de Blasio Only Spoke The Truth

In recent months, America has had to see, deal with, and have many discussions about some very uncomfortable truths.  In 2014, we have witnessed way too many killings of unarmed Black men at the hands of police officers, and we’ve watched those same police officers not face indictments for these killings.  Black parents, over and over again, are having the same conversations with their sons
to prepare them for any possible encounters they may have with the police.

What has baffled me in the last couple weeks is the reaction the NYPD and its union has had toward NYC mayor Bill de Blasio.  For those of you who may not know, de Blasio is married to a Black woman, and they have a son.  What did he say that made the NYPD so angry that they literally turn their backs to him?  Well, here it is :

"This is profoundly personal for me. I was at the White House the other day, and the President of the United States turned to me, and he met Dante a few months ago, and he said that Dante reminded him of what he looked like as a teenager. And he said, I know you see this crisis through a very personal lens. I said to him I did.  Because Chirlane and I have had to talk to Dante for years, about the dangers he may face. A good young man, a law-abiding young man, who would never think to do anything wrong, and yet, because of a history that still hangs over us, the dangers he may face — we’ve had to literally train him, as families have all over this city for decades, in how to take special care in any encounter he has with the police officers who are there to protect him.”

 

de Blasio was also quoted to say, “I’ve had to worry over the years, Chirlane has had to worry: Is Dante safe each night?  And not just from some of the painful realities of crime and violence in some of our neighborhoods but safe from the very people they want to have faith in as their protectors.”

 

I mean … can we use some common sense here?  We all know that not all police officers are bad.  There are countless numbers of men and women officers who put their lives on the line every single day to protect and serve the communities they are charged to police.  But then there are those officers like Darren Wilson and Daniel Pantaleo with questionable policing / use of force histories that are still on the job.  Those are the “police” we are concerned about, and those are the officers de Blasio and his wife have had to educate their son about.

 

Perhaps you have heard the statistic that a Black person is killed every 28 hours at the hands of the police.  I don’t know how true this is.  In fact, I’ve read a few reports / articles / studies stating this statistic is not an accurate one.  Accurate or not, we all know that racial profiling is real and poses a real danger to the lives of our young Black men.  Instead of being upset at de Blasio for speaking the truth and giving a voice to the fear parents of Black sons have regarding encounters they may have with the police, stop turning your backs on the truth and start cleaning up your departments to make sure the Darren Wilsons and Daniel Pantaleos of the world don’t get to use their badge as a license to kill. 

Gimme A Break!!

Last year, Megyn Kelly of FOX News said Santa was White.

This year, folks are on social media having fits over Quvenzhané Wallis playing "Annie" and the possibility of Idris Elba (in all his chocolate goodness) playing James Bond.

Wow!  People are tripping over Blacks portraying FICTIONAL characters.  Really?!?!?  I was never really in to comic books, but I always thought the FICTIONAL character The Green Lantern was Black.  I don't remember folks having much to say when he was portrayed by a White actor a few years ago.

I find all this interesting, especially considering the generational lie about the appearance of Jesus.  People are okay with Jesus being portrayed as a fair-skinned man with long, straight, flowing hair.  But according to scripture, "His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were as a flame of fire; and his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters" (Revelation 1 : 14 and 15).

For the record, I'm not saying Jesus was a Black man ... but He was a man of color.

I took my son to see "Annie" last weekend.  It was a great family movie.  I remember seeing the original movie years ago when I was a child.  I loved both versions.  Why?  Because I take the movie for what it's supposed to be ... entertainment.  People, get over yourselves.  Gimme a break!

What NOT To Say Or Do When Someone Dies

Losing someone you love is never easy, but losing someone during the holiday season is especially hard.  All at once, you have to deal with the death of your loved one while going through the holidays without them.  It really becomes a season of sadness and grief.

Lord knows I know this all too well.  My father died just days before Thanksgiving in 2008.  Even though it's been six years, the holidays have just never been quite the same for me.  I do my best to muster up some happiness and holiday spirit so I can create great memories for my kids, but the sense of loss and sadness is still there.  I miss my Daddy terribly, of course.  But the holidays are also a reminder ... an "anniversary" of sorts ... of his passing.

Since Thanksgiving this year, we've had people close to us pass away.  My husband's former co-worker and friend passed away just days after Thanksgiving.  A friend of our family lost her battle to cancer last weekend.  My heart and prayers go out to their families.

Thinking of these families made me reflect back to when my Daddy passed away.  My Daddy was a big man in stature, presence, and heart.  When news got out that he died, my Mama, sister, and I were overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support shown to us by friends, family, and community.

When someone dies, it can be difficult to find just the right words to say.  While I know everyone meant well, there were lots of awkward moments when folks came to visit.  I've compiled a list of things NOT to say or do when you are visiting or offering condolences to someone in bereavement.

