I write this letter, in hopes that it will somehow find its way into your possession, and that the sincerity of the words contained here within fill your spirit with a renewed sense of purpose.
In short, I come to you with hopes that new life will be infused into one of the nation's most undervalued services--the service of education.
I come to you as a citizen, and a supporter, an endorser of your cause because I too saw the flaws that threatened our youth.
In truth, there are a great many things that are assaulting our defenses, even good senses,
Between two wars, mortgage and banking crises,
One might be tempted to forget our young
But to understand what we do, sometimes we must look back to what we've done
And force ourselves to regularly take stock of what we've lost and won
I come to you as a 30-something college graduate, who has hit the ceiling
Who finds himself reeling from the undertow of an underwater mortgage coupled with the difficulty of securing a better job
And sadly tentative about seeking higher education because the thought of more debt is unsettling,
Especially not knowing whether or not said degree will serve him well
I come to you as a black man, who at times has had difficulty identifying himself as an American
Partly because he hasn't felt accepted as such, partly because he is painfully aware the history that so many wish to forget or outright disavow
I come to you as a former student, who has had his share of bad grades, seldom engaged by the curriculum he was force fed
Having knowledge at such a young age the educational institution was largely dead
Mainly for refusing to renew itself or adapt to the times that were changing around it
But it was higher education where I became better grounded
Yet I'm still astounded that many males in min position aren’t realizing this opportunity/obligation
I come to you as a former high school teacher, who learned what it really meant when his teachers expressed grief and frustration while agreeing with my mother,
"He's so brilliant, but he just doesn't apply himself."
Seeing the same brilliance in many of the students who walked across the threshold of my classroom
Not always afforded the benefit of having a concerned parent with whom to share my frustration
I come to you as an artist and a poet
Who has put his dreams of writing and creating on hold to chase that regular paycheck that barely keeps him afloat
That daring fool with just enough audacity to hope
That his nieces won't be subjected to an outdated system that doesn't care or know how to reach them
That perhaps, somehow, my oldest nephew, as bright as he is
Will find something to be passionate about while he attends school
Yet understanding that the educational system needs to make itself relevant to those it purportedly reaches
Where is the enrichment?
When will we challenge these young minds?
How many more will we allow to drop out because we didn't think to make a standardized technology-based and artistic learning track?
How will we win these young minds, one of our most precious resources, back?
Why don't we teach financial management skills to high school students, when we know so many won't seek higher education?
Why aren't our educators getting a better break, with higher salaries and more benefits?
Don't they deserve more for the service they are rendering--shaping the future of our very country?
I come to you as someone who one day hopes to have children of his own
Who hopes to see them come home, excited with the prospect of learning,
And know that they are learning things that will serve them well
I come to you as an optimist, a skeptic, an idealist, and a realist
One who knows how things should be, but is willing to settle for how things could be in spite of how things are
I come to you as a human being
A mere citizen on this ball of clay professing what he has to say because he believes it needs to be said
And I'm asking you,
"How can we keep setting out youth back, and still expect them to get ahead?"
I speak to you not of myth and men, but of kith and kin
It is my hope
That black history will one day viewed as American history
That schools will teach kids programming languages and managerial skills
That the petty things which separate us can be met and overcome by a revitalized educational system
And maybe we won't find the need for democrats and republicans, just Americans
I understand there are many complexities in the matter I'll never have to address
And I can't pretend to understand your level of stress
But the motto "Yes we can" was our stand
It was our stake in the ground
A moment where we would band together and demand something greater
I believe health care is an important issue, and while I don't agree with every aspect of your reform agenda
I believe it is a battle worth fighting
But, something that goes beyond even all of that
Is our youth
And we owe it to them to give them the best possible chance to succeed by offering the best possible education
As a man who has used his education as a launching pad to attain much of the success you now enjoy, surely you can see the soundness in that sentiment.

