Shared on Facebook 6-28-2020

Stupid.

I wonder how many friends think I’m stupid?

I used to think I was stupid. I was treated like I was stupid by some teachers in school.

I look back and I was pretty stupid. Maybe because the education system failed me, or maybe I was just bad at learning. I didn’t pay attention and I didn’t care.

Something woke up in my brain later in life. I started to question things I grew up thinking were normal and accepted. Now it sometimes feels like I’m an outsider.

Our opinions and grown up personalities are based on our experiences. Our upbringing and influences. We can re-evaluate at any time.

For years I have been self examining and evaluating, trying to understand myself. The good and especially the bad. I try to figure out other people too, and try hard to not judge.

I see religion for what it is, complicated, and sometimes useful and good. But I personally can’t believe there’s an invisible man in the sky that loves us. I first pondered that when I was twelve and didn’t understand why so many bad things happen to innocent people. Especially kids. It just didn’t make sense. I was also very afraid to even think it, for fear of God punishing me. No one should be afraid of their own thoughts.

I grew up riding horses, raising animals, and being involved in rodeos. I’ve always known that the sport involves some animal cruelty and abuse. We should probably stop doing that, but it’s complicated. There will be a day where that will become an issue. It will probably be politicized by people wearing blue hats and red hats.

When I was a freshman in high school, I had a Confederate flag hanging across the back window of my pickup. It was simply a Rebel flag to me. I wasn’t taught about slavery and oppression in a way that made me truly understand, or empathize with, all that the flag represents. I didn’t realize that it’s a reminder of, and a monument to, the worst era of my American history.

I once considered painting a Swastika on my Volkswagen because I thought it would represent my funny little German car in a funny way. Again, I was vastly unaware of the meaning of that symbol. I was in my twenties. I honestly didn’t know anything about the Holocaust other than Hitler was in charge of bunch of Nazis and they tried to take over the world. Why didn’t I know about the murdering of millions of people for white supremacy? I just didn’t know.

So when I see the hatred, the ignorance, the stupidity, and the conspiracy theories on social media, I understand. I can relate.

I also understand that survival is at stake. I personally have the privilege to openly have opinions that don’t affect my work or important relationships. But I know that some of my friends won’t be accepted if they don’t have the same opinions. It can cost them a job. We were told in truck driving school, if we wanted to be a truck driver, we needed to dress like a truck driver.

I can also assume that sometimes they just don’t know about things. Maybe the education system failed them, like it did me, or maybe they’re just bad at learning or just don’t care, like I used to be.

But, I fixed my stupid. I learned how to learn. I freed my mind to think about things I wasn’t supposed to question. I changed my environment, and most importantly, I started to care about the world beyond my own.

Some of you will not like this story. It will subtly reveal my opinion on law enforcement. I have friends that are cops and I don’t mean to generalize or demean, but I have recognized problems with law enforcement for a very long time.

I was a bit of a lost youth and had many run-ins with the cops. My days of criminal behavior are very much over. Not because of anything law enforcement did, but because I grew up. I can relate to being profiled. I get profiled. I have a naturally rough look that makes some people nervous. It took years for me to realize that, and to not be offended. I get it, but I’m really actually a good guy.

I’ll limit my experience with the police to just two instances. One good and one bad. I’ll start with the bad experience.

To preface, no cop, I believe, has the right to hurt anyone, but sometimes some do. Sometimes they are just angry, over excited, with too much adrenaline to control themselves. Sometimes they’re full of hate or insecurity that manifests as aggressive behavior. Sometimes, some cops initially become cops for the authority and have power over others.

There is a Brotherhood of law enforcement officers. They watch each other’s backs, they protect each other, for good and bad. That gang mentality has to be in constant check. A lot of officers do that well, as they should, but a lot don’t.

Many, many years ago, three of my friends and I idiotically stole a Coke machine. I don’t know why. Maybe just to counteract the boredom of Lubbock, Texas. We were performing surgery on it in a cotton field when a cop shined a spotlight on us from the nearby highway. The driver friend peeled out and would have left us in the dust if the rest of us didn’t run and dive into the back of the moving pickup truck. The cop followed us into the plowed cotton field in his 5.0 liter Ford Mustang interceptor cop car. After a long game of high speed, hide and go seek, dangerously speeding through tiny neighborhoods and cotton fields, the driver friend gave up and pulled over to the side of the highway. There was also a very long line of intimidating police cars with flashing red and blue lights headed toward us.

Obviously we had broken the law. Obviously we had peacefully given up. Obviously we were going to jail. Obviously, we were going to be punished.

Minutes passed after we stopped on the shoulder of the highway. No officer had even approached us. We were all just waiting. I remember being ordered to stand up to be handcuffed while still in the back of the truck, and an officer deducing that we “pissed ourselves” because our pants were wet. Actually, Coke cans had exploded due to the vibration of the truck driving across the ruts of the cotton fields, that’s why we were soaked. After being cuffed, my friend and I were physically thrown out of the bed of the pickup, face down onto the gritty pavement. I was thrown on top of my friend and we were unable to move for a very long time.