DO NOT ASK "WHAT HAPPENED?"  The last thing someone wants to do is recount the story of how their loved one passed away over and over again.  My Daddy had his health issues, but his passing was sudden and unexpected.  I lost count of the number of times that I or my Mama or sister was asked how Daddy died.  It got to the point that when I heard someone ask my Mama or sister, I would leave the room.  If they asked me, I'd give them my signature side-eye and simply say, "He died."  After a while, folks got the message.  Some folks were genuinely concerned and trying to make sense of his passing.  Others were just plain nosy.  Either way, the point is don't ask.

DO NOT SAY "I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL" OR "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE GOING THROUGH".  Ahhhh ... no.  You don't.  Even if you have lost someone you are close to or someone you love, that's you.  Your experience was your experience, but you don't know what the bereaved is feeling.  Let them be in their feelings and not make their loss about you.

IT'S OKAY NOT TO SAY ANYTHING.  Really, it is.  I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible at offering condolences.  Just let the bereaved know you love them, you are thinking of them, you are praying for them, and you are there if they need you.  That's enough.

A few months after my Daddy passed away, I was at a store in my hometown when I ran into a lady I've known all my life.  We went to the same church, I played with her kids when we were younger, and her family and my Daddy's family have known each other forever.  When she saw me, she ran up to me to talk to me.  She asked about Mama and my sister.  Then she said, "Girl, I couldn't come to Ernest's funeral.  He was my friend, and his death hurt me to my heart.  I just couldn't take it!" 

Wait.  What?!?!?  Did she really just say that to me?  I had an out-of-body experience and don't even remember what I said to her (I hope is wasn't too much of a smart ass remark, but somehow I doubt that it wasn't.), but she quickly apologized.  I know she meant well.  Again, sometimes silence is just fine.

DO NOT ASK "HOW ARE YOU DOING?"  Well, let's see.  Someone I love very much just passed away.  I'll never be able to see, talk to, or hug them again.  How do you think I'm doing? 

DO NOT SAY "LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED ANYTHING" IF YOU DON'T REALLY MEAN IT.  Simple, right?  You made the offer, so keep your word.

DO NOT SAY "THEY ARE IN A BETTER PLACE".  Yeah, very little comfort there.  Maybe the deceased had been fighting a health battle and death has eased their suffering, but it doesn't ease the bereaved.

There are really no magic words or deeds that will make everything better when you are trying to comfort someone who has lost a loved one.   Offer your sympathy.  Share a special memory or a funny story of the deceased.  Be a shoulder to cry on, if needed.  Just let the bereaved know of your care and concern and that you are willing to support them during this difficult time.  Simple kindness goes a long way.

What's Up With The Selective Anger And Outrage Over "Sorority Sisters"?

Let me just preface this blog entry by stating the fact that I don’t watch a lot of television.  Besides the episodes of “Doc McStuffins” and “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse” I watch with my toddler daughter when she’s still for more than five minutes or an occasional episode of “The Amazing World of Gumball” I watch with my son, my television time is limited to just a few shows … the local and network news, “Modern Family”, “blackish”, “Shark Tank”, and “Scandal”.  If there’s ever a chance for me to sit down long enough on weekends to watch TV, I’m watching old episodes of “Good Times”, “A Different World”, and “The Cosby Show”.  Now that’s some good TV, y’all.  They just don’t make shows like they used to.  

There’s been a whole lot of talk this past week about a show that premiered on VH1 called “Sorority Sisters”.  I didn’t watch it.  Nor do I plan to.  In fact, I didn’t even know it was coming on until my Facebook newsfeed was blown up the other night with comments about it.  What is particularly funny to me is all the backlash this show has brought to social media.  Petitions have popped up all over the place to force VH1 to cancel the show.  Companies are pulling their ads.  There is a big movement to shut that show down. 

For real?!?!  I’m scratching my head on this one, y’all.  Here’s my issue with the whole uproar over “Sorority Sisters”.  Why are folks all mad and trying to get the show cancelled but still watching “Basketball Wives”, “Love and Hip Hop”, or any of the other so-called reality shows?  Ain’t they all the same?  Black folks acting the fool and all caught up in some ratchet, ghetto shenanigans.  In all seriousness, how many times can you watch people fighting, cussing, pulling hair, having baby mama/daddy drama, and getting caught having multiple, simultaneous relationships and it not get old and tired?    

 I am a member of a Divine Nine sorority.  I love my Sorors and my sisters in other Black Greek organizations.  I get it.  The women on “Sorority Sisters” didn’t portray Black women (or our beloved sisterhoods) in a very positive light.  But why are we being selective in our anger and outrage?  We mad ‘cause the women openly identify themselves as sorority members but we can’t be mad at the examples the women on the other reality shows portray?  What sense does that make?  Foolishness is foolishness … with or without Greek letters on your chests.

I am amazed at the solidarity being shown in effort to stop “Sorority Sisters” dead in its tracks.  In just a few short days, VH1 has faced so much pressure to take the show off the air that they will have to respond in some kind of way.  The show may be a short-lived one. 

