THIS IS US

One of the top-rated shows on television these days is NBC's family drama, THIS IS US.  The story of the Pearson triplets, Kevin, Kate and Randall, has captivated audiences for two seasons and a lot of people I know [myself included] watch [or record] every Tuesday night at 9:00 p.m. to see what happens next ... or what happened in the past ... to shape the lives of these three characters and those closest to them.

The story is simple, and yet complex - much like real life.  Jack and Rebecca Pearson are the parents of these triplets.  After losing their "original" triplet during childbirth, they adopt a baby boy born on the same day who was abandoned at the fire station by his drug addicted father.  These three young people then grow up as brothers and sister - two boys, one girl; two White children, one Black child - it is a convoluted mess and that is the premise of the story.  Their stories are told through a series of flashbacks and present day scenes, which are all overshadowed by the death of their father, Jack, when they were 17 years old.  One of the biggest ongoing mysteries of the series is "How did Jack die?".  [Supposedly, the mystery will be revealed before the end of this season - we'll see]

Kevin, the oldest triplet, is a spoiled brat of a man, who makes his living as an actor.  His childhood dream was to be a football star, but a knee injury as he started his college career sidelined him and he became an actor instead.  His current story line is that he has become addicted to prescription pain killers as a result of a fall on a movie set.  After being arrested for drunk driving, he is currently in a fancy rehab facility getting the help he needs.

Kate, the middle triplet and only girl, has spent her entire life dealing with weight issues and a food addiction.  The main storyline for her character is the mother-daughter conflict that colored her childhood and has carried on into her adult life.  Kate is a talented singer who, after years of managing her brother Kevin's career, is trying to break into show business as a singer, which was her mother's dream during the triplets' childhood.  A daddy's girl, she appears to be the character most impacted by her father's sudden death.  She just suffered a miscarriage and she and her fiance, Toby, are dealing with the aftermath and trauma of that.

And then there's Randall.  A Black child, adopted into a White family - as if that is not enough to deal with - he's also an intellectual genius, which puts another level of dysfunction into an already dysfunctional family situation.  In the two seasons of the show, Randall has had a nervous breakdown, quit his job and he and his wife became foster parents to a young lady who was eventually taken from their home and reunited with her biological mother.  [The actor who plays this character, Sterling K. Brown, just won a Golden Globe award for his performance in the series.]

All these characters.  All these children with different talents and needs and demands.  And as the stories of the adult triplets are being told, the story of their childhood and of the parenting by Jack and Rebecca is also being told.  You see Jack's struggle with how he can be a good parent to a young Black boy with intellectual gifts he is uncomfortable with and doesn't understand.  You see Rebecca's attempt to mold her daughter into a mini-version of herself, even when it is painfully obvious that this is an almost impossible task.  And how both Jack and Rebecca put their hopes and dreams for success on the shoulders of their young football star, only to have those dreams shattered in an instant.  

I think the  show appeals to so many viewers because when we watch it, each of us sees a little bit of Jack, Rebecca, Kevin, Kate, Randall, Sophie, Toby, Beth, and Miquel [secondary characters and significant others] in ourselves.  Each time, they overcome, we are given hope that we will overcome.  Each time they make a misstep, we cringe and then wait to see how they will recover.  Each loss becomes our loss, each victory our victory.  

Parents have an awesome responsibility when it comes to molding and shaping the lives of the children put in their care.  Some of them parent very well, some of them just do the best they can, and unfortunately, some are horrible at their jobs.  Some parents recognize that every child is different and therefore, need to be parented differently - while some feel like "if it worked for one, it will work for the other(s)".  

The most common reference for God is of a father - a parental figure.  I am so glad that my Heavenly Father KNOWS me and knows exactly how I personally need to be parented.  Jeremiah 1:5 states that, "before [I] was formed in the womb, [He] knew me." [paraphased]  Not only does He know every hair on my head [Luke 12:7], but He knows my thoughts, my hopes, my dreams, my future.  He is there to comfort and sustain me through each trial, hurt and loss.  He is there to cheer me on through every success, accomplishment and achievement.  And He is there to love me every step of the way.  The most wonderful thing about it all is He is there for YOU in whatever way YOU need it as well.  Ain't that good news!?

Be blessed.

© 2018 Kristina E. Smith

This is NOT my story

DISCLAIMER: This is NOT my story ... this is my brother's story. But as his sister, who listened in horror as he told it to me, I HAVE to say something.

