White Education

Posted in The Man with tags , , , , , , , , on September 21, 2012 by Free Smith

I’ll admit it. I went to white schools for the majority of my educational career. That’s just for all of you who think it’s lame to go to a white school (I know you’re out there). But, I have enjoyed some advantages by going to these institutions. I received a great education. I learned how to write and speak well. I learned the classics. Most important of all, I learned how to interact with people of all different backgrounds which I believe gives me a good perspective on things. However, I went to school in the suburbs of Philadelphia. I don’t know if you know it, but the ‘burbs are pretty wild racially. I can imagine that Philly ‘burbs mirror other ones in the country, but while at Howard University, I was shocked one day by a professor. I was sitting at the shuttle bus stop with one of my professors. We had never had a conversation, but we were having a nice exchange. All of a sudden, I told her where I was from and went to school. To my surprise, she said that she taught in one of the neighboring districts and she said to me, “These kids from the South think they have a hard time. They have no idea.” This made me think back to my grade-school days. She really confirmed my thought and feelings that I had inside, but never really thought about since it was just my normal, daily life.

Elementary school was definitely my favorite time during my school years. Everything was fair and everybody got along for the most part. There are a few pitfalls though. In white schools, black history education is all but reduced to Black History Month, which should be called Dr. King, Harriet Tubman, Jackie Robinson and possibly George Washington Carver Month (though you are taught that Carver was the inventor of peanut butter, sigh).  It got to the point almost that Dr. King was devalued. He’s just depicted as this lovey-dovey “dreamer” who made a great speech when he was in actuality a revolutionary that put his life on the line everyday to make life better for his people and the world as a whole. Luckily, I had a mother (who was also a teacher at the school) who taught us at home the real deal on who we were and are. It’s because of her that I developed a deep love for and interest in the struggle. She shared her perspectives and experiences and had us reading books, watching programs and visiting museums to increase our knowledge on our history. Here’s a funny side story though: One day a kid asked my brother, “You guys have Black History Month. How come there’s no White History Month.” Frustrated, my brother responded, “BECAUSE EVERY MONTH IS WHITE HISTORY MONTH!”

As young’ins, we all are curious about many things and to my fellow classmates, blacks were a mystery.  I can remember times when they would actually feel our hair because it amazed them so.  Another example of this came from a friend of mine who came to my district from Philly when she was in about 6th grade. She had her hair beaded and came to school and had so many kids touching her hair and asking questions that she just decided to stop wearing them all together. This may seem like a small thing, but my mother deaded that inkling when she told us to never let anybody just feel our hair. She compared it to slaves on the trading block when white slave traders would examine their potential buy. I never let anybody lay a pinky on my head after that.

Another unfortunate aspect of attending a predominantly white school is that you WILL hear some racial slurs and jokes. Taking a number 2 can be referred to as “dropping your kids of at the pool”. White girls who like black guys may be referred to as “mud chasers”. You may hear jokes like, “What’s the difference between a black man and a pizza? A pizza can feed a family.” Somebody may come out and say that their family used to own yours. One time in school, a white guy called a black kid a “black son of a bitch” and was body slammed on a lunch table as a result. The black guy was suspended. His mother was then ridiculed for protesting outside every morning with a sign reading “STOP THE RACIAL SLURS AT THIS SCHOOL”. Oh yeah, don’t think they’ll be afraid to throw around the N-word, an action is sure to cause a rumble.

These are just a few things that you may experience going to a white school. Now don’t get me wrong. There are advantages. As I said before, you will learn a lot of useful things that will help you in the future and you will develop a more diverse mindset that will help you when dealing with people in the outside world. But be prepared for some difficult times racially. To parents, I urge you to teach your kids as much as you can in the home about our history, where we come from and what we’ve been through and prepare them to be strong and resist the urge to whoop a white kid for saying something out of pocket no matter how justified they may be. It will just make things worse for your kid.