Imagine the impact we could have on real issues if we pool our resources and collective voice to deal with other problems within our communities.  Just a thought …

Lessons For My Son

If you have been following my blog, you know that I have been working on a series of entries concerning the lessons I want to teach my daughter.  Given the recent events that are all over the news and social media regarding the killing of young, unarmed Black males in America (and the non-indictments or acquittals of their killers), I feel like I should address the lessons I need to teach my son.  My young, Black son.  My first born.  My heart.  My sugar lump from Heaven.

Notice I wrote that these are things I NEED to teach my son.  These are lessons I wish I didn’t have to teach him, but they are indeed important ones he needs to know.  These lessons could make the difference between his life and death.  In this post-Trayvon Martin / Jordan Davis / Mike Brown / John Crawford / Eric Garner / Tamir Rice era we are living in, my husband and I have had to have many sit downs with our son on how he should conduct himself if confronted by a police officer or anybody who would racially profile him.

I am always watching the news.  I always have for as long as I can remember.  Lately, I’ve noticed my son has been watching the news right along with me.  He’s well aware of the recent non-indictments of the killers of Mike Brown and Eric Garner.  What really caught his attention was the recent death of 12-year old Tamir Rice.

You see, my son is just a couple months shy of his eleventh birthday.  Because they are so close in age, when my son heard about Tamir Rice and saw the video of his murder, he paid especially close attention.  In essence, the news of the death of Tamir was my son’s “aha” moment.

“So, Mom … what happened to him could happen to me?”  I could see the wheels turning in his head when he asked me that.  And that look he had on his face … wow.  Things got real for him at that moment.  It was rather sad, actually … and eerily similar to a conversation I had with my Mama many, many moons ago.  My Mama was the same age as Emmett Till (14) when he was killed in Mississippi.  When I learned from her about Emmett Till and his murder, she explained to me that when she heard about his death, she realized that her youth and innocence would and could not shield or protect her from the evils of prejudice and racism.  Till was killed in 1955.  It’s the end of 2014.  59+ years have passed.  Why after nearly six decades of “progress” are Black children still in fear for their lives?

And what a heavy reality to learn at such a young age … that someone with no regard for your life can take it away from you in an instant over assumptions.  Someone (a man on the street or an officer of the law) who feels that for whatever reason you pose a threat to them can kill you and even get away with it if they claim “self-defense”.  My son has seen way too many examples of this in just these past couple years.  Someone who feels that my son is a threat is not going to take the time to discover that he has a family who loves and adores him, that he’s an all A student, or that he loves video games, computers, and baseball.

 

I saw the photo above the other day.  Yes, it’s a cartoon strip, but it’s also a sad commentary on Black America.  There are a different set of rules and lessons Black parents have to teach their sons.  I struggle with trying to find a balance here.  I don’t want my son to live in constant fear, but as his parent, guardian, and the person God entrusted his life to, it is my absolute duty to teach him and prepare him how to handle himself should he be stopped by the police.  Below are some rules and lessons my husband and I have gone over with our son.

1.      If you are ever stopped by the police, don’t make any sudden movements.  Keep your hands visible at all times.  If you must move, tell the officer exactly what you are doing and move slowly.

2.      DO NOT REACH in your pockets for anything.  In fact, keep your hands out of your pockets.  The excuse the officer will give after he shoots you is that he thought you were about to reach for a weapon, and he feared for his safety.

3.      Do not talk back to the officer.  Do not raise your voice.  Stay as calm as you possibly can.  A raised voice or belligerent attitude can make you “threatening” and get you shot.

4.      No toy guns outside the house.  Period.  That also includes refraining from picking up toy guns in a store.  This lesson is a new one we’ve gone over since the deaths of John Crawford and Tamir Rice this year. 

5.      Do not run away from an officer.  You may be scared, but do not run away. 

6.      Follow the officer’s instructions.  Even if you did nothing wrong, when you are detained by an officer, that isn’t the time to show defiance.

7.      Be aware of your clothing.  Some police officers and the George Zimmermans / Michael Dunns of the world don’t know you but assume since you’re young, male, and Black, you are a thug and up to no good.  Don’t further their belief by dressing the part.

8.       If an officer cuffs you, let him.  Do not resist.  Do not put up a fight.

 

 

This isn’t by any means an all-inclusive list.  It also seems that we will have to add items to the list of lessons as more cases of the killings of our young, Black males are reported.  At the end of the day, we just want our son to make it home safe and unharmed.  We want to see him grow up.  We just want to see him … ALIVE.

 

Where Are The Brothers In Baseball?

(Photo by Skip Foreman)

 







 

My son has fallen in love with baseball.  It ain't puppy love, either.  He's head over heels in love with the game.  While he's played other sports (football, soccer, and basketball), he has really excelled at his play and passion for the game.  He played baseball for the first time in the spring of 2013.  This year, my son has played on spring, summer, and fall league teams. 

