Black & Working Retail

I’ve worked retail for the past three years of my life to supplement income and I enjoy it. If I had to think about why I like it so much it’s because working in retail has allowed me to get involved in my community, meet “townies,” and make a little extra money as I do. 

There have been several instances where these companies I’ve worked for have made me think. For example, at one location the non-Black people confused me and the one other Black man; we would often be called each other’s names. We look different, we sound different, we move differently yet so many folks called us each other’s names. I asked him how he felt about that one day and we talked about it. This was yet another instance in which the company promoted support for Black on a “global” scale yet the staff “locally” had no idea how to support Black staff.

As I processed  more and more I thought. There are things I wished I could say to my peers and supervisors about being Black in retail and yet I often don’t always have the energy to do so. I found the energy today and here’s what I think: 

1. Do you think about Black folks and how? I can think of the days I worked in San Francisco, in SOMA, and the challenging times I had like when customers would turn around when they saw me approaching. It wasn’t because of me being an annoying retail employee. It was because I was Black. It’s hard to explain but sometimes you can see the racism in the air, you can see it in a person’s mannerisms. Do managers and my peers think about that? If not, maybe it’s time. 

   • It’s important to note here that it was both white folks and non-Black people of color who this happened with. Google covert and overt racism as well as anti-Blackness.

2. It’s cute when there are company goals, standards, and expectations set by corporate yet the average employee doesn’t even know what words corporate, managers, or the group affected use. I don’t need folks to be all knowing beings when thinking about others but I do hope folks have a sense of awareness. You can make a few mistakes, you can be confused about what to learn sometimes but there is Google, hell even Yahoo. Use it, learn, and do what you can while you can. 

   • Also know that if you don’t care then don’t; we don’t need the fake shit. 

3. Do you care or do you care because it’s “popular” to do so? Don’t pander to us because it is what is seen as popular now because I will question where were you before all of 2020 happened? These issues are not new to Black folks and you just happened to show up now? If you cared and showed it, you may have helped us from getting to this point. Be proactive, not reactive. 

4. We bring the world with us into work. We can’t separate being Black anymore than you could from being who you are. Don’t ask us to. Instead create space to help us and to bring us together with other Black folks and other supportive folks. 

5. Though I [sometimes] appreciate when leadership creates resource groups and committees, I also know those are often ways to co-opt the work and make plans that often are never actualized. Do the work and do it intentionally. Stop playing. 

6. Do you think about the music and the other “environment setters.” It’s an integral part of shopping. You can set the tone, change how folks feel about the environment, influence emotion based on things like music choice. Yes, I do love a good Beatles song yet I also love a good bit of Marvin Gaye, Beyonce, etc. Think about who you are choosing to center when your music all sounds like something out of a random music festival in Alabama full of white folks dressed in plaid. And don’t say you can’t change the music because it’s controlled by “corporate.” That’s untrue and it’s tacky. 

7. I like to be represented or feel like an attempt was made. If all of your marketing is a blue eyed, blonde haired young Caucasian or if all of your clothing is made for a stick with no ass, let’s process. Use Black folks in marketing and not just light skinned Black folks or skinny Black folk. There is diversity in Blackness and we come in all shades, all sizes, all hair textures (shoutout to all my 4c folks), all sexual orientations, a variety of genders and we need to see that in your company or we ain’t coming. Also, we have ass and thighs. Even I, as similar in stature to these little white gays y’all market towards, have a little bit of an ass and thighs. My waist may be 30 inches and I can wear a 30” x 34” like the WeHo and Castro gays but I need some extra fabric around the ass and crotch.

8. Don’t put “ethnic” on a product or POC. Just don’t. One, what does that mean? People of color are not the same. I am a whole negro and again, anti-Blackness is not the same as racism. 

9. My interpretation of what “leadership” is may vary from yours. I come from a culture that values community, respect, love, and resilience. As a person raised by strong Black, Southern folks who believed in this whole-heartedly, I am not trying to get ahead at the expense of my peers or my people. I am trying to survive, attempting to “thrive,” and I won’t do that at the cost of others. Will you or are you so stuck on gains you’ll do whatever it takes to meet quarterly goals? 

10. Where are you investing, volunteering, donating? It matters and we are watching. Also know that though you may have a partnership with a credit card company and ask us to ask customers to sign up, I am not about to pressure a 19 year old person of color to sign up for a credit card which may very well destroy their credibility for years after if they are not fiscally responsible and aware. 