My HBCU Book Entry: Hail Howard

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 18, 2012 by Free Smith

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I attended Howard University from 2002 to 2006. I transferred and got my degree from Penn State. I always say that I graduated from Penn State, but I did all of my learning at Howard. My time there, I feel, is a major contribution to my mindset today. I had the opportunity to see, learn and participate in things there that I would never have known existed had I not gone there. Out of all of HU’s elements that I absorbed, I’d have to say the overall Black experience that I was immersed in was the most valuable to me personally.

 

At the foundation of the Howard experience is the Afro-American requirement. I feel it was so beneficial to us that it was required that we allot some of our time to learning about ourselves. The recurring theme of the Diaspora had a profound effect on me. I saw that there’s no difference between myself and the myriad of African descendants strewn throughout the world. As a radio production major, learning about Amos n’ Andy, Edison’s “Ten Little Niggers”, Birth Of A Nation vaudevillian minstrels and “race music” was enlightening. A life changing class for was Dr. Gregory Carr’s Black aesthetics course. I walked away thinking that maybe I didn’t see us as much based on society’s inbred concepts of beauty/value. These courses really made me question my perception of my entire existence.

 

The lessons on Blackness were extracurricular. I learned that Black is not only beautiful, but elaborate as well. As a black kid who was a “White boy” in school, I was aware that there were different groups of black people. I was always separated from Black comrades because of my vernacular and “smart kid” status. I’m not bitter about this, but I realized then that there are different categories of Black people. It wasn’t until I got to HU that I truly understood how deep we go. I liken HU to a sociological experiment. There were a plethora of kinds of Black people. It’s always said that we come in all different shades in a sense of complexion, but this concept also applies to lifestyles, attitudes and points of view. There were groups comprised of Black people from around the world with differing interests be it politics, the arts, science, religion, business, Greek life or, unfortunately, crime. There were DC residents in the mix. DC is a unique place culturally itself. Nevertheless we always found each other together blending in the Café, the Punchout, a house party or The Yard. It was a vision to behold at chapel services and other events in Crampton Auditorium when we all stood with fists clenched in the air singing “Lift Every Voice and Sing”. Furthermore, on nights like Black Tuesday, when we marched for affirmative action, the 2nd Million Man March, or the demonstration on The Yard when Laura Bush came, we were one.

 

Going to an HBCU made me value my Blackness as something that is rare and priceless. It also showed me that Blackness is not verbally definable. We can truly be whatever it is that we want to be. No matter who you are or what you’re into, there’s a place for Black people in various facets of society. A lot of us are working hard to assimilate to what society expects of us, but it’s obsolete to do so. Socrates said it best in his quote, “Be as you wish to seem.” We truly have the capacity to do so. However, the HBCU experience couples that notion with the African concept of “I am we.” While we are all different, we’re simultaneously the same. I am so appreciative to Howard for showing me that. 

 

Job-ish

Posted in Holy Moly with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2012 by Free Smith

I have an alright life. I mean, I’m living and breathing and others are underground or cremated, but it hasn’t been a crystal stare for me. I’ve suffered some although not the way that others are suffering. But I feel like Job at times. If you aren’t familiar, Job was the most righteous man on Earth during his time. Satan saw this and went to God to ask if he could fuck with him to prove that he would curse God to His face. So, Satan, after a few trips to God to ask permission took away Job’s children, his vast material possessions (land, livestock, etc) and even put boils all over his body. Job was dismayed, but would never curse God. I mean, he cursed the day of his birth, but never God’s name. In the end, Job passed Satan’s nonsense and God restored everything.

