Category Archives: being real

Burden Behind the Badge

Imagine being awakened by the body’s internal alarm clock and prior to putting together a group of collective thoughts, your heart plummets to the depths of its soul. Peering at the reflection in the mirror while firmly gripping your toothbrush unhappy and emotionally ill-prepared for the challenges you were forced to undertake on a daily basis. After clothing yourself, eating or drinking some semblance of nutrition and enduring traffic to reach your destination, you arrive at your location only to feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper with each advancing step toward the building’s entrance. For many of us, that’s a feeling we’ve grown accustomed to on a daily basis. Instead of satisfying our appetite for independence and entrepreneurship, we jump onto life’s conveyor belt and run at a frenetic pace in an attempt to keep up with the world’s constant changes. Realizing if we were to ever teeter off balance, slow our speed or stop completely without an alternative, we stand to lose everything we’ve worked so hard to build. So try envisioning the battle one must undergo when they’ve sworn an oath to “serve and protect” in the interest of public safety when they’ve reached a point where that desire no longer drives them. Where underneath the tactical gear, Hi-Tech boots and agency issued uniform dwells a person uninterested in being trapped in the confines of what the “shield” symbolizes. This was the case for former police officer Amos Mac, Jr. A crusader on the side of “right” and what’s just; a martyr for having those same principles and wanting to exhibit them to the public at large. In an occupation where secrecy and upholding the “code” is paramount and having upstanding moral values is often times frowned upon.

As an African-American in today’s society, the desire to be a police officer is far down on the list of occupations one wants to join in the workforce. Aside from being labeled a “snitch”, “5-0” or the “police” when around your peers, there are many other pursuits that appear more lucrative and pleasing to eye. The images of police officers abusing their authority are visible on every television set and social media site around the country. So as early as adolescence, many children’s aspirations are endeavors that require little to no education and don’t come with the stigma of being labeled a “Narc”. Why become a doctor, dentist, scientist, police officer or engineer, when those professions aren’t seen as any sort of accomplishment or aren’t visible in the mainstream. It’s much easier to become a model, video vixen, athlete, or drug dealer. In that world, you get exposure, flash and the opportunity to make what appears to be easy money. However, what isn’t discussed are the consequences of making those career choices and how not having a formal education will hinder one from progressing; leaving the pursuer underemployed if those endeavors fail. Mac, a Black male, was no different. He never thought that during his formative years he’d be a police officer. It wasn’t until his interaction with a Community Resource Officer at a local middle school changed his perception of the field. In Amos’ own words he explained that the “brother” (an African-American officer) was cool and encouraged him to join the force. He saw similarities with the officer and felt that if he joined an agency, he’d be able to make a difference. In his mind he’d utilize the resources available to him, and through his actions and diligence cultivate a relationship that had long been severed between the force and community. After careful thought, he decided to join and submitted an application. Upon being accepted, completing the rigors of the academy and officially being sworn in, he entered an arena where he could now see the disparities taking place in the neighborhoods he policed. Individuals became numbers; quotas had to be met; the community he had hoped to protect and uplift often times shunned him. With every traffic stop came fear of the unknown; the arrival to every call, be it a domestic disturbance or burglary, came a sense of insecurity. These inhibitions weren’t because he was frightened of the circumstances; they came from a state of how he’d react if he was threatened or if imminent dangers were to arise.

