♥ You’ll Probably Hate This…♥
“If you are talentless, without ambition, morbidly obese, illiterate, or foul smelling: You do NOT have Haters! Some people just don’t like you.” — Carmelita Wingate. Longtime friend, from Twitter in 2009.
DETROIT (JSC) — I sit here at this desk as a 32-year-old Black man from inner-city Detroit. I have a small number of people I call my true friends. I have an even smaller contingent of people I call family. I have acquaintances, confidants, Frat brothers, Sorors, and people who are just fans who are along for the ride (thank you for the support by the way). I also have people who don’t like me, care for me, despise me, or even waste a nanosecond of their time thinking about me. This too is just fine with me. The one thing I do not have, will not have, and never have had are “Haters”. Not one. Nobody. I mean, I’ve had people who didn’t support me or what I was doing. I’ve had countless people who didn’t like me. Hell, when I was in Lansing six years ago, there was a cat that I’d never met running around Lansing claiming that I was bisexual and he had seen me in a club with a man. When I confronted him about it, his ass suddenly bailed off the other end of the phone and hid behind his girlfriend. TRUE STORY! I get it. MFers are not going to like me, and guess what: I’M FINE WITH THAT! Hell, I’m an acquired taste as it is. Not everyone is gonna get it. But here’s my issue, part of the problem with this country as a whole, and the black community in particular, is that we are too busy worrying about people who don’t like us. We crave their approval and use it as some sick & twisted motivator. It’s time to face facts: You don’t have “haters.” As the above quote says: “Some people just don’t like you!” Let’s Go.
Webster’s defines the word “Hate” as follows:
Hate (v.): to dislike intensely or passionately; feel extreme aversion for or extreme hostility toward; to detest.
Now think about that for a second. It takes a boatload of effin’ effort to legitimately HATE somebody. Not dislike, HATE. There are very few things I will actually cop to hating in my life. I hate ignorance. I hate poor grammar. I hate prejudice of all kinds. I hate University of Michigan Football. I hate the Minnesota Twins. I hate what 40+ years of negligence has done to Detroit. Those are all legit things to hate. The problem with our modern social media-dominated society is that we are all looking to be loved and accepted unconditionally, no matter how much of an immature douche that you might be, no matter how pathetic you may be, no matter how much you might suck at your job or your hobby. People must like EVERYTHING that we do. If you don’t like it, you are immediately dismissed as a “hater”! The “hater” card is like the “race” card or the “sexist” card. It’s the easiest way to end all intelligent discourse. We must, thanks to a society of weak people who were told that their sh*t smelled like spring daisies and fresh ground cinnamon since birth, LIKE everything you do or you are a “hater”. I don’t like Drake or Lil’ Wayne. That makes me a “hater”. I don’t like the Miami Heat. That makes me a “hater”. I don’t like the way the Detroit Pistons look. You guessed it, I’m a f—ing “hater” of the 33rd degree. If I don’t like you, I’m a damn “hater”. Well, my message to you is: Shut your hole! You don’t have any haters. I know this will come as a damn shock to your system, but YOU DO NOT HAVE HATERS. People just don’t like you. The sooner you accept that, the happier you will be.
One of the reasons this chaps my arse so much is because I have to see the sh*t on what is seemingly a continuous loop on Facebook & Twitter (@JayScottSmith) every damn day. Never fails. Some anonymous nobody jackass busts off a tweet about how they are sick of “All these haters trying to steal my shine!” or “Y’all haters can keep hatin’. It only makes me stronger!” or “I love my Haters” or my personal favorites are when they get all Biblical on that ass: “All you haters can hate. I know Jesus love me!” :::vomits on rug::: Hell, we just crossed into a new year and 1 out of every 4 jerk-offs on my FB and Twitter TLs were squirting off odes to “haters” by the dozen. Even NPR got in on the f–kery with maybe the dumbest article ever written on their watch. Check this out, sunshine: Nobody hates you! By and large, most people probably aren’t thinking about your ass. I know what you’re thinking: “Me? I know I stay on those haters’ minds!” No. You really don’t. But guess what? That’s ok. Average, everyday losers like you and I don’t have “haters”. Truthfully, most of these a–hole celebrities and athletes don’t have haters either. And for the ones who do: Quit your bitchin’. You’re famous. Not everyone is going to like you either. Stop begging for so much attention. It’s annoying…and pathetic.
