The In-Crowd

I absolutely have no desire
To be apart of
The in crowd
Confident people do not
Give a fudge
When they say that
You can’t sit with us
Oh boo hoo
Jocks, cool kids, mean girls
We all know about these groups they
Ruled the yearbook
Yet these kids
Are all a part of the
Adolescent clique
In some
Kind of capacity these
Group of kids become bullies
Precursors of adults
Who still possess
Middle and high school mentalities
Constantly reminiscing about
Their former popularity
In which I am immune to
I never was one whose desire was
To be a popular kid in school
It’s like being in a
Zombie apocalypse
Surrounded around a bunch
Of brain dead people
Who are unable to think
For themselves
Who relies heavily on
Group thinking,
Group dependency,
And group acceptancy
It’s not welcome to
To do anything differently
Or people will experience
Tribal shaming
It’s like a sorority for
Pettiness that doesn’t exist
At any university or college
The scariest thing about it is
They think that
They are individualistic
When they are actually
Apart of the collective
How sad is that
I love me some me
Because I have always felt free
Embracing what makes me unique
Secure in my individuality
And that is amazing
Some people spend most
Of their lives
Trying to figure out
Who they are
But most of it is due
To them giving into peer pressure
When they were very young
And fear of their insecurities
Afraid to be themselves
Afraid to be rejected
Afraid of not being able to
Be apart of the secret group
To be apart of the in crowd
Or maybe it’s a cult
Which is a serious problem
Sometimes wanting to be accepted
By a certain kind of people
So badly
Will cost you something
Like losing your identity
Becoming a carbon copy
Or a string of cut out dolls
Until something goes wrong
Then the in crowd will turn
Into an angry mob
Eventually betraying
You with a Judas kiss
On the outside you will sit
People like this don’t
Stand for anything
Which is why they always
Turn on one another
I have witnessed
This kind of behavior
For years
If this is what it’s
Like being apart of the in crowd
Then I am so glad
That I have never been apart of it

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We Were Madly, Madly in Love’: The Untold Story of MLK’s White Girlfriend By PATRICK PARR 04/01/2018 07:05 AM

This is not my article!!! I found it to be very fascinating so I decided to share it!!! Happy Reading!!!

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It took me a long time to find Betty Moitz.

I had first learned her full name while reading Bearing the Cross, the 1986 biography about Martin Luther King Jr., written by David Garrow. In the book, Garrow briefly describes a serious relationship between King and a young white woman around the same age, named Betty. They had met at Crozer Theological Seminary, in Chester, Pennsylvania, at the time, where King was a divinity student from the age of 19 until 22, when he graduated in May 1951. In Bearing the Cross, Garrow quoted a close friend and mentor of King’s at the time, Rev. Pius J. Barbour, who said the relationship had left King as a “man with a broken heart. He never recovered.”

In a way, I never recovered from that quote. As I wrote my own book about King, I wasn’t satisfied with such a short description of such an apparently devastating relationship. Garrow was the first biographer to discover Betty’s last name, and, fortunately for me, buried it in a heavyweight endnote at the back of the book. That endnote took me on two cross-country flights, spurred dozens of calls to wrong numbers and knocks on countless doors of people I thought might have known Betty. They didn’t, but I left my business card anyway, and eventually, one of those people found someone who might know Betty, and that person sent me an address, to which I sent a letter. It worked.

From the start, Moitz and King’s relationship was anything but carefree. Almost all of King’s friends, including Barbour, tried to discourage him from staying with Betty, knowing what an interracial relationship would mean for his future. “I thought it was a dangerous situation that could get out of hand, and if it did get out of hand it would smear King,” his Crozer classmate Cyril Pyle recalled in a 1986 interview. “It would make his future hard for him.”

But Betty recalls that time, and the young King, with fondness anyway. In our yearlong correspondence and one long meeting in January 2016, Betty, who recently passed away at the age of 89, told me the story of their relationship and just how close King came to walking away from his future plans for her. “We were madly, madly in love, the way young people can fall in love,” she told me during our conversation at her home.