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As citizens, we become apprehensive the moment we hear the sirens blare and see the illumination of red and blue lights flashing behind a vehicle we occupy. Many officers relish in the fact that they can make your palms sweat by their mere presence in your rearview mirror. We grip the steering wheel tighter, nervously adjust our seat belts and assume the correct posture until our fears are placed at ease once the civil servant bolts in another direction. Our heartbeat steadies and our angst subsides once the perceived danger has passed. How can individuals who are thought to provide safety and comfort leave many of the populous shaken and uneasy with each encounter? Mac wanted to be the officer seen on the cover of brochures distributed at Job Fairs and Career Days displaying community activism as the photographer captured the moment under a manufactured title of “Public Outreach.” The bond he had desired to forge never materialized and became lost in a vacuum of politics and misgivings. And after almost four (4) years of service with a law enforcement agency in the State of North Carolina, Mac decided that his passions were best suited elsewhere and composed a literary piece entitled “Imprisoned In Blue”. Using his experiences in the field as a backdrop, within the manuscript is a collection of creative expressions uniquely assembled to describe his time on the force. From the onset, Mac admits you onto a rollercoaster of emotions; where with each ebb and flow the reader is engulfed into a magnitude of sensational highs and heart wrenching lows. At its apex you have a piece called “Impact”, where he describes his interaction with a seventeen (17) year old, their conversation, and how impactful his words were several years later after a chance reunion revealed that the young man had matured and righted his situation. It plummets at times and reveals the depths of Mac’s ambiance in a poem titled “The Price”, where he explains that subliminally he believed his honor and integrity were frequently questioned despite swearing his allegiance to principles that often had him feeling as if at any moment he could be handcuffed and placed into the rear of a squad car. The momentum quickens to a high speed and the reader experiences jerking turns with verses named “Thug” and “Suspect’s Cry”, where in the former, the word, both identified in the media and embedded in popular culture, is depicted in the same vein as the derogatory term which has been used to identify Blacks since the days of slavery and is the new code phrase uttered to identify the actions of a person of color; the latter an introspection from a suspect providing an account from his standpoint about the hardships he’s faced and being ensnared within the boundaries of civilization. At times, mid flow, it comes to a screeching halt with pieces like “Traitor” where Mac questions himself and the thoughts of being used as an instrument to further the agenda to disenfranchise Blacks in the role of an overseer; a Benedict Arnold to the people of his race. The work is a composition of all his thoughts and feelings, narrated piece by piece; a visual transcript of his experiences summarized for the reader’s enjoyment.

Though given a manual with countless rules, regulations, laws and statutes, Mac insists that being a police officer is an occupation that can only be learned by performing the tasks that come with wearing the armor associated with it. Experience is the best teacher, something that is lost when watching your favorite crime drama or reality television show. In a matter of fifty-two (52) minutes, a crime is committed, investigation conducted, suspect apprehended and verdict rendered all in a fashion that will have you believe policing is easy. Mac illustrates that it’s often a thankless job. One in which “discretion is the better part of valor” and the sole objective is to make it home safely after the shift is completed. Once the shift sergeant dismisses the officers from roll call, every interaction can have far reaching ramifications for the decision maker and the individual encountered. The difference between a physical altercation, a trip to the county jail, the receipt of a traffic citation or a friendly discussion is based on maturity, intelligence and officer’s prudence. The manner in which everyone involved conducts themselves determines any escalation of action on the part of the officer. Nowadays, Mac is secure in his new position with Parks & Recreation within the area he resides. No longer obligated to decipher coded jargon broadcasted over a police frequency, he now focuses his enthusiasm on mentoring the youth and establishing programs that would prove to enhance their abilities as they prepare for the perils of adulthood. His work, Imprisoned In Blue, lends voice to those that both carry the burden of wearing the badge and those whose voices yearn to be heard while enforcing a system, that at its core, appears to be broken. When one is willing to trade in their livelihood for the sanity of doing what’s virtuous, armchair activism isn’t acceptable. “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

To purchase your copy of Imprisoned In Blue by Amos Mac, Jr, please visit www.MacVisionz.com or follow Amos Mac, Jr’s social media outlets; Facebook: AmosMacJr, Twitter: @amosmacjr, @Instagram: @amosmacjr.

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Kill’em With Kindness After The Anger Consumes You

Disclaimer: Typically this isn’t the direction I’d like to go with the blog or how I would like the site, the show and the Fan Page to be portrayed.  I sat on this one for a long, thinking long and hard before I considered posting it. This post came from a somewhat dark and frustrating place.  It’s irreprehensible for me to allow this sort of thing to happen, but I have to express that these writings come from a “real” place and aren’t merely for entertainment or to seek attention. This is uncharacteristic of what we represent, however the thoughts are real; no different than what you may feel in the darkest corners of your mind.

 Metaphysics is defined as the branch of philosophy that deals with the first principles of things, including abstract concepts such as being, knowing, substance, cause, identity, time, and space. When practiced, the participant learns that emotions are a response to reactions that are felt inside of them. Whereas, if someone is angry with you or combative in nature, that’s their reality and beyond your control. Your reaction in turn will lead to sequences that will alter your future. An example would be if you stubbed your toe while getting out of bed. If you allow that one event to affect your mood, and don’t view it as a singular moment in time, the remainder of your day may proceed as follows: you spill coffee on your clothes; you step in dog feces while walking across the grass; you’re involved in an automobile accident or receive a speeding ticket on the way to work; so on and so forth. The same is true in the inverse. If you start your morning with a pleasant attitude, the outcome will follow suit. Finding $50 in a pair of jeans; receiving the promotion at work you applied for; winning a prize in a contest. It’s the yin and the yang; the ebb and flow of the universe; karma if you will. It’s something that I practice and try to work on daily. However, on this occasion there’s a tremor of discomfort in my soul. The heartbeat is irregular; palms sweaty as the words spoken are rewound in my mind as a reminder of public perception. What began as a whisper continues to echo in the chasm of my mind.  See one of the leading principles is to not worry about what people say or think of you.  Whether you’re being praised or ridiculed, the objective is to stay above the fray; not allowing your ego to drive your emotions.  LeBron James is a better man than me to endure all the criticism he’s received for decisions he’s made during the past four (4) years. One of the reason I started this blog was to provide an honest display of life in the written word. Not only to provide information, but to always being true to who I am as an individual. It was purposely intended for me to receive the information that sparked this inferno, so it’s only appropriate that I fan the flames.  So for this blog “Parental Discretion Is Advised!” only because it’s personal and addressing “hate”.  Let the subliminal pistol play begin.  (Rules: “On my count, take ten {10} paces, turn, then fire!) 