 

 

My husband and I vowed to nurture any interests our children exhibit, so we're all in, too.  My husband has coached some of our son's teams.  I'm on the sidelines at every game with my "baseball mom" t-shirts and a speaker attached to my iPhone to play music to stir the crowd.  Yeah, I'm THAT mom.  (lol)

 

 

I have noticed something since my son has started playing on little league teams and watching major league baseball on television.  I didn't see many people who looked like my son playing the game.  Where are the brothers?  Where are the Black boys on little league teams?  Where are the Black men in MLB dugouts? 

 

 

My father was a big baseball fan, and because he watched baseball, I watched more than my fair share of baseball games growing up.  In fact, I watched so much baseball that I promised myself when I grew up, I would NEVER watch another baseball game.  I know Daddy is looking down on us from Heaven, cheering his grandson on and laughing hysterically at me as I watch a game I swore off as a kid.  (lol)

 

I remember teams.  I remember players.  I remember getting Willie Stargell's autograph once when my mom, sister, and I spotted him at the mall in my hometown ... and being excited after meeting him and getting the autograph.  It seems to me there were just more Black men playing major league baseball then than there are now.  Why is that? 

 

To satisfy my curious mind, I did a little research and read quite a bit on this sad truth.  Less than 10% of the players in major league baseball are Black.  Less than 10%.  By some accounts, the percentage was more like 8.3 during the 2013 and 2014 MLB seasons.

 

My son was the only Black player on the very first little league team he played on.  In the summer of 2013, we sent my son to baseball camp at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.  There were 100 boys at that camp.  My son was one of three Black boys that attended.  3 Black boys out of 100.  Wow!

 

This year, the numbers increased slightly but not by much.  There were at least 2 other players on my son's spring and summer league teams.  This summer at baseball camp at UNC, there were 8 Black boys in attendance ... still out of 100, though.  My son's fall league team boasts 5 Black boys on the team.  After speaking with some of the other parents, I think the increase can be directly attributed to the success of the Jackie Robinson West team from Chicago that won this year's Little League World Series United States championship.

From my research (reading and just asking my circle of Black male friends and relatives), I've concluded two main reasons for the shrinking number of Black faces in baseball ... money and the popularity of other more widely accepted sports.  In just the year-and-a-half I've been a baseball mom, I am now more aware of the expense associated with having a child in the sport.  I will never forget my reaction when we went shopping when my son first signed up to play.  While there was a range of prices, a $300+ bat caught his eye.  My immediate reaction was like, "Damn!  For $300, you better hit a homerun every time you step up to the plate!"  I honestly had no idea.  (We didn't get that particular bat, by the way.)  Then there's the expense of buying shoes, gloves, helmets, pants, etc.  The money quickly adds up, and all that was incurred before he even stepped on the baseball diamond to play his first game.

As with anything, you get better with practice.  So, there's expense associated with trips to the batting cages.  And ... did you know there are coaches who offer one-on-one lessons?  I had no idea.  We've gotten letters and advertisements from coaches offering lessons on batting, pitching, catching, and defensive skills, and the lessons are not cheap.  Again, I had no idea.

And for the really serious players, there are travel teams young baseball players can join.  I was talking to a parent a few weeks ago and was floored when he told me the money he and his wife spent to have his son travel with a league this past summer.  He estimates that he and his wife spent well over $3500.  They aren't wealthy people, either.  He was telling me that he and his wife took on overtime at their jobs or got a part-time job to help with the expenses.  His church held fundraisers (several fish fries and raffles).  They set up a GoFundMe page.  This father told me it's a sacrifice they are willing to make because of the exposure that being on such a team gives the aspiring player.

It is becoming increasingly clear.  To get ahead in baseball and get in a position to be seen by the right people takes a big sacrifice of time and money.  I can definitely understand how that could prove to be a huge obstacle in getting more Black boys started in baseball, especially when one can play another sport for considerably less money.

Besides the money involved, baseball's popularity just isn't like that of football or basketball, and I found that to be especially true in my own unscientific poll of my friends and relatives.  I'm being completely honest here.  Before my son started playing and following baseball, I couldn't name one single MLB player (besides Derek Jeter) who currently plays the game.  Not one.  I could, however, rattle off the names of scores of football and basketball players.

Are football and basketball sexier than baseball?  Maybe.  Faster paced?  Seemingly, yes.  Wildly popular?  Most definitely.  I am hoping baseball can someday get to be as popular in the Black community as football and basketball.  It's going to take some time, and we definitely need to make the effort to bring baseball to our boys.  What a joy it was to see the Jackie Robinson West team excel in the Little League World Series this summer.  I hope their outstanding achievements will spark a renewed interest in the sport amongst our young Black boys.

Randal definitely has his village supporting him.  Whenever he tells people how much he loves baseball, it's always the same reaction.  In some way or another, he's told, "Stick with it, young man.  You can have a long career in that game, and there aren't many of us playing.  It would be great to see you playing professionally one day."  Yes, it sure would ... and I hope to see other Black boys playing baseball, too.

