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I laughed so hard, I cried and eventually peed myself! The walk home from school was always the best. Rhondah was my best friend and I was hers. I can’t remember what we were discussing, maybe something that happened in one of her classes. I kept begging her to stop. “Rhonda, for real! Stop!” My plea egged her on. She got a thrill out of seeing me folded over  in laughter. I loved to laugh, still do, but not to the point of wet embarrassment. I ran the three blocks home but made it only to reach the front patch of grass where I warmly sprinkled the yellow dandelions. There’s something about getting closer to the bathroom when having to pee that allows the house keys to strangely “disappear” into the endless hole that is your book-bag.

Middle School was tough. It wasn’t like elementary school. It required more independence. It wasn’t the smoothest transition for me but I did know most of my fellow students. We came from the same elementary school. Rhonda wasn’t from my elementary school though. I don’t know what school she went to before then. I don’t even remember how we met, but I can’t remember those school days without her.

There were a lot of  things I learned about myself during those adolescent years. What stands out the most are the relationships I had with my friends. And also what you learn to require and  provide as a friend. We go through stages and some do better than others with maintaining their friendships. I know during the school-days stages of my  life, I noticed my friends changed. When I left middle school, I cultivated a new set of friends. The same as when I left high school and started college.

Some friends have managed to whither the storms of these numerous changes. Others accept that we have played the necessary roles needed at the time and have mutually agreed to move on without the other. I think often of the friends I’ve had and currently have and I realize that each one has served some purpose in my development as a person.

I only hope that I’ve done the same for them.



It’s a little over a year since Hurricane Sandy hit. I knew the storm was coming but didn’t anticipate it would devastate my life routine the way it did. In fact, I’m still recovering from it. It isn’t something I really want to discuss but the recovery is one of the events that has kept me from the responsibilities of my blog. So I need to address this before it’s a year till my next post.

I stayed with a friend for a few weeks. I lived in a hotel for a few months. Then I rented a room in Brooklyn for a few more months. I eventually moved back to Far Rockaway. It wasn’t easy….and it still isn’t. The storm did many things though. It humbled the shit out of me for one. It provoked that “get up and go” that was necessary to get things done. My apartment wasn’t going to clean itself. But most importantly, it showed me who people really are.

In short, my apartment was flooded out. The night of the storm, I was home and watched the Jamaica Bay enter from my living room and into the rest of the apartment. Because I don’t know how to swim, I was afraid to leave my apartment. It was a long night and an even longer year afterwards. There was water damage and I was not prepared. My biggest loss was my kitchen and my treasured library.

I realized that there are people I take for granted and there are people who take me for granted. I think the way people responded to me was a reflection of how they see me. There were offers from people I hadn’t spoken to in months, even years. Some people I hadn’t even known that well were offering their homes to me. The friend that I ended up staying with had a key for me to come and go as I needed. When I sat with my friend and her sister to discuss my financial obligation for staying there, they both got up and walked away from me. The idea of accepting money from me was considered an insult. There were also people who reached out and extended themselves to me by way of offering items to keep us going – clothes, food, a ride, etc.

I’m saying all of this to say that you never know where and when things might happen and when devastation might hit you and those that are close to you. And with all of that, it helps to know there are people in this world who remain genuine and true to the purpose of humanity.

A Typical Day

During the summer of 2012, my son was arrested and spent a night in jail. This was a complaint letter I composed for the CCRB (Civilian Complaint Review Board). It displays the anguish my family endured as a result of the NYPD’s processing of another black boy in the community. I basically just cut and pasted this here because it turns my stomach to recall this experience and to see my own mother’s anguish as she felt guilty because her grandson had been working on her lawn that entire day and ended up in jail after. Not sure of the typos as I wrote this while I was beyond anger…

On Wednesday, July 4th at approximately 9:45 PM, my son was arrested for having a “double-edged” knife in his possession. I am puzzled at what my son’s rights are, what my rights are as a parent, and the rights of the citizens of the community where I reside.

I live at XXXXX in Far Rockaway, Queens. My block is under the jurisdiction of the 101st Precinct on Mott Avenue. On Wednesday, July 4th like most communities, my family celebrated Wednesday, July 4th/Independence Day in some fashion. We were in front of our premises joking, working on vehicles and enjoying food prepared by our neighbors.

At around 9:45 PM, an argument was taking place across the street (XXXXX) between 2 men and a woman. The woman and man are occupants of the house and the 2nd man is from another area. As we watched the argument, an unmarked police vehicle pulls up in front of my residence and 3 officers exit the vehicle and approach us – Officer Mussaw, Sergeant Torres and a third officer whose name I was unable to obtain.

I am not certain why they came to our block, but immediately as they exited their vehicle, they approached my son and began to question him. I assumed that they didn’t realize there were adults standing right across from them arguing because we were all  – about 8 adults and 2 children – were witnessing an argument which was getting slightly physical.  I interrupted the questioning and asked if they were called to the block for my son. Sergeant Mussaw replied that they were not called for my son and were on patrol. Not sure what patrol meant but they way the came on the block was if they were targeting someone and not patrolling as cruising through and observing. They drove onto the block and stopped right in front of my house.

