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."

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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.

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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.



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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

#freeatlast

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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Black-Owned Restaurant #13: The Brooklyn Greenery

A New Beginning ...

Thank you, Brooklyn Greenery, for being a part of my journey.



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Black-Owned Restaurant #12: SoCo

This journey I am telling everyone I’m on has its moments of loneliness. I often check my phone to see if someone texted or called me but all I see is my screen saver. My social media accounts are much quieter than when I first announced my November’s Journey. I would be lying if I said I felt completely comfortable with spending all this time alone and away from my friends and other family members. But God reminded me this morning as I was looking around my bedroom, that I am never alone. I looked at artwork created by love ones, my first concert posters, New Orleans artwork, cards received by friends and family, gifts from loved ones, and pictures with my family and friends. The more I looked around my room the more love I realized I immersed myself in. That love became palpable and just for a second, I felt all the love and energy from all my loved ones. Around 7:00 PM, I was making a sandwich, and I thought to myself, the former 11 black-owned restaurants I’ve been too, not once did I order an alcoholic beverage. I shared this news with my mother, and we both said God does not want me under the influence while on this journey. As I walked out the door to walk to SoCo, I told myself “just go with the flow, if you drink, you drink.” When I arrived at Soco's and opened the door, instantly, the warmth air mixed with the smell of soul food grabbed me inside and welcomed me. I looked around and saw all the beautiful black faces with smiles; I saw delighted black children; I saw black couples —I saw happiness. All I could do was smile back at everyone. I sat at the bar and looked over the drink menu while admiring SoCo’s atmosphere. I saw my people in their best element. I did not see anything other than love in everyone’s faces. There were two young ladies next to me so I had asked them if they would recommend any of the drinks off the menu (I, unfortunately, forgot to write their names down so bear with me). The black woman sitting immediately to my left engaged in conversation with me; we talked about various things (including my November’s Journey), and then she asked me if I liked “fruity drinks.” I laughed and asked if she was talking about drinks that are more sweeter? She said yes. It was at this moment I realized something about myself: I love “fruity drinks.” A few months ago I went out with a woman who was a bit older than myself and when the waitress came over to take our orders, the woman ordered a red wine, and I ordered a “Sex on the Beach.” She looked at me and laughed. I still have not heard from that woman. When I told my boy, he mentioned how men are supposed to drink alcohol beverages like Bourbon, and that is probably why I did not hear from her because of the choice of drink I ordered. After telling the young lady this story in SoCo’s, I realized I forced myself to like drinks like bourbon because I was told that’s what others expected I should like as a man. Just before I was going to place my order for my “fruity” drink, I was reminded of my conversation earlier with my mother, and I reiterated that conversation to the woman sitting next to me and instantly she said: “NO! NO! NO! Listen to what you feel God is telling you. You don't need to drink any alcohol during this experience because it is a beautiful journey and you need to be completely aware of your surroundings at all times.” As they both got up to leave, I thanked the woman for telling me to trust in the journey without any external influences. I continued to sit at the bar and watch my beautiful black people enjoy each others company. 

As I was walking home I was listening to “Breathing Underwater” by Emeli Sandé and all I could think about was with every single day I am on this journey I feel more liberated, and I feel my heart beginning to heal

Thank you, SiCo for being a part of my journey. I look forward to coming back with a date one day!

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Black-Owned Restaurant #11: The Pink Tea Cup

While I was walking on 14th street, I notice a young black woman holding flowers and I jokingly asked if the flowers were for me? She gently pulled out this beautiful sunflower and gave it to me. I told her I was just playing, but she said she was out spreading love by giving strangers flowers. Inspired by seeing another young woman on social media, she wanted to spread that same love in NYC. Excited and grateful, I joined her for about 15 minutes and walked around Union Square and  gave flowers to strangers and told them to continue to spread the love. Our time came to an end shortly after but I told her I would keep this flower in my possession for the rest of the day because it was given to me out of genuine love.