I feel like Satan’s tested me the same way. I don’t know if I’m comparable to Job in righteousness, but Satan sure has tested me. First (no order) my mother was taken from me. She was my best friend. The one I could tell anything to and we did a lot together. She was taken by pancreatic cancer a few years ago. God helped doctors discover gastric bypass surgery and I got it done (my mother never saw me through the end of it, but when I saw her in the hospital, she told me she could just look at me all day). But now, I keep having problems and can’t even enjoy food the way I want to. I hurl a lot and just can’t eat like I want to anymore. It’s a tad torturous. In 2004, while at Howard University, I had my first bout with mania with the onset of bipolar disorder. It’s hard for me to fathom that my mind which I think is powerful will just take itself over whenever it wants to and land me in the hospital where I can’t leave until the doctors say it’s alright. Not to mention, I’ve been depressed clinically since about middle school. I’ve been committed to the mental hospital 4 times now.

Back to the point, I say that I’m like Job because I feel Satan has had a hand in doing all of these things to me. I don’t think I’ve ever cursed God though. I’ve questioned Him, which may be too far, but I’ve never said, “Fuck you, God,” or anything like it. Hopefully, one day, my happiness will return. I don’t think I’ve been happy since elementary school. In fact, I don’t even remember what true happiness feels like. To just be content just isn’t in me. I hope to one day get to that point. To just be happy and content.

The Send-Off

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 27, 2012 by Free Smith

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The phone rang and aroused Robin from her sleep. She looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Mary calling. It was time. She answered and said, “Hello, Mary.”

The voice on the other end said, “Hello, Robin. It’s time to come see him off.”

Robin answered, “OK. I’m getting ready,” and hung up the phone.

She pushed aside the collection of unreleased Shakespearian works laying on the bed, tossed off her shimmering sheets made of the golden silk and gave a big stretch coupled with a yawn. She looked about her room stocked floor to ceiling with books on top of books on high shelves and saw the eternal light shining through her window. She smiled and felt excitement flutter from her stomach to her head. As soon as her feet hit the floor, the orchestra started playing “Ave Maria” on her sound stage as the great Luciano Pavarotti dove into his flawless aria. She smiled even more, still amazed by the fact that her favorite singer on earth was now her personal crooner.

 She walked over to the bathroom and cleansed herself in the pure waters of her white, marble bathtub with golden fixtures. When finished she got out of the tub, dried off and started through the mansion perusing the paintings, sculptures and tapestries too beautiful for the earthly mind to fathom that adorned the hallways, high ceilings and floors. She reached the front door and her champagne-colored Jaguar was waiting outside. She walked out, got into the car and uttered, “OK, I’m ready,” and the car coasted off down the golden street towards the departure area.

Robin rode along, smiling the whole while thinking of meeting her grandson. She praised the Almighty for blessing her earthly family with a little more longevity and joy. She waved to the people scattered along the rode in front of their mansions. Some she knew as family and friends in her previous life. Some were prominent and famous people that she knew of and admired before (they now held her in high esteem due to her righteous and giving existence on earth). Others were strangers, but all reciprocated her smiles and waves. The car took a turn down the main road and passed by the crystal sea before the Throne from which the light emanated. A thrill ignited in her as she watched the elders incessantly praising the Almighty and casting their crowns at his feet. Robin was now realizing the wondrous images and words that she studied so diligently on earth. She wished that she could show her awaiting grandson the wonders that eternity held in store for believers.

She reached the pearl gates of the departure area, got out of the car, walked to the gate and it opened. When she entered, she was escorted to his room by a cherub on duty.  She knocked and there he was. When he turned around from his seat and looked into her eyes, an emotion overcame Robin that she could not describe, even with the vast wisdom that she attained during her short time in the Kingdom. Tearfully, she walked over and embraced him warmly saying, “Hello, my love.”

Muffled by her arms, he replied, “Hello, Grandma.” Robin clung to him for a bit longer and released. Both stood gazing at each other, eyes pregnant with the seeds of adoration, awe and wonderment that flowed through their minds. An electrical current of emotion passed between the two that tingled the senses. After a few more moments, they both sat Indian style on the ground facing one another. 

Before Robin could say anything he started, “I was watching a big ceremony that they were having for you down there not too long ago.  What was that?”

