frustration along the way. I spoke with my spirit guide, Freddie. He was my best friend in our past life in the early 1900s when we lived in New York City. Freddie was Black. He endured unspeakable racism in the workforce, which prompted us to start our own handyman company together all those years ago. Freddie’s message yesterday was simple. He told me to focus on the good. He said the world is changing, and kids like my daughter, Sky, are setting a good example.

He’s not wrong. When I take Sky to play at that very same park, she often goes out of her way to befriend anyone who needs a buddy. One time, a severely autistic girl was playing by herself, and nobody bothered engaging with her. Sky asked her to swing. It not only made the girl’s day, but it meant a lot to her mom, who came over and introduced herself. Sky goes out of her way to play with anyone, regardless of whether they are different from her. * Correction, especially if they are different.

I’ve seen her befriend a kid at the playground who only spoke sign language and other kids who only spoke Spanish. She took a classmate under her wing last year, a young girl who had recently come to the United States from Iraq. The two were inseparable when they happened to be at the park together. It was a heartwarming sight. And deep down, I hope this is not the case for future generations. Seeing kids of different skin tones and backgrounds playing together should not be something that stands out. It should be something we consider normal and commonplace.

I know this article (and my last blog post) have more to do with societal matters than my typical, lighthearted articles. Rest assured, I’ll continue to write about angels, psychic phenomena, signs from Heaven, and so on. But I’ve rebranded my business Soul Studios with Andy Myers for a reason. I write about matters of the SOUL. And sometimes that includes content that overlaps with current events, societal trends, or cultural undertones that I observe daily. Thanks for supporting the varied tone of my writing. I appreciate you all very much.

I doubt the young man from the park yesterday will ever read this. However, if this somehow reaches him, I want to convey a simple message…

Keep fighting, young man. Don’t you dare give up hope that tomorrow might be better. Please don’t allow yourself to be jaded by the few who have lost their way. Those girls don’t speak for me. They don’t speak for the majority. You are welcome here. You are heard. You are seen. Your feelings and your anger are justified. However, please remember that this is not a fight you can win with your fists or through acts of vengeance. It’s a battle requiring education, information, tact, and courage. Fight with your mind and the strength found within your soul. My skin may be white and your skin may be Black, but we both bleed red, which makes us brothers of humanity. Plain and simple.

Thanks for reading,

Andy Myers

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