My son, Solomon XXXXX, had been cutting grass at his grandparents house on XXXXX. He had been there since 10:00 AM that morning cutting the lawn. He had been under the instruction of his grandfather who he works alongside during the week at his auto mechanic shop in Brooklyn, NY. On my son’s belt was a knife case that enclosed a “double-edged” knife. I had seen the knife before and was aware that he had it in his possession. He had been using it to open packages and specifically to open a weed whacker that he had been using to cut the grass at his grandparents house.

The knife was not concealed because Abram was outside without a shirt. It was in plain view. When the officers approached him, he was sitting on the hood of a car that was parked directly in front of the house. The officers asked him for identification and instinctively, I told him to go in the house to get it. The officers immediately responded that he could not go in the house and had to remain with them. My brother ran in the house but we could not find his identification at that moment.

While my brother searched around for Abram’s identification, I explained to Officer Mussaw that my son does not live in Far Rockaway and was only visiting me for the summer. He lives within the confines of Orange County, New York which about 4 hours from Far Rockaway with his father and that he hadn’t been on the block all day because he was on XXXXX at his grandparents house. When my brother concluded that he couldn’t find Abram’s wallet with his identification, I ran into the house to look for it. I was unsuccessful. I found a school picture that had my son’s name height and weight printed on the back but by the time I reached back in front of the house, the officers already had my son in handcuffs and holding him next to the police vehicle.

I approached the officers and asked what they were doing and what was the charge. Officer Mussaw indicated that my son was in possession of a weapon and that he needed to be taken to the precinct so that he can be run through the system to confirm he didn’t have any warrants. Sergeant Torres stepped in and started to address me with “Listen Mam, this is how it’s going go to go…” and then one of the officers asked if I could get a shirt for him because he didn’t have one on. I went inside and grabbed my son’s work uniform shirt and handed it to him so he can put it on. He was un-cuffed, given the shirt to put on, handcuffed and placed in the police vehicle. Officer Mussaw said that I would be able to receive my son from the precinct and at most, he would be given a summons for having the knife.

He was taken away in the police vehicle in front of me and other family members. At the same time there was still an argument taking place directly across the street at XXXXX.

My brother immediately drove me to the precinct. Once I arrived there the officer’s story had changed. My son was being sent to Central Bookings. So instead of the summons they said he would receive if his name came up clear, he was being sent through the system and there was no recourse according to Officer Mussaw. My son had not committed a crime, he was standing in front of his mother’s house and he was being sent through the system.

My mother was notified and arrived at the precinct trying to explain that her grandson had been using the knife to open a weed whacker he’d been using earlier that day to cut the lawn. My mother brought the box the weed whacker was in to show that the box had to be cut open and this is why Abram had the knife in his possession. My mother was laughed at and told to shut up by the captain because she was asking questions regarding the reason why her grandson had been arrested. Two of the female officers, while laughing, asked her where the weed whacker was. Another officer sitting to the right of the Captain shouted to my mother that she needed Jesus. My mother is Jewish. If it isn’t clear, this was an inappropriate statement and showed that perhaps there exists religious discrimination.

I sat with my mother in solidarity because we were concerned for our loved one and all the while we were told we had to leave because the police precinct would be closing down for the night. That was their way to get rid of us. My mother was told that if she had continued to stay in the precinct, she too would be arrested. Throughout that ordeal, there was one female officer who tried to help us by seeking out the arresting officer (Officer Mussaw) to explain to my mother what happen. To the other visible officers there, we were the laughing stock for the night. I was utterly humiliated.

We left the precinct and stood out front and we waited until we saw Abram entering the van to head to central booking. I didn’t sleep. I was ashamed, embarrassed and as a parent, I felt helpless. We hadn’t done anything wrong yet we were being treated like criminals. I took the day off from work (July 5th) to make sure that I was in court for my son’s hearing. When I arrived at Queens County Criminal Court (about 2:30 PM), my son was exiting the building. He was released and charged with a misdemeanor and summoned to serve 3 days of community service. He had 3 court papers on him and a Metrocard that was issued to him. He indicated to me that he was not read his rights and that while he was in custody, he was questioned about a series of shootings. When he told the detective he didn’t know anything because he doesn’t live in Far Rockaway, he was cursed at and told he was lying. This is harassment and I am filing this complaint as a result thereof.

I called this event typical because although I’m still mentally scarred by what happened in that precinct, this will continue to happen to black parents everywhere and sadly, my one complaint letter will not make a difference.

Newsstand vs Library

The title is meant to be cynical but this is one of my biggest pet peeves and I’ve often thought about writing to the New York Times Complaint Box column about it. Every morning, I go to Barnes & Noble to get my venti vanilla latte (with no foam) from the Starbucks cafe. Bordering the cafe seating area are the magazine stands. It completely irks me to see people randomly reading the magazines and books and then putting them back when they’re done.

I don’t know what type of disorder I have but I don’t like when a magazine or book I’ve purchased is read by someone else before I read it. I know that it sounds dumb, insane, stupid, whatever. That’s just me. So to see these people in the cafe, with their grubby fingers, touching up and bending the pages just drives me crazy.

Because of this, when I’m ready to purchase my magazine, I always grab for one in the middle or towards the back of the stack.

I totally urge folks who need to run their fingers through the pages as they drink their coffee, to visit their local library and take out a book. Keep it and use it at your leisure for the 3 week period you’re allotted for its use.

Is that crazy or what?