I say all of this to say a few lasting things:

• I don’t need you to save Black folks.“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house,” Audre Lorde. Yet, I do hope you become more aware of things from yesterday, today, and in the future. If you care, care actively. 

• I’m trying to collect a check. I’ll work hard for you if you treat folks like me well; will you do the same? If you playing games know that I will come in, do my little work, and leave or I may just quit.

• Search engines are your friend; Ecosia is your friend.  

• Stop playing. Keep it cute or put it on mute. 

• Celebrate Black folks; we’re dope and often contribute more than you know. I was just talking to folks about the influence of Black, queer folks and Black women.

Grits

Sometimes when I miss home I get high and cook grits. I mean, this is California, so yolo? It happened a bit ago. 

I was always the kid that left to explore when I was younger, and now as an adult, so it’s not too often I really miss home. Yet, there are times I miss family, home, the smell of a Sunday morning before church. If you’re not familiar with that smell it’s usually bacon grease, grits, biscuits in the oven, lemon starch spray to crease your pants before church, and some cocoa butter.  

I sat there one day recently and was like, “I miss my people.” So I had an edible or two. I sat there and cooked grits [add cheese], vegan sausage, and hash browns. I tossed it in a bowl and added more cheese. 

The whole process reminded me of being home; more specifically Sunday mornings at home in south Georgia. My grandmother would wake us up at the crack of dawn with a “Get up!” She’d already have breakfast going and you’d smell it in the air. You’d wake up, shower, and think about something to wear.

Once you had your outfit you would have to make sure it was ironed and ready to go. You’d grab your breakfast on a paper plate, eat, dress, and then head to her Ford Explorer to get the front seat. It was always a fight with you and your siblings and cousins about who would get the front seat. If you were lucky you got that seat and lived the life of luxury for the few moments between home and the church.

You would get to your church a few minutes later and greet all the folks around. Your uncles and aunts would smile at you, some would slide a dollar or two in your hand, and then you would sit down. You had to get the right seat that faced your cousins in the choir because they would entertain you during all of this. 

You sit, you try to relax, and then you try to stay awake for the 4 hours of Sunday school, church service, and the meal after.

Flashback to the present. I’m on the couch, chilling, relaxing, and remembering the family I have. 

COVID-19 has changed a lot and has forced me to rethink how I connect with family. I’m sure they’re tired of me calling at 10 PM or at 12 PM during a workday because I miss them.

Life has been wild lately. My version of care is an edible and some grits. What’s yours?

Best Dude Friends

I met Joel and Spencer in the fall of 2011, surprisingly, because they were living in the same apartment their first year of college and I was their Resident Assistant. Since then they have become two of the people I lean on to get through the days. Look at us or listen to our lives before we met and you may ask yourself what these two—straight Southern, and white—have in common with me of all people. We’re so different yet somehow my relationships with them have evolved into these amazing bromances full of love and healthy masculinity. 

I was able to visit Joel in Madison towards the beginning of March and come back to Spencer visiting me in San Francisco a week later. Through both visits I thought of how our friendships began and continue to develop. The conversations I had with them, and the thoughts I had later,  prompted this.

 I sat down with a bottle of wine, told them to do the same or grab some beer, and started conversations with them via video chat. 

Both conversations started off with how we met. As an RA, I used to look through Facebook when I got my residents names to find them. Joel stood out because he was my type and a 21 year-old Rashad was easily infatuated with a hipster man with a cute smile and, to be honest, that hasn’t changed; Spencer was quiet, intelligent, and the kind of person who you could spend hours talking to about life. 

The next year, Joel moved off campus and into an apartment within walking distance of me while Spencer became a RA and the coworker who lived a few apartments down from me. We continued to develop our friendships. I can think of the drunken college nights, the late night diner trips, me going to someone’s apartment to say hello and then falling asleep their couch/bed. 

Ten years have passed since I met these two. During my most recent trip to see Joel in Madison and Spencer’s trip to San Francisco to see me, I thought about two things, “What keeps them in my life and how have our friendships changed over the years?” We aren’t the same people we were ten years ago because life has changed us. Again, I texted them both one day to tell them to grab some kind of drink and to just talk to me. I’m thankful that they were open enough to go along with this.

Let’s start with Joel, who I called one Friday night. When I started our conversation I may have already had a beer, or two, and mentioned “Hey, if I get weird, go with it.” I said that knowing that I have always been “weird” and it was affirmed when he replied that he couldn’t imagine anything more weird than our previous conversations.