She started at the beginning.

From a young age, Betty Moitz had a family connection to Crozer, where ML—as King was known at the time—was pursuing his studies before returning to his native Atlanta to follow in his father’s footsteps as a preacher at Ebenezer Baptist Church. Moitz’s grandmother Elizabeth became the school’s dietitian in 1933. When she retired, Betty’s mother, Hannah Moitz, took over the position, and she kept it throughout ML’s years there. The family lived in a five-bedroom, three-bathroom home on the Crozer campus, and Betty graduated with honors from Eddystone High School, located only two miles away. Betty spent many days in her youth walking over to the kitchen to check on her mother, lend an extra hand or just hang around and chat.

Despite the constant exposure to their world, Betty had no intention of becoming a divinity student. She graduated from high school in 1946 and went directly to Moore College of Art, right across the river from the University of Pennsylvania. She was still a student at Moore in late 1948 when she paid one of her regular visits to her mother in the basement of Old Main, the main building on Crozer’s campus. This day was different, because Betty met someone new: a well-dressed, ambitious young man from Atlanta, Georgia, who was in his first year at the seminary and lived on the second floor of Old Main. He had a smooth voice and a sly smile.

At first, she and ML were just making small talk in Miss Hannah’s kitchen, nothing that would cause nearby students to turn their heads. But it continued. As they spoke on and off over the next few months, Betty learned about ML’s background and his tremendous hopes for the future. “Crozer was known as a very radical religious institution,” she told me, “so I was surprised to hear from ML himself [that he] had more conservative beliefs.”

ML’s own feelings for Betty were something he tried to keep secret. Though he’d even written to his mother about his other recent dating prospects, he would not have been at all eager to inform her that he was interested in a young white woman. Walter McCall, ML’s best friend and hall mate, who went by Mac, knew, of course, but he saw no harm in helping his best friend separate himself even further from racial norms they both believed were outdated. And though a few other students took note of ML and Betty’s friendly dialogue—it was, after all, a small world inside Old Main—no one seemed too bothered.

Fellow Crozer seminarian and King friend Marcus Wood in particular understood some of what spurred ML’s attraction. “I supposed he thought that, here I am out of the South now, and not back home,” Wood said in a 1986 interview, “out in the open, nothing illegal, a free place, sure I can go over and talk to this white girl.”

Throughout the course of ML’s first year at Crozer, his relationship with Betty continued to develop as their chats moved out of Miss Hannah’s basement kitchen. Soon, ML was also making the straight five-minute walk from Old Main to visit her at the Moitz home. “He used to go over their house quite often to see her,” Wood wrote in his 1998 memoir.

ML felt at ease with Betty. It was the enthusiasm with which he spoke on a wide range of topics that first attracted her. “He would talk, and talk and talk,” Betty says. At first they discussed his time in the South and how different it was from the idealized culture within the seminary. He didn’t yet know how but, according to Betty, “one thing ML knew at age 19 was that he could change the world.”

When ML returned to school the following fall of 1949, his and Betty’s relationship continued to blossom—but this was also when the difficulties began for the young couple.

By this point, they had become more comfortable on campus, sitting on benches and talking about their plans and goals for the future in full view of ML’s classmates and teachers. When asked if she had concerns about how they might be seen, Betty shrugs. “I never noticed. I always had a tan and dark brown hair.” But the 20-year-old ML was more aware of the potential social fallout.

It’s important to note that in 1949, interracial relationships were still very much taboo in the United States. Fewer than 40 miles from Crozer was the state of Maryland, where the first law against interracial marriage was enacted in 1664; the state would keep similar laws on its books for more than 300 years. Even in 1958, a Gallup poll would report that an astounding 94 percent of white Americans disapproved of interracial marriage.