Around 4:45 PM, I randomly selected “The Pink Tea Cup” and left work to head to the restaurant in Brooklyn. I arrived at the PTC and fell in love with the outside of the restaurant and began to visualize how I would take my photo for social media. I opened the door and walked in, but then realized I had my headphones blasting so I turned back around and walked out. I walked back in and noticed the puzzled looks on the employee's faces, I smiled and told them when I walk into a restaurant for the first time I liked to use all my senses to feel the energy of the place. I laughed with the employee Niesha and introduced myself and my “November’s Journey.” She walked me over to my seat and told me she would be my waitress. Before she walked away, she told me they only took cash and if needed, there was an ATM near the restrooms. I checked my account and realized I did not have enough money to pull from the ATM; I had my credit card, but that wouldn't be much help. I told Niesha I was not going anywhere, I was determined to figure this out. My journey led me here, and I was not going to allow anything to stand in my way from being at PTC. I called my bank and tried to have money transferred from my savings to my checking, but to no avail. I did not want to ask anyone because of my pride, and this is my personal journey that I should fund alone. I realized I needed help so I reached out to my good friend I recently met on my 22nd birthday in New Orleans, Miciah and asked if she could loan me $40. I was reluctant to call because she voluntarily gave me $75 a few days prior, but I knew I could count on her. After she sent the money I realized I had spent 25 minutes trying to figure out my finances and I still hadn't ordered (I was now a bit agitated and beyond hungry). I told Niesha I was ready to order; I asked her what would she recommend, and she enthusiastically told me about the smothered pork chops. I told her I was thinking of the same thing. I then had a bright idea and told her I wanted her to randomly select my food this evening. “I am allergic to shrimps, crabs, and the other seafood except for fish and salmon.” “Oh and my drink, order that too” (I don’t know where I thought I was). Niesha laughed but didn't know what to say. I guess Niesha’s manager could see the perplexed look on her face, so she came over to check up on me. I got up to introduce myself and reached to shake her hand, but because of religious purposes, she gently declined my handshake. I sat back down and told the manager how I asked Niesha to order my food. I then told her I was on this journey and wanted my meal to be randomly selected. The manager said all right and walked Niesha to where the bar was, however, I heard the manager select the meal I would eat. When she walked by I told her, I wanted Niesha to order my meal, as I wanted HER to choose something for me to eat. The manager explained that Niesha was relatively new and did not entirely know the menu. I realize another ten minutes had past and my agitation grew. Within a few minutes, the manager brought over a plate of Chicken n Waffles; I told her how I did not want what she selected for me. The manager told me Niesha will not be selecting what I eat. Between my patience running out and my stomach growling, my frustration grew, and as I  put on my jacket to leave, an older black woman in her mid-60s looked at me and said: “Don't judge the restaurant based off the experience you had with one person, the food here is very good.” I slowly sat back down to show my respect but intended on getting back up once Ms. Yakini finished speaking to me. Her husband Wil (with one “L”) joined the conversation, and they both talked to me for about 20 minutes about the various foods on the menu. I checked my watch and realized an hour had passed, and I still had not eaten anything, and the more Ms. Yakini and Wil talked about the menu and their love for the ribs (which they both got) the more I wanted to put aside my pride and eat at PTC. Ms. Yakini called her waiter over and started going through the menu with me, and she ended up helping me select my dinner. A couple of minutes later, the smothered pork chops arrived…. Ms. Yakini said: “Demetrius, didn't you say Niesha recommended the pork chops?” I remembered the one, and only thing Niesha did recommend was the smothered pork chops. Before I could answer, I looked at Wil and Ms. Yakini and watched as they both prayed the same prayer in harmony with each other. I jokingly said they look like yin and yang with Wil’s all black and Ms. Yakini’s all white attire. While I joked with them, I was sitting back admiring the love they shared between each other. The beautiful part of their relationship was they were both Afrocentric; Ms. Yakini showed her Afrocentrism by having her gray hair in an afro and Wil showed by wearing all black. I fell in love with their connection and respect for one another; I imagined sharing that same connection with my wife one day. Wil spoke to me about practicing humility at all times and reminded me how all the frustration I had previously showed was not needed. Ms. Yakini added, “Waiters and waitresses are meant to serve you the food and not order your food.” I put my head back against the wall as I thought about my previous actions. Will continued “Demetrius, you are on this journey for you. Don’t let anyone deter you from what you are seeking but practice humility and patience always.” A few moments later the manager walked over and gave me a refill of my drink and said, “this one is on the house” both Wil and Ms. Yakini looked at me and smiled.