Robin replied, “That was my funeral, love. That’s what they do for people where you’re going when their earthly body shuts down and can’t go on anymore.”

He continued his query, “I couldn’t understand what was going on. There were a lot of people in that place and there was singing and people spoke, but all the while, people had their heads down with water coming out of their eyes. What does that mean?”

She answered, “That’s called crying. When people are sad there, that’s what they do.”

He said, “Sad? What is that?”

She replied, “Sad is the complete opposite feeling of everything that we feel here, my love. Here we experience nothing but comfort and joy and have no reason to be sad. Where you’re going, there’s still happiness and comfort, but sadness is abundant.”

He continued, “Oh. So why were they feeling that way?”

She answered, “Because they knew they’d never see me there again and they miss me. It was also because of the way that I left. I suffered much pain.”

He inquired, “Pain? I keep hearing about that. Yesterday in orientation, Jesus spoke about pain. He said that he felt a lot of pain to his body, but he also spoke of emotional feelings of pain. What is it exactly?”

Robin replied, “Well, love, there’s physical pain and emotional pain. Physical pain is something that hurts your body. I pray that you won’t feel that for a while, but you’ll probably feel it first when your teeth come in or when you fall or bump your head while you’re getting used to your human body. Jesus felt serious physical pain before he left. Emotional pain is sadness like we talked about before. There’s no way that I can really describe either to you in a way you can understand because neither of them exist here, but where you’re going, it’s abundant. Anyway, how was your orientation? I’m glad that I could get you into Jesus’ session.”

The boy replied, “It was alright.”

Robin giggled, “You sound like my son, your soon-to-be uncle, Ryan. He always gave the short answer. It drove me crazy!”

Now motivated to elaborate, he said, “I mean, he just told us about his life and some of the things that he experienced. Some of the others were in sessions run by Moses, Muhammad, Buddha and others. I wish I could’ve heard what they all had to say, too. Why did you choose Jesus as my lecturer?”

She said, “Because that’s who I followed while I was on earth, love. They all have many followers, but Jesus was my guide here and I wanted you to hear from him.”

The boy said simply, “OK,” then he continued onto the next topic, “You spoke of my uncle, Ryan. Who is that and who are the others that I’m going to meet?”

Robin replied, “Ryan and your future father, Carl, were my sons. They both came to me at the same time a while ago. Didn’t you read my book? You should know.”

The boy said, “I started it, but I only got up to the part where you came to a place called Pennsylvania from another place called Washington, DC. What should I know about them? What kind of people are they?”

Robin gathered her thoughts and said, “Well, your father, Carl, is an extremely talented artist with great ambition. He’s good with his hands and is very creative. He can be surly at times and he’s headstrong, but I know he’ll never treat you badly. I just don’t like the decisions he makes sometimes. As a matter of fact, if I was still there on Earth when you came, I would be upset with him because he’s not living the way that I wanted him to and he’s not ready for a child. I don’t know too much about your mother, Jen. I didn’t really want to while I was there because I thought that they were living in sin and didn’t approve. Nevertheless, I now know that they’ll both do all that they can for you. Carl and Ryan’s father chose not to be a part of their lives and I know that that’ll drive Carl to be the best father that he can. However, the void that their father left in their lives left them very confused as to what manhood actually meant. I pray that you will teach both of them, but especially Carl, what it means to be a man.”

            The boy nodded and said, “OK, what about this Ryan character?”

            Robin replied, “Ryan is a sweetheart when he wants to be. He was my soft child. He is very caring and will love you to death. He has his own problems though. His mind is a little afflicted with an earthly ailment and his moods change. He can be just as mean as he can be nice and he’s also made some bad decisions in life. He’s very confused and still isn’t where he wants to be in life. He is a great example of a sad person. In fact, when I left, I wasn’t very pleased with either of them. They are both very intelligent individuals, but don’t do the right thing all the time. Nevertheless, you can teach him a new lesson in love and bring him a bit of the happiness that has been eluding him. I know that you’ll bring some joy into his life.