Pennsylvania was one of the most flexible states when it came to “miscegenation” laws. Still, that didn’t mean ML and Betty could head over to a local café and hold hands out in the open. Members of the Crozer community, despite their liberalism, would have had trouble throwing their support behind such an arrangement. They weren’t against it, but they weren’t exactly for it, either. Glares, scoffs and head shakes were inevitable. Cyril Pyle, ML’s classmate from Panama who worried about the relationship “smearing” King, worked in the kitchen and dining hall and witnessed ML and Betty getting closer. “I knew about it, thought it was bad, but I didn’t want to get involved.”

Soon, their “dates” mainly consisted of Betty driving ML around the city of Chester, ignoring the scowls of society. “I listened,” Betty says, “and he’d just talk and talk.” But she loved it—his enthusiasm, his anxious hopes “to return South and help people. He was wonderful—a joy to be with and listen to.”

When ML’s sister Christine came to visit him at Crozer, as she did regularly, his friendship with Betty crept back into the shadows. It wasn’t that ML didn’t trust Christine—their relationship had always been strong—it was the fact that Christine was a direct conduit to their mother, and that was something ML could not risk. Telling his sister about Betty would have meant putting her in the unenviable position of withholding important information from her mother in every letter and phone call home. And if Christine were to let slip that ML had been getting closer to a white woman, ML could only imagine the disappointment in his mother’s eyes. Betty knew about these concerns: “He was worried what she’d think,” she recalls.

Over the course of ML’s second year, his relationship with Betty grew closer—and more public. From chats in Miss Hannah’s kitchen and around campus, the couple had progressed to hanging out with Mac, ML’s friend Horace Whitaker, known as Whit, and others in the recreation room down the hall from the kitchen. Betty would watch as ML and his friends played pool. “The men who worked in the kitchen and dining room used to go down to shoot pool or play table tennis every evening after dinner,” she remembers. “I was surprised how well [ML] played.”

And their private time together was no longer limited to Betty driving ML around Chester. “We did go out on dates,” Betty says. “He was always trying to get me to go with him to restaurants in Chester. I was embarrassed to let him know I had never been to any of those places. In those days, who went to restaurants?”

ML would have known that dining at a predominantly white restaurant was a risky proposition, not only for himself but for Betty as well, but their relationship was a way for him to test the limits of northern culture. Such boundary-pushing becomes easier when one starts to fall in love, and according to Betty, that’s exactly what was happening.

Many of ML’s classmates could see how enamored he’d become. “King was extremely fond of her,” Marcus Wood recalls. “But he was also rather proud of the fact that he was able to socialize openly with a white girl.”

“There were people who knew about them,” Whit said—himself among them—but “they didn’t flagrantly show their feelings toward each other.”

ML could only trust one friend with his feelings toward Betty, and that was Mac. Around this time, ML and Betty went into Philadelphia with Mac and his girlfriend at the time, policewoman Pearl E. Smith. The four headed back to Pearl’s home, and there was a moment when Betty and Pearl were speaking to each other in the kitchen. “They didn’t tell her anything about me,” Betty says.

Pearl, who was black, measured Betty up. It was true, Betty was tan, and Pearl gave her a nod of approval: “You know, you could pass.” Mac overheard what Pearl said and, according to Betty, “rolled on the floor, laughing.“

ML’s friends sensed how serious he was getting about Betty Moitz, and all of them, except for Mac, worried about how this would affect his future plans. According to Marcus Wood, “The more we warned [ML] that marriage was out of the question—especially if he hoped to become a pastor in the south—the more he refused to ‘break off’ the potentially controversial relationship.”

ML’s counterargument had two components. The first, of course, was the obvious one: He loved Betty. She listened to him, supported him and greatly admired his ambitions. He could see himself marrying her. The second was a symbolic component: Wouldn’t their union also be a powerful statement that barriers can be brought down? It could serve as living proof of his belief in the idea of social integration. Late one night, after making out with Betty on a bench near Old Main, a smitten ML headed over to Horace Whitaker’s apartment. Whit, while in the same graduating class, was a decade older than ML and was already married, with one child. ML needed guidance, and though he trusted Mac, it was time to turn to an older and more settled friend.