As I was getting up to leave, I found the Sunflower the young lady gave me earlier, and I explained to Wil and Ms. Yakini how the sunflower came from a stranger today, and it was given to me out of love. I told them how every time I looked at this flower it reminded me of a genuine and gracious heart and how I felt bad I did not see it during my conversation with the manager because maybe I would have acted more kindly. “And that is why you are on this journey Demetrius. You are learning how to grow” Ms. Yakini said. I thanked both Wil and Yakini for sharing this experience with me and for blessing me with their love. I then walk up to the manager and apologized for being impatient and rude; she thanked me for my apology.

I am so grateful and appreciative to Wil and Ms. Yakini for reminding me to continue on my November’s Journey but with much humility and patience.

Thank you, The Pink Tea Cup, for being a part of my journey and for the beautiful lessons. And big-ups to the chef!!! That smothered pork chop was everything!!

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Black-Owned Restaurant #10: Mikey Likes It Ice Cream

I was sitting in class this afternoon and began my search for a black-owned restaurant. I randomly selected Mikey Likes It and once I saw it was an ice-cream spot, I almost selected another place but remembered I am on this journey and every place I randomly select, I must go there. When I arrived I spoke with two employees outside Mikey’s about my “November’s Journey, ” and one individual expressed how they too were in foster care and applauded my efforts to address internal pains through black culture. I had not stepped foot inside yet, but I already felt like I had a connection with Mikey’s. The connection deepened because of the employee Mimi. After sharing why I came to this particular ice-cream shop, she treated me with such grace, and I might add patience. She not only gave me her favorite first, (Foxy Brown) but she let me try every last ice cream on the counter. We went from speaking about different flavors to how black men are treated in society to how herself, as a black woman, saw black men. I got lost in our conversation as it was so beautiful to hear a black woman express herself so eloquently and poetically. I then told her how even though the owner Mikey wasn't there, I felt his energy all over the room; it was quite a beautiful feeling. She told me he also grew up in the area so this is home for him. I smiled and appreciated I had chosen to come to Mikey’s.


Thank you, Mikey Likes It Ice Cream for being a part of my journey.

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Black-Owned Restaurant #9: The Edge

I realized I am speaking less about my experience at the black-owned restaurant and more about the changes that are going on inside me. I guess that is the beauty of my November’s Journey, it started one way and is shifting in a different direction. I also realized I am using these black-owned businesses to share my personal life with the world. What I wrote in my last two posts I have never told anyone and never planned on telling anyone. I kept that style of writing out of my personal diary of four years because I feared someone would one day read it, and judge me. I know people are wondering how could I then put it on social media? This entire journey is ultimately about falling in love with Demetrius. How can I love myself if there are things that I am too ashamed of to write in my own diary? If I truly want to fall in love with Demetrius, then I have, to be honest, and let go of everything that is holding me back.




Thank you, The Edge, for being a part of my journey (This picture was not taken at the restaurant).



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Black-Owned Restaurant #8: Ms. Dahlai's Cafe

I woke up late because I forgot it was daylight savings. I quickly got dressed, kissed my mother goodbye and walked out of my home. I got to work only a few minutes late, but I forgot to eat something at home and knew since I was disciplining myself from eating anything unless it was black-owned, I was going to be extremely hungry all day. While catching up on some studying, I saw one of my favorite co-workers and blew her a kiss; she sent one right back my way. Moments later she walked by and dropped two KitKat's on my desk, and I let out a soft smile. I succumbed to my body’s desire and I ate the candy… I realized at this moment that I did not keep my word. The discipline that I thought I was going to have for the entire month of November, failed.

Around 4:30 PM I began searching for a black-owned restaurant, and I randomly selected Ms. Dahlia’s Cafe. I went home, changed my clothes, and planned to be at the restaurant around 9 PM. Siri said I was only a mile away, so I ended up walking because I just ate a decent size meal at home, and wanted to walk it off. I got to the restaurant around 9:20 pm and I see this sign. I was confused because I thought they were going to be open. I ended up speaking with three of the employees about my “November’s Journey,” and they told me to come back definitely, but I then realized all of this was suppose to happen. I broke my word today about not putting anything in my mouth unless it was black-owned and the restaurant I randomly chose just so happened to be closed when I arrived. My take away: I WAS NOT SUPPOSE TO EAT TONIGHT. Okay, maybe that is a stretch, but point being the universe, God, or just coincidentally, the day I break my word is the same day the black-owned restaurant I go to is closed.

