Sunday, Sept. 21, 2008 What do I have to offer?

My heart is so grieved at this very moment. I know for many people this city represents visions of grandeur and lavish, but there is also a very ugly side. There is a certain preparation that you must have to come live here. As a tourist or just visiting you may easily miss it. The best way I can put it is that New York is sick. I’m not talking about sick in the slang sense or sick like gross. I mean physically sick. This place needs so much help.

It is not always represented, but I am an extremely compassionate person. I have a hard time walking by people who need help and not doing something. That’s hard in a place like this. Yes I make jokes about homeless people and people on drugs but it’s a real epidemic. And when you’re so compassionate you can get tricked because you can help people who may not really need or want the help.

Everyday I walk by the homeless, those addicted to drugs, men posing as women, homosexual couples, young pregnant girls and I grieve. It makes me feel sad and helpless because I know on a large scale I can’t do much about it.

Today did it in for me though. Let me set the backdrop. Yesterday, my mother and I went to get pedicures and I ran across a woman who runs a dance team for little girls. She was interested in me coming to help her. I said yes, but as I talked to her I was upset with her. She told me about how she cusses the girls out when they misbehave or how she doesn’t allow fat girls on her team or how the theme of the girl’s show was Bad Girls. My mind couldn’t wrap around how she didn’t understand that she was setting these girls up for failure.

Then today we visited yet another church (that in and of itself is a different story) and the preacher was talking about loving generously. How you didn’t have to change the world to affect someone’s life and show the love of God.

Afterwards my mom and I went to this Africa Day parade and my stomach got sick. All these little girls in the parade from different dance groups and drill teams gyrating to inappropriate music. Young teenage boys confused about their identity prancing around in the same outfits as the girls. Girls who leaned more to the thick side wearing clothes that weren’t flattering to their body types. And most of these girls had to be under the age of 15. Over and over I watched and I cried. I was so angry at their mothers and these dance team leaders. They had no clue that the audience was ridiculing them. I wish you could’ve seen this but I wouldn’t take pictures and let someone else see it. I just kept thinking why Lord? Why? How is this ok? Don’t people see that this is a problem? Why do you have me here in the midst of all of this? What the heck do you want me to do? I don’t want the time I’m here to be for granted.

I still don’t have the answer but I have a start. I know that I love dance and I love mentoring and encouraging young girls. I have also realized I have no true desire to be a “dancer.” I don’t want to dance with Ailey or be in videos. I do want to use the gift that God has given me to help others. All this time I have been trying to be a dancer because that’s what other people were telling me. That if I didn’t accomplish a or b that it would be a waste. All that has done is put me in a box and stressed me out. I don’t want to be in five dance classes a day. I am not willing to sleep in my car to “make it.” I don’t have that drive and tenacity. Yes I have a heart for dance. But that heartbeat I believe lies in something that makes a difference. When I look back whether I dance for Chris Brown or not it doesn’t matter. But if I taught girls about self esteem, discipline through dance then I did what I was supposed to do. So that’s what I plan to do. Start finding some organization or program I can be involved in until I can start my own. Take a few classes a week just because I love to dance and not to make it or impress anybody else. I think that will make me a little bit happier.

Oh did I mention that on the way to the parade a man randomly decided to walk down the street with his Johnson in hand. Just waving it like a flashlight. That’s gross. Then I think how he probably won’t wash his hands. He will probably ride the train and hold on to a rail. A rail that I will later grab with my hand. The same hand I will use to move my hair out of my face. Yeah so I’m thinking hand sanitizer should be a requirement for the contents of my purse.