This morning I stopped at Panera Bread to grab breakfast. The line was short so I got my order in right away. As I was fixing my cup of coffee I overheard a conversation between two men. Guy A was telling Guy B about living in Bridgeport. Guy B was shocked, “You live in Bridgeport?!” Guy A jumped to the defense, “Oh, I live on the good side of Bridgeport….there are parts of Bridgeport that are very nice…” I tuned them out. I wanted to knock over their coffee. I’m from Bridgeport, not necessarily the “good side”, but what difference should that make. I guess it is just a natural reaction to want to defend where you live. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been doing that all my life. I was born and raised in Bridgeport. I lived in the “projects” for the first half of my life. I’ve seen some stuff but I never felt like it touched me.
I wanted to speak out to Guy A and Guy B, to momentarily fall into the stereotype that plagues the city of Bridgeport. My home. What would that solve? Nothing. So I did nothing. While this is my home, I have to admit that it sometimes scares me. Bridgeport claimed another child’s life. My mind races towards thoughts of my nieces and nephew. Young and impressionable, and I pray that they remain untouched by this city. I say a prayer for them, for all the children and to their parents that we all come home safe and sound.
Tomorrow, we’ll hear from one of my best friends, Nubian Bride. She’s the next writer to bless My Pocketful Of Thoughts. She writes a heartfelt letter to her son in response to the recent lives taken. You may want to grab a kleenex or two before you read it, just in case. Make sure to show her some love.