My November’s Journey has finally come to an end. This is my final assignment for my Critical Thinking class. My next Dream is after the closing of my Journey. Enjoy and once again, thank YOU for reading my entire November’s Journey.

May God bless you, My Friend.

Love,
Tercheron/Demetrius 

November’s Journey  

Thomas Kuhn, perhaps one of the most influential philosophers of science in the past several decades, who was also for many years a professor of philosophy and history of science at MIT, created the notion of a paradigm shift. He became curious about the process by which theories, once held to be true, were replaced by very different ones, also organized to be true. For example, the belief that the earth was once flat held swayed for centuries; once that notion was proven not true, there became a new theory — also known as a paradigm shift. In this analysis paper, my aim is to explain the paradigm shift that happened in my life during the month of November.

From the moment I became conscious of my little life, I realized my childhood was different in an egregious way. Until the age of 22, I traversed the foster care system; a place where everything that happened, both good and bad, forced me to carve my own underlying beliefs, assumptions, and values, and allow them to form the way I see the world. Albeit, there was a multitude of experiences in care that shaped my views, in this paper, I will focus on my current paradigm shift.   

On October 27, 2016, I read the first version of this assignment before I handed it into my Critical Thinking Professor, and my transparency moved me.  I was shocked how vulnerable my writing was, but more importantly, I was impressed with my honesty and my ability to talk about my current deep-seated insecurities. It was also at this moment I realized there was indeed a paradigm shift occurring in my life and I knew the way I currently perceived the world, would continue being a detriment to my relationships with loved ones, but more notably, Black women. Hence, I made the conscious decision only to eat at Black-owned restaurants for the entire month of November, with the hopes I might combat and challenge my current paradigm. Little did I know, I was about to embark on a remarkable journey of self-discovery. 

Walking into November, there were a few things I knew for certain (1) I was in the middle of a psychological shift (the way I saw the world was changing), (2) I was giving a speech about my life in foster care on November 30th, in New Orleans, (3) I had unearthed deep-seated pains rooted in me by my various black families in foster care, (4) I was going to use Black-owned restaurants to challenge those pains by immersing myself in its environment along with its culture because it best resembled Black unity. I knew the combination of Hip-Hop, African, and Caribbean music, intertwined with conversations with the friendly black employees and customers, mixed with various kinds of food (Soul and Japanese, just to name a few) would loosen the pain I internalized during my childhood. The thought of this form of liberation enthralled me, and  I knew I had come face-to-face with the right journey at the perfect time.

     

I journalized what I coined my “November’s Journey” not in my personal diary of four years, but I used my prominent social media world (Facebook, Instagram, and SnapChat) as my daily journal to bring all of my family, friends, and followers with me on my life-changing adventure. I knew my internal change would engulf not only my psychological but simultaneously my physicality, so I used the world as my diary with the hope loved ones would understand I was in solitude evolving. Thus I might not be bombarded with a multitude of questions on what was going on in my life. I also knew this was an idea and dream that has never been implemented, so it would be tremendously inspiring to all those who needed hope — especially to the plethora of children around the world in foster care. 

By the end of November, I had visited 22 different Black-owned restaurants in Harlem, Manhattan, Brooklyn and in New Orleans. Although I used all my finances for my journey I befriended a multitude of people from all ages, and equally important, the image in the mirror became a beautiful one; not only because I am a black man but because the weight I carried my entire life has finally been lifted. The last day of the month I gave a speech about my Novembers Journey in front of hundreds in New Orleans. Petrified of facing my inner-self, I put my entire trust in God, and I walked on the stage in tears, but with tremendous confidence, this was the platform I had to use to tell the world about my paradigm shift. 

It was intriguing to see how both of my frameworks reached a crossroads; it was as if experiencing two diametric worlds collide and for that split second while staring down both corridors,  I had complete control over my life and its future. The moment of truth then resonated with me: It is not that my previous framework was wrong, because I am a growing young man; thus, it is only natural for my frameworks to mature, but with this new framework, I will continue to realize things within and ultimately, continue to change and improve my perspective on life. I am not sure how paradigm shifts occur in other human beings, but I know this newly founded liberation will help me live a more healthier and fulfilling life. There was absolutely no challenge of embracing my new framework because I believe my new framework will come with a new journey, new challenges, and new experiences which will change the trajectory of my life and I believe, deepen its meaning.

