Feline Courage

Have you ever experienced one of those rare strange times when things just go way beyond normal?

You learn things from cats....

Fangs. Killer claws. Hisses, grrrs...and later, yelps. Who is not familiar with cat-dog combats? It's a "hair-raising" party of limbs and tails and yes, the loser sheds most of the fur- mostly, the cat.

It was night time and I was in the living room reading a tear-jerker when I heard a throaty, prolonged and wavering wail. Instantly I dropped the book and rushed to the door with one thought in mind - my cat was under attack. The thought brought an ugly picture to my head. I feared an on-the-prowl Sparky or a hyperactive Caesar or worse, the Big Dogs on the Block (BDOB a.k.a. askal) was circling my Khufu in anticipation of tearing her apart.

So you could just imagine the shock on my face when I caught Khufu chasing Sparky, a dog two times her size. A dog. My cat just chased a dog. I thought it only happens on TV.

"You were supposed to be helpless," I scolded Khufu but actually I was torn between being proud of the cat and being afraid of it as it sat on its hind, licking its paws...Sparky completely forgotten.

But then my memory bank had retrieved from its archives a plausible explanation about what had transpired in the scene of crime. Said dog seemed to have a phobia with cats for once upon a time it received a blow from a cat's paw on the head. So I thought my cat was just plain lucky. Sparky would avert from anything that meows.

But then another weird night came and dogs were running for their tails. The militant cat had struck again.

Dogs. Not one, but two. Dogs- definitely not puppies. One was Caesar and the other was a BDOB- both bigger than Sparky. I was impressed.

Perhaps it would happen again, perhaps not. But I wouldn't want my feline friend to make it a hobby or she'll drive all the dogs away.

Here's the norm: cats are to be chased by dogs. The poor cat must have gotten tired of running for her life that she decided to make a brave yet an unthinkable move to alter cat life in our dog-infested neighborhood.

It seems she has gathered up her tattered pride and charge, come what may, to make a statement in the name of the feline race. The statement would be: We cats may be soft, but we are not fragile.

How easy it is for us to run away from our fears or to give in to the unfairness of the bullies to avert the hassles and side effects of battle, having known not the possible victories we could achieve...dreams stay as mere dreams.

But fear is fear. If only we could just throw it out of the window and have it locked out from our minds. But fear is a part of our existence. It is a psychological battle, a tug-of-war between yes and no. For me, it is not something we bulldoze in a day. I remember how my cat used to sacrifice her food to the dogs and be rooted indoors. It took her time to gain the courage to go against the norm we thought could never be changed.

Perhaps the passport to courage is to be sure of who we are, to believe, to act big no matter how small, like the cat that fought for its claim of territory and demand for respect with a personlity bigger than a dog.

We all have our own dogs to chase to turn our "impossible" into a badge we can proudly wear. As for me, I'm not done with mine yet.

Contributed by: Sheryl Joy P. Olano

Attitudes

It took a move to the South and a culture shock from hell for me to learn that I was black. Of course I'm being sarcastic. I mean, I knew I was black. I grew up in a house with loads of mirrors. I knew that I had to have my hair hot combed and the little white girls at school didn't have to. I guess I should say that it took a move to the South for me to learn how important my being black was to everyone else.

I was a military brat so I didn't grow up in one solitary place. My scenery was always changing. I was so use to change that I didn't think that a move from California to Alabama would be that much of a change. Ah, how the youth walk in ignorance. Upon arriving at Saks Middle School, I was befriended by three nice white girls. The most popular white girls in the school. I was so relieved to have allies in this strange new world that I didn't notice that I was making all the black females at the school very uncomfortable. It's a good thing for me that people in the South aren't shy.

I remember that day in gym class as clear as Dasani.

"You Tasha?" An intimidating voice came from behind me. Suddenly, I felt like I was in the Middle of one of those great American Westerns.
"Yeah." I replied, turning around.
"You want to be white?" She demanded.
This flustered me. I started stuttering. I was pissed that I was loosing my cool.
"No!" I finally thought of in a witty comeback.
"Then why do you hang out with those white girls?"
Well, because they were the first people to befriend me in this hell.
"Because…" I began.
"And why do you talk so proper?"
I wasn't really aware of the fact that I spoke any differently than anyone else that spoke English, minus that slow Southern draw.
"Well, uh." By this time, her posse of thugs were backing her up.
"Where you from anyway? Why you speak so good? You think you better than us. You think you white? You Oreo."

Needless to say I came out of this interrogation alive. I heard everything as I spent the rest of my time growing up in the South. Oreo, gray girl, punk ass. Then, one day it dawned on me that it's very fishy that I have experienced more racism at the hands of black people than at the hands of any other race. And, I'm black.

The bottom line is that I'm not going to go out of my way to befriend someone simply because they look like me. It's not a great accomplishment to be the thing that Nature intended you to be. It's possible that this is a problem that is currently facing the black community.

The only people that can ensure the survival of the African-American community are black people. How the hell are we supposed to get stronger when we keep telling our own youth to belittle themselves. Why in the hell would you want to go and put more pressure on a black kid to be "more black," when the rest of society is going to expect him to be better?

Black people should train their people to run faster, jump higher, and speak better than anyone else. Maybe that's the problem in the black community. Maybe it isn't the "white folks," but a problem from within. Maybe we are handicapping our own youth. It is possible we are responsible for the 85% of black men in prison. Perhaps, we should look within to explain all the single black mothers on welfare. Maybe they aren't better because we aren't telling them that they should be. But, what do I know about black folks?

I'm just an Oreo.

Contributed by:Natasha Larry