             In fact, you’ll bring joy to many, especially my mother, your great-grandmother. She’s gone through some of the worst emotional pain known to the world. She had to watch me die and bury me. Ask around and people will tell you that that is the absolute worst trauma for a parent; to lose a child. My Godson, RJ, who will be like your big brother has already done good work of bringing love and joy to the family when he went there not too long ago. I could see that firsthand”

            The boy inquired, “Love. Something else I’ve heard a lot about. What is that?”

            Robin thought for a moment and said, “Love is another very difficult thing to explain. What you feel here is love. It’s a tenderness that you feel for someone or something. It’s affection and dedication. While it may not feel like it, there’s an abundance of love where you’re going, too.”
            The boy took in the information and said, “OK. I’m a little nervous now. These sound like some crazy people that I’m about to meet.”

            Robin laughed, “Don’t be nervous, love. I just pointed out their faults because those are what you should be aware of. The majority of the time that you spend with them will be pleasant I’m sure. I didn’t raise any monsters.” The boy laughed too.

            She spent the next moments telling him about her life as an educator, religious instructor and youth choir director. She also spoke of her life growing up, falling in and out of love with her husband and other mere observations and analyses that she had on different aspects of life on Earth the way that her father did with her before she went there many years earlier. When she told him all that she could think to tell, she knew that the time had come and closed with, “No matter what happens, no matter what the people of the world tell you, just know that your goal in life is to make it back here. Some lose sight of that and don’t return. I’ll be with you always the way that I am with your father, uncle and great-grandmother. You won’t see me. You may not even remember me, but I’ll always be there, love.” With that, she notified the cherub in charge that they were finished. He came to the door and led them both out of the room.

            Robin and the boy walked silently hand-in-hand to the general area. They were silent, but the touching of their palms and the gentle stroke of her thumb over his knuckles communicated more than any words could. When they were about to split, grandmother and grandson threw their arms around each other again and Robin kissed the boy. She whispered in his ear, “Remember, love, I’m always going to be with you. I’ll be watching.” She kissed him again and as they walked away from each other, she turned and called over to him with a smirk, “Also remember, love, no smoking! You’ll save yourself a lot of pain if you never pick up that habit.” The boy then smiled back and said, “Alright, Grandma.” Then he turned and continued to his destination with the cherub. Robin watched until she couldn’t see him anymore. Then she got back in the car and drove off back down the golden road.

 

 

 

MY VIEWS ON THE CASH

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 5, 2012 by Free Smith

ImageFirst and foremost, I want to say, I respect money. We need it to live, it gets us what we want and all that jazz, but at the same time, FUCK MONEY. LOL. It takes our focus off of everything that we SHOULD be doing. People like to throw around the “Money is the root of all evil” quote around just because it makes people do things that may be underhanded/shady/dishonest or what have you, but I think it’s deeper than that. I curse whomever it was that decided to trade a good or service for a piece of paper or metal in the first place. In my opinion, the whole point of business is to make your product/service omnipotent or God-like. Make it the main focus of the buyer. The way I feel about money is the same way I feel about crack. It takes people’s souls. Back to the point, the money is now too God-like for our own good. Shit, even churches NEED it to function. Look at money. It is a shape-shifter (cash or coin). It’s the universal language that can be translated from place to place (i.e. dollars, pounds, yen, etc.). They’ve even made a way for it to be invisible through cards (I guess the credit card would be the priest in this scenario.), but we always have faith that it’s there and will do what it’s “promised” to do.