 



Do You Know What Today Is? It's Our Anniversary!

Today I celebrate my 16th wedding and 22nd couple anniversaries with my husband.  Where in the world did the time go?  Seems like just yesterday he asked me to dance at a party on campus.  :-)

I'm attaching an article I wrote for "EmergeNC "online magazine that was published in April 2013 on how my husband and I make our marriage work.

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I met my husband in college.  We met at Wake Forest University (GO DEACS!!)  in the early 1990s.  We started dating on October 3, 1992, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.  We were married six years later on October 3, 1998.  This year, we’ll be celebrating our fifteenth and twenty-first anniversaries respectively.  That’s a long damn time, y’all.  A long damn time.

We are asked quite often how we do it.  How have we managed to stay together all these years …   through the ups and downs, the health scares, the birth of our son, the deaths of loved ones, the loss of jobs, the start of businesses, through any and everything?

Well, that’s a good question.  While we have many married friends, we also have many friends whose marriages didn’t survive.  So I’ve thought about it … about how we could answer those folks who question why we are still together, who look to us for a tidbit of advice, and who look for something to take back and apply to their own relationships.  Here’s what I’ve determined.

1      We’re both just stubborn as hell.  Stubborn may not be a characteristic you would think would work in a marriage, but it works for us.  We made a promise to each other.  We are in this thing for better or worse, in sickness and health, for richer or poorer.  We in it to win it, dog gonnit.  Sure, we have our problems.  Of course, we don’t always agree on issues.  I love my husband dearly and I know he loves me, but there are times when he wears on my nerves, and I know for a fact I can wear on his.  But we made a commitment to each other, and we meant it.  Period.  That means whatever our issues are, we’re going to work ‘em out.  It can get uncomfortable.  Sometimes feelings or pride can get hurt, but we look at it like this.  It’s much better to deal with our problems head-on than to let lawyers and judges decide the fate of our lives.  Divorce is not an option for us.

2      If all else fails, we have our faith to fall back on.  My husband is the son of a preacher man, and I grew up in a home with a strong religious background.  We both grew up in the church.  While we haven’t always been as faithful to God as He’s been to us, we know where our help comes from.  We pray for each other, our relationship, and our family.  We worship together.  We read His word.  There’s some good relationship advice in the Bible, y’all.  Check it out, and make God a part of your married life.

3      We have to make the effort to find “couple time”.  Our lives are hectic.  We have a 9-year-old son whose social and extra-curricular calendars keep us on the move.  We are expecting our second child this June, so we’ve been spending lots of time lately preparing for her arrival.  My husband and I both work full-time jobs, but we also own our own businesses.  Our parents are aging and have had their share of medical issues over the recent years, and we have to make time for them.  The list goes on and on.  There are so many things that will keep us apart if we allow them to, but we simply don’t.  We’ve found that if we don’t make the time just for us, it can get a little tense back at the house.  My husband and I have a lot of the same interests.  We love music and concerts, we love dining out, and we love going to the movies.  While we may not go out together as often as we would like, when we feel things getting away from us, we call up our babysitter and go on a date night.  We make time just for us.  It keeps us connected, it helps focused on us, and it keeps peace in our home.

4      We also make time for ourselves as individuals.  Again, I love my husband and I know he loves me.  But let’s face it … we can’t be up under each other all the time.  We’d drive each other crazy.  It’s okay.  Really.  It’s okay to do things without your spouse.  Every year twice a year, my husband gets together with some of his hometown or college buddies for a weekend away.  Likewise, there are times when I have girls’ night out or weekend get-aways with my crew.  We come back home refreshed.  We’ve also found that we come back to someone who missed us.  It’s true what they say.  Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

5    Let’s talk about sex for a minute, y’all.  Do it … regularly and frequently.  No excuses.  No faked headaches.  No “lemme take a nap first”.  JUST DO IT.  You’d be surprised how those tense moments can become all but forgotten after a good healthy round of lovemaking.  In the words of Forrest Gump, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

I think we’re going to make it.  Bottom line … happily ever after is exactly what you make it.  Plain and simple.  Marriage is hard work, and you have to have your mind made up even before you say “I do” that you will do the work.  You WILL put in the work to make your happily ever after a reality.  You WILL commit yourself to working with and loving your mate for a lifetime.  You WILL work to keep and hold those vows you take before God as sacred. You WILL work on making your marriage WORK.  Failure is not an option.

Lessons For My Baby Girl - Part Two : Be Confident. Pursue Your Dreams And Passions. Take Risks.

I just love the picture that's attached to this blog entry.  It's a photo of my then 15-month-old daughter "reading" the Sports Illustrated magazine that featured America's newest sweetheart, baseball little league player Mo'Ne Davis, on its cover.  At the tender age of 13, Mo'Ne has shown so much poise, confidence, and POWER that you just can't help but love her.  What an inspiration Mo'Ne is, and what a shining example she's set for little girls across the nation and the world.