“They were very serious,” Whit remembered, “although he was young.” Whit felt a certain sense of dread in telling ML to deny his feelings toward Betty: “I’m not saying he wasn’t mature enough for that kind of experience, but I remember talking to him about that kind of marital situation … and we had talked about it from the standpoint that if he intended going back to the South and pastoring at a local church, that that might not be an acceptable kind of relationship in a black Baptist church, and I think he would be valuing that in light of whether or not it was a workable situation, knowing his own particular sense of call.”

Eight years later, King himself would say in a sermon that “there is more integration in the entertaining world, in sports arenas, than there is in the Christian church.” That was the reality Whit was urging his friend to consider. Would ML’s predominantly black congregation fully accept it if their preacher had a white wife? Was Betty prepared to handle life as the spouse of a black southern minister? Or was ML willing to give up on returning to the South? Could he be content to remain in the North and obtain a position in academia, contributing to the southern cause in some other way?

The only time King ever made a reference to Betty in public comes from a 1964 MLK biography by Lerone Bennett, titled What Matter of Man. In it, Bennett masks the quote with a tricky set of pronouns, so the source of it is unclear. King, then a married father, is quoted as saying: “She liked me and I found myself liking her. But finally I had to tell her resolutely that my plans for the future did not include marriage to a white woman.”

While we already knew the decision King ultimately reached about Betty, we didn’t know how he struggled with it throughout his time at Crozer. He was clearly old enough and mature enough to know even at the time that his decision on Betty would change the course of his life. And perhaps he even had a small idea of what his life would mean for the course of history.

The Story of My Life

Growing up my walls were plastered with posters of Skid Row, Kiss, Cinderella etc. My mother bought me t-shirts with Guns N Roses and Pantera on them. I’ve never went a long with what was considered to be the collective of the black community. I listen to all music but metal/ rock music is my favorite besides the lyrics in the rap music of today are disrespectful. I’m not interested in music that constantly degrades women it just isn’t cool. There are some women who listens to this kind of music with the excuse of well they aren’t talking about me. Which is so completely lame. Some of these rappers only concern is to make money not even wanting a gold or platinum record like how it was years ago. Rappers years ago wanted to make positive changes in the community. Things are so different from years ago that it almost breaks my heart.

The thing about the internet and social media people are able to connect and tell their truths. I can totally relate about being told that I’m not black enough because of my choices in music, social views etc. What’s being black enough anyway? Isn’t my skin color enough? I never understood the phrases “acting white” or “not being black enough”. Still I’ve heard this most of my life. It only kept me isolated when I was young. I can definitely relate to this video it’s the story of my life.

Just a Thought

I have been meaning to post about this days ago. It’s about Nia Wilson she was killed because of a random act. Everywhere on Facebook it’s hashtag justice for Nia Wilson. I would like to say that I have her family in my prayers.

I find some of the people of my race comical. I read a post by a black man that said:
Dear White Men,
“In my presence Do Not And I Repeat Do Not Disrespect, Touch, Cuss, Do Anything To Harm My Black Women!”
Is this brother serious? I have seen him tell black women when they complain about black men to “choose better.” This is the kind of stuff that I am talking about!!! I can’t and don’t take some of these black men seriously. The hypocrisy is unreal! I see it every day.

What I am about to write could piss people off but it’s my opinion which I am entitled to. There is a video that I saw and the lady made a lot of sense. She spoke of how when she researched further about the Nia Wilson’s story that she found other stories that no one was talking about.

