Black Fatigue

 Growing up, if any of us had the temerity -- or more likely stupidity -- to use terms like nigger, kike or spic, we'd get our mouths washed out with fels naptha soap, which wasn't pleasant in the slightest.  Perhaps as a result of this, we were more accepting of other cultures.  I don't remember being scared of other races, or threatened or anything negative about them growing up.  They were just different than us, the same that Lutherans or Jews were different from us Catholics.  Not worse, just different.

As I matured into an adult, I started noticing differences that had nothing to do with color.  Again, these weren't negative differences, just differences.  

But then I went to college.  Admittedly, in high school the interactions with minorities were far more limited.  In college, the commingling of races, whether it was in classes or dorms, was far greater.  The differences that I'd started noticing as a young adult became more pronounced and, in some instances, more aggravating.  The biggest one had to do with sports, specifically basketball.  Sure, black kids tended to dominate.  It was just a fact of life.  I didn't like it much, but then again there were white kids who dominated me as well.  I just chalked it up to my poor genetics.

But as we got deeper into the decade of the 80s, the differences started to veer into unpleasant areas.  Not only were blacks  dominating in basketball, but they were making what was once a fun pastime very tiresome.  It seemed that every basketball game was a virility contest.  Respect was a word thrown around, but it was merely code for something deeper, more visceral.  Asserting one's manhood took precedence now.  Merit took a backseat.

Given my congenitally weak ankles and a burgeoning career as an attorney, I saw little reason to continue to subject myself to open gyms where it would have been much easier to just unzip, lay 'em out on the table and grab a ruler.  I didn't need to risk injury while not having any fun doing it.  Sure, losing wasn't any fun, but even worse was putting myself in an ad hoc gladiator match just to prove my manhood.  So I stopped playing basketball.

As a practicing attorney, I've had many interactions with black attorneys.  Almost all of them were pleasant.  In fact, of the more unpleasant interactions I have had, the majority of them were with white attorneys.  So the open gym experience didn't leave me jaded at all.

But when I'd go home and turn on the television, I'd see behavior within the black communities that was downright despicable.  Gangs of blacks beating the pulp out of a helpless white person.  Riots involving the destruction of property of innocent people.  Assertions that branded me and my country as racist, despite the obvious holes in the argument.

Lately, the phrase black fatigue has been bandied about, and not just by white folk.  Anytime there's a trial in a high profile case, the strident black voices sound loudest.  Reason goes out the window.   Black politicians feast on any perceived slight to yell about Jim Crow, lynching or slavery.  Talk of reparations will not go away.

I'm tired of this.  I don't deserve to be subjected to these insults.  I could list the number of things that would suggest that I'm not racist -- the black friends I have, the black women I've dated, the books I've read on African-American history -- but it's almost cliche to do so.  I have nothing to defend myself about.  

At the same time, I don't feel the need to subject myself to this abuse.  I step away from situations where such discussions could be had.  It's sad.  I don't mind engaging in debate, but the argument usually devolves into illogical assumptions and loud voices.  I'm too old to do this anymore.

I have black fatigue.

I am not a racist.  I respect people based on their conduct, not their skin color.

But I will also judge people based on their conduct as well.  Martin Luther King Jr. wouldn't have it any other way.

(c) 2026 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Things I Don't Understand

 I'd like to consider myself a reasonably aware and somewhat intelligent person.  Even so, there are some things I just don't understand.

For example, when a Christian marries a Jew and converts to Judaism, how is it that a Christian who, for most of his or her life, has believed the Jesus is the Son of God, now demotes him to a mere prophet?  I can understand how a Jew converting to Christianity now believes the Jesus is God, but a Christian relegating Jesus to a mere prophet confuses me.

When I worked on street crews for our village during summers to earn money for college, we sometimes worked with concrete trucks that brought concrete to the sites.  The truck would have a chute in the back that the revolving drum would then use to deliver the concrete.  After I'd graduated law school, I saw that the chute now delivered from the front of the trucks.  Why?  How is that better?

Volleyball when I played it in gym class had a rotation system.  It also had a scoring system that only allowed the team serving could score a point.  Now it has a libero and points are scored regardless of which team is serving.  When did this change?

I love music.  I will never understand how songwriters come up with the beautiful melodies they do.  James Horner, Jerry Goldsmith, Hans Zimmer and others like them just mystify me.  What a wonderful gift they've been given.  

When we call a business and get an answering service that gives us multiple options for connecting to certain departments, there's usually a very saccharine, treacly woman's voice that is so sickeningly sweet I fear that I'll fall into a diabetic coma.  Where do these women learn to talk like this?  And do they turn it off when they go home?

(c) 2026 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

 

65

 Over the weekend I turned sixty-five.  I never pondered the age, but here we are.  I am officially eligible for social security and retirement, although I probably could have retired three years ago.  Funny thing is, I don't feel old at all.  I am the living embodiment of the adage that one can only be young once, but one can always be immature.  I am an eternal twelve-year-old.

But I got to thinking:  Even though the Greatest Generation gets the laurels -- rightly so -- in my humble existence I've seen a few things.  Here's a list of the things I've seen during my six decades on earth:

--  The Kennedy assassination (technically I was too young, but I was alive)

-- The Vietnam War

-- The MLK assassination

-- The RFK assassination

-- Man walking on the moon

-- The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan

-- Two Arab invasions of Israel

-- The Munich Olympic massacre

-- Test tube babies

-- Personal computers

-- Cellphones

-- The Gulf War

-- 9/11

-- First female presidential candidates

-- Death of Elvis

-- Compact discs

-- 8 tracks, cassettes, Blu rays, streaming 

-- Cubs won a World Series

--  Non-politician POTUS

-- First female, African American and Latino SCOTUS justices

-- Creation of the European Union

-- Downfall of the Soviet Union

The list is not exhaustive, obviously.  But in my short time on earth, I've seen some things.

What makes this list even more poignant is that today I found out today that a fifty-eight-year-old colleague died.

QDEP Brian...

(c) 2026 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles