"It's not easy being a black man in Calgary," said Omar Stephenson, and the big and tall black man looked out the window of his office, located on the seventh floor of the Nettles Bridge Building, in downtown Calgary. For a brief moment, Omar wondered what would happen if he jumped out the window. Would the lawyers at Vicente, Tremblay & Waterson even take a break from billing the hours? Nope, probably not. They wouldn't be the top legal sharks of Canada if they did...
Located within a few blocks of Calgary City Hall, the Nettles Bridge Building houses several corporations, a shopping mall, a food court, and it is also the headquarters of Vicente, Tremblay & Waterson, the largest law firm in Canada. Omar Stephenson is one of eighteen black lawyers working for the eight-hundred-person law firm. Not a day goes by that some white dude or white lady, usually one of those born with a silver spoon up their keister, didn't remind Omar that he didn't belong. Microaggressions can be a motherfucker. Isn't life grand?
Omar Stephenson made two hundred and thirty thousand dollars after taxes last year, and lives in a nice condo in Northeast Calgary. He drives a silver Volkswagen Passat, and lives the good life. Not bad for a twenty-seven-year-old brother who grew up poor in the harsh environs of Kingston, Jamaica, before his family got lucky and moved to North America. Omar is a successful attorney at Canada's top law firm. He's arrived. He's made it. So why does Omar hate his life and his job so damned much?
When Omar Stephenson arrived in the City of Calgary, Alberta, he was just a young man with a dream. He was born in the City of Kingston, Jamaica, and spent half his life in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. Omar came to Canada as an American citizen, after screwing up during his first year at Northeastern University. Basically, he got kicked out. The brother did too much drinking and partying at one of America's finest schools, so his fed up parents Alexander and Anne-Marie Stephenson sent him to stay with his uncle Harold in Calgary.
Upon arriving in the City of Calgary, Omar decided that he didn't like the place. The young Jamaican-American student had vacationed in Canada plenty of times, but he and his folks usually went to Ottawa or Toronto. The City of Calgary seemed bleak to Omar, who liked Toronto's vastness, diversity and culture. The folks in Calgary were trying too hard to be like American rednecks, the kind of folks found in places like Texas or Wyoming or something. Nope, Omar didn't like the place.
"Listen up, Al, you're here to make something of yourself, if you're not man enough, Calgary will chew you up and spit you out," said Uncle Harold, within hours of Omar's arrival at his townhouse. Omar had only met Uncle Harold a few times. The short, stocky Jamaican dude with the silver goatee and intense eyes had seemed jolly when Omar and his parents met up with him in Toronto a few years back. The dude seemed almost scary right about now, and Omar wasn't having it.
"Duly noted," Omar replied, wondering what he got himself into. Living under Uncle Harold's roof, Omar slowly adjusted to life in the City of Calgary. He enrolled at the University of Calgary, where the local ladies were enamored of his Boston accent and all-American swagger. Omar had lost his Jamaican accent ages, though he was still fluent in Jamaican patois and remained proud of his culture. Omar stayed focused on school, his grades improved, and three years later, he graduated from the University of Calgary with honors. How about that?
"We are so proud of you," said Omar's parents, as they dined with him, and Uncle Harold, at the townhouse on the afternoon following his graduation. Omar looked at his folks and smiled. He'd always been hard-headed and unlucky, in spite of his brilliance, so success took a lot of hard work. Omar nodded respectfully at Uncle Harold, the stoic old man who supported ( and scolded ) him as he busted his hump at the University of Calgary. Yes, this was a good day, and one of Omar's finest moments...
