I don’t want your green bean casserole!

I grew up in Richmond, Virginia. For those who may have forgotten your American History, Richmond was the capital of the confederacy during The Civil War. We have a stretch of Monument Avenue dedicated with five statues of confederate leaders as a constant reminder of the city’s connection to that war.

I now live in Atlanta, Georgia and have been a resident here for over 20 years. Some of the same confederate leaders who have statues on Monument Avenue, sit atop Stone Mountain. Years ago, the summer laser show used to end with a playing of Dixie, as the lasers created an animated effect so that those generals could “ride off” on their horses.

Even acknowledging the challenging histories of my hometown and current home, I am a proud Southerner. My family’s heritage and history resides in the south. Our pain and our triumphs are here as well.

There is a long-standing tradition in the South, especially amongst Black communities when a death occurs. It goes something like this:

(Door bell rings, I answer it)

· Me — “Hello, Mr. & Mrs. Thompson.”

· Thompsons — “Hi, Aaronde. We heard your ____ passed away. So sorry to hear that.”

· Me — “Thank you.”

· Thompsons — “We won’t be long. Just wanted to drop off some food for you, Jen and the girls.”

· Me — “Aww….thank you.”

· Thompsons — “We cooked all your favorites. Some fried chicken, made sure there’s plenty of wings. Fried fish too, just some whiting and perch, no tilapia, we know y’all don’t like that. Made mac & cheese for your oldest too. And there’s sweet potatoes, collards and some rolls. Oh, and here’s some cobbler too. Meant to pick up some vanilla ice cream for it, but we just forgot to do it. We’re sorry about that, nothing tops off cobbler like vanilla ice cream. Jimmy made some sweet tea with lemonade the way y’all like it.”

· Me — “Mr. & Mrs. Thompson, thank you so much. This was so kind.”

· Thompson — “It’s nothing. If y’all need anything let us know. We’ll be by some time next week to pick up those dishes. Y’all take care now.” (Thompsons turn to leave)

· Me — “Thanks again.” (Closes the door)

Once that door is closed, you feel a tear begin to drop and take a deep breath. You know that what you have just experienced is LOVE at its best. It’s the care and concern from another family in a time of mourning. That’s what this meal means in the south.

Sometimes, in the midst of the same circumstance, you get a different kind of visit. One that goes like this:

(Door bell rings, I answer it)

· Me — “Hello, Mr. & Mrs. Johnson”

· Johnsons — “Hi, Aaronde. We heard your ______ passed away. Had he been sick?”

· Me — “Uhm, well there had been some challenges.”

· Johnsons — “So sad. Who’s gonna do the funeral?”

· Me — “We are still planning that.”

· Johnsons — “Okay. You know Watkins Funeral Home does such a great job, that’s who did my daddy’s funeral. Do you know what day and time it’s gonna be?”

· Me — “Not yet.” (already starting to feel exhausted)

· Johnsons — “Well let us know. Oh, we brought you by some food.”

· Me — “Thank you.”

· Johnsons — “We made you a green bean casserole. Even put some extra crispy onions on top.”

· Me — (nervously smiling to hide the gag reflex that just arose in the pit of my stomach) “Oh okay. Thanks” (insert fake smile)

· Johnsons — “Just put it in the oven at 350 for about 22 minutes and it will be nice and warm. Whatever you do, don’t microwave it though. Oh my goodness, Earl microwaved some last year and it was horrible.”

· Me — “Well, I will be sure not to do that.” (with an eye-roll over the shoulder)

· Johnsons — “Now I need you to finish eating that by Saturday, ’cause I’m going to need that dish next week. Can you have the girls drop it by on Tuesday evening?”

· Me — “Sure, I guess.” (beginning to rock back and forth, fidgeting because this stay is longer than it should be). “I appreciate you coming by, hate to cut this short, but you know…”

· Johnsons — “Oh, of course. Where are our manners. I am sure you have things to do. Tell your wife to call me.”

· Me — “I will. Thanks.” (quickly closes AND locks the door).

Once the door is closed, you take a deep breath. Shake your head and then SCOOP ALL OF THE CASSEROLE IN THE TRASH, tossing the dish in the sink. You know what you just experienced is SELFISHNESS at its best. This visit wasn’t about you, your family or your loss. It was about checking a box and being able to say, “We’re compassionate and loving.”, neither of which were displayed with this visit. Why? Because if you know me and know my family, you know we can’t stand green bean casserole!!

Whether you have known me for all my life or just a couple of years, at some point you have heard some version of my diatribe of how green bean casserole is the most useless side dish in the history of food. I don’t care which version you make. I don’t care if Bobby Flay cooked in on Brunch with Bobby; and even if G. Garvin and Sunny Anderson kicked it up a notch with a whole lot of spices — I still am not eating green bean casserole; and neither are my wife and kids.

So what’s the point here? We are in the midst of a difficult time. COVID-19 was the unexpected sucker punch you get from a bully on the playground. George Floyd was the knockout punch that we knew would eventually come, but didn’t expect it right now. And yet, Black people are still standing.

The posting of a Black Lives Matter quote is cute, but I don’t need that.

I need space and that means that this is about me — not you.

I am not here to talk to you — so you feel better.

I am not here to absolve you of your White Guilt (look it up, it’s a thing).

I am not here to say because we are “friends” (which is news to me), you get a pass when you’re overstepping boundaries.

I am not here to console your tears around “How can this happen?” (Chile please, this shit’s been happening since 1619 — wake up).

I am not here to agree with you that the system is broken, cause it ain’t; the system was designed to oppress Black people and it’s doing it’s damn job.

Bottom line, with regards to what is happening in America right now, hear me: I am not here for YOU.

But what I do need right now is LOVE. The kind of LOVE that says “I’m here — whatever that means.” Period.

So what does LOVE look like? Let me share this story with you.

My oldest daughter posted a video on social media of Jane Elliott asking a white audience if they would like to be treated the way Blacks are treated, please stand. No one does. She asks the question again. She gets the same response. She then tells the audience “Nobody’s standing. That says plainly, you know what’s happening. You don’t want it for you. I wanna know why you’re so willing to let it happen for others.”

About three or four hours after posting that 45 second video, she receives a message from a White friend. The message simply says “Just spent the last few hours watching Jane Elliott videos.” There was no “call me to talk about it”. There was no, “I get it now”. It was just those few short words. That’s LOVE. That’s knowing and understanding that this wasn’t about her, but about my daughter. About the pain and anger she felt. And her friend’s simple act of taking time to learn more, that was her contribution to deepening their friendship. That was her showing LOVE. And I know her expression of LOVE is going a long way to cement their friendship with one another,

“To my white brothers, I love you. Every race here, I love you. But it comes to a point now, where if you love me and you not standing on the same side of me, the your love don’t mean shit.” — Stephen Jackson, friend and “Twin” of George Floyd

So before you call/text/email your Black colleague, “friend” or associate about this national unrest, ask yourself “Am I coming from and with LOVE or I am coming from and with SELFISHNESS?” If it’s the latter, then please, leave your green bean casserole at home.