I believe that we’re all here to use God’s creation to bring people closer to Him, but people did the wrong thing with the money. I always say that it’s Satan’s goal to do all in his power to take the focus off of God with his antics and money has done just that. As I said before, even the churches HAVE TO have it to run, so in a way, the money takes precedence over God at the end of the day. I used to think the Internet was the best that man has done to imitate God. It too is everywhere and you go to it to find out what you want to know (the computers would be the priests in THIS scenario. LOL). But all in all, fuck the money. Use it because you have to in this society, but don’t let it own you. Yes, it is the ROOT of all evil, because, let’s be real, evil is Satan and vice versa and in a roundabout  way, the money is accomplishing Satan’s goal, to divert your attention from God. We spend our entire week working to make money and set aside an hour or so a week to God on Sundays. So, I guess what I’m asking is for you to keep the money in perspective. Like Big Meech said, you gotta blow it because when it’s over, you can’t take it with you.

However, when it’s over, I’m a firm believer that there is God that you will have to answer to and that’s what we should be focusing on while we live these lives we were given.

HELP THIS KID! UN-DEFER HIS DREAM!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 6, 2012 by Free Smith

Another piece I wrote for The Chester/Community Spirit Newspaper.

What happens to a dream deferred? This question was posed to us by Langston Hughes in his poem ‘Dream Deferred’ and can be answered by the stories of many plagued by violence in American inner-cities. It’s well documented that Chester, PA is no different. One example is Shakiyl Smith, former Chester High basketball player who’s dreams of going on to play ball in college and in the NBA were dashed when he was shot and paralyzed at a party in 2008.

One early morning, Shakiyl and a group of friends went to a party in the city. “I was a partier. I loved to dance,” said Smith thinking back on the night. While at the party, Smith’s friends got into an altercation with a group that they were not getting along with. Smith said the two rival groups clashed three times that night with no one to break it up. After Smith and his friends left the party in the midst of the ruckus and got into their car, shots were fired. Smith, seated in the middle of the backseat was struck. “The first shot I heard, the bullet miraculously missed the person to the left side of me and hit me on the left side of my neck,” remembered Smith. He was then rushed to Crozer-Chester Medical Center, where he was kept alive, then, unconscious, he was flown to Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia. He woke up connected to a ventilator by a trach in his neck. After a meeting with the doctors and his parents, he was told that the bullet shattered his C-3 vertebrae and he was diagnosed as a C-3 quadriplegic and may never walk again. “You don’t want to believe it,” said Smith about the diagnosis. “You don’t want to think it’s real. I didn’t know how to deal with it.”  Image

Smith has gone on to graduate in 2010 and become a born-again Christian. “Let go. Let God and keep it moving,” said Smith. “My number 1 goal is to inspire, change and touch as many lives as I can.” Shakiyl  received the opportunity to help accomplish his goal when he was approved to receive stem-cell treatment in China. According to TellMeAboutStemCells.org, Stem cells are the foundation for every organ, tissue and cell in the human body. Stem cells may be able to repair or replace damaged tissue due to their regenerative properties. However, Shakiyl is unable to participate in the therapy because he needs $50,000 to do so. With that, he and his family started The Shakiyl Smith Foundation to help raise funds. He added, “I don’t think I deserve all of this, but I’m making the best of it while I’m still here.” Be on the lookout for more from the foundation. They have big plans in the works for fundraising events in the area soon. The Shakiyl Smith Foundation’s fanpage can be found on Facebook and any donations can be mailed to: TD bank,  Shakiyl Smith Foundation, 423 Edgemont Ave, Brookhaven, PA 19015.

HELP THE CAMPBELLS

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 5, 2012 by Free Smith

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This is an article that I wrote for the Chester Spirit Newspaper. It’s the story about Chester residents Helen and Earl Campbell and their lives raising their grandchildren, Darren (10) & Da’Miyah (13) who both suffer from spastic cerebral palsy. They need help and things are complicated. Please read the article below:

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THE CAMPBELLS

What happens when a labor of love is constantly checkmated by policy and procedure? Chester residents Helen & Earl Campbell can tell you. At the ages of 71 (Earl) and 68 (Helen), the two Chester residents are faced with the task of caring for their grandchildren, Da’Miyah (13) and Darren (10), who suffer from spastic cerebral palsy, the most common form of CP, characterized by limited movement due to tight muscle groups. In Da’Miyah and and Darren’s case, both are virtually immobile, eat through feeding tubes and suffer from seizure disorders as well. Darren is also partially blind, hard of hearing and has been diagnosed with sleep apnea, a condition where one stops breathing for significant periods of time while asleep.