I am continuing with the theme of lessons for my baby girl.  It is my prayer that I instill in her the importance of being confident and bold in spirit.  I want her to pursue her passions no matter how big or small they are.  I don't want her to be afraid to take risks.  And ... I never want her to play the role of damsel in distress.  I want her to be creative and solve her own problems without relying on others to fix them for her.

Even though she's only a toddler, my daughter already has a boldness about her that I absolutely love seeing in action.  Watching her explore the world around her is fascinating.  Watching her learn things on her own is so much fun to watch.  She has no fear.  She has learned to express her pleasure over things and also how to let me (and her father and big brother) know when she is not happy or pleased.  She continues on her way or on her mission until she reaches her desired destination or result.  I don't want her to lose that.  As her mother, I want to do whatever I can to encourage her to be bold and daring and confident in whatever she sets her mind to do.

She will need that bold confidence to pursue her passions.  Yes, Sydney is just a toddler, and she has many years of self-discovery ahead of her.  But whenever she finds her niche, whenever she finds that thing or things that she will become passionate about, whenever she decides for herself what dream or dreams she wants to pursue, I want her to go after them with everything she's got.  There may be obstacles and naysayers who will try to discourage her.  I want her to be big, bad, and bold enough to bulldoze right through those roadblocks and right into her dreams.

Pursuing dreams may also involve having to take some risks.  I want to teach her that it's okay to take risks.  If the choice is between taking a risk or living with regret, then why not take the risk?  I want her to know she may fail, and that's okay.  Losing one battle is not losing the war if you keep going, working, and pushing yourself until you've reached your goal.  Fear of failure keeps plenty of folks from achieving their dreams.  I want my baby girl to keep  that "no fear" resolve she already has in her right now.  If you experience a defeat, get up, dust yourself off, and get back to work.  One of the best feelings in the world is accomplishing something you set your heart and mind to do. 

I will teach my baby girl not to play the victim or the damsel in distress.  That whole victim / damsel in distress thing?  Yeah, that's a really big pet peeve of mine.  Admittedly, as a mother, when I see my child struggling with something, I want to swoop down and rescue them and kiss them and make things all better.  My son is 10, and there have been plenty of times with him that I had to stop myself from coming into a situation and making things better or easy for him.  Let me explain that.  Of course, if my son or daughter is in harm's way, then you better get out of my way because I will step in to save them.  But when it comes to doing their own work, when it comes to butting in and handling a problem for them that they are perfectly capable of handling on their own, then I'm going to let them do it for themselves.  How will my children learn independence, problem-solving skills, or to be creative in their thinking if their Mama is always there making things right for them?  They will learn their actions have consequences ... good or bad.  My baby girl will not be a coddled princess.  She will come to know that good old fashioned hard work and common sense can go a long way.

Geez!  My list of lessons for my baby girl just keeps getting longer and longer.  (lol)  Stay tuned for another entry.

Lessons For My Baby Girl - Part One : You Are Beautiful. You Are Valuable. You Are Amazing.

My daughter Sydney is only 14 months old.  Every since I discovered I was pregnant with her, I have reflected on the lessons I feel are important to teach her.  In my next few blog entries, I will attempt to outline those things I think my baby girl needs to know and understand.

YOU are beautiful.  YOU are valuable.  YOU are amazing.  I know.  This kinda sounds like that line from "The Help" movie ... "You is kind.  You is smart.  You is important."  These are affirmations my daughter will hear from me, her father, and her brother and will hopefully repeat to herself on a daily basis.  I not only want her to hear the words.  I want her to feel these words and to know they are true.

A few months ago, I had an interesting exchange with someone who wanted to know why I identify myself as a Black woman instead of just a woman.  She told me I was "damaged" from my past experiences, and she hoped I wouldn't pass that damage on to my children.  I guess I was just too Black for her.  Initially, I tried to explain why I feel the way I do and why certain things have shaped me and are important to me.  Then I realized ... why try to explain something to someone who can't begin to understand what it's like to be a Black woman in America?

I will make no apologies for instilling in my daughter an awareness and proudness of her Black heritage.  Time and time again, we are constantly bombarded with negative images of Black women in the media.  Isn't it interesting when a Black woman voices her concerns, opinions, or displeasure over something, she's described as an angry Black woman?  While I love Lupita Nyong'o and celebrated her amazing rise to the spotlight, why aren't there more actresses in Hollywood that look like her?  Why are the majority of Black women on television portrayed in not-so-flattering roles (ie. the weave-wearing, neck-and-eye-rolling, and fight-starting reality star or the sleeping with a married man / no self-respect-having single woman)?  Is it just me or does anyone else miss seeing Clair Huxtable on television?

