No Scrubs

Hi, I would like to introduce myself as a scrub. I am an Afro-American man, invested in becoming a productive citizen of society. Since I am putting myself through college, I don't wear the most fashionable clothes, like $90 jeans and $135 boots, in the summertime heat. I don't drive expensive cars because I know that at this time I need to pay my bills, rather than live lavishly, outside my budget, only to impress. And, yes, I have a budget. I parcel my money out to assure that my immediate needs are met and I have a roof over my head with electricity, gas and a phone bill that are not about to be cut off (since I don't live with mom).

So, yes, I am a scrub. I am that common manfolk that became shadowed by those who are flashier, dashier and trashier. Please forgive me for assuming the ideology that a woman should be viewed as a woman, not a figurine. I did not know respecting women and not shying away from sharing my emotions or conveying my thoughts by professing my love was a form of weakness (or being a punk). Next time, I won't speak with the tongue that appreciates success, the tongue ungarbled by profanity and indignation (often confused with being down-to-earth).

In this decade, I thought we had begun to identify with each other, to not be so judgmental, but more understanding - viewing your content, not your suppleness, by seeing what lies in your bosom and not the size or firmness of them. However, I thought you had asked yourselves to go beyond judging a man's success by the car he drives, the watch he wears or his zip code, not setting your expectations too high for honest men and too low for dishonest ones.