Sincerely yours,

H. J. Lee Bennett, III
Poet, Artist, College Graduate, Home Owner, Educator, Student, Uncle, Son, Black man, Human Being, & American Citizen

Standing at the intersection of Vermont & K with my late breakfast in hand, a gentleman waiting for the same walk signal as I notices my bag and speaks:

Guy: You know, when I was growing up in New York, my mother told me that a white paper bag meant a high class sandwich.
Lee : Really? I had no idea. Now I can be bourgeois when it comes to my sandwich bags now.
Guy: There’s a hierarchy to everything. White paper bags, brown paper bags…. When I went to school, she always sent me to school with a white paper bag, too.
Lee : …
The guy kind of speeds up as if he needs to stop pussyfooting and get to getting’ when he abruptly slows down.
Guy: There was no rac—there was nothing racial by that comment.
Lee : (chuckling) You didn’t even have to qualify it.
Guy: Yeah, but there was nothing meant by that, at least not in my mind. Shit, you can’t say anything these days without getting yourself in trouble

…I can’t make this stuff up. Dude really just beat himself up on my behalf for sounding racist, and I wasn’t even offended. Now, writing it down, it kind of has a a little tinge of “WTF”, but I simply took it as friendly banter. His commentary by no means made me want to yell out, “Devil 6-6-6! Hitler has returned, Devil 6-6-6!” Wow, Barack gets in office, and people start openly checking themselves, huh? Wow. I guess this begs the question, have we really just gone way too PC over the last decade and a half?

So, about a month and a half ago, I was walking towards the metro on my way home. Now, in reality, my walk is about 2 ½ city blocks (DC, not New York—I learned there is a decided difference), but because I have to wait on unsynchronized lights (when is DC going to address this), it feels much longer. So anyway, I get to the intersection of Vermont & K, and I’m waiting for the light to cross the street to cut through McPherson Park. Prior to getting to the light however, a dude over to the side decided to start walking in my direction. Immediately, I’m thinking he’s about to ask me for money, but what I got was a soliloquy as he accompanied me through the intersection and through the park. It went something like this.

Stranger: I had to go to the hospital…but I owe all these drug dealers money….and they all want me to pay them, but I don’t have the money…I could ask for $5 dollars, but what is $5 really? I mean it’s something, but it ain’t $50. I mean $50 ain’t much, but it’s enough to pay a bill, but what is $5? That’s not even enough to buy a meal from McDonald’s. Because you gonna wanna buy a coffee and you gon’ need your juice, and your egg McMuffin, and you can’t have that without a hash brown…and you gon’ need another McMuffin because the McMuffin is really tasty and you can’t just have one of dem…and before you know it, that’s more than $6…”

Yeah, maybe not funny to you, but hilarious to me. Especially since due didn’t really finish one thought before starting another, or really take a breath. It was just a constant stream of words all rhythmically balanced. I also left some of the stuff out about the drugs because it’s been a month and a half, and I can’t remember all the details. Something about him not having the money to pay them and they were looking for him, which I guess, led to the McMuffin monologue.

