I Remember

I remember starting 2014 and telling myself it would be easier.

I remember thinking therapy was for “other people”, until I actually went.

I remember standing next to my sister’s crib and wondering what it was like to be a tiny human, and why there were so many wires attached to her body.

I remember sitting in church and wondering why only Republican candidates came to give “guest” sermons.

I remember the first time I said I love you, and not knowing if the act was scarier than realizing its a verb you have to live.

I remember spending the past 3 months too scared to publish anything, because I didn’t know if anyone would read it.

I remember being in the stock room at Marshalls, and the Dominican lady who insisted on calling me “Juan” told me,“You’re special. You’re going to do something.” I needed that.

I remember thinking that moving to New York would make it easier to deal with family issues. Things got harder.

I remember when someone sent hate mail to every student of color at my high school, and it caught national news coverage. The school directory was in black and white, so the perpetrators had a hard time telling who appeared black.

I remember having dreams that my brother died, which felt the same way as living the nightmare when my sister did.

I remember my writing shifted to “helpful tips” because I thought that is what everyone reads and it had a better chance of “going viral”.

I remember when I learned that the reason my parent’s have 2 mortgages, I could finish one year of school.

I remember wishing for more time, than looking back at all of the time I’d wasted trying to bring something back that wasn’t there anymore.

I remember getting upset when people started vilifying investment bankers, because all the ones I know take their bonus checks and become stimulus packages for their family.

I remember crying when I wrote this, but I blamed it on allergies.

I remember driving with my Day 1, and making a pact that if we have kids, they won’t have to worry about finding jobs, the decision will be which of us gives them an offer.

I remember realizing that my need to adopt every underclassmen girl during college was because I felt that I got robbed of being an older brother, so I wanted to make up for it.

I remember my mom looking me in the face and telling me she never thought she would be 60 and have no retirement.

I remember a co-worker asked me why I’m always the last one in the office, and I wished I could explain that my people have negative net worth, and I have a chance to change that.

I remember looking at my sister’s grave site and wondering if I’m becoming the man she would have needed.

I remember punching my cousin in the face for calling me four-eyes in front of our third grade class. We were only black kids in the school.

I remember getting a shut off notice about a bill that wasn’t mine, and getting chills.

I remember the first time I heard someone use a season as a verb, and wondering how you could “summer” somewhere.

I remember reading the Souls of Black Folk, and wondering how DuBois learned how to capture our collective anguish with his pen.

I remember the first time I read my name on the internet, for something I’d written, and wondering if it would ever happen again.

I remember starting to read Roots, but stopped after page 200.

I remember being in speech therapy, because I had a lisp that was so bad I couldn’t complete sentences which made me nervous, so I developed a habit of looking down when I spoke.

I remember when my high school guidance counselor told me that my college school list was too ambitious, and maybe I should “stay home for school.”

I remember my best friend’s family sending my parents a $1000 in the mail with a note that said, “We love you. God bless.”

I remember feeling like I’d never be good enough to write for another online publication.

I remember making a giant Google doc of all the places I wanted to write for, then getting scared when the publications started to get more prestigious.

I remember believing that I’m more than my mistakes, but realizing I never forgave myself for the ones I’ve made.

I remember the first day of work in the Empire State Building, and being so scared that I rode the elevator past the right floor intentionally.

I remember writing an application for a freelance gig, getting it, then realizing I wasn’t interested, but that extra $ could go towards a loan.

I remember making a Mint account for my mom, and looking at her accounts, and not realizing

I remember meeting people I looked up to, and realizing that they’re scared about stuff too.

I remember reading Psalm 119:50 so much during senior year, I put it on my arm.

I remember every single time I wanted to quit, but realizing that I had two aunts that got breast cancer in the same year, and lived to talk about it the next year.

I remember thinking I was losing my eyesight earlier this year, and asking myself, if had every I created something that could touch someone even if they couldn’t see.

I remember my grandfather telling me how he had to ask for spare change to bury his father in Mississippi, and when he tried to enter a church, they told him he wasn’t allowed inside. He dug the grave himself.

I remember. You do too.