American Dreams, Black Tears

I am an American. I against all odds, I love my country. I love where I am from and I love also being Black.

I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance. I grew up singing the National anthem and have been moved to tears by it. I always felt a deep sense of patriotism. My dad is a retired Marine, my brother is currently in the Marine Corps, uncles and cousins have served on my father's side - we have loved and served the country. And done so well.

Then, Rekia Boyd was killed and Tamir Rice, and Eric Garner and Eric Scott, and Sandra Bland...and so many more. And I became acutely aware (not that I had not been) of my otherness. Let me be clear, growing up, I was always "other." I spoke properly and was accused of "acting White." Yet, I was too Black for some Whites and not Black enough for some Blacks. Even given that, I loved school. It was the one thing I felt I excelled in and it was sometimes an escape from my home life.

Even in the midst of my "otherness" I bought into the doctrine of the American Dream. I took pride in my country. I was moved by the National Anthem and associated songs. I didn't realize how much buy in I had until last year.

I was at a conference and as the National Anthem  began to play, I felt the tears sting my eyes. I wanted to sob. But it wasn't out of reverence, I was sad and angry. I didn't even want to say the pledge. Why? This country doesn't love me! Even though all I want is to make it better and contribute, it would as soon see me as a threat as a Black woman. It does not value my life. It does not value the service of my daddy or my brother or my uncles. If someone finds them "suspicious," my Dad, who almost always has some sort of Marine something on, who is kind and charismatic, could be shot, detained, or killed or for real, all three! These are my feelings, right, wrong, or otherwise.

I feel betrayed. I am hurt. I don't trust the country I still love. And my heart aches each time those first cords are played.