Not only did this new paradigm shift create new beliefs, assumptions, and values, but the level of respect and love that I lost for black people because of the pain inflicted on my childhood, has been found. The level of love that has awakened in my shift has made me aware that I, as an educated black man, can bring systemic changes to all the injustices currently happening against minorities and that I can also leave my mark on the entire Black community like Martin Luther King, Jr.

Although I am experiencing this shift where I am falling in love with myself and my people more, one thing that has remained constant and will forever remain constant, is the unconditional and unwavering love I have for my fellow human being, regardless of their religion, race, or sex. The multitude of people I have met throughout my life, whether they were my foster parents, teachers, friends, or strangers,  has given me what I consider my “universal soul.” The ability to connect with your fellow human being based solely on the fact that life breathes the same air to survive as you do, regardless of how much wealth, education, or health, they have, is the most beautiful paradigms I ever had. 

I finally understand why Thomas Kuhn became so fascinated with what he later called a paradigm shift. To consciously experience your entire world change at 22 is a feeling I will continue to express to the world, with the hopes I might inspire someone else. The most noteworthy thing about my November’s Journey is I know this paradigm shift is not over, this is only the beginning of a new journey: Freedom Writers. 

Now that my November’s Journey is over, I can focus on my new vision and dream, which I am calling: Freedom Writers. During this journey I disrobed my life so that the world may be inspired by my story to continue to believe in love. I disclosed my deep-seated insecurities to the world so that my vulnerabilities may connect us as human beings. I journalized  my experiences in the Black-owned restaurants religiously every night, sometimes up until 5:00AM, so that you may virtually be there with me. I am now asking for your hand in joining me create Freedom Writers. 

Even after all the things I have been through in foster care, I am one of the lucky ones. I have been blessed to be a part of the 1% that made is successfully through the system, especially since I am a black man. There are thousands of children around the U.S and world in foster care with worst stories than mine. But they cannot tell their stories because unfortunately they are too busy trying to survive a system oppressing them. 

In the only conversation I ever had with my biological father, six years ago, he told me the meaning behind my biological name, “Tercheron” is: Leader of Many. I believe after going through my  November’s Journey I have rightfully earned his blessing. My dream is to shed light on this shattered system by using my Brothers and Sisters stories to educated, inform, and inspired the world to change the system that raised me. We will be called: 

FREEDOM WRITERS 

It was during my Critical Thinking class, at NYU, I became conscious of a change that was occurring internally, also known as a "paradigm shift."

This is the paper I wrote for that class back in October. I invite you to join me on where my November's Journey all began:

Critical Thinking Paper 

Thomas Kuhn, perhaps one of the most influential philosophers of science in the past several decades, who was also for many years a professor of philosophy and history of science at MIT, created the notion of a paradigm shift. He became curious with the process by which theories, once held to be true, were replaced by very different ones, also held to be true. For example, the belief that the earth was once flat held swayed for centuries; once that notion was proven not true, there became a new theory — also known as a paradigm shift. In this critical analysis paper, my aim is to dissect the paradigm shift currently happening in my life.

From the beginning of my physical existence, I was not an ordinary child with a typical American upbringing. Until the age of 22, I traversed the foster care system; a place where everything that happened, both good and bad, forced me to carve my own underlying beliefs, assumptions, and values, and allow them to form the way I see the world. Albeit, there was a multitude of experiences in care that shaped my views, in this paper, I will focus on the root cause of my current paradigm shift.

Before my mother died when I was ten years old, I briefly remember seeing her only two times, not a memory more or less. After she had died on January 4th, 2004, it took me three complete years to feel the pain of losing her, during which time, I was also experiencing feelings of abandonment from my African-American adopted mother, who put me back into the foster care system after our legal adoption that lasted seven years, disrupted. I lost my biological mother because of her choice to use drugs, which made her susceptible to HIV and Cancer and my adoptive mother, who changed my biological name and renamed me “Demetrius Johnson," disregarded her imprint on my life and relinquished her parental rights and put me back into the system. The seed of pain that would enlighten me later on began to grow.

As the years passed, I continued to have black foster mothers who continuously gave up on me, and after each one had departed from my life, subconsciously, I began to find much fault in black women and decided not to date them. I founded excuses such as “they are too ghetto” and “their hair is not long enough,” I then began dating women outside my race and while there is nothing wrong with a man having various experiences with women, the intent behind his actions is what is imperative. For two years I disregarded and disrespected black women and dated Chinese, Korean, Philippine, Thai, and Japanese women. I dated Asian women for two reasons: (1) I felt Asian women glorified my physical image as a black man and (2) the young black girls resembled the women who raised me, so I used that notion to also justify my love for Asian women. 