In a society that devalues our women, it is my responsibility as a mother to empower my daughter and equip her with the necessary tools she will use the rest of her life.  So I will teach her to love and appreciate her chocolate skin, her natural hair, her lips, her body ... everything that makes her her beautiful brown self.  I will teach her that she is valuable and that her thoughts, voice, opinions, and actions are important and matter.  I will teach her not to allow anyone or anything make her feel less than.  I will teach her to look at her herself and love the person she sees looking back at her.

I'm starting her early.  She is read age-appropriate books and stories about her Black heritage.  She has Princess Tiana and Doc McStuffins dolls in heavy rotation during her playtime.  I've got my complete box sets of "The Cosby Show" and "A Diff'rent World" ready for her when she's older.  She will know, love, and understand all that makes her beautiful, valuable, and amazing.

What A Difference A Year Makes - Lessons For My Baby Girl

I will never forget the day.  It was Sunday, September 30, 2012.  It was early in the morning, and I was trying to peel myself out of bed to get ready to go to church.  That weekend had been like any other weekend, but I was just so unusually tired.  As I made my way to my bathroom to shower, I thought to myself, “What is wrong with me?  I haven’t been this tired since I was … PREGNANT.”

A little background here.  At the time, I was 39 years old.  My son was 8.  My husband and I had been trying for years to have another baby, but we never conceived.  There was nothing medically wrong with either of us.  But for whatever reason, we went years without getting pregnant.  Did I mention that I was 39?  My husband was 40.  After all the years of trying, I think we had finally decided we were going to have just one child, and that was fine with us.  Our son was indeed a blessing to our lives, and he has made us extremely happy and proud to be his parents.

But could it be?  Could I finally be pregnant again?  As excited as I wanted to be about the possibility, I, like so many times before, told myself to calm down and don’t set myself up for yet another disappointment.  I went by the store on the way home from church to buy a pregnancy test.  I took it at 10pm that night … and it came back positive.

After getting over the initial shock of the positive pregnancy test, something just hit me like a ton of bricks.  Hold up.  Wait a minute.  I’m going to have a baby … at 40!!!  40, y’all.  FOUR-TEE!!!  I couldn’t help but chuckle a little bit, though.  God answers prayers in His own time.  (That’s a whole ‘nother blog entry, y’all.)  God also has a sense of humor.  Me?  A baby?  At the seasoned age of 40?

Before I discovered I was pregnant, I was already going through what I termed my mid-life crisis.  I had been reflecting on my life and thinking of the things I had accomplished, what I had yet to accomplish, and what goals I was going to set for myself in this season of my life.  I started doing things that made me feel better about and for myself.  I started compiling my "bucket list".  And then comes the unexpected blessing of a baby.  Wow!!

When my husband and I were planning to get married and mapping out the story for the rest of our lives, we had envisioned what our family would be.  We wanted a son and daughter.  We got pregnant fairly quickly with our son.  When things didn't go as planned with getting pregnant with our second child, I'll have to admit that my faith got shaky.  God knew the desires of my heart.  Lord knows I prayed enough.  I had bought things over the years in preparation for a baby girl.  Year after year had passed.  Finally, thinking that perhaps a baby wasn't in my future, I gave away all those things I had bought.  I had given up hope.

Fast forward to Friday, January 25, 2013.  I was 20+ weeks pregnant and had my ultrasound that day.  We learned we were having our girl!  Funny thing.  The next morning, I was looking through a closet and found one thing that I bought for my daughter that I hadn't given away.  It was a Princess Tiana doll.

What a difference a year makes.  I am now 41, and my daughter turned a year old a few months ago.  What an adventure this has been.  This has been a year of immeasurable joy watching her grow and an eye-opening year of self-discovery for me. 

I think a lot about the example I am setting for my daughter.  Let's face it.  Probably the biggest influence in a child's life is their same sex parent.  That's a downright daunting thought, y'all.  At least for me it is.  I need to have my stuff together.  I want to make sure I'm setting a good example for my daughter.  My next few blog entries will deal with the lessons I want to teach my baby girl.  So many lessons.  So many things I want for her.  So many dreams I have for her.

It's important I do this right.
 

A Personal Reflection ... Let Fathers' Day Be For FATHERS

I lost my dad on Monday, November 24, 2008.  His death left a huge, gaping hole in my heart and in the lives of the members of my immediate family.  Fathers' Day and the holidays are particularly hard for me.  While they have become times I reflect on the 35 years I was blessed to spend with my Daddy, they are also times of great sadness because he's no longer here.  I still miss him terribly.

Fathers' Day is this Sunday.  Over the past few years, I have noticed something that troubles me and ... well ... just plain gets on my nerves.  What is it?  It bothers me when folks give shout outs or celebrate mothers on FATHERS' DAY.  Let me explain.