I’ll tell you the reason why the Nia Wilson story is talked about and not the others for the same reason why Rosa Parks was talked about and Claudette Colvin wasn’t. Or the Lovings and not Elinor Powell. The black community pick and choose the stories that they want to get outraged about. Some black people look at looks, prestige, and skin color as important and blame the white race. If you don’t believe me read Claudette Colvin’s story.

The moment that some black people see a situation with a white person they scream racism. It’s not always about race. I’m so sorry about Nia Wilson but the fact is more black women die by the hands of black men. There are more violent black on black crimes than black people being killed by another race. Murder is never right by anyone’s hands just like it’s not right to make up excuses about black on black crime. Where is the outrage about domestic violence? Where is the outrage when an innocent child is killed during a drive by? Where is the outrage about gang violence?

I wrote a post about this a few days ago all of my life I have embraced who I am. I have never followed the trend but did what made me happy. The point is some black people in the community pick and choose what to get outraged out as well as who to embrace. I have been mistreated by people who share my skin color however that’s a post for another day.

All life is precious and no one has the right to cut someone else’s short I don’t care what race the person is.

I Am Free

I’m not for racism
You are cooning
I’m a Christian
You are stupid
That’s a white man’s religion
I want to work with every race
You are working with the enemy
I’m opening up my dating options
You are a bed wench
I enjoy the freedom of wearing wigs
You are wearing someone’s hair
Because you can’t grow your own
I have friends of every race
You are an Oreo
I have dreams of better things
You are still black
I am feminine
You are weak
I am educated
You are not that smart
I am valuable
You are worthless
I have standards
You are not all of that
I am leaving the hood
You are not going anywhere
I don’t like what’s going on
Within the black community
You are self-hating
I am living my best life
You are a sellout
I love my brown skin
You are too dark
I love my natural hair
You are nappy headed
I love heavy metal
You are trying to be something
That you are not
I’m happy with my size
You are fat
I enjoy living the single life
You are a thot
I enjoy being alone
You are a liar no one wants you
I love me some me
I love you too Boo
How could you?
All of these negative words
Came for you
If you love me
You sure do have a funny way
Of showing it
Well I am free
And I no longer
Care about you attempting
To degrade me
What you believe
Only elevates me
As I strive to be
The opposite
Of what you would
Like to see for me
Misery loves company
But you can’t
Stop me from being happy
You don’t control
My destiny

What’s Really the Problem?

Not too long ago I wrote about a post that a white woman wrote addressing black people. She questioned why some black people had an issue when one or the other dates outside of the race. It was definitely crazy how she pointed that out.

The Justin McClure’s situation has gotten crazy and nerve racking. Like leave that man in peace to love his family. It’s sickening how some of the people from the black community are behaving. I question what’s really the issue. To be honest the only people that he needs to answer to is his family.

I’m not giving up on hope for some black women they will come around eventually. I can’t name all of the things that my mother used to tell me and now I see what she meant. We have to extend the same courtesy to others because none us woke up and just got something. A lot of the reasons why we make the choices that we make is because something influenced it. Most people ask for advice for a reason whether they choose to accept it is another.

Why do some black people take delight in other people’s pain? It’s disgusting because it’s only exposing how people truly are. Waiting to be able to say I knew that they wasn’t perfect. Well who told you to put a human being on a pedestal so high done with the hopes that they will fall. Just so you can talk about it. Blackheartedness that is plain ugly. Vengeful spirited people scare me because they obsess about destroying a person. They don’t stop until their vengeance is fulfilled. And do you know what’s even more scary how hungry that they are about making it happen. Literally starving almost foaming at the mouth like a ravage dog. Instead of putting that kind of energy into leading a productive life. Some people are so freaking spiteful.

My mother used to say that some black people are like crabs in a basket. Crabs in a basket means a syndrome where a group of like situated people hurt those in their community attempting to get ahead. Often this is applied to people in an impoverished community where one person is starting to get ahead. The collective community becomes jealous or filled with a sense of self-loathing, so they find a way to pull that person back down to the community’s level.
When harvesting crab, the crab as a group will pull down any crab that starts to climb out of the barrel in an attempt to be the first out of the barrel that holds them in, hence crabs-in-a-barrel.