The bottom line is this: there was a deep and ingrained pain that grew in the core of my heart because of my biological mother’s neglect. As I grew older, that pain deepened because of my adoptive mother and my 20 additional black foster parents, who came into my life after I was put back into care, eventually gave up on me. No matter how much of a son, little brother, or a grandson they considered me to be, it was not enough for me to remain in their lives. My paradigm shift helped me realize I looked at black women with a negative eye because of the scars I incurred by my “black mothers.”

My paradigm shift began to become deeper when I would try to converse with the Asian women I was dating about the black men, children, and women dying by the hands of police brutality. In the core of our conversations, I found much sympathy, but there lied a forever-lasting disconnection that would never allow me to share the universal pain us blacks feel when one of our brothers or sisters are killed by the hands of a police officer. The more videos and media reporting’s I would see of black people like Eric Garner, Mike Brown, Sandra Bland, Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Walter L. Scott, Samuel DuBose, and the multitude of other black lives, began to loosen my deep-seated anger I had towards black people but more importantly, black women, and replaced it with a growing love. 

The underlying hatred I had towards black women and myself as a black man continued  to dismantle while being on social media and seeing a plethora of post from black women around the world that said: “I love you, black men” and “you matter to me.” The images and memories of the black women who I felt had failed me while a little boy, were replaced by black women on the front lines, ready to give their freedom and their life for me. Slowly, my paradigm shift continued, and it was as if the love that resonated in my heart, became palpable and I wanted to share that love with all black people. During which time, the image in the mirror—once all the external properties gave loose—became a beautiful one; not only because I am a black man but because I saw an image that the world felt was worth fighting for.

“This could not be true,” is all I could think about. For once in my entire life, I questioned my beliefs, assumptions, and values, things I held to be true against all because I realized an internal bleeding that could have sent me into despair later on in my life. If I were not able to unearth my deep-rooted pains, I would have continued believing I genuinely loved Asian women or worst; I would have continued making excuses about black women and why I did not date them, which would have continued being a detriment to how I viewed myself, being a black man. I would not have unearthed the deep-rooted and isolated pain I felt towards my biological, adopted, and foster mothers. Even though I initially tried to dismiss and just rationalize these psychological occurrences as merely a “lack of sleep” however, I could not get the feeling out of my mind that there possibly could be a life-changing paradigm shift actually happening right now, which was triggered by my critical thinking class.

It was complicated and intriguing to see how both of my frameworks reached a crossroads; it was as if experiencing two diametric worlds collide and for that split second—while staring down both corridors— I had complete control over my life and its future. My framework was indeed changing. Also, the moment of truth resonated with me: I was learning not that my previous framework was wrong but that this new framework would help me realize things internally and ultimately, continue to change and improved the way I view the world. I am not sure how paradigm shifts occur in other individuals lives, but because I felt the liberation from this new paradigm, and I believe it will make my life not only better but also, I will be able to share my story in a more powerful way, there ended up being no real challenge of embracing my new framework. I do believe, however, my new framework will come with a new journey, new challenges, and new experiences which will change the trajectory of my life and I believe, deepen its meaning.

Not only did this new shift accommodate my new beliefs, assumptions, and values, but I believe the level of respect that I felt I lost for black people because of the pain inflicted on my upbringing by my black mother(s), has been found. The level of respect and trust is akin to two brothers in slavery kneeling side-by-side embracing their fate. The level of love that has awakened in my shift has made me aware that I, as an educated black man, can bring systemic changes to my people and that I can also leave my mark on the entire black community and the world like Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, and Malcolm X. 

Although I am experiencing this shift where I am falling in love with myself and my people more, one thing that has remained constant and will forever remain constant, is the unconditional and unwavering love I have for my fellow human being, regardless of their religion, race, or sex. The multitude of people I have met throughout my life, whether they were my foster parents, teachers, friends, or strangers,  has given me what I will consider  my “universal soul.” The ability to connect with your fellow human being based solely on the fact that that life breathes the same air to survive as you do, regardless of how much wealth, education, or health, they have, is the most beautiful paradigms I ever had.

I finally understand why Thomas Kuhn became so fascinated with what he later called a paradigm shift. To consciously experience your entire world change at 22 is a feeling I cannot articulate and I would be doing a disservice to this experience I am having by trying to put it into words with the hopes my fellow human can understand. While I may not be able to tell the story about my paradigm shift any better than this paper, I look forward to being able to speak on the experience after my paradigm shift halts, and maybe then, I will be able to tell this story better.  