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The funny thing about being human is, no matter how perfect we try to appear on the surface, we all have our visible flaws; internal demons that we try to keep caged before its savagery is mistakenly or purposely released on an unsuspecting individual.  I try to never personalize the blogs because I want to provide an objective perspective on the topics I discuss; providing the reader with a different point of view by allow them to think critically of themselves and the world around them.  The prism from which we view life is sometimes distorted by the emotions we harbor.  What may prove to be a major issue for one person may have no consequence to the other individual(s) involved.  What’s all the more befuddling is the fact that we never truly know the people we have angst with because without self-reflection and control of the ego, we never truly know ourselves to pass judgment. 

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For several days, my spirit had been troubling me about events that had taken place; and premonitions about future trials.  My inner voice had been warning me to stay away from different venues or verbalizing my thoughts on different topics because I knew there would be resistance.  Now that I’ve veered off the road of conventional thinking, I’ve created more enemies and most of those who I thought were friends, supporters and “family” has been exposed as frauds.  I have no brothers, sisters or a true best friend to confide in, so I release my passion with key strokes, the sound of the saxophone, snares and horns, and the consumption of libations; it’s therapeutic.  The later has proven to be a determent and it’s a vice I must break as it enhances what some may think is an already contentious attitude.  Drinking the 80 proof is similar to the injection of truth serum coursing through one’s veins releasing a euphoric sensation that engages the brain to transmit thoughts to the vocal cords having a residual effect on the listener.  The words may ring true, but the context and arena in which spoken can have damaging results. So before the onset of events leading up to my 25th high school class reunion, I wrote a blog this past Thursday titled, “Caps, Gowns and Tassels.”  It was a brief summation of my thoughts pertaining to the forthcoming festivities and how I was battling myself attend.  I’ll be the first to say growing up I wasn’t a guerilla (thug/hustler/bad boy), the most popular or a three time letterman of the All-Whatever Team. I was fine being myself.  During my developmental years I had the pleasure of hanging with a diverse crowd, which made me a well rounded person.  I wanted to be cool, so I completed my homework in school so I could walk home with no books and blend in.  But by no means, and I have this conviction to this day, was I trying to be more than what I was.  I was smart, and sometimes embarrassed to be so.  Most, if not all of the so-called “popular” people weren’t in my classes.  I didn’t skip school, smoke “weed” or have a car to take girls off campus for lunch so I guess that made me “green” (a square; nerd; regular).  So in “my” mind’s eye, I didn’t feel welcome amongst my peers so I didn’t attend as a result. 