My thoughts led me to the first few months that I got to know Joel. I hated him because he was too cocky yet he was kind. Joel was one the first students to come to me to get to know me. 

I asked Joel what he thinks about our friendship, specifically a “bromance” with a gay man, to begin our conversation. He mentioned all good things yet one thing stood out. Women sometimes assume he’s gay because of our relationship. “If a woman immediately judges my sexuality based off hanging with a gay guy, it’s a turn off,” he said. I smirked because I remembered a time when he visited me and his then girlfriend told him to not share a bed with me; I laughed when he told me this because at that point we had been friends for years and I wouldn’t have crossed any boundaries with him; and I felt love when remembering the depth of Joel and I’s friendship now. 

Joel and I spent the next few hours jumping into the depths of our friendship. At this point the glasses of Barefoot started to hit while I started to ask Joel the questions that were “weird.” I asked if he treated me differently because of my sexuality; he looked at me in the camera and said yes. As we processed that more he said it was mostly because of who I am, inclusive of my sexuality. Joel also added that he doesn’t always have conversations like ours with others and not being able to have those conversations would make him feel differently, almost upset. I sat there. What? That was something that I didn’t think about. He mentioned that having conversations about my sexuality and other identities of mine have made him more open.

When I met Joel he was a bro yet over the years I think being around me changed him and he changed me. I asked him what he tells others about me as a friend. “Confident, understanding, empathetic.” Joel went on to say that when he came to college he said he didn’t always think about others, their identities, or being sensitive to others’ needs as much yet I helped him to understand how to treat others better. 

As Joel finished talking I thought of my own feelings. Over the years, he’s become one of the people I lean on the most. I think of one of my worst breakups in college. Joel was with his girlfriend, told her what happened, and rushed to my side with one of those random “teacher” Valentine’s Day cards and some silly string. A few moments later and we were spraying each other with that same string and laughing to help me feel better. I don’t care if he moved to the ends of Earth I would always find a way to him. We laughed remembering how I would come to his apartment in college to just take naps on his bed while he did homework. Clingy? Yes. I am a Gemini.

I then asked how he felt about me having a crush on him all those years ago. At this point in our lengthy friendship it’s no secret to many people, including my own mother, that Joel is the kind of man I would marry. Joel, “it’s kind of obvious sometimes. It goes through phases.” It’s true. I’ve had to navigate through complicated feelings towards Joel over the years. I remember not talking to one of his girlfriends for years because I didn’t know how to navigate through the jealousy and feelings I had; it wasn’t until I sat and thought, “if you love him, you will try to love her because she is a part of his life.” 

When I think of him I think of love. It’s not always the love that is apparent, or communicated vocally, but it’s there always. I drunkenly mentioned to Joel like I loved him and when I heard his response I smiled, and continued to talk. When he replied, “Same and I feel very loved.” I cried. The tone in his voice, the look on his face, the way he said it. 

And then there is Spencer who is one of my other best dude friends. I asked him to grab libations and meet me on a video call a few days after talking to Joel. Spencer and I met around the same time that Joel and I did; it’s quite funny that they both became close friends to me because they were in the same suite as college students and lived in the community I was an RA for. 

When he called he was in a dark lit room; I was on my bedroom floor pouring more wine into my glass. As normal, our conversations went from casually simple thoughts to the more complex. 

“What do you tell people about our friendship,” I asked. He replied and said not much because he doesn’t often talk to many folks about his friendships. To contextualize this, Spencer is as introverted as one may be. He’s very thoughtful, critical, and is usually careful with how he expresses himself. 

I started to go on a tangent and mentioned my two favorite memories of Spencer. He came to visit me in San Francisco in March and the first night he and I went bar hopping. We bounced around the Mission District and threw back more than a few drinks. After the third bar, Spencer’s voice dropped several octaves and I laughed because he sounded like Darth Vadar. That night we talked and we caught up. The second memory was a day we went to Stone Mountain. We hiked the mountain and on the way down we got caught in a light rainstorm. I slipped a few times and he did too. When we recognized how slippery the mountain was and how easy it would be to slide down the mountain, we sat down and slid down laughing the whole time. 

As Spencer and I laughed about those memories we dove into other parts of our relationship. When I asked him what he tells his girlfriends and other women about our friendship I was surprised by his response. “It’s the most recognizable, identifiable thing that can give people a better picture of what’s going on. It might not be ‘PC’ but feels like a lot of us do it. I say with other friends, this person is my friend from childhood, that person watched a lot of movies with.”