At this point, we could not see anything but could hear the group of law enforcement officers having a murmured discussion about thirty feet away. My other two friends were patiently waiting to be arrested in the cab of the truck. All the officers were waiting for the cop that had originally found us to arrive in his limping Mustang to make the arrest. Brotherhood.

When he arrived, there was a brief discussion, then dead silence as footsteps approached the truck on both sides. I could hear scuffling but couldn’t see anything but pavement as our legs were becoming uncomfortably numb.

We were all eventually separately transported to the police station in individual police cars. My personal officer casually informed me that the cop chasing us was having trouble reaching his shotgun to disable the truck. I said he could have killed us riding in the back. He proudly said we would have been casualties and assured me it was all legal. Nice.

When we all briefly saw each other again in the booking area, the driver friend had obviously been beaten. We had heard it when it was happening, but now we got to see the results. His face was swollen and had been bleeding. He never looked up as he was escorted by, with two cops holding each handcuffed arm

As we sat on a bench waiting to be booked, the other friend that was in the cab of the truck had been un-cuffed and was removing loose hair from his head that had been pulled out by the arresting officers. He was holding a matted ball of hair the size of a baseball. His face was red and scuffed. My other friend and I had been removing road gravel from our faces while we waited. Our faces were scratched up.

I guess we had it coming. There were no complaints filed. Nobody ever said much about any of it. We all assumed this was normal and deserved. We were barely eighteen and nineteen years old. We were all raised to take our beating when we did something wrong. Old enough to know better, but not old enough to know police brutality.

It was a stolen Coke machine.

I can only imagine what might have been different if our skin color was different too.

Now the good cop story with a lot less detail.

Another time, in another town in Texas, I was detained overnight. They could have filed charges but didn’t. I was covered in my own blood, under age, alone, and intoxicated. They just gave me a place to clean up, sober up, and be safe. I had a private room with a comfortable mattress and a TV. The officers were all respectable and kind. It was like a motel and I was released the next day, refreshed and ready to get the Hell out of that town.

I can only imagine what might have been different if my skin color was too.

I’m amazed at how many people have opinions on race but know very little about people of color and our own country’s diversity and culture. I’m amazed at how many people don’t know they’re racist, especially because they might have a Black friend, or just know someone who is Black. It’s incredible to hear someone insist they’re not racist while they’re using racist slurs.

I grew up racist. I was being taught to be racist. Members of my friends and family told racist jokes and were noticeably on edge around Black and brown people. It took years for me to understand racism, and to this day I still have to evaluate myself.

I have finally realized that Im really only prejudiced towards stupid people. Skin color has absolutely nothing to do with it. Sorry stupid people.

I was lucky to be immersed in Black culture even though it was not intentional. I have a greater understanding now, but still far from an expert. I’m not even sure this next part is appropriate.

I ran a recording studio in East Nashville that naturally evolved into a mix-tape studio. It was a crash course in Black culture. One profound moment that made me highly aware, happened in a rap recording session. I almost always had a movie playing with subtitles to occupy the lulls and pass the time while an artist would work out lyrics or a beat. This particular night I was watching ‘Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?’ A movie set in the time period of the slowly emancipating South. There is a scene with the KKK and the attempted lynching of a Black man. It occurred to me that everyone in my studio had ancestors that lived something like that horrifying scene in real life. I suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable as I realized that I have an ancestor in Tennessee that was an actual slave owner, and everyone else had great grandfather’s that were actual slaves. As we were all watching the scene, I suddenly started to sweat and become flushed. I suddenly became strangely overwhelmed. Then I noticed that I was the only one who was profoundly affected by this moment. I thought it was strange that a room full of Black dudes could watch this and not be absolutely enraged. But I realized, they have dealt with it their whole lives and I had never even really considered it as a real thing. I’ve just kind of seen it as history in a movie. I calmed myself down and could only say out loud that I couldn’t believe that sh*t really happened. Everyone responded with, “Yeah”. I really wanted to say what I was feeling, that I’m sorry for what my great grandfather did, but that would have just been weird.

So when people say all the other things about racism, like reverse racism, or all lives matter, when they make excuses for bad cops, like saying that guy that was killed was a criminal, or try to divert the attention away from the immediate subject, like the police casualties of the protests, I don’t think they understand that it’s real. It’s horrible that cops and civilians are getting hurt and killed, but the protest is simply about police brutality and racism in our country. It’s the same thing they’ve been protesting for over fifty years. Fifty years!

It feels like a scene in a movie when it’s on TV or our phones. If you haven’t lived it, you can’t possibly know. You can’t possibly judge. You can only have empathy. Hopefully, you have empathy. These things are either right or wrong. Our nation is being confused and divided by everything right now. Race, religion, politics, wealth, and on and on.

There is only one division in America. Right and wrong.

Pick a side.