Black-Owned Restaurant #22: Neyow’s Creole Café

After 22 different Black-Owned Restaurants, my November’s Journey has finally come to an end. Walking into November I did not expect this journey to take the twist and turns it did, but when I think about it, I didn't have any expectations at all, I just put my complete trust in God and allowed Him to lead the way. I isolated myself from the world as much as possible, except those at school and work, no one else saw me. While I did have moments I invited loved ones on my journey (to the restaurants with me), God continued to remind me this was my personal journey, and I have to continue on alone. I isolated myself from the world because I wanted to hear my own thoughts; I did not want any external influences to dissuade or deter me from my personal journey. I went as far as switching my style up mid-journey; instead of wearing my fedoras, I wore baseball caps because I knew my fedoras were what made me stand out, but because I wanted to feel as invisible as possible, to the world,  I consciously switched to baseball caps. I went from wearing blazers and stylish outfits to wearing the same “In the Beginning” Africa sweater because I aimed to minimize the attention I received from people (I also loved that sweater of Africa, which I just gave to my dear friend, Miciah, as a gift). I also stopped taking pictures of myself and the owners of the restaurants, as I wanted the reader to focus on my journey and not on the picture itself. I did all of these things so that I may entirely live through my November’s Journey and learn all that God was trying to teach me, so that I may tell you all about my journey.

After you read my entire journey over again, you will realize the different directions my journey went on. For instance, I thought I was going to 100 black-owned restaurants but ended at my age, 22. After Cecil’s, I started intertwining my personal experiences in foster care and after unearthing them, I disclosed my deep-seated insecurities to the world. The following restaurant freed my heart from bondage, after disclosing the addiction nobody ever knew about. It was only through placing my complete trust in God; I could reveal these things to the world. Because I chose to trust Him over my fears, there has been a love awoken inside of Me, that forgives me for my past, a love that has removed my deep-seated insecurities, and a love that will remain unconditional and forever in my heart towards Tercheron/Demetrius. 

Through this journey God reminded me of my very humble beginnings, because He knew through all of my success, I was detaching from where I came from and I forgot who I was. So God broke my arrogance and confidence and humbled me so that I can humbly walk through life and become the Man He created me to be. 

It was when I was six years old; I became aware that I was a little black boy, and I wished I was anything but black. That pain only continued to grow silently when all my black foster families placed me back into the system. It has only been through this journey I can finally look in the mirror and see the beauty in being a young black man. Through this journey, I have looked at my flaws and imperfections and watched them become my biggest strengths and assets. Through this journey, the fears placed into my heart by foster care, have evaporated into the air, and Love has become the replacement. Through this journey, the anger I subconsciously had towards black women, has been replaced with a love that wants to shield them from the pain of the world. Through this journey, God reminded me He is with me every step of the way. 

Thank you, to all the Black-Owned Restaurants that I went to for the month of November. Thank you, for all the lessons I learned along the journey. Thank you, for encouraging me to continue on my journey, no matter what. But most of all, thank you, for the various forms of love you showed me. Through the music, food, conversations, new friendships, energy —through it all you have shown me a beautiful form of Love my extra tips couldn’t repay. 

You will never truly understand how this Journey changed me. Thank You. 

To my friends and family members, thank you, for respecting my wishes and leaving me in solitude so that I may go on my personal journey. I love you all. 

To my dear friend Miciah, the person this journey would not have been possible for, thank you. Thank you, for being the only person, I allowed to be there for me every step of the way. Thank you, for never judging me, even though I judged myself. If it weren't for you, I would not have revealed to my world the internal bleeding I realized I had in Cecil’s and Ms. Dahlia’s Cafe, and it was through these post, God liberated my heart that was stuck in bondage. I can never repay you for what you have done for me, but I hope you feel the love through my words. Thank You. 

To all my Brother’s and Sister’s in and out of foster care, I went on this journey so that I can become the best Me so that I can be a better leader for us. Whenever I thought about turning my back on my November’s Journey, I thought of you all, and I remembered I was not alone during this journey, and I continued walking with my head up. Thank YOU, for inspiring me to be a Leader. I love you, all. 

As I continue on my life’s journey, I do not know what’s next or what’s coming my way. But I know God is with me every step of the way. 