The children abruptly came into the care of the Campbells after a series of  unfortunate events. First, the day after Mother’s Day in 2009, the children’s father was found dead when the family tried to wake him up for work. Shortly after, the children’s mother lost interest in caring for the children. She failed to pay the utility bills on their home and the Campbell’s took the children in after the electricity (a necessity for their array of medical equipment) was cut off. The following morning, a social worker showed up at the Campbell’s home to check on the children and to notify the grandparents that the children’s mother was taken into custody after a man delivering supplies to the house smelled marijuana and found the children’s living quarters in unlivable conditions. After a meeting between the social worker, the grandparents and the children’s mother, it was decided that the grandparents would take the proper steps to take custody of the children after their mother expressed that she didn’t have the desire to care for them. “She said she ‘had a life’ and the children were hindering her from what she had to do,” said Helen Campbell. Until the children’s special hospital beds were delivered to the house,  they slept in their grandparents’ bed with Helen stretched across the foot and Earl sleeping in the back room.

Imagine raising a child wheel chair stricken child in a non-handicap accessible house. It would be a challenge just moving the child from their room to outdoors for school in the morning. Multiply that by two and you have the plight of the Campbells. Every day, the children have to be carried down the narrow, steep staircase with Helen and Earl holding them under their arms and by the ankles to their wheelchairs. From there, the wheelchairs have to be moved onto the porch and down the front steps to their school bus (that they take to CADES George Crothers Memorial School in Swarthmore) or the community transit bus to Dupont Hospital for Children, a sit that they frequent at least twice a week sometimes having to go at separate times due to scheduling conflicts. To go to church around the corner at First Penecostal Holy Church, the wheelchairs are loaded onto the Campbell’s son’s pickup truck and the children are loaded into the Campbell’s car. Da’Miyah requires extra support due to her inability to sit up straight. “[Church] is as far as I can take them,” says Mrs. Campbell. “I can’t take them anywhere else because [Da’Miyah] would be on the floor in the back,” she continued as Da’Miyah laughed in amusement at the predicament. The task of moving them has been made even harder since Earl, who is a diabetic, sprained his ankle and has to wear a boot. Also, as a result of having to move the wheelchairs in such a way, they hit the steps and curb, causing them to need frequent repairs. On to  of that, the grandparents must keep track of a litany of medications and treatments that the children need. When ambulance workers came to house one time, they warned the Campbells about the dangers that they’ll face should there be a fire at the house. “If a fire broke out in here, because of where they’re located in the back, we could never get them out of here safely,” said Mrs. Campbell.

Of the experience, Mrs. Campbell says, “It was really, really hard. At one point, I thought I was going to lose my mind, because it was really over whelming and it just happened so fast.” She continued, “[Although they were prepared] we made ourselves for them. We adjust our house, we do what we have to do to make room.” The Campbells are given a break overnight when a nurse comes in to watch the children for 12 hours to monitor their feeding tubes, oxygen machines, monitors and treatments.

Aside from the difficulties, he Campbells take joy in caring for their grandchildren. Darren loves to swim and is affectionate. Mrs Campbell describes him as, “The type of baby that just want you to love on him all the time.” According to her grandparents, Da’Miyah is a “happy-go-lucky little girl” that loves to laugh, attend church (especially to watch the praise dancers) and sing. With her grandmother, they made a song called ‘Jesus, This is Da’Miyah’ which, though unintelligible verbally, she sings at the top of her lungs. At CADES, therapists are working with Darren to rotate his head, which he habitually rests leaning to the right. Da’Miyah is trying to develop her communication skills with a Dynavox EyeMax device, a technology that uses eye gazes to communicate. On this device, words, phrases and pictures are preprogrammed onto a screen and when the user locks their gaze on a certain part, it is communicated through an audio component. However, the device can only be used when attached to her wheelchair, which she can’t use much in the house.