When Michael Brown was gunned down in the streets of Ferguson, MO, I kept quiet. I didn't take to my blog or Facebook or anywhere else to discuss my feelings. And when I finally did, I was ... for lack of a better word, attacked ... by someone I thought I knew very well and who I thought knew me very well ... as being a racist or race baiter or some other inflammatory term that was used to try and put me in my place. After going round and round with her about it, I said, "let's just agree to disagree" and sat down and was quiet again. And then Walter Scott was killed in North Charleston, SC - and I kept quiet. Akai Gurley was gunned down in a stairwell in Brooklyn, NY and I kept quiet. In New York, Freddy Gray mysteriously broke his own spine while in police custody and eventually died from the injuries - I kept quiet. And the list of names goes on and on ... and I still kept quiet.

But then today, something happened that hit too close to home and I can no longer keep quiet. You see, today the craziness brought itself right up to my doorstep and into my heart and life. This morning, my brother rode his bike up to a drive thru window at a bank and was told that since he was not in a vehicle, they could not take his deposit and that he would have to go into the branch located in the mall to conduct his business. Ok. That's a little frustrating - he's at the window, take the money - but that's your policy, ok, I'll go inside the mall. He rides up to the mall and sees that there is no where to securely lock his bike, so he rolls it into the mall with him. He enters the bank. All of a sudden, the security guard is in his face, screaming and cursing, that he needs to get out of the bank with his bike. According to my brother (and to a little old lady who later came to his defense), my brother CALMLY responded, "there was nowhere for me to secure my bike outside, I will only be here for a minute, just chill out". The guard continued to yell and scream and curse at my brother - which drew the attention of other customers in the bank, who pulled out their cell phones and began recording the incident, as well as other shop owners near the bank. Now, my brother lives in the area, shops at the mall all the time and the shop owners know him to be a respectful, well-mannered customer. They also came to the bank to stand in defense of my brother. (Praise God for being raised the way we were. Our mother taught us to ALWAYS greet people with respect and this paid off today.) When the security guard continued to yell and curse at my brother, he asked to see his supervisor. Another "gentleman" came on the scene, as well as a police officer in the area. The police officer, without assessing the situation or asking any of the witnesses around my brother what happened, joins in the noise and hoopla of screaming and cursing at my brother. Now, if you know my brother, you know at this point, things got ugly and harried and potentially dangerous. Fortunately, when the security guard tried to say that he never cursed at my brother and that Kevin was the one agitating the situation, a little old lady came to his defense. Told the newly arrived "supervisor" and the police officer, that my brother had been nothing but a gentleman - had held the door open for her, and did not respond to the security guard who was originally screaming and cursing at him.

I don't know how the situation was resolved without my brother being put in the back of the police vehicle and carted away. I don't know why guns weren't drawn and shots fired. I can only credit the protective power of God and the fact that my mother calls the names of my brother (and me) every day in prayer.

As I listened to my brother tell his story, he was still angry. He was still cursing. He was still mad. So I had to keep quiet again to allow him to blow off the steam necessary for him to then turn around and walk into his place of employment without wanting to gun down every employee in the place who looks like and acts like the police officer and security guard that tried to hem him up because he rolled a bike into a bank. Now, I don't know about you, but I've seen other people (bike messengers, couriers, etc) RIDE their bikes into businesses and no one says a word. Was it the color of my brother's skin that prompted this security guard to react in the way that he did? Maybe. But according to my brother, the security guard that started the fight was a Black man. Only the police officer who came on the scene last was not Black. So I am not "race baiting" as I tell this story.

I am saddened and terrified by the world in which we live. A world where police officers, more often than not, are the enemy and not our friends. A world where Black men (and women) seem to have targets on their backs for every power hungry person with a little bit of ... authority with a gun strapped to their side. I cringe every time I see a video where someone not of color is allowed to spit in the face of a police officer - nothing happens - or run towards a police officer with a knife in their hand - nothing happens - BUT let a Black man run AWAY from a police officer and the police officer can shoot him 8 times in the back and say, "I feared for my life" and if not for the video of a citizen showing otherwise, would have gotten away with it. It sickens me and makes me sooo glad that I didn't bear any beautiful Black baby boys to grow up in fear of their lives.

This is not the first time my brother has had a run-in with the police. Unfortunately, I know in my heart and guts and soul, that this won't be the last. All I can do is join my mother in her prayers for his continued protection and safety until such time that he can move out of the neighborhood that he lives in, and into one where things are "better" (whatever THAT means in today's society).

I usually try to wrap up my blog postings with a scriptural lesson - a text - something that points to God. I am at a loss. Maybe it's the anger. Maybe it's the sadness. I don't know. I know I am grateful to God for protecting my brother. I have been to way too many funerals today and am not ready to don a black dress and sit on the front pew of a church and listen to people spin stories about the man they know my brother to be. I am not ready to have to support my mother through the senseless loss of her only child. I am not ready to become a campaigner or crusader against injustices found every day in our community and around the world. I'm not ready.