I will leave you with my favorite poem since I was a little boy:

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

By: Robert Frost 

Thank you, to Neyow’s Creole Café, in New Orleans for being my last Black-Owned Restaurant. 

God Bless You, All.  









#WhichBlackOwnedRestaurantisnext 

Black-Owned Restaurant #21: HOME

After going to 20 different black-owned restaurants, I have decided I will end my November's Journey with post #21 if I don't go to New Orleans for my speech on Tuesday. You will never understand how hard it was for me to leave my house every day this month knowing my (foster) mother was cooking. I’ve eaten some incredible food this entire month from all the black-owned restaurants I’ve been too; however, nothing came close to my mother’s food. I also know my (foster) father felt a way about me eating outside food every day, making it seem as if I am not being fed at home. It was in my first restaurant, Brooklyn Blend, that I made the decision only to eat at Black-owned restaurants for the entire month of November; I also made the decision I would spend Thanksgiving home and write a post about my family. I never got a chance to tell my father that although I was eating at restaurants every day, I had already set aside November 23rd, 24th, and the 25th, to stay home and bond with my family. I was talking to one of my younger brothers (I have five younger and three older brothers) on Thanksgiving, and we were joking about how for the first time in three years, I was actually home the entire day on Thanksgiving. He said, “I guess you're not having any more half-day thanksgivings.” I was so used to coming and going, that even on holidays and special occasions I would leave home and return either when people were gathering their belongings to leave or when everyone had already fallen asleep. After experiencing nearly 30 different foster homes my entire life, I have always been on the go, and it is because of this habit, I missed out on many opportunities to bond and build with my family. This Thanksgiving made three years since I started living with The Greens; despite all the fights, arguments, and the countless times I packed my bags ready to go, they continued to show me nothing but unconditional love. Besides my adoptive home, this is the longest I ever had stability, and since I wasn't used to staying in one home, I didn’t know how to appreciate the very same people I lived with. I was recently watching a segment of me on NBC Wednesday’s Child, back when I was 18 years old and in this video, (www.nbcnewyork.com/on-air/as-seen-on/202426521.html), I explained my ideal family. I thought back to this day and how I visualized how my family would be with many brothers and sisters; I imagined having both parents; I imagined a place where I wouldn't be judged; I imagined a place where "forever" was possible. I imaged a place like the Greens home. Now, four years later from that video, I have a mother AND a father, five younger brothers, three older brothers, three older sisters, eight nephews, one niece and about 20 aunts and uncles. Don’t let me get started on the cousins. In any case, my point is God has blessed me with my own family. I no longer have to feel as if I have to take on the world by myself; I no longer have to feel an emptiness in my heart during the holidays; I no longer have to feel alone. I finally understand what it means to be in a family. 

To my family back home, thank you. Thank you, to all my brothers, Ryan, Shareef, Suggs, Leel, Charles, Bruce, Allen, and Anthony for accepting me as your brother. Thank you, to my three sisters, Tanya, Kina, and Chanel, for accepting me as your brother. Thank you, Uncle D, Uncle Sha, and Uncle Jeff, for accepting me as your nephew. And to my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Green, thank you, for accepting me as your son. 

While one of my brothers was taking this photo, all I could think to myself was "finally, I found my forever home."

#whichblackownedrestaurantisnext  

Black-Owned Restaurant #20: Sweet Science

 When I got to Sweet Science in Williamsburg around 7:00 PM, I was honestly a bit shocked when I noticed there were only two Black women and about three Hispanic women there. Everyone else including the workers were White. I only took noticed because the former 19 Black-owned restaurants I’ve eaten at this month were mostly flooded with black people. It just felt a little weird being the only black man in sight at a black-owned restaurant. Nevertheless, I still welcomed Sweet Science with an open heart. While I looked over the menu, I noticed a White guy maybe in his mid-30s next to me with a shot and a full glass of beer. He seemed like a local, so I introduced myself and asked if he has any recommendations for food. I listened patiently as Bob talked about his favorite selections but I realized I wasn't too hungry so I decided on a chicken salad (I should mention this was the best chicken salad I have ever tasted). I realize he liked to talk so I decided I would listen this evening and not share my journey with him or anyone at the restaurant. I guess since I was feeling a bit exhausted from sharing and trying to explain my November’s Journey to everyone; I just wanted to keep my mouth shut tonight. Just when Bob started to question me about my past, my chicken salad came, and I started stuffing my mouth to avoid opening up about my life. Bob just continued talking about where he grew up in Washington D.C, his job, politics, religion, NYC, women, and all I had to do was listen. He ordered another round of drinks for himself and continued to speak about his life. He told me to take a moment to enjoy my salad, which I did, but moments later when I finished, I looked up, and Bob was gone. I wasn't sure if he went to the bathroom or if he left the restaurant. By the time my check came Bob had not returned, so I had left Sweet Science without saying goodbye.

