You Play Too Rough

When we were kids, we would jump each other for fun.
In middle school, Robbie Rosales and I would hide behind some bushes and jump our friends Dave, Wayne, Wayne, and Ken before catching our bus home.
The next day they would trap us in an alley and jump us.
The principal thought we were fighting, but it was just a game.

The current CEO of Sun Microsystems and his friends were some of the kids whom one of my friends and I would attack by throwing oranges at them as we walked from our classes at the local high school back to our middle school.
The principal thought that we were picking on the nerds - but we were in the same classes and could have been thought to be nerds ourselves.
We'd been in classes with and known these kids most of our lives - we were just playing.

My boy D. Glen and I jumped my younger brother and his friend at the neighborhood multi-plex cinema in what was thought to be a good part of town. My brother and his friend were big for their age (6'2" - 6'4" in the eighth grade), so we weren't really picking on them.
Some suburban white woman screamed "Run... gangs!".
We just laughed and said that we knew the kids.
But her assumption was that a group of Black kids fighting had to be from the other part of town and gang related.
But we were just playing and lived in an area that was as good as (if not better than) her's.

My brothers and I would have jokes for anyone who came to our house.
My step dad worked nights (and my mom didn't live with us) so we had a cool spot to hang out.
Even when someone else had good material, they'd hear crickets.
Many-a-Negro (well, anybody) went home mad at our verbal gang attack.
But these were our best friends - we were just playing.

When I used to gamble too much, I missed one of my friend's wedding week.
I'd been on a binge to Vegas and the local casinos.
I'd already lost cars, jobs, homes and women because of my actions.
I was supposed to be a groomsman, but I arrived during the reception.
The bride asked if I was okay and gave me a kiss.
Later, a group of friends picked me up and body slammed me.
(Apparently, this is what it took to get me to listen.)
After getting the lecture and the plan to get my ish together (a place to live, a car, and a new connection for a new job) - we went back to drinking together.
Was I mad? Nope.
While my ribs were hurt - my pride wasn't.
These guys were just trying to help me get my ish back to normal.
This is what good friends do (when necessary).

One of the complaints I most often hear is that Black people are too loud or too aggressive.
But this is cultural - not genetic.

I had a cousin get fired recently from a customer service job.
Apparently, he yelled at a customer.
When he tried to explain what happened, he was yelling.
But this way of speaking is common in his home.
It's just the way his family communicates.
But what is acceptable in one environment can be seen as unacceptable in another.

This lack of understanding (coupled with an underlying fear) is what causes many misunderstandings to escalate into aggression. (As is the case with many police responses, racial responses and gender responses.)
Someone who is not familiar with an assertive or honest way of speaking may interpret the same as aggression (or a personal attack).
Their natural response is to retaliate with aggression of their own.
The initial intention can sometimes be misunderstood.

When someone points out a flaw in one's thinking or actions, it's not the same as challenging someone to a fight.
It may be someone trying to be helpful.
It may just be on the same level as telling someone that they have a booger in their nose.