I asked him why. Spencer told me that a lot of it stems from me providing insight into what it means to be gay and what is the community like. It taught him a lot. I interrupted him a few times here because he kept saying homosexual and I laughed that it’s okay to say gay instead.

Somewhere along the line we talked about how he and I talk now. He blurted out, “You want to go into the world, have adventure, drink beer sometimes, and talk about fucking. You’re always talking about fucking and sucking dick.” I had no choice but to laugh. He did have a point there. When I drink I become a “bro” and just want to play. 

Spencer and I joke about having a “bromance” all the time. I decided to ask him how much he thinks it defines us. His response was complicated, “We seem to talk about it like 85% of our conversations. Like what you’ve done, who you been fucking, what medicine you’re on [Truvada]. So quite a lot. Isn’t all of what makes it meaningful, it’s part of it. 2/10 maybe.”

That response was great to hear because some folks have defined our relationship solely on my sexual orientation or have judged me for it. I think Spencer saw my reaction to his response and asked if others judged me based on things. When I responded I said that I had to think about how I showed up constantly. Am I acting “too gay” or “too straight?” Yet with Spencer it was always easy and I was always affirmed. Our friendship is reciprocal and doesn't feel forced.

At this point I have to take a bathroom break but Spencer is still talking to me through my AirPods. “Are you pooping,” he laughed. When I said I urinated and sat down to pee we laughed. I like to pee and get on Instagram; I am a millennial who can’t disconnect. Also, using the bathroom and talking to a friend is a sign of closeness, right? 

Once I finished in the bathroom and walked back to my wine, I looked at him. Something that clicked to me in my drunken stupor is how emotionally intelligent Spencer is. He has such a way with people that I don’t. I can command a large crowd, make large groups of people laugh and things yet I don’t always prefer small conversations one on one. Spencer is the best at those. He thought of this and said it was good we have two very different perspectives because it helps him dig up and dig into self reflection. We laughed about the random conversations we have like choosing to wear certain pants because of how it may look around our crotch and not wanting to bring attention to our “bits.”

The wine started to hit me heavy here and all of my Gemini emotions poured out. “You pour into me as much as I pour into you, which means a whole lot to me. Like you coming to visit me here; you committed to spending your own time and money to come see me and hang out and shit. Back then, I loved you so much and I still do. There are things I would do for you, day or night.  Like I would take a bullet for you.” Spencer said he would do the same and said he was sure we’d be friends for the rest of our lives. I laughed, “Yeah old and curmudgeon-ey drinking beers together somewhere.”

Let’s bring this back to the point I hope I made here: male friendship, masculinity, and expression. Joel and Spencer have both taught me a little something about all of those. We’ve built these healthy relationships built on a solid foundation and if you know men, masculinity, or both it’s not always easy.  I’ve learned the most positive of gay men and straight men, platonic relationships, and developing close friendships with others. 

Men, be like Spencer and Joel; be good. 

Ladies, I speak to you now and say scoop them up before I try to. 

People You Love

Have you ever had a day that you just needed to relax and take a moment for yourself? I had one of those days on Tuesday. I couldn’t focus at work so I left. 

I called a friend—Smu—and grabbed some of the boxed wine I bought the weekend before. I enjoy talking to Smu because he’s got that sort of “air” I appreciate about others; the fact that he’s kind of cute doesn't hurt either. We talked about life, relationships, and a few other things while I sipped on that red wine. As we wrapped up that hour and a half conversation, I met his dog and said goodbye. Who doesn’t love dogs? Especially when you’re a little drunk.

A few moments after I ended our conversation I called Devarshi. Devarshi, or who I call Devo, is one of my oldest friends. We met in high school when I moved back to my dad’s hometown and got into the honors program at the school. He and I were two of the youngest, skinniest in our class and we bonded over being vegetarian. Devarshi and I caught up a few weeks before this and I told him I love drunk calling folks; it’s always a fun time. 

After Devarshi and I ended our conversation I called Matt. Matt and I met in college but we have a more complex history. Matt is from the same area as Devarshi and I and even went to the same high school as us, yet the year I graduated was the year Matt became a freshman. We didn’t cross paths until I was one of his RAs his freshman year in college. I like to think it was an instant bond the first time we met and will acknowledge part of that was because Matt was kind of attractive. I was shallow. We built a friendship over the years and I appreciate him.