I was raised in a two parent home.  While I know that isn't everyone's reality, it was mine.  I'm 40+, and I still marvel at everything my mother, Dorothy Gambrell, did.  She was an amazing wife to my dad for over 40 years, raised two daughters, held down a full-time job outside the home, was active in her church and community, kept an immaculately clean house, could cook her behind off, and did it all with seemingly incredible ease while wearing pumps, lipstick, perfectly coifed hair, and a Wonder Woman cape.  Ok, so I embellished a little with the cape, but you get the point.  Mama was the bomb diggity, and I love and adore her for that.  I still want to be like her when I grow up.

But with everything my mother was and continues to be, there was something that she couldn't be to me.  That was a father.  I can and will never discount the influence my Daddy had on my life.  My father, Ernest Gambrell, was an extraordinary man.  Yes, I know I'm biased, but he absolutely was.  I always knew that growing up, but it's even more apparent to me now as an adult.  He was a strong and commanding presence in my life.  Perhaps it's because of his loving, positive influence on me that I take such a strong exception to celebrating mothers on fathers' day.

Let me be clear.  In no way am I diminishing what single mothers do for their children.  They work ... HARD.  I know and love many single mothers, and I know and love people who were or are being raised by single mothers.  But I also know countless numbers of men who are there and support their children regardless of whether or not they are married to their children's mothers.  I'm not talking about support that comes in the form of a monthly check.  I'm talking about being there for parent-teacher conferences, recitals, and ball games.  I'm talking about being there to wipe away tears, give hugs, and offer encouragement.  I'm talking about changing dirty diapers and being there for first words and steps.  Instead of concentrating on the absent fathers, what is the harm in celebrating the fathers or father figures that are present every single day?

I see a double standard.  Let's be honest.  If there were Hallmark cards for fathers on Mothers' Day, a lot of us would have an issue with that.  So let's not take away from honoring and celebrating our men on Fathers' Day.  Real fathers deserve better. 

Happy Fathers' Day to all fathers, uncles, and father figures.  I hope this Sunday will be a day that you are celebrated for the treasures you truly are. 

A Tribute to Karyn Washington

I didn't intend this to be my first blog entry, but something has been weighing heavily on my heart for several days now.
 
A couple weeks ago, you may have heard about the death of 22 year-old Karyn Washington.  She was the founder of the blog "For Brown Girls" and the #DarkSkinRedLip Project.  Both were founded to inspire, encourage, and empower darker-skinned Black women to love their looks, share their experiences, and feel comfortable in their own skin.  I read she died of an apparent suicide, and she had been suffering from mental illness and depression.  The depression became worse after the death of her mother.

Ms. Washington's death has struck a chord with me for a few reasons.  For one, having grown up as a dark-skinned Black girl in South Carolina, I know all too well how the ridicule and teasing of your looks can affect you.  Because of that, I applauded her efforts to empower other dark chocolate sistahs.  Secondly, she was only 22 years old.  At 22, my life was just beginning.  I had just graduated from college and was looking forward to starting my adult life.  22 is so incredibly young.

Lastly, how many of us can identify with her?  I know I'm raising my hand.  We are everything to everyone, but we fail to take care of ourselves both physically and mentally.  We have many people in our lives who love us.  Yet ... we wear a mask.  We smile on the outside but are hurting and crying on the inside.  Why is it so hard for Black women to ask for help?  Why do we find it necessary to be strong all the time?  Why is it so shameful to see a professional when we've run out of answers?

We have so much on our plates and so many demands on our time.  We are wives, mothers, community leaders, caregivers, entrepreneurs, etc.  And let's not forget to factor in some other things we may be going through ... illness, aging parents, lost loved ones, lost jobs, mounting bills, failing relationships.  It can all be overwhelming.  I know.  I consider myself a strong person, but it's hard for me to reach out for help.  I don't want to feel weak or vulnerable, and I definitely don't want to be seen in that way.  So like so many of us sistahs, I smile.  I tell everyone I'm fine when I am wasting away on the inside.

Sistahs, we have to do better.  We have to be strong enough to know when we need help, when we're at our breaking point, and when we are having thoughts that we no longer matter enough to live.  As much as I love God and believe in the power of prayer, we can't always pray away depression.  We can attend all the church services in the world and pray 'til we've worn holes in our knees, but God put mental health professionals on Earth for a reason.  We can't be afraid to seek their help.

Also, if you know a sistah (or anyone) who is going through a difficult time in their lives, reach out to them.  Check on them.  You'd be surprised at how much an encouraging word or gesture can do to a person who is in despair.

I used to work with someone who attempted suicide a few years ago.  They were going through a bad time in their life and decided ending their life was the answer to their problems.  The suicide attempt failed.  That person did get help, and they are the happiest I've seen them in years.  To remind them of what they had to live for, they had their daughter's name tattooed on their arm.  Moral of the story?  Whatever you have to do to remind yourself that you matter, that you are loved, that your death is not the answer to your problem, that's EXACTLY what you have to do.

Ms. Washington, I never met you, but your untimely death has been a wake-up call to me.  Thank you for your work in our community.  May your death not be in vain and serve to encourage others to reach out for help in their times of need.