Being born in the early portion of the eighties, I was conscious enough by the end of the eighties to remember the eighties first hand. Going back to the mid part of the eighties when things were extremely exciting, I remember the clamoring voices, the television gathering and the aftermath of some of the biggest events in the eighties.
Back then, it didn't matter to me when things came to widespread approval or appeal. I just wanted what was good. Back then, I just wanted to be a part of something. I know, a lil advanced for a lil dude. I wanted some kind of love. Though, it seems a bit imbalanced to say that I understood or had actual longing for love because I did not urge to love; I simply wanted it.
Perhaps, it was the depth of natural affinities co-mingling in my brain soup of thoughts inspired by what I saw on the tv screen and what people talked about all the time in real life. Love was huge in the eighties. My mother has always played tons of love songs end on end. Had me writing love poems by the age of 4 and maybe 5. I am not joking. Only, back then, I thought all poems started off "Roses are red, violets are blue...". Cute huh?
I am completely amorous. I love everything. I've always been a lover and not a fighter. But the eighties also had enough violence to fill the air with a bloody mist, at least in my personal life. Which made me very police officer like in my response which was typically to nullify the threat and talk it out rather than to properly engage the threat in hand to hand combat which in my opinion is easier.
Either way, I am a person that loves as much as possible but cannot deny the existence for the need of self defense. This fact alone leads me to my appreciation for everything Bruce Lee and the Black community.
Blacks seemingly love everything Asian. This coming from a Black guy sounds weird to me. Kung-fu to Karate, from weird cuisine to customary dress and etiquette, I have seen few Blacks balk at conforming to Asian sensibilities. It is awe-inspiring. I myself did so at a very young age and by that I mean the very moment I yearned to be a ninja, my fate was sealed. And things only got worse.
I saw this movie called "The Last Dragon". It is a motown production so the sound track is groove heavy and catchy. The characters are very easily some of the most likable you will ever catch in a movie. They are sincere and well intention-ed and honest people. They make you believe in a better World. Yes, MAKE. As far as the protagonist go that is. The antagonist is such an ego-laden douche that you the viewer are inspired to jump through the screen to exact a vengeful come-up-pence on his tail. Luckily, nobody needs our help in truly exemplifying the paths and resistance necessary to deal with the likes of him. And I modeled my ninja behavior behind what I saw in this movie. For so many reasons.
The character growth allowed me to remain naive and honest. I can be sincere without feeling like I lost out of some portion of my pride. I don't need to win it all in order to feel like any of it mattered. And I could be humbled by love without wanting to make up for what I loss in hanging my head. This movie has been a very silent motivating factor for me and I haven't lost my way from what it taught me. And I take care of whatever I can in this fashion; especially now that I am able to fully explain what has been an under current in my motivations to walk away from silly aggressive encounters. When nobody is endangered, then I am complacent. When others are in danger, I activate a very sharp "bark". When I'm in danger, I just watch everything that moves, quietly. Because I can run when I'm the only one...there is no need to engage. When it is others, I cannot run and I must protect them from unnecessary violence. I become much more deadly. All this because I want nothing but to love and experience life through that lens and I do everything to return the life I experience to that lens.
With that, I realize that I am not only stuck in the eighties but in the movie The Last Dragon. I am working hard to maintain the dignity and characterized sacrifice that I once viewed and have always adored and aspired to become. It is no wonder then, that one of my nick-names growing up was in fact, Bruce Leroy. Surely, I wasn't the only one to notice my mentality because I definitely never kicked or jumped kicked anyone.
I guess we are quietly smarter than we allow ourselves to be loudly.
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