As I was walking to the train, I felt liberated because I didn't explain my life or journey to anyone. I guess we all need a break from life, so I am thankful for Bob for allowing me to take a break from talking about myself and my November’s Journey.

 Thank you, Sweet Science, for being a part of my journey.

 #whichblackownedrestaurantisnext

Black-Owned Restaurant #19: Essence

I hadn't realized I was standing across the street from Essence because I was too busy following my iPhone’s directions and Siri told me to keep walking. I stopped for a moment, looked around and saw a taxi place called “Apple” something and realized that wasn't the restaurant. I then glanced at Essence, but because I couldn't make out the words and the building looked weird, I looked passed it not knowing it was the restaurant. My hands began to numb so I decided to walk. As I walked around, the area started to look more familiar, and moments later I realized I was standing in front of the first high school I attended in Brooklyn: The Paul Robeson High School. I stopped and stared at my old school we once called “Robe” and memories began to run through my mind. I remembered a young boy running through the halls with his pants down, chasing girls, and flunking classes; I remembered a young teenager that connected with his teachers and security guards because they told him they saw something special in him; I remembered a young man that decided in order to start on a new path, he would have to leave “Robe” and start fresh at a new high school. Lost in my thoughts, I continued walking. Several footsteps later, I looked up and realized I was on St. Marks and Kingston Avenue. I had walked to where I once lived with biological family before "officially" returning to foster care at age 13. I thought about my older cousin who took me in when I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I thought about her oldest son, Day-Day who I grew very close to while I lived there eight years ago. Memories of him and me running around getting into trouble and enjoying our young lives began to surface. I then remembered the two different paths we ended up choosing, and if I would have been with him that day, I would not have my freedom. I could feel my eyes swelling so I continued to walk. As I walked down Kingston Avenue, I smiled when I saw certain things that reminded me of my youth with my cousin. All I could think about was how proud he would be of his  cousin, Tercheron. My stomach ached, so I googled the address to Essence and realized I had initially put in the wrong address. 

While eating my meal I thought about the day I would see my cousin Day-Day again and tell him all about my life and my November’s Journey.

Thank you, Essence Bar, for being a part of my journey.



#whichblackownedrestaurantisnext 

Black-Owned Restaurant #18: Milk River

When I walked inside Milk River, I stopped, took my cap off, and admired the beauty that stood before me. I admired the well-dressed and stylish, black people; I appreciated the fancy decoration/artwork; and I listened attentively to the soul music that played in the background. I walked up to coat check and dropped off my jacket. I smiled and told one of the Black employee's how I felt like I was on Wall Street, she chuckled and asked why? “The energy of this place feels completely different from all the other black-owned restaurants I’ve been to this month.” She asked if I was doing a project or something? I briefly explained my November’s Journey and showed her my Instagram account. She mentioned the owner(s) weren't there, but she was the manager and gladly welcomed me to Milk River. She walked me to my requested seats and told me to take photos of whatever I wanted. I smiled and said thank you. As I was looking over the menu, my waitress introduced herself, and when I looked up I saw a dark and gorgeous black woman (I wondered if the manager assigned Sheaniece to me, if so, thanks! :). In any case, I introduced myself, complimented my waitress on her beauty, and then asked about the salmon. I was extremely happy, and I could tell Sheaniece sensed my energy. She then smiled and told me I could substitute the mushrooms with Mac and Cheese and when I asked about the French fries she said: "no, stick with the Mac and Cheese" (let’s just say I am happy I listened to her). I then looked to my left and saw six gorgeous black women, laughing and smiling with one another. I briefly closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled, I felt so comfortable with all of my surroundings. Sheaniece came back and noticed I was reading and asked what the book was about? I explained I was learning about the Asian culture, China in particular, and needed to finish “Factory Girls” by next week. I continued: “Wanna know something interesting?” “Sure,” she said, “when I was registering for classes back in August with my guidance counselor, I had three options: Asian culture, South America culture, and African culture, and when I selected the Asian culture class, my guidance counselor was surprised.” She continued to listen: “I just realize sitting here, I did not select the African culture class because I subconsciously and consciously  disregarded most things that had to do with the black culture because of my deep-seated insecurities.” I then explained my November’s Journey and why I was at Milk River: "I am teaching myself how to fall in love with my culture, my people, and then, myself as a black man." I then mentioned how while I am, in the words of the Alchemist, unearthing my personal legend, I am also a student and I have to maintain my obligation to school thus, I have to read on a Saturday night in a restaurant. “This journey has been very tiring; between work, school, and this ‘journey’ I am on, I often want to stop and just go back to being the old Demetrius.” I felt my spirits getting low and then Sheaniece said this: “you have a very beautiful spirit and energy, and I see you going very far in life. So no matter what, don’t YOU quit on your journey.” Instantly, my smile lit up like a nightlight, and I felt encouraged to continue tackling my journey. I finished my meal, thanked Sheaniece for blessing me with her service and gave her a hug. Before I walked out of Milk River, I saw the manager again, and she asked how was my experience, I told her it was so beautiful. She thanked me for coming and wished me well on my Journey of self-discovery.