By the time I called him I had one too many glasses of wine. He answered and was sitting in front of his computer screen. Matt looked like one of those famous gamers: in an unbuttoned floral shirt, cute, really chill. I think I have to add in here that he’s muscular or he might get a little mad, lol. We laughed for a moment, talked about his marriage, fatherhood, and a few other random topics. 

That night all I did was drink, talk, and eat. At one point I ended up cooking grits, hash browns, and vegan sausage to have breakfast for dinner. 

We need those moments to be with the people you love, loving on them and them loving on you. 

Remember that more today than any other day.

Center Yourself.

The past few months have taken a toll on many people’s wellness. We’re living through a pandemic, civil unrest, complicated political discourse, and so much more. I think it’s okay to hit the snooze button a few extra times if you can tomorrow morning or take time this weekend to do something selfish for yourself even if it’s for just a short time period.

Center yourself.

No, I am not Carlton Banks.

I recently got into an argument with someone who argued about the differences in where he is in life and where I am in life. Paraphrasing here, he said, “I’m married. I have a house. I have family obligations. There are things you don’t understand because all you do is party and get drunk.”   

Those close to me know that I am usually a peaceful, loving spirit but my head can spin and the bitch pops out ready to swing [cue B.I.T.C.H by Megan Thee Stallion]. I’m also a fairly intelligent man and to come at me without a strong argument isn’t too clever of a move. 

My immediate response was to let them know how I felt about a comparison of a life he lives and one that I live. I started by saying that I do like to go out and drink a good drink—IPAs because I’m one of those people—while I shake my perky ass all up and down the cities with friends. I also mentioned that I work hard as an educator and if I want to hang out after hours, I will because I can. I then started to mention how he made life choices and I did too. 

The conversation ended shortly after because, baby, I don’t have the time. 

Now that I’ve been able to sit with thoughts I’ve wondered. One, does this friend understand how fucked up he got me with even coming at me like that? For my pale skinned brethren, that’s ebonics for “this friend clearly doesn’t understand how what he said is an issue and how talking to me with that tone was a mistake.” Two, where did this need to compare our situations come from?

I think it’s normal for people to compare experiences to make meaning of their own experiences, try to gauge life milestones they think they should be reaching at ages, etc. I don’t understand how people can place so much weight on it because people are not the same. 

Now here’s where I was severely fucked up: 

One, I am a whole Negro; a whole gay Negro at that. 

My identities, experiences, and the environments I engaged in all influence how I navigate. Simple enough, right? 

Two, I’m a whole bad Bitch. I am about to start bragging; I say be your own cheerleader. As an undergraduate I chose to pursue a career in Student Life/higher education as a 20 year old sophomore. I worked hard to be selected for and earn student leadership positions to be able to learn more about leadership, facilitation, service, and education. I did all this while usually working more than one campus job, volunteering tens of hours each month, staying up late nights studying or working projects, dating, and while helping take care of family needs. A bitch worked hard and I played harder because I deserved it; my dad always said I loved to keep the pavement hot. 

That same work ethic has translated into the career I have now beginning with being the first in my family to get a master’s degree in a few generations and the first to do so at such a young age [25]. I worked throughout colleges in the Southeast and California. The best part of the work I do is helping to educate our youth, the future of our country. I always mention being able to be the Zordon and my students being able to be the Power Rangers. I walk with them to help them make sense of their world and pursue their goals. There is nothing more inspiring, powerful than seeing these people I care about become who they are meant to be. 

Three, I love on others like I don’t think many others do. I give to others because I was taught to care about others. In my father’s hometown, in rural southern Georgia, Black folks cared for each other in ways people outside the community may never completely understand. I also do it because I believe in breaking this capitalist system we live in that prizes the individual over the collective. I’ve helped found one non-profit, have served on the leadership board for another for years, and started an LGBTQ alumni group for my undergraduate. If we had to compare him and I and how we “serve” others, we are not the same. 

Three, I am not married, with a house and a white collar life. I don’t want to be. I date when I want to, I have sex when I want to, and I go home to a queen size bed and spread out like I want to. To be honest, I am waiting on Chris Evans to become my gay lover; I know y’all saw that photo. A house? That’s too “permanent” for me because I like to fly with the wind. White collar life? No, I am not Carlton Banks. 

The lesson in this: stop comparing yourself to others. Your path is yours and their path is their path. If you compare too much you may fail to recognize the importance of your journey and that of others. 

And besides, people will never be like you.

And that’s on that, pooh.