The Campbells are looking to make even more adjustments to their home, mainly having an addition and ramp built onto the back of their home for easier entry and exit from the house as well as space for a new bathroom and bedroom for the children there so they can stay in their wheelchairs longer. However, after having a contractor come and analyze the area, it was estimated that it would cost $21,200 to do so, an amount the Campbells can’t afford. On top of that. the couple has been looking into getting a handicap van and after shopping around, the cheapest they could find was $30,000 with high mileage on it.

With assistance from members of the church, a letter writing campaign has started and letters along with pictures of a smiling Da’Miyah and Darren have been sent and are being sent to various people, organizations and businesses. First Pentecostal member, Faith Hallman has been helping the Campbells in their efforts. “[The Campbells] are remarkable,” said Hallman. “You can see the love pouring out of them.” In addition to the letter writing campaign, the Campbells plan on holding their first fundraiser at First Pentecostal (324 Pusey St.) on July 15th at 4 PM to help raise the $50-60,000+ need to make the renovations and purchase a van. “I think that if we can just get that help with the van and the back, I think we’ll be alright,” said Mrs. Campbell. “Everything else will fall into place.” Mr. Campbell added, “It’s rough. Any help would be greatly appreciated.” Hallman expressed, “This is one of the times for us to come together as a community. A lot of people said they want to help and this is the time to give back.”

In an attempt to just find out what resources were available and some direction, Mrs. Campbell spent a day downtown on a fruitless mission to get information on aid and resources from various government office. Susan Proulx, of the Delaware County Office of Intellectual Disability, says that’s there is little to nothing that her office or others can do fo a situation like the Campbells’. According to Proulx, concerning the renovations and van,  the office is only permitted to fund adaptations to existing homes/vehicles. Furthermore, she says that the office sent contractors to come evaluate the home for renovations and it was found that the house would not meet code for any additions. Mrs. Campbell contends that the contractor sent from the office only inspected the front of the house and the back was approved. Proulx said, “[The Office of Intellectual Disability] is here to ensure a good quality of life for the Campbell family.” Remorsefully, Proulx added, “I feel for them. They try to do their best for the kids and I give them all the credit in the world.” The Campbells and the Office of Intellectual Disability are scheduled to meet again in August.

Proulx also expressed that the Office of Intellectual Disabilities is also looking for outside help from concerned residents and/ or organizations in the community who may be able to help the restrained office.

The back of the house the Campbells hope to get renovated

The front of the Campbells’ home.

ImageDarren & Dami’yah’s equipment

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Darren & Dami’yah’s room

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The staircase the Campbells have to carry the kids down.

Only time will tell what will come of the Campbells’ predicament. Some may say that this is the Campbells’ decision to care for Da’Miyah and Darren and they are thusly responsible for everything that comes with it. To Helen, as the childrens’ grandparents, they have no other choice. This mentality is the mindset of many Black grandparents who have historically stepped up to the plate to care for their grandchildren when their children can’t. “That’s what Black people do. We just make room for each other even if we have to put down blankets and sleep on the floor,” said Mrs. Campbell. “That’s just the way we’re brought up. You don’t leave family on the outside. You always make room.”

Any donations can be made at TD Bank at 4236 Edgemont Ave, checks made out to ‘BENEFIT FOR DAMIYAH & DARREN CAMPBELL’. Mrs. Campbell also invites givers to send donations to her home at 817 W. 7th St. and call her at 610-874-7642.

– RYAN K. SMITH

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