As soon as I had a say, I began spending my birthdays alone. I was born in the thick of fall, so crisp air, blood orange leaves and warm beverages became the pace I adopted. While others fished for birthday wishes, I avoided them. Where birthday cake and special dinners gave others joy, I prefered to spend my day reading with a cup of cider. I took my birthdays as a personal day to myself; I always had.

Until college, where I met Sam.

Imagine a six-foot-four-inch 230-pound goofball. I take pride in my charisma and how I interact, but I wasn't touching this guy. He could effortlessly move a room. One second he'd have you laughing and in another, he'd be leading a thought-provoking intellectual conversation. When my grandfather died he was the first person to comfort me. When I needed transportation to work, he was the first to lend his car. When I didn't know where to turn with my frustrations, he never shooed me away.

Sam and I shared a thirst for knowledge, the same taste in women and also nearby birthdays. On the 6th and 7th of November respectively. Soon, the kid you might have caught sitting alone on a campus park bench journaling, was celebrating birthdays back to back with his new best pal. With all our similarities coupled with the positivity and how we enriched each other's lives, sharing birthdays seemed like a seal of fate.

We were supposed to be friends forever.

Awakening

When I graduated in 2014, it didn't feel like goodbye. We already determined that we were going to be in each other's weddings, so it was unthinkable that our four-year institution would be the ceiling for us.

But then I began to change.

I don’t know why the increase of unarmed blacks being gunned down by police reached a societal tipping point around the time I left my predominantly white institution, but it just so happened to work out that way.

Although Trayvon Martin was slain in 2012, it seemed like the coverage, frequency and, to be honest, the reality of the epidemic didn't really sink in for me until Mike Brown in 2014, after I left the school. And it didn't stop there. 37 percent of unarmed people killed by police in 2015 were black despite only making up 13 percent of the U.S. population and 34 percent of unarmed people killed in 2016 were black males, despite making up only 6 percent of the U.S. population.

How could I not be affected?

I can still remember it clear as day, sitting Indian style like a four-year-old in front of Saturday morning cartoons, flipping between Fox and CNN, completely engrossed. It had only been a couple of days after receiving my diploma when St. Louis police robbed Mike Brown of a chance receiving his, and all I could do was watch.

Slow, very patient tears began to find themselves a home in the corner of my eyes as I saw droves of parents, teens and community leaders flooding the streets. Waves of disbelief, anger, grief and fatigue all waged war on my senses as I fought back the urge to ugly cry. I was cold towards my mom's comfort. It wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what I needed. The pain was raw and new, and I needed to feel it fully. As was the same for Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Walter Scott, Sandra Bland and so on in the years that followed. Each taking their toll on me, yet shaping me, at the same time.

See, although I went to a majority white private Christian university in the dead south of Tennessee, I still managed to find real friends who looked out for me. Call it ignorance, blindness or whatever you may see fit, but the types of conversations that Mike Brown, the black lives matters movement and Kaepernick sparked just did not take place when I was in school. I didn't pick up on the microaggressions and the flagrantly problematic speech I often heard them use (like, being the “whitest black guy” they knew). And as the veil was slowly drawn from my eyes, I saw myself as a bridge, as a possible light maybe, to get them to see what I had. I knew it was going to take some time — it’s hard seeing how you look on the outside from an inside perspective — but I figured with enough articles and discussion, a breakthrough was possible. After all, they were good people and even better friends. I needed them to “get it”. And even if all of them didn't, I expected for Sam to.

In my mind, It wasn't too late. I had more or less two years to hopefully get him to see why he and our friends' way of thought were detrimental, and I gave myself until election day to get it done.

November 8th, 2016

Before election day hit, I already knew. Our birthdays felt different. While we normally spent them together, even coming back to our alma mater post grad for tradition, we hadn't linked that year. Talks between us had gotten more heated, too. We were at odds about Kaepernick's silent protest, the blue lives vs. black lives vs. all lives debate, and I couldn't get him to see why the Washington Redskins name and logo was/is offensive.

It was all tiresome.

The 6th of November passed and I didn't get a call from him. The 7th followed and we spoke briefly, trading birthday wishes and good luck. And on the 8th, when he told me he voted for Trump, all communication ceased.

Politics Vs. Worldview

What’s to be said about someone who lets politics ruin a friendship? Some may argue that politics is your worldview. That, who you believe deserves rights and how you think the world should be is directly associated with where you place your vote.

I disagree.

Humanity is too complex to blanketly assign to a political affiliation; one’s worldview can’t be separated into parties. Your friends won’t always align with your passions either. Your philosophy on life is shaped by who raised you, where you’re from, what you’ve seen and what you’ve done. It’s easy to think that where one identifies politically is a reflection of their humanity, but it’s much deeper than that.

So, keeping all that in mind, I didn't indict them or him, I just created distance.

Common Ground

A wise man once told me that if it takes politics to discover a non-negotiable quality in a person you've been friends with, then you have a bad gauge of character.

Plenty of good people voted for Trump. It’s misdirected anger and counter-productive energy to think anyone who picks Trump is a villain and not deserving of any friendship whatsoever. I mean, Hillary was not a great second choice either. The Clinton family help fund the surge of private prison industry where many African-American fathers remain still. It just so happened that ties were conveniently severed in 2015, right before an election year.

Politics is such a small tip of the iceberg that is humanity.

Another wise man once told me that friendships end when common ground is lost. A part of that is people changing and another part of that is life moving in different directions. Both of which are not bad things at all.

And that's what I realized: I changed immensely since college and now, Sam, myself and the majority of my conservative friends no longer share common ground.

As much as it pains me to admit, I wasn't as exposed to what was happening in my community and to people that looked like me in college when Sam and I were close, and I don't know if we would have remained close had I been. I need the closest people to me to be able to sympathize with my sensibilities. I can’t break bread with someone who plays semantics when arguing black lives matter vs. all lives matter, or who is bothered by the protesting of the national anthem. I can’t go to the gym or be vulnerable with someone who put economics over integrity or who can’t grasp the complexity of black on black crime. My sensitivity to these issues had become too great.

Am I saying abandon these people? No. I just can’t consider them allies.

It's a tough pill to swallow to admit that one of the closest people to you, someone who you held to your hip and who you revered, cannot grasp your sensibilities. I felt betrayed. I felt naive. I felt low.

However, it would be amiss not to be appreciative for Sam. Or for Trump. Without them, I would never understand the multi-faceted microcosm of American politics, nor have the heart to hope for change. Through both of them, I was able to understand that politics help spark the necessary discussion that spark necessary change, and that no matter what side you're on, there's a responsibility we inevitably have to one another if we want this thing called America to work.

I'm not saying Sam and I will never speak again, or that I'm going to go down my phone's contact list and delete everyone with opposing views, but there is no room for him, or anyone with those beliefs, to have close proximity to me. I live with a different purpose, with a different common ground and I hope they can see that.

As I think back on how I changed, the more it seems that I knew who I was all along. There will be no more joint birthdays for me. It's back to solitude, reflection and simple moments.

police relations

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