Ode to Brown Liquor Niggas

I was at lunch today. I sat with my thoughts, a glass or two of wine, and a basket of fries. How millennial of me right? I called my cousin as I worked on an email or two and if you know Ken you know how much he personifies black joy. 

We sat, talked, laughed about things and I thought of how much I appreciate him and folks like him. As I called him after talking about my white wine, the Brown Liquor Niggas. 

Now what is a Brown Liquor Niggas? It’s those Black folks, the cousins, siblings, the parents, the grandparents, the aunts, the uncles, the friends, the family that are who you think of when you think of Blackness. They live their truths as Black folks who aren’t afraid to be Black in all spaces at all times, who through existing as they are challenge those systems that are inherently built against Black folks, and who are personifications of Black joy. 

I joked with Ken about him being one of those people who drinks Crown Apple; I don’t drink it because I don’t care for it but I appreciate folks who can down brown liquor like champions. Again, my Brown Liquor Niggas. 

I sat and thought. There is so much I have learned to appreciate about Black folks. 

Thank you, to Ken, to Annie L., Tugga, Cherry, Grace, Fred, and Casey, Karey and Nikki, for being my family and for being you no matter what. When I think of what it means to be Black I think of the lot of you. These southern Black folks who lived, who challenged the system, and who paved the way for so many others. I will never forget how much it impacts me. Grandma Tugga, you created a family that many will never understand; what you taught our family about love will never be forgotten. I also won't’ forget how you keep that thang on you in case someone decided to jump; I don’t have a thang on me but these paws stay ready. 

To Songa and Jarvis, my parents for showing me how to preserve. Young Black folks who had children at 18 and 21; kids raising kid, right? They didn’t always know what to do or how to do so but they made sure that my sister and I didn’t “want.” You made it happen and sacrificed so much. I take that with how you did what you needed to do, you hustled, and you make time to center joy for yourself when you needed to. Daddy, I reflect on those weekend parties you used to throw and how happy of a Black man you were. You wonder why I like to roam the clubs and I say it's because I seek that same joy you were able to show.

Special shout out to Mrs. Dian for being the step mother I didn’t know I needed. 

To Micheal Boddie, Jeffrey Thorpe, and Lloyd, thank you. You helped me navigate through accepting my queerness and Blackness at a time that was so critical for me. You may never full understand but you modeled the way, you helped me, and you accepted me for who I am. I am the gay man I am today due to who you were to me. 

To Ashley, Desiree, Kayla, Jarvis, Dank, Nae, Sadie, my siblings and first cousins/siblings. You taught me how to love deeply. We may fight, may argue, but we love and we do so deeply. Thank you for love. I may want to slash your tires every other day but I try to make sure you all feel the love daily. We are what we have and I am thankful everyday that in this life you are my sisters and brothers. 

Jacksons, Jones, Collins, Smalls, you know the love I have for you all too. 

To Nate, Adrian, Tre, Wesley, Ajira, Danny, Micah, Ses, and my other Black and queer students. You all live your truths in such an inspirational, radical manner and it allowed me to be able to do the same at times in my life when I felt it was hard to do so. You lived, you challenged, and you said “yes” to me. Thank you for inviting me into your life and showing me what it means to be a Guncle. 

To Zanaiah, Doodle Bug, and Alayah, my nieces and nephews and the future of our family. You may not understand now but I hope you will in the future. I hope I help carve a future that you can thrive in. I try everyday to break through generational trauma, to make sure you have a foundation to stand on, and to make sure that we’re all thinking about your future. You are my [chosen] children and I love you to my core. You’ll do great things and I will be there each step of the way.

To Shaq, Adrienne, Marissa, Jamal, Brittany, Aimee, Justin, Tiara, Brittany,  my Brown Liquor Nigs. I know that I can turn to you when I need to for love, for support, for a laugh, or for a drink. I don’t know if you know how much your presence in my life has meant but I hope you do now. 

To Dorian, Jonathan, Annise, and Rickey Hall for being the Black educators that helped me see a path. I am the Black educator I am today because of you believing in me, helping me learn, and continuing to push me into the person I am. 

And to the first man I loved who I will leave unnamed. You loved me so deeply that it changed me as a 23 year old man. I was able to embrace who I was, to gain a love for Sprite and moscato, for cuddling in 90 degree Georgia weather. Thank you. Though things didn’t work out, I appreciate and love you for loving me as you did. 

