Change Minds, not Flags

Confederate Flags and Cowboy Boots, these were things I thought were cool as a kid living in East Tennessee and Middle Georgia.

I spent my early childhood hanging out with friends while Hank Williams and Willie Nelson played over the radio.

I had friends (not white friends and black friends).

I grew up watching the “Stars and Bars” across Bo and Luke’s car race down the road. I rode in trucks with “Rebel Flags” and gun racks. Shoot, I even had my own flag at one point. My first concert was the Black Crowes with a southern style infused sound and a bunch of confederate flags all throughout the crowd. I’ve even performed on stage with as large confederate flag behind me as sang “Long Haired Country Boy” (rock version by now defunct Psych-Nine).

A few times I did observe racism. My step-father got arrested at a little league baseball game because a parent referred to me in a derogatory way. Our basketball team had things thrown at us while visiting a nearby school for a game. There were Ku Klux Klan rallies in surrounding towns.

My mother wanted me to take advantage of opportunities. She warned me I would have to work twice as hard to get half as far “because of my skin”, but I could still be whatever I wanted.

My mother also told me to treat myself AND others how I wanted to be treated so I showed respect. I was the first black student council president in my middle school. I was the only African American in my “Gifted/ Advanced Placement Pre-Engineering Program” in high school. I wasn’t “driven out” by fear but driven forward by determination. I wanted to show my confederate flag encrusted area had more than ghetto guys or redneck guys.

Some tried to walk on me, but most respected me. Most importantly, I never let anyone or anything destroy the respect I had for myself. On my wedding day, my mother hugged me and congratulated me. I wasn’t a “statistic”. I didn’t have a lot of kids that I didn’t take care of. I maintained stable employment, had received an education and was now happily married.

The “struggles” the flag brought made the person who I am today. I think about the unfairness and inequality still in the world today and the flag never comes to mind. I think of a mindset owned by the rest of the country that desires the easy button. I love that flag because it’s a part of my history. Yes, my African American, celebrating black history month at church singing “We shall overcome” history. Not all of the stories have a happy ending but that I don’t want any part of my history erased.

If you want to “defeat” the common meaning of the confederate flag, then show to the people that misinterpret it what good things can come from it.