As I was walking to the train, I thought back to when I was five and one of my black foster mothers called me a “piece of trash” and I remembered reiterating that to a teacher when she called me handsome. I then realized these were the seeds of anger towards black women, that were planted in my heart at an early age. But I looked up to the sky and smiled because I knew God is in the process of “de-rooting” those seeds and replacing them with seeds of love towards black women.

Thank you, Milk River, for being a part of that process tonight.

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Black-Owned Business #17: Savannah

It was not until I left Savannah and got in my uber did my November’s Journey get interesting. After having a drink and connecting with one of the employees at Savannah’s about my November’s Journey, I decided to call it a night and called a uber to take me home (I was too tired to take the train home from Flatbush to Bedstuy). My uber driver (Masud) was a Muslim man maybe in his mid 40’s. While on the drive home, he picked up another young African-American male, perhaps in his mid 20’s. He sat in the front of the car, so we did not get a chance to converse. Moments later, there was another customer that Masud had to pick up. When we arrived at the destination, Masud called the young lady on speaker phone, and after hearing her voice, all three of us was convinced she was White, or so we thought. When she walked out of the building we were all shocked — she was a Black woman. I reached over and pushed opened the door for her; she said thank you and hello to all three of us in the car. When Masud pulled off, I told her how we all thought she was a white woman based on how her voice sounded. Masud joined in and said he was shocked too. The young lady replied “Oh, so what if I said (to Masud) you’re from Bangladesh, you’re from Atlanta (to the young Black man in the front), and you’re from DC (to me). I forget how Masud responded, but homeboy and I jokingly said we actually were from Atlanta and DC. While we were slightly laughing, I noticed how aggressive her tone became towards Masud, and I told her we did not mean any harm by comparing her voice to a White woman. I asked if she has anything against White people and she said, of course, don't you? I said: “Absolutely not, why would I?” She proceeded to tell me about how she looked down on White people because they lacked the melanin she and all Black people had but more specifically, because of the treatment Blacks endured from Whites. I instantly felt connected to her by a deep-seated insecurity we both seemed to have, by her being a Black woman and me being a Black man. I asked her where she grew up and she told me Pennsylvania; I thought back to between the ages 5-12 and my experience with the Fresh Air Fund. For seven consecutive years, I went to an Amish family home in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, for two weeks in the summer, and while I enjoyed spending my summers there, I remember running outside during church because all the Amish children would stare at me because I guess they weren't use to seeing a little black boy. While my Amish family (The Kings) always consoled and embrace me, there was an undeniable growing pain in my heart, and for the first time in my little life, I wished I wasn't Black. I thought of this while she told me she grew up in the suburbs in Pennsylvania. She aggressively asked me why do I like White people? I asked why would I hate anyone? “We are all humans. I do not care if you are White, Black, Asian, it does not matter, we are all humans at the end of the day.” She continued expressing her discontent and lack of love or sympathy for White people. I realized I was not angry with her, but felt sorry for the experiences she must have had as a little Black girl growing up in the suburbs of Pennsylvania. I stayed quite until she got out the car and then expressed my feelings to Masud and the other young man. We all exchanged a few words, and then I noticed we were finally in front of my house, so I said goodnight and got out the car.

While lying in bed, I just stared at the ceiling and thought about my interaction with the Black woman and before I noticed, my eyes were closed and I was asking God to heal her heart the same way he is healing mine during my November’s Journey. 

Thank you, Savannah, for being a part of my journey.