All this to say to Black folks in a world, a country that isn’t always the best for us, live in your truth as you are able to. I think about a quote from Lovecraft Country from a woman who died knowing that she could change the future of her family, “my great-great-grandson will be my faith turned flesh.” Our ancestors blood flows through us and we owe it to them, to ourselves, and to future Black folks to live that. 

Be that hoodrat, be that black professional, be that hood nigga [insert meme: Where the hood niggas at?] and be those Brown Liquor Niggas we need to craft better for each other. 

I love you.

Fuck it. Do it.

A friend (Brittany) and I talked a couple of days ago. We laughed and she said something, “You’ve gone from Claxton to Los Angeles.” 

I was born years ago in a small town in south GA, spent most of my first years in a farming community, and then moved to Atlanta to spend most of my youth. A few years later I returned to that same farming community to live with my dad—we can talk about being a child of divorce later—to finish high school and go to college. I went to the mountains of east Tennessee before returning to north Georgia and the Atlanta suburbs to work. 

Seeking new adventures and, to be honest, more gay men than what I had around me, I ended up in San Francisco.

It was like something out of a movie. One of my best mates—Jorge, the gentle soul he is—texted me about a job opening where he worked. I interviewed, accepted a job a few days later, and packed up the apartment I had “overnight” to crash with my mom in Dekalb. Three weeks later I was headed to California with only two duffle bags, a suitcase, and a backpack. 

Two years later and I’m sitting in the heart of Hollywood living a life I didn’t think I ever would. 

As you read that you may wonder why I mention all of this. 

I chased a dream when I moved to San Francisco. I debated it for weeks and only decided to go when a friend told me, “You’ve talked about wanting this for years. Fuck it. Do it.” 

I had only been to California once for a collegiate leadership conference in 2012; I had no idea what to expect of California and I was leaving behind everything I knew. I felt it was a sign when I missed my connecting flight from Fort Lauderdale to San Francisco but I made a promise to myself, “Rashad, put your feet down in California for a month and see how you feel.”

It was the biggest risk I’ve taken in my life but I wouldn’t take it back for anything else. 

Life is short; you should live a little and do the things you always dreamed of. 

“Fuck it. Do it.”

Love is Liberating

I had a conversation with a friend recently about a few things. “Love is liberation,” they said to me; that phrase stuck with me throughout my week. I’m often caught up in my own head and what’s going wrong that I forget to think about the good. I sat down with a glass of lime water, turned on my favorite episode of Degrassi, and began to sit with my thoughts. 

A few cases in which I felt love in more recent times: 

I went to Madison, WI to visit my best mate, Joel, in March this year. This particular trip started with him and I trying to surprise each other in the airport. Naturally, he found me first. It’s important to note that I am usually the more physically affectionate friend; physical touch and quality time are my love languages and Joel’s learned this over the years. Two things about this particular trip made me love this man more than I already do: 

• I joke every year with Joel about getting me a Valentine’s gift because I can’t keep a man. Every year Joel says no then does something to surprise me. This year was a Valentine’s card with a note about seeing me in a few weeks. When we got to his place, he walked over to the guest bedroom I would sleep in and I saw a stuffed animal on the bed. Joel went to a store to get it the day after Valentine’s Day knowing it would make me smile. 

• We went out one day to bike around town. Between the jet lag, the miles of biking, and pure laziness, I was a bit tired. I walked over to the couch to take a nap, Joel grabbed a sleeping bag, and he laid next to me on the floor to take a nap too. 

Another of my best mates, Spencer, came to San Francisco in March. The first day he and I roamed around San Francisco bar hopping. By the time we left bar #2, we were a little tipsy and laughing about random things only best mates do. A few more beers in and I started to laugh because Spencer’s voice turns “Darth Vader” when he’s cold and drunk. You know you love a man when you can spend hours with him talking life, relationships, politics over drinks. 

There is a man—John Thomas—the light of my life and another really good friend; he’s this pure, sassy Southern man who wouldn’t hurt a fly. John is the only person I usually care to call after a few too many drinks when I’m around the city. I live in California, John is in Tennessee so my “late” is even later for him yet he answers my drunk calls. I like to think John knows I just usually want to tell him about my night and hear his voice before I doze off. He wakes up, hears me out, and makes sure I get home safe. In those moments I love that man and I feel it in return. 

Rick has been my best dude since we were in high school in 2006 and we are so attached that folks think we’re dating. The last time I went home to Georgia, I remember calling him as I got into the rental car to head home to the Savannah area from Hartsfield-Jackson, “Hey, I’ll be home in a few hours, scoot over and save a spot for me.” Three hours later he hugs me at the door, gets back in bed, and I scoot in the bed beside him and pull his arm over me. Rick runs hot so I push him off of me normally; usually I snore so he pushes me to wake me up. That’s my kind of love. 