I grew up in a city that STILL treats anyone who is the slightest bit different like a fresh pile of dog poop. I was made fun of for every conceivable reason you could imagine: My voice, my intellect, my glasses, my height, my weight, my two-parent household, being an only child…you name it, I caught hell for it! High school was no better, including once in ninth grade being accused of “taking a spot from a deserving Detroit kid.” The assertion was that I could not possibly be from Detroit because, well, I talk good. You factor all that together then throw in dealing with a Cancer-stricken mother at home, and you may be wondering how people didn’t get hurt. Simple, I internalized it. All of it. I let that anger, bitterness, resentment, and rage from those slights — both real and perceived — fuel my daily routine. And guess what happened? I was F—ing Miserable! I spent so much time worrying about clock-suckers who didn’t like me, that I paid very little attention to the people who actually cared about me. That was 15 long years ago. It hasn’t happened since.
Here’s the point of all this: Stop worrying about people who don’t like you. Stop breathing life into these alleged “haters” and detractors. Stop going on long, monotonous diatribes on Twitter and Facebook about people who don’t like you. I can guarantee that they either don’t see it and/or don’t care. I mean really, what good does it do? From a practical standpoint, that son-bitch is still gonna dislike you regardless of how much you pout, stomp your feet, and send cowardly sub-tweets about them to your 17 followers on TweetDeck. It only makes you look like a petulant, insecure child who can’t handle criticism or negative feedback, while that a–hole is off eating a sandwich and drinking a wine cooler. I’m semi-popular now because of my professional gig. I know for a G– damned fact that not everyone who reads my stories are going to like or agree with them. Hell, someone’s reading this right now, loathes this piece and wishes I would jump off the Ambassador Bridge. I can handle that. I’m a grown ass man. I can take it. Because whether you love what I write, or thoroughly despise what I write, guess what: My Check Still Clears. That’s right, MFer. I’m still getting paid. So feel free not to like me or feel free to love me. Just don’t expect me to dedicate 15 consecutive misspelled tweets to you on Twitter, you simpleton.
We’ve really created a candy-ass, “everybody’s a winner” society. Where everyone must be told they’re great at all times, and we all must co-sign on it. I’m unfortunately apart of that first generation of kids that got trophies and awards for losing. Notice I didn’t say finishing 4th or 5th, I said losing. Kids have been raised in places where schools (assuming they even have PE) don’t keep score during basketball and baseball games and everyone gets a trophy at the end of a tournament. Even the team that came in dead last! This is done so everyone can feel good about themselves. F— that! Some of the greatest lessons I’ve learned in life, I learned through losing. In 1989, I played on a baseball team that lost 13 straight games (Note: it was a 13-game season). I’ve been on losing basketball teams, losing baseball teams, losing track teams, you name it! All that losing taught me that you don’t get everything you want in life, and more often than not, you’re going to lose and fail at things. It’s about how you handle the loss, correct the errors, and savor life’s victories. Whether that’s winning a championship in basketball, beating Cancer, getting a new job, or buying a new car, savor it! Enjoy it. If somebody has a problem with you, your life, or how you do things, don’t give those losers the satisfaction of getting all pissy and using them as “motivation”, find that confidence of self and know that not everyone is gonna like you, and that’s just fine. It’s their loss. You want motivation, do it for the people who care about you. F— trying to prove it to some a–hole who is gonna dislike you regardless of what you do. Get your priorities straight, MFer!
In closing, when I was 17-years-old, I was such an emotional wreck that I had actually contemplated suicide twice. Once in November 1996, and the second time in February 1997. So when I tell people that “If I gave a f— about what all you idiots thought about me, I’d have been dead when I was 17” I’m not bullsh*ttin’ you. Stop dedicating all your energy to these people who don’t like you. Instead of wasting precious bandwidth and brain cells on your “haters”, how about you break off an e-mail, tweet, text, or (God forbid) a phone call to someone who has made your life better and worth living. Someone who actually SUPPORTS your stankin’ ass! How about 15 consecutive misspelled, grammatically botched tweets about the people in your life who have your back? Stop acknowledging these fools who don’t like you. Lord knows I don’t. I’d much rather talk about my mom and how she smiles whenever she sees my name on a byline. I’m not wasting my time on you clowns who don’t like me. You wanna know why? Because whether you like me or not…
:::whispers in your ear::: My Check Still Clears, bitch.
Until Next Time, That’s The Way It Is. Friday, January 6, 2012.
The 4,382nd day since the Detroit Lions’ Last Playoff Game
(A Streak that ends in New Orleans tomorrow night!)
Take Care, God Bless, Always Dare to Be Different, and G.O.M.A.B. Σ