Now for the message …

Some may ask why am I disciplining myself from eating just a snack from a store. I had to ask myself the same question: Why are you starving yourself, Demetrius? I am trying to teach myself discipline… I cannot discipline myself with my finances, I cannot discipline myself against women, and I cannot discipline myself against pornography.

 I was sexually abused 

by a relative when I was five years old and then again when I was thirteen. During which time I began to watch porn as an escape. An escape from the beatings, an escape from not feeling loved, but more than anything, an escape from feeling alone. The pipeline continued… I began to see my beautiful smile, and I had luck with the ladies, so I just had sex instead of watching porn. I substituted watching porn (which itself was an escape from feeling alone and the beatings) with having sex but I realized the entire time I was yearning for love. Love that would be committed, a love that would be unconditional, love from anyone… As I grew older and began to love myself more I slowed down with the women I was dating hence the sex slowed down too; however, the pornography continued.

I am closing this piece down for now. But I have to say something to all the current and former foster children in the world and especially to those who read this post. I will tell my ENTIRE story from the beginning to the end for you. Use my life as an example to never give up no matter what happens.

 I will use my life to shed light on a shattered system.

Thank you, Ms. Dahlia’s Cafe for being closed when I got there. You have indirectly helped me let go some of the weight that secretly laid on my shoulders.

God bless …

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Black-Owned Restaurant #7: Cecil

I had to make the toughest decision today while at Cecil’s. I came with a close friend of mine who I haven't seen in a while. That friend is my Italian adoptive “dad” (note: I consider John to be my big brother). In any case, when John and I walked into the restaurant, I approached the two employees and introduced myself. After sharing my “November’s Journey,” they delightfully welcomed me and walked us over to our seats. Once I noticed the two couples sitting next to our table, I realized two things: (1) I came to the right place (2) I needed to sit alone. To the right and left of my seat was two white men and across from them were two beautiful, beautiful black women. My emotions reacted too fast so I could not tell John why, but I told him I needed to be alone and asked that he respect “my journey” (First time I noticed my November’s journey can hurt those I love). 

So there I sat …

I looked at both black women because they sat diagonally from me. I could not understand why I felt so uncomfortable sitting there as a black man watching these black women eat with their white men (After a couple of minutes I realized one woman was in a relationship and the other woman was with her gay white friend). I questioned myself: Demetrius, you dated only Asian women for the past two years, what’s the problem? I then realized I felt uncomfortable because I simply did not like to see black women with white men. I could date outside my race and applauded other brothers who did too, but I looked down on black women who dated white men.

I expressed my feelings while speaking about my November’s journey to my waitress and another customer and they both said the same thing: love is love. Instantly I had to look inside myself, and I realized the trauma I have from my biological mother neglecting me, my black adoptive mother putting me back into the system, and the 25(+) black foster mother's  I had, still shaped the way I saw black women. You can basically say I disregarded and disrespected black women because I felt shitted on by all the black women that came into my life, even by the one who gave birth me. 

This is why I am on this journey.

I am learning how to love myself because I will never receive that love from the black women of the past, but I can learn how to love Demetrius, so that when a black woman does come into my life, I can love her wholeheartedly and not allow the pain of the past to ruin our relationship.

I sat there alone as it felt like the entire world became blurry and God reminded me why I am on this journey. He is taking those deep-seated pains out of me and replacing them with love. 

To my dear friend John, this is why I needed to sit alone…

Thank you, Cecil, for being a part of my journey

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Black-Owned Restaurant #6: Thirty-Three

After 10 attempts by three different people to take a good photo of the owner Papi and myself, this great photo was born. I will point out now that our outfits weren't planned. That's how I know God has control over this entire experience, everywhere I go He gives me signs reminding me that I am at the right place. As I write this I am also looking at the beautiful art work by Thirty-Three, admiring the beautiful chandelier, and listening to Young M.A. (For all my non-Brooklyn peoples, she's a rapper from Brooklyn). I feel as if I am in the "Black" meat packing district. This place is classy with a young Soul.

Thank you, Thirty-Three for being a part of my journey. For all my Haitians, this is the place for you!!!

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