When I go home to south Georgia for the holidays I stay with my Dad. He hunts for deer around in the early mornings around this time of the year and comes back around 8 or 9 AM most days. On his way back he’ll call me to ask if I want a parfait and hash browns from McDonald’s. This man knows how much I love food and, particularly, those two items. Food is love, right? 

My mother came to visit me in San Francisco about a year ago. Now if you know my mother and I, you know I wasn’t always the easiest child to parent yet in recent years I’ve worked on building my relationships with both of my parents. One afternoon during her trip I asked if she wanted to go to the Castro with me and two close friends, Jorge and Jonathan. I was surprised when she said yes eagerly. I took her to Harvey’s for food, got her a martini, and I grabbed a beer. I told her that the drinks were extra strong in the Castro and laughed when she only took a couple sips of it; I’ve always been told don’t “waste” good liquor so I didn’t and swallowed what was left of her drink. She yelled, “RASHAD!” and I looked at her like “What mother? You know I’m a grown, gay man?” We met Jorge and Jonathan at a bar called the Lookout and she thrived. We went to meet the drag queens, they bought her drinks, she danced, we bar hopped, and I loved it. I remember crying a moment because I felt so affirmed, so loved. We were out really late that night and Ma was tired for days later but it was so worth it. 

My dude—Andrew—meeting me in September for the first time since May and the first thing he lovingly says, “I’m going to get you drunk.” The man knows the way to my heart is a good IPA and quality time with my friends. Love. 

I’ve been getting through the pandemic by cooking breakfast, drinking mimosas, and calling family or friends. Recently, I FaceTimed my youngest sister and brother, Desiree and Jarvis, and we all talked about a lot. As we talked, I looked at these two young adults and remembered the days they were brought home from the hospital. To see these two grow into the people they are, deal with adulthood, start to create families, etc. It’s all love. They I’m pretty sure they just also enjoy seeing me drunk and smiling. 

I was laid off from my job and my closest thing to Black family in the Bay Area is a friend named Tiara. If you know her you know how caring and selfless she is. For months, Tiara texted me to make sure I was good. A simple “do you need anything” goes a long way.  

Thomas and I met while I was in graduate school. To be honest, I thought he was the most attractive thing walking at the time. Our friendship has blossomed since then and he’s become one of my favorite “straights.” He texted me on my birthday and I responded, “Thank you. I’ll take my [wedding] ring now. Thanks bae.” Thomas asked for my address and about a week later I got a package. It was a bag of ring pops. All I could say was that I love him. In true wild Gemini fashion I added in “Wait. Since you’re basically my sugar daddy, do I have to tell you happy Father’s Day too?”  

At my core I am a “green” hipster and my friends and family have learned to live with this truth including me only wanting to go to boogie vegan/vegetarian restaurants, constantly pushing them to think more sustainably, and all of my other foolishness. I’ve wanted to buy a cheap set of mason jars and a friend, Adrienne, surprisingly bought them for me. It was an appreciated, small token of love all the way from New Orleans. 

Sitting and reflecting on these and so much more reminded me to stop every once in a while to remember; I remembered those people in my community of biological and chosen families who love me so deeply. I hope you take a moment to think about the moments you felt loved and who was present in those moments. The past few months have reminded us of the limited time we have. Love on your people and do it like you mean it. 

The 1st of Many Notes

I don’t think many people know that I was really introspective as a kid, that I started to really think about human connections when I began to journal after I first watched The Notebook at age 19, or that I entered college wanting to be a photojournalist; I do think people who know me know that I have a passion for talking and often do too much of it. Talking too much led me to experiences with some amazing people walking down the street, at places I worked, bars, and so many random places. During these encounters, I learned to listen—my friends may say otherwise—to others. 

Now you may be asking yourself what makes this blog different from all the other millions of blogs? I don’t know how to respond to that question but here is what I am offering. I intend Notes to be a combination of stories and photos. As you may assume from the name, yes, some of these “notes” may be just a short paragraph or two about an experience; others may be more developed, detailed to really describe an experience. I like to talk a lot, remember ? 

I have no idea where Notes may go. I just hope you enjoy these stories.

Look for more soon.

Follow the conversation through Instagram and Facebook as well via @notesbyrashad.