A day after writing the aforementioned blog, I began feeling more hate enveloping me.  By happenstance, while working and listening to my iTouch, an interlude titled “Hater” by an artist out of Oakland, California named Yukmouth played.  As the two (2) voices on the track exchanged dialogue, I couldn’t help but relate to how the animosity of one of the characters verbalized what I had been feeling.  Inserting my name and show (The Porch Reloaded) in place of the featured protagonist spoke volumes; it captured everything I “knew” was discreetly taken place without my knowledge.  With all that being said, I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been ashamed to face myself in the mirror and admit to erroneous behavior.  If I’m wrong, I’m raising my hand in the classroom yelling to the teacher, “Pick me! Pick me!” because I’m willing to take responsibility.  That was no more evident than in a blog I wrote titled, “I Hate Myself!  The Struggle Between Being Honest and Being Real.”  Resembling everything I write, I try to provide an honest representation of my feelings regarding the human experience; providing comfort with the hopes that the font jumping off the page allows the reader to become engaged with the struggles we all endure.  As if I’m telling them, “I know you feel my multitude of emotions.  The highs of the elations; the lows of the disappointments; there’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable.  It makes you authentic, real; it makes you human. Like a songstress singing a love ballad, I’m expressing your feelings for you.  I’m your voice.”  That blog was meant as an apology for someone who felt I had hurt and betrayed their trust; and it was an assessment of me and what I needed to do to be better as a person.  Despite that, the “hate” didn’t stop.  And I was informed that an unhappy individual voiced their displeasure regarding a past incident that I thought had long been resolved.  I guess some feelings die hard, and unbeknownst to me, this person was “extremely” hurt by my actions.  So now, like Paul Revere atop his mighty steed galloping from town to town, this person can’t help but bellow their disdain for me.  I can’t lie, initially I was bothered; for all my flaws, I always try to have a good heart and show love when warranted.  Unlike most people, I never intend to maliciously hurt anyone; whether it be physically or wounding their pride.  I wanted to retaliate, strike back, and blow the spot up!!!  But what would that accomplish!  It would make me hypocritical.  All the encouraging posts and blogs, my attempts to spread love and enlightenment would all spiral down the toilet with the press of the “post” caption.  Is it worth it?  To satisfy my ego and fight for my honor is it worth resorting to any measure other than apologizing?  I’m twenty-one (21) about mine and will stand in the paint right, wrong or indifferent.  With what I’m trying to accomplish, I haven’t even made it to a level where the real “hate” will start.  This is but a small sample size of what’s to come if I’m to reach the heights that I know I’m capable of.  I won’t apologize for not being suspended from school, spending a stint in jail or being forced to attend CSI classes my behavior warranted such discipline.  If having those characteristics or swimming in the same school, in the same direction, traveling down the same stream was necessary for me to be accepted, then I glad I grew up and chose another route.  There are things in my past that I’m unhappy of and I could easily be in a different position than I am now.  So apply metaphysics to this situation, “what you eat doesn’t make me defecate!” Therefore I dismiss the urges to battle in the court of public opinion; it’s a no win proposition.  But just know this, there isn’t a need for direct eye, a subtle gaze, fake handshakes/hugs/kisses or idol conversation.  You don’t f*ck with me, and I don’t f*ck with you!  I’ll help those who’re willing to accept it, show love to those that appreciate it and continue pushing forward with my endeavors to become a better individual.  Now I’mma peel off like a band-aid.  LOL!  “We Are The Change!”  I’m gone! (b)

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The Whole Truth; So Help Me God

The remarkable thing about living in the “Information Age” is that the truth is supposedly a mouse click away. When it comes to matters of the heart or the determination of faith, the acceptance of that certainty is sometimes too much to bear. We desire honesty but will shun that reality when the answers doesn’t satisfy our yearnings. “Keeping it real” rings hollow when on its surface neither party wants the responsibility of what comes with that action. It is said that three (3) types of people tell the truth: a child, a person who’s intoxicated and an individual whose anger has enveloped them. In all three (3) instances, it isn’t the message being spurned; it’s the deliverer of said message that is often times overlooked.

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Where is the line drawn between truth & fallacy? Is truth based on a position of authority? Does the deliverer of the information have to stand behind a podium or pulpit, wearing a Brooks Brother suit or gorgeous designer dress addressing the audience before television cameras or wear a uniform to appear believable? Who wants to hear from their significant other that they’ve been cheated on, the love isn’t there anymore, the sex isn’t good and the food they prepare on a nightly basis is horrible? No one wants to have their faith questioned or a story that they’ve heard countless times contradicted because until that moment of levity, all their lives those tales and beliefs have rang true. People would rather walk in a shroud of darkness before being told that the things they hold dear are no more real than the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus. That’s why your friend continues to date the person that has been proven countless times to have cheated on them; the belief that the government has our best interests at heart although corruption has been demonstrated in those ranks time and time again; we say a “person of the cloth” is only human when being found to succumb to the strain of their office by sleeping with a member of their folk or engaging in ephebophilia. We say we want honesty but in actuality we don’t want to hear the truth. We unknowingly enjoy being deceived because the ramifications of knowing the facts are intimidating. The truth is painful; it makes us vulnerable; it hurts us to our core; it forces us to rebuild our morals and values. To avoid that, many of us would like things to remain status quo; it’s easier that way and absolves us of responsibility. And even in our denial of the truth, the words and evidence ring so true, it can’t help but resonate in the heart and provide a sense of enlightenment. And though that’s the feeling we all seek, undying freedom from the constraints of this reality, we run a never ending marathon from it.  It isn’t that the truth will set you free; it’s the willingness to question everything that will accomplish that. The truth is merely an unpleasant side effect.   “We Are The Change!” I’m gone! (b)

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