People say that I look like Chris Brown. Then again, since I’m considerably older than he is, I guess it’s safe to say that he looks like me. Contrary to popular belief, not all of the individuals who made this observation were drunk. In fact, a few of those individuals were my coworkers, and they’ve said it while we were at work—well, that doesn’t really prove that they weren’t drunk, does it? In any case, I’m pretty sure that the little six or seven-year-old-boy wasn’t drunk that day he ran yelling, “Chris Brown is here??? through a shoe store after spotting me in one of the aisles. It was barely one o’clock in the afternoon, so it was way too early for him to have already had a few nips by then. Besides, I would hope that his parents would have encouraged him to wait until a more appropriate age before consuming alcohol—like ten. Actually, nine and a half is probably a more realistic age. After all, that’s when I started.
Because of the little boy’s announcement that I—I mean Chris Brown was in the store, people came running over to where I was as if someone had said there was a blue-light special in that aisle. Instead, they found me, the discount version of a celebrity. I still remember the look of disappointment on the faces of the crowd as they realized I was a fraud. I’m surprised I wasn’t stoned right there in the men’s shoe department. Instead, the little boy’s mother hit me as if it was somehow my fault that her son had gotten confused. I mean, it wasn’t as if I were moonwalking through the store in a pair of new orthopedic shoes or anything. I was just minding my own business, trying to innocently buy shoes that I neither needed nor could afford. The woman yelled, “Boy, that ain’t no damn Chris Brown,??? as she yanked her son toward her. As they left the aisle, I yelled, “But I have a blog.” However, it was too late. The damage had already been done. There was nothing I could do to fix it.
Honestly, I can understand why there would be a tad bit of confusion between Chris Brown and me. I mean, we’re both strapping young lads. We both have mothers. We both have been potty trained. And even though it may be for completely different reasons, whenever either one of us goes to the mall, there’s a chance that security may need to be involved. Of course, because of his music and because of my blog, we will both one day sit down with Oprah and humbly explain how we never really wanted all the fame, and that all we really want is to be treated like normal people. Although I didn’t really see the similarities at first, I must admit that if you turn off all the lights, squint a little bit, and then covers yours eyes, we’re practically twins. Pretty cool, huh? Despite all of that, I promise to remain modest and not allow myself to get a big head. Well, maybe just a little bit. After all, I do look like Chris Brown. Six year olds agree.
Speaking of music, I find it amazing how a simple song can become the soundtrack of our lives. After not jumping on the bandwagon last year when the song was popular, the other day I finally took a listen to “Firework” by Katy Perry and now I’m hooked. Whenever I’m feeling down and out, I can hear Katy singing, “Baby, you’re a firework / Come on, show ’em what you’re worth / Make ’em go, oh, oh, oh / As you shoot across the sky, ah, ah.” Well, I haven’t exactly managed to shoot across the sky just yet, but I have learned to move swiftly across my living room. Oh, and you should see me wearing one of those shirts that shoots sparks like Katy wore in the video. The shirt probably should have come with some form of warning or something so that I wouldn’t have accidentally set my couch on fire or singed all the hair off my right arm. It’s OK though. If I just keep practicing, soon I’ll be quite the flamer.
Moving right along, have you ever received what you though was a compliment but then had to later reevaluate the statement to see if the remark was really a good thing. Well, the other day a new buddy said, “You look good for 31.” My being the polite Michael that I am, I thanked him and moved on to the next topic. However, moments later my 31-year-old brain caught on and translated the message to mean that my buddy thought I looked good considering that I’m an antique. He might as well have said, “You look decent for someone who only has a few good years left. I wouldn’t make any long-term plans if I were you unless they involve funeral plots.” In addition to that wonderful comment, recently I’ve also been told that I look like a cheesesteak, my face is “fluffy,” and I’d be considered fat in some cultures. Moments like those make me happy that I have a team of shrinks on call at all times. If I didn’t have Dr. Dre and Dr. Spock, I don’t know what I would do with myself. I wonder if this sort of thing ever happens to Chris Brown. Hmmm.
Lastly, although I don’t typically do movie reviews or plugs on my blog, as a writer, sometimes I’m exposed to something that evokes so much emotion that I’d be remiss to not at least mention it. This past weekend I went to see “The Help??? with a few of my friends. It was the first movie that ever made me laugh and cry in one sitting. For the record, because I’m so macho and manly, I didn’t allow any of my buddies to see the tears falling, but there definitely were tears. Actually, this isn’t going to be so much of a review of “The Help??? as it is a huge nod of respect and appreciation for those that came before me who risked so much so that I, as an African American, can have a better quality of life. Sometimes it’s good to have a reminder that life wasn’t always as easy—relatively—as it is for us now.
Since the movie was about a writer struggling to tell a story from the perspective of Black maids who worked in Mississippi during the 60s, I was able to relate to the subject matter on several different levels. Of course, I’ve never experienced life as a maid, but the idea that about 50 short years ago, simply because of the color of my skin, I would have had to find a back entrance marked “colored??? just to shop or to eat at a restaurant is unthinkable. To know that the freedoms I have today—to read, to write these words, to be educated, to enter through the front door of an establishment, to not sit in the back of the bus—weren’t given simply because I’m a human being and worthy of equality, but instead only given because people risked their lives fighting for that freedom, is a concept that is completely unfathomable to me. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that there had to be a civil rights movement to end legal and blatant racial discrimination.
I also identified with the movie’s theme of having something to say or needing to get something out but being too afraid to share it—kind of how I feel about writing these very words, a huge departure from the humorous messages that have gotten me the readers I have. For the record, I am not bitter. I’m not an angry Black man. It’s just that certain parts of my ancestry make me sad and uncomfortable, but that is not the point of these words. This message is to pay homage to all of the individuals who played a part in me being able to sit here at this table in Barnes and Noble. This message is to show respect for those who took steps to ensure that I’d be able to go to the school of my choosing and pursue the opportunities of my desire. This message is a nod to those who fought for me to have the ability to unintentionally arrive to work two minutes late when at one time I could have been fired, beaten, or worse for simply eating from the wrong dish, using the wrong toilet, or having an opinion. This is my way of showing appreciation for the people who made it possible for me not to have ever seen the words “coloreds??? or “white’s only??? at a public establishment in my lifetime thus far. This is for who I consider to be the original human resources team. We take so many things for granted. Better yet, I take so many things for granted. To the named and unnamed, this is me sending many thanks and many tears for the plight of all those individuals throughout history that felt that we mattered—that I matter. Thank you.
Humbly,
Michael Rochelle
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Hmm well now that you mention it you do look a little like Chris Brown, but I’ll admit that I have been drinking. I am glad that you came around and found the inner firework within yourself because we all need that moment of uplifting ourselves from time to time.
Much like the movie, you’ve effectively written a blog post that evokes tears and laughs all in one viewing. Do you get as excited as I do about unintentional parallels? Well done, sir.