I wrote a song today…and it was liberating because there was a truth in it. Honestly, because the song can be interpreted in many ways, it can be viewed as multiple truths, but for me—in this moment, that particular truth is attaining that which is important to you through proactive measures. I’m not sure this makes sense, in fact, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t, but, what I have done in the past is typically the sensible move. Take this career step based upon the options available, buy a condo, buy this vehicle, etc. I am pretty damn good at calculated risk. However, the yield on calculated risk is seldom great.
I find that when I take my hand off he steering wheel and let God do what God needs to do for me to grow—it involves me taking steps I wouldn’t normally take. It involves me leaving my comfort zone and going with my gut. It’s often a struggle or a growing/learning curve, but I benefit immensely from it. I’m awesome at reacting to trying circumstances (in most instances), but I’m at my best when I just go on what my heart tells me to do. I don’t think about risks, because although I know I can ultimately fail, that’s not how I wind up when I just go for it. I succeed.
One of the things that I have missed about me the past few years is that I’ve not really had that fire in my belly. As of late, it’s been returning, and I know it’s because some trying yet transformative times are on the horizon for me…and I’m gaining my peace about it. I know that I’m going to lose some things, possibly people, but I’m also going to gain a tremendous amount. The losing part has scared me, because I know that the gains will indeed be coupled with losses, and it’s hard for me to lose people.
I don’t make a lot of (deep) connections because the ones I have mean so much to me, and who I have been, that they have been—I don’t know, damaging at points. I’m a loner to a very large degree, but I enjoy connecting with family and people. It’s what grounds me and makes me feel most human in many ways. One of the realest and deepest connections I had was badly damaged in a fall out that was honestly, healthy and harmful to both parties. I’ve learned the value of how to regard people you care about, and to protect that relationship, not run from it.
SO, my situation is, and has been…I’ve not felt connected to anybody since. Not in that way at least. This goes beyond some lovey-dovey types shit, too. No, this person, though we don’t speak on the matter like that, GOT ME . No doubt about it…she understood me, and I understood her. We were kindred spirits. Something we figured out quickly, and I didn’t try to guess or figure or micromanage. So yeah, I have cared for people since then, and deeply. But, when a person doesn’t get you, they don’t know all of what it is within you that makes you special—and beautiful. They may be able to see it, but to appreciate it…no. That’s something different all together.
The relationship, rather the connection that was severed, has been patched up, and I’m truly glad that our friendship proved to be bigger than the differences that threatened to destroy it. It has made me stronger. It has forced me to do a great deal of soul searching in the years since, and I’ve made a lot of progress on this crash course of life and self-discovery. Which I guess is why I feel the need to address the relationship that never was, or you, to be more specific—because I felt a connection. It went beyond attraction. It was one that I felt in my gut, took words from my tongue and rooted my feet wherever I stood.
There was a sense of familiarity and ease--which made it weird, and awkward, and a bit scary—not to mention you were dead fine. And I don’t think this was a false positive, where it was just me who felt it, no…I just don’t. So, hell yeah the timing sucks, but I just want some one who I think gets me. Now, I think that’s you…and if I’m wrong, simply let me know. If you didn’t feel it, I can eat a piece of humble pie. But if you did, we should talk because I feel it’s worth discussing. I know the reality makes things seem improbable, but my heart has never been much deterred by the impossible. We should talk because I think you deserve some one to talk to, some one who’ll hear you. We should talk because we all are in some way looking for that thing , and I for one, am tired of feeling disconnected.

So yeah, I was posted up near the bottom of the ascending escalator at McPherson waiting for the blue line to take me home. The orange line pulls up, and among others, a skinny dark-skinned dude with really big eyes and his head wrapped gets off the train. Not like middle-eastern wrap, but DC wrapped. Slim looked like he was about to head up the escalator, when he noticed me and decided to walk towards me instead. Now, truthfully speaking, I’m not one to profile based off of appearance alone—the energy you give off does come into play. Dude came off to me as sketchy.

I knew he was about to approach me and ask me for something (I was thinking for money or to ask for/sell drugs), but something told me to be prepared in case he did something stupid. With that in mind, I clenched my right fist in my coat pocket while he asked me if I had $3 or something like that because he just “got out and blah, blah, blah. Only real problem was dude sat RIGHT next to me, as in shoulders touching—close. Complete violation of personal space. I told him I didn’t have it, but wasn’t willing to move either as I didn’t want to give off any false air of fear.

Instead of leaving, this is what happens (roughly):
Dude: True
He pauses for a second or two.
Dude: So what’s your name?
Pregnant pause as I consider answering him.
Me: Lee. What’s your name?
Looking away, then turning back to look at me with wide open eyes.
Dude:Shit, they call me all kinds of things.
Me: Word? I hope they’re positive.
Momentary silence. And this is where it gets even more awkward.
Dude: So what you getting into later tonight?
To myself I’m thinking, WTF?! Should I lie, because this is really weird…I mean for real. Nah, keep it 100.
Me: Work.
Another pensive pause.
Dude:… Aight then my nigga.
Me: …

…and cut! Yeah, so was it me? Was I being hit on by a homo thug? Or am I missing something? Either way, the entire exchange was a study in the realm of the bizarre. Then, I have a bit of an issue with people I know referring to me as “their nigga”, but people I don’t know—yeah, not a good look. To be honest, it’s a duality that I struggle with, because the word is ingrained in my speech. It comes out in jest, when frustrated or angry…but it’s not a good thing. There are times when the use of the word is appropriate, but in general…I’d like to reach a point when the word is rarely used by me, and a bit of an oddity when it comes out of my mouth.