I am currently living a life where I am apparently going to receive all of this attention or glorification because I am a Caucasian male. But I am deeply sorrowed to inform you that the only thing I have ever received in life for being white is a painful sunburn and a bad complexion with a yellow shirt.

I most definitely do not fall under your stereotypical white family category. I have my mother, mema, and sister in my immediate family. Yes, you read that right, I am the only male. I have grown up without a father for most of my life.

My father did not get the choice to be in my life or not. He actually was in an argument with his ex-girlfriend when the argument escalated. It grew into a physical matter, the ex swung a punch on my father, the punch connected with the back of his head. Inside the spot where the woman had hit, was an aneurysm. Once there was a connection the aneurysm erupted, causing brain damage and internal bleeding. My father was pronounced dead at the hospital. He was killed. Killed before I got to even meet him. Killed and to my knowledge no justice for my father. He was gone before he was ever there.

While yes there has been a step-father that I have a better relationship with now as a college senior than as the 7 year-old little boy crying because he wanted to go fishing or some chocolate milk before he went to bed, but that does not excuse the fact I have never met my biological father. I have had a few father figures and that is great, but I feel there is something special that comes with having the father there. While lacking a father I have had times in my life where neither my mother or father were in my life.

Christmas of 2005 was one of the hardest. I was 9 years-old and my mother was not there on Christmas morning to watch me open my presents from Santa Claus. She was not there to see me look in my stocking. She was not there to sing carols or go to church that morning. Instead my mother was in rehab in Tulsa. She was in drug rehab. Drug rehab from 9 years of being addicted to meth. She had been doing the drug as long as I had been alive.The thing that bothers me the most is at 9 years-old, I knew all the signs; I knew when she was about to smoke, I knew when she was high, I knew when she was going to be in her own little world. Being 9 and knowing what drugs are and the effects of them will take your innocence away.

9 years old and I'm having to ask my mema, "When will I see momma?"

Her responding with, "It's going to be another two weeks dear," while saying with a shaky voice and tear-filled eyes.

I have now come to the realization that this event in my life had to happen for a reason. It happened to further my wisdom about when to say no, when to acknowledge that an individual was high, and it has honestly saved my life a couple times. But no matter how I handled that there is something I am still not %100 how to deal with.

Sometimes you will live life and feel that there are people that will give you everything and expect nothing in return. There is a plot twist to these people though.. They will take that "nothing" and turn into something they want, sometimes without you ever noticing. The day that you do open your eyes and actually realize what that person has taken away from you, it is heartbreaking. It is gut wrenching. Eventually it gets to the point of being life ending.

15 years old. Mother is working two jobs trying to pay for everything for you and your sister. You are left with a man that has won the trust of you, the protector of your mother and sister. He ends up becoming your "Grandpa." He teaches you how to cook a little bit, he buys you gifts left and right, he cleans the house for you and the family so you can focus on sports and homework. The man was a cool guy. But during this time you've also come to the realization you have a huge anger problem. At the same time your sister comes to the realization she has social anxiety and is inconsiderate towards your mother. You both get a therapist, the same therapist. After a year of therapy, a year of the man being in your house helping you in anyway possible, your therapist tells you your sister has shut down on her. She will not work with the therapist in any way. So you start to think about your sisters schedule. You realize after every shower she takes your Grandpa, a 62-year-old man, goes into the room with her. You also remember that he looked back at you one time and put his finger in front of his lips and tells you to keep quiet. It all of a sudden comes rushing to you.

The women you are supposed to protect are no longer safe. A man you trusted so easy came in and touched your sister inappropriately. A man that treated you so well ended up breaking your family's heart. You almost do not even comprehend what you just told your therapist. You refuse to believe it. No. It is not true. He is too nice. But one day you will be sitting in the baseball locker room and your teammate comes in and says " J.J. you need to go, your mom says you need to go talk to the police."

Boom! It is all surreal now. He is guilty. Guilty of molesting your baby sister who is in fifth grade. One of the three women you vowed to yourself you would always protect.

The next few years of you life you almost fake a smile to all of your friends. You fake the emotion that your body shows. You tell your closest friend and as soon as you tell them the conversation is gone because you feel like you have failed your family. The man will get a plea agreement that he is a free man but must take classes and be on probation. Again no justice in your life.

No justice comes to me until last fall when my mother gets a phone call from the mans wife saying he had passed away.

He's dead, and yet you still do not feel the justice.

I tell you of all of these happenings that have happened in my life not to get your sympathy. I tell these life events to show that just because of my skin color that does not mean I have gotten all of the justice I feel I should have. I have grown up poor, I have lived life without a parent in my life, and I have had my trust broken into a thousand pieces and broke even more.

For the man that thinks all white people have it made, think again.

You know what this should not even be a race thing, honestly as a person you should look at people as a man or woman looking to tell their story. Not as the colors: black, white, brown, yellow, or red. Look at people as legitimate people. Please take the time to have a genuine conversation and learn something about someone. So maybe next time you see that "white boy" you will realize just because he is white, doesn't mean he hasn't struggled a lot to make it to the point he is at now.

God Blessed to all

-J.J. Brizendine