By Kenneth L. Hardin

Since we now cover and duct tape our kids in bubble wrap to avoid them experiencing the real world, I don’t know if parks have merry-go-rounds anymore. When I was a little chitlin’ running around the West End back in the early 1970s, we earned our meritorious service battle hood medals by surviving this circular monstrosity and its equally evil play cousin, the jungle gym. I recall heading down to the Miller Recreation Center with my two best friends, Perk and Spoon, and jumping on this rickety wooden structure. I put a tight Kung Fu grip-like hold onto the metal handle bars while they ran around in circles spinning it so fast you nearly lost consciousness. I can still hear echoes of my fun-filled halfhearted screams imploring my friends to stop the contraption and let me get off. Fast forward nearly 50 years and with all that’s going on locally and in this country today, I want to yell that same statement out loud, “Will someone please stop this life merry-go-round so I can get off!”

I hear the clichéd line everyone throws out but no one really believes in. It’s said we need to turn down the temperature on all the dangerous and divisive rhetoric. Instead of lowering it, why not just stop it altogether? No one wins the war of words when one side attempts to paint another as the enemy. When we engage in “otherisms” and try to convince people “they’re not like you,” no one really wins. It just makes all the other efforts we engage in, like the Dr. Martin Luther King Day celebrations, pointless and fraught with hypocrisy. On that day, people who show the other 364 days of the year that they care nothing about the equality and brotherhood of their fellow man, stand in pulpits at African churches regurgitating copious amounts of insincere noxious verbal excrement laden with misused quotes from the King. I don’t attend the King Day events anymore because I would rather not get sick on that type of merry-go-round any longer. The last one I attended was at the Salisbury VA back in 2016 as a city councilman. After listening to the parade of feel-good statements from other elected officials saying what was expected, I closed my remarks with, “We’re all here in the spirit of brotherhood on this Monday. I hope you will still feel that way on Wednesday.” As everyone locked arms and swayed back and forth singing the even more pointless “We Shall Overcome Someday” song, I stood motionless on the stage bumping into those ignorantly gyrating from side to side. The only question coursing through my head was we’ve been singing that song since 1963, so why can’t that “Someday” be now instead of wishing, hoping and praying for hate to cease in an unknown future time and era?

I’ve shared my weariness in print before with society’s penchant for divisiveness based on irrelevant characteristics like ethnic composition, immigration status, gender identity, pronoun choice, religious affiliation and socioeconomic status by using the quote from the character in the movie, The Green Mile, “I’m tired, boss…Mostly I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There’s too much of it…”  I’ve had my fill of all the verbal viciousness directed at each other to the extent I would much rather interact and talk with children instead of adults. Children are more sensitive, empathetic and free from manipulating the incidental and irrelevant differences political and social culture hustlers have made a living off of keeping this country fearful and divided.

I saw a picture online recently where a little white baby was resting in his mother’s arms on a bus. He was reaching out lovingly towards a male African in America, who was sweetly reaching back towards him. The caption read, “This child hasn’t been taught to see differences or to hate yet.” My autistic 5-year-old grandson could teach this world a valuable similar lesson. His heart is devoid of any inkling of hate or division. He’s full of genuine compassion and love for everyone and everything. He searches your face for meaning and understanding. Last week, as we were riding in my truck to school, he asked  “Pop-Pop, are you sad? Are you OK?” After touring a new school recently, he was overwhelmed by the change. He had an emotional breakdown but the white female administrator, who was showing us around, was so kind and understanding. When we were preparing to leave, he unexpectedly ran to her, gave her a huge hug and told her how much he loved her. Within a mile from our home are two large ostriches behind a wire fence. My grandson has named them Turkey and Bingo. He worries about them so much that he has to stop by on the way to school to say good morning and visit again after school to make sure they’re OK before heading home. When it’s raining or there’s other inclement weather, he asks to ride up to check if they’re OK in the storm.

Imagine how much better this merry-go-round of life would be if people cared just as much for each other as my grandson does about his ostrich friends.

Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.