My mother dated only black men she wasn’t a swirler but she was a truth teller. She was born in the 50s so she witnessed a lot of stuff pertaining to some black people. Is that the problem? Some black people have a crab in a basket syndrome? If that is not the case then quit going after other people’s happiness as if you are on a witchhunt. Level up in the spirit regardless of your beliefs that way you’ll learn to be in competition with yourself and not obsess about destroying others.

Our History

A past is something that we all have. Today will be yesterday by this time tomorrow. Will I make a mistake? Will I offend someone? Will I overcook my broccoli? Will I wear my wig wrong and never be able to live it down? Will someone have a problem with the way that I lived my life ten years from now? When I get into a relationship how much of my past is owed to my partner? If I have worked my past out with God why should I have to dig up old bones again? I am not trying to pull out skeletons that are in my closet and lay them across the bed like a wardrobe. Explaining this mistake and that mistake. Really?! I am torn about this subject. I have so many questions and feelings.

In the news there has been waves made about this amazing Youtube couple name Justin and Ami McClure. Mr. and Mrs. McClure are a interracial couple who has a set of twins and a son. Recently, Mr. McClure’s past came back to haunt him. Many years ago before Mr. McClure got married he made some racist tweets about black people and black women. This situation has caused a media frenzy and I pray that their marriage can withstand this situation. I believe that Mr. McClure learned from his mistake there are many who refuse to allow him to live it down. It is obvious that he loves his family. This man adopted the twins if that doesn’t show that he’s a man of substance I don’t know what will. There are a lot of men who don’t take care of their children and he’s not one of them. Just Sayin.

It’s funny how last night I kind of got into a small debate about women who have been divorced giving a single or married couples advice. The guy felt that a divorced woman couldn’t give advice because her marriage didn’t last. As if a wife is solely responsible for keeping a marriage together. A person can’t keep a person who doesn’t want to be kept. In my opinion marriages end every day for different reasons. If a man cheats should a woman stay? If a woman cheats should a man stay? If a man is a drug addict should a woman stay? I get tired of one sided people. This man calls himself a Christian yet it’s the wife’s fault if a marriage falls apart? What happened to the husband being the head bruh? One of his female facebook’s friends jumped on the post coming for me. SMH! Ummm Sis. You go right ahead on and talk to yourself. Long story short I believe that experience is the best teacher. A mistake is a mistake no matter what kind that it is. Oh we can choose what a mistake is now? Suppose people got married young and things didn’t work out? Maybe the people who got married young can give advice about why getting married young was a bad choice. The base word of message is mess. A message can’t happen without a mess happening. We can learn from the past that’s why they teach history in school.

I don’t know about anyone else but I refuse to be bonded by my mistakes. I’m not going to keep reliving things. I might get involved with a partner and have to explain something that happened years ago? I don’t think so. If a person was married before okay then they should share that information. No one wants to have their past dug up. Our present is a gift that affects our future. The past is over and we have to be careful of people who are out to hurt us. Mr.McClure’s tweets are many years old and no I am not saying it’s okay. All I am asking is how long do we have to keep reliving something that is over? And why is it that some people gets a quicker pass than others? They will extend the courtesy a million miles long for certain people. I refuse to not live my life to the fullest out of fear. I have dealt with my past as far as I am concerned if there is nothing in my past that will hurt my partner later then there is nothing to discuss. Cars don’t drive backwards. People don’t walk backwards. So why should I live my life constantly looking back. Everyone has made mistakes and will continue to do so it’s called being human. The worst thing about a mistake is if nothing was learned from it. So I am erasing my past mistakes unless they can be useful to somebody else, besides that there is no need of studying my past one won’t be able to earn a degree from it.
menghapus-dosa