Is It Summer Already?

Last night, there was a lot of commotion going on in the area of Lumberton that is rapidly earing the name Da Trapp (aka, Turn-key/Frank Lee Homes). I received a call about a fight going on and when I looked out the door, I noticed three police cars parked on Myrick Avenue. I went back into the house and was getting details about what had happened. From what I was told, someone shot himself in the leg and several people had gotten into an altercation, but no one was taken to jail. In Lumberton, you get arrested for parking tickets, not for disobeying a lawful order or discharging a fire arm, but it is what it is. As I was talking on the phone, I asked the person on the other end of the phone "did you ever wonder why this mess never happens in New Jack (oka New Jackfrica/Green-Tree Apts.)" Then I realized that the reason they're always bring their drama to The Key/Da Trapp is because the manger of Frank Lee Homes is not actively doing anything to quell the chaos. While the residents of New Jack know that their Tribal Leader, property manager, Alicia Parker, will not only evict them, but will have them banned from the property. So, instead of s------ where they eat, they just take their mess elsewhere and use other locations as their dumping ground. Well, later on in the night, as I was watching Styled by June, another argument had started and as I was going outside to see what was going on, the police pulled up. Next thing I know, dreds and drawers were running in almost every direction. As I stood on the porch, someone that was running by said "that faggot on the porch snitched." Needless to say, it took me a moment to realize that this person was talking about me. I don't know who it was because it was dark, otherwise, I would have mentioned their name. By the time I started to absorb what had just happened, I just shook my head. Seriously, are there still people out there that's concerned with who I'm sleeping with? Sex is such a small part of who we are, unless, of course, you're a porn star. In that case, you're actually paid to have sex. Now, don't get that confused with what the garden tools are doing because they're usually paid to leave. But here we are again, resorting to calling me a faggot but you're the ones running from the police. But if faggot is the worst thing you can throw at me, well. . .in the words of the late Mr. Preach Bowens, "Then what?" Some, name-less, face-less individual didn't have anything of substance to say, and in the moment of searching for something to say, resorted to calling me a faggot. How original? But we must realize that in the land of the Forgotten Wards, the defination of manhood has been distorted. For instance, in that particular area, one consider themselves a man just because they're paying the $13/month lawn care fee for their jump-off. In The Key, you're considered a man if you don't live with your momma, but instead, you're living with a woman that don't have you on her lease and every year you have to do the inspection shuffle because it's hard to explain to management why there's size 11 sneakers under the bed, 34 jeans, boxer shorts and after-shave in the bathroom hamper, but I'm the faggot. I'm the faggot, but you're the ones that stop talking once the police roll up on the scene. I'm the faggot but I've never ran from any police officer including Hobson or his klan. So, the next time you feel compelled to idetify me with through some derogatory term, know that I, Jonathan F. Williams-Griffith, am a man,a blogger, an artist and a willing servant of God. I am a son, a brother, an uncle and friend who gives to my loved ones from a bottomless well of love. I am a human being with flaws and weaknesses, strengths and gifts and a vision to see beyond who I am and who I am not. I am whoe and complete, with a few cracks, dents and scratches--nothing that prayer and faith won't fix. That's who I am.