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Black-Owned Restaurant #16: Little Miss Muffin 'N' Her Stuffin

I planned to wake up this morning around 8:30 AM to grab breakfast, but I didn't end up waking up until around 10:00 AM. I knew between my two three-hour classes and a small event I was going to be speaking at in the evening, I was not going to have time to go to a black-owned restaurant anytime throughout my day except this morning. I was falling behind on time, so I deliberately selected Little Miss Muffin and traveled by uber/train to get there. When I walked in and said “hello” and got a “Yea man” I knew I was at a Caribbean restaurant. The chef couldn't believe I did not know or have never tasted “bacalao.” I guess I was surprised too given the fact I eat everything and never heard of this “bacalao.” In any case, the chef gave me some “bacalao, ” and it was good but much better when my guy brought over some of that sweet sauce. I sat there expanding my taste buds, watching Let's Make A Deal and found myself opening the door for all the Caribbean women that had a stroller with them. As I was listening to the Caribbean women converse with one another, I was reminded of my foster mother and her beautiful accent, and for a moment, Little Miss Muffin reminded me of home. 




Thank you, Little Miss Muffin, for welcoming me with open arms the same way a mother opens her arms to her child. Also, thank you, chef, for teaching me about “bacalao.” Now I know LOL

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Black-Owned Restaurant #15: Healthy Nibbles

Between school, work, and my recent decision to sign myself out of foster care, my emotions have been all over the place. I just had no idea my “November’s Journey” would take so much energy out of me.

Right before I left work, I randomly selected “Healthy Nibbles” and made my way to this black-owned restaurant in Brooklyn. When I arrived, I asked one employee if this was a black-owned restaurant? He told me “Yes.” I guess I was a bit surprised since I was the only customer and there wasn't any music playing. After ordering my turkey burger and fries (which was amazing), I sat there alone, and I thought to myself why in the world did God bring me here this evening. I had bonded with the two employees before my meal came out but tonight didn't feel like my previous 14 restaurants, something was different. As I sat there alone trying to figure out why God brought me to this restaurant, it felt as if a lightbulb went off in my mind and it all made sense to me. God knows I am tired mentally and emotionally, so He didn't send me to a black-owned restaurant with loud music or with unrelenting traffic, but a place I could enjoy my well-earned meal alone in peace and quiet. As I sat there, it felt as if I rented Healthy Nibbles for the night and I was the only guest on the list. Of course, this wasn't the case, but just to sit back and to be able to hear my thoughts, and enjoy my meal in peace, was truly a blessing.




Thank you, Healthy Nibbles, for being a part of my journey. Before I met you tonight, my journey was in the express lane, thank you for slowing me down and helping me to remember to take this journey, literally, one bite at a time.



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October 11th, 1994 - November 15th, 2016

Today was a very special day for me. After spending 22 years in the foster care system, I finally signed myself out of care. When I signed that document giving me my freedom, it felt as if the shackles of the system gave way, and for the first time in my life, my mind, body, and soul, felt free. I knew this day would come and I can honestly say it terrified me more than anything because I saw friends who were also in foster care become homeless and helpless. This day terrified me because I feared I would be alone without any family or friends. This day terrified me because all the people that were paid to be in my life would leave. This day terrified me because I would be leaving my truly only home… But, like a bird spreading its wings for the first time to take flight, I must also leave my nest and soar the lands of which my nest rest on. I do not know where the winds will take me, but I shall remain courageous during the entire journey. If I get lost, I know my family and friends will be my compass; If I feel alone, I know there’s an abundance of love on standby; and if I ever feel like giving up, I know the world will lift me up again.

Goodbye, Foster Care.

Love,

Your Son

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Black-Owned Restaurant #14: NABE

When I first started my November’s Journey 14 days ago, I questioned could I actually fall in love with my people and myself, in 30 days? It was not until this evening while staring at the ceiling in my room that I realized it is possible and it is happening right this moment. The fear and hatred that was once in my heart have been replaced with empathy and love. All the black-owned restaurants that I have been to thus far have been nothing but beautiful experiences with a few tough lessons in-between. I look in the mirror and see a more beautiful Demetrius. A Demetrius that was once insecure about his physical image has been replaced with a man that is falling in love with every feature God gave him.

While at NEBE’s, I thought to myself "here I am in my hometown Harlem eating a Japanese dish while listening to rap music and conversing with a lovely black woman."

 Life is good!




Thank you, NABE, for being a part of my journey.



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