Just Keep Swinging

If you have been following my blog or know me personally, then you know my son Randal plays baseball.  He loves the game, and he’s pretty good at it, too.  The past few years, he’s played on his middle school team and on league teams in the spring, summer, and fall.  This summer, he’ll be playing on a travel team.  We’ve become quite the baseball family because it seems that is all we do from March to October. 

Randal during the school team's season

Last week, my son’s team played in and won their league’s tournament.  The championship game was intense.  After the first inning, we were up 1 to 0, and the score remained 1 to 0 until the last inning of the game.  Randal pitched the entire game.  Let me tell you … that last inning was nothing short of spectacular.

We were up first to bat.  We go through a few batters.  Right before Randal heads to the batter’s box, one of the boys on the team got a hit and brought in another player.  We’re up 2 to 0 now, but we have 2 outs.  The bases are loaded.

Here comes the first pitch.  Randal swings and misses.  STRIKE ONE.

Here comes the next pitch.  Randal swings, but it’s a foul ball.  STRIKE TWO.

Now as a parent, I’m in the stands, and I’m about to lose my freakin’ mind!!!!  2 outs?  2 strikes?  I’m thinking there’s no way in the world we can recover from this.  We’re about to go back to the dugout and hope to keep the other team from scoring so we can pull off this game.  (Don’t you just love my French?  We / oui … and I haven’t suited up to play a single inning.  Lol.) 

Here comes pitch number three.  Randal swings.  The ball flies out deep into right field. 

Grand slam!  Let me say that again in case you missed it.  GRAND FREAKIN’ SLAM!!!!  Four runs come in, and we go up 6 to 0.

Another batter from our team comes up.  He hits a grounder and gets out at first.  That’s the third out.

It’s the bottom of the last inning.  Randal goes to the mound to pitch.  Three players up.  Three players down.  Just like that.  One.  Two.  Three.  He strikes out all three players.  Game over.  We win.

WE WIN!!!!

I know this ain’t the MLB.  It’s a league ball game with 10 to 13 year old boys on the field.  But lemme tell you something.  I couldn’t have been any prouder of my son.  He was calm.  He was confident.  He was composed.  He was under a great deal of pressure, but he still accomplished what he and his team had been working hard for all season … to win a championship.

After the game when I had a chance to talk to Randal, I asked him how he managed to stay so calm and focused during the game.  To paraphrase, he simply stated he did what he had to do.  He told me that he heard all the trash talking the parents and fans of the other team yelled out to and at him during the game. 

“You got him now!  He can’t hit your pitch!” 

“The pitcher’s getting tired.  Hit a homer on him!”

“He’s got nothing on you!”

“Strike him out!”

“Shut him DOWN!!!”

… and there were a few other things he told me he heard during the game that I won’t mention.  (On another note, the good Lord knew exactly what He was doing to shield me from those people and the comments being made.  This Mama right here would have had a few things to say to those folks.  And how are you gonna come to a game and trash talk about 10 to 13 year old kids?!?!?  I mean … really?!?!?)

Randal said he took all of that good and bad energy (his desire to win and the comments of the naysayers) and used it to get him through the game.  That energy became his motivation.  He never said a word.  He never talked back to the other team or their fans.  He just got the job done and flashed them all big smiles as he walked off the field after every third out.

After talking to him, why did my heart almost burst with even more pride?  My son, in only a way that he could do, had just become my teacher / motivator.  There was a lesson in that game.

How many times in life have we felt discouraged or like we were trying to accomplish the impossible?  How many times have we felt like we had 2 outs, were in the batter’s box with 2 strikes against us, and the game was on the line?  Do we give up?  Do we become afraid and think there’s no way possible we can do what we have planned or desired to do?  Do we internalize the words of the people we hear screaming for our demise in the background?

Or do we just keep swinging? 

It ain’t over ‘til it’s over, so just keep swinging.  Grand slam.  Game over.  Victory.

As a mom, it is my absolute duty to use the example of this game for the rest of Randal’s life (lol) to remind him of the lesson he taught me on that championship game day.  Stay calm, stay focused, find your motivation, and just keep swinging. 

Thanks, son.  You always make me proud.

Video of the championship game grand slam.  Please excuse the

quality of the video.  I got so excited and started to cheer.  I forgot

I was still recording (lol).

My Mothers' Day Grief

Not all of us will be celebrating Mothers’ Day this Sunday.  For some of us, Sunday will be a day of great sadness as we try to cope with the fact that our mothers are no longer here with us.

This will be my second Mothers’ Day without Mama.  Last year was especially hard, as all the “firsts” after a loved one’s death tend to be.  While my husband and kids made plans for me and went out of their way to make the day special for me, there were times during the day that were tear-filled and just downright painful.  I wasn’t then and I still am not at the place where memories of Mama bring smiles instead of tears.  Thoughts of how much I miss Mama are what really consumes me.   

I don’t know what it is about this year, but folks started in with all the Mothers’ Day tributes early … almost like how retailers these days have started to put out Christmas items even before Halloween comes.  For the last couple weeks, people have changed their profile pictures on Facebook with the “I Love Mom” or “Mom and Me” filters.  While I have never considered myself to be the jealous type, I found myself envious of those that have the good fortune of still having their mothers around.  A word of advice to you.  Cherish every single second.  Cherish all the time you have with your mom while she’s still with you.

I’m still not sure what I’m doing on Sunday, but I do know a couple things I won’t be doing.  For starters, I’ll be logging off all social media on Sunday.   I’ll save myself from having to see all the posts of Mothers’ Day pictures, poems, and celebrations.  I also won’t be going to church (although I don’t go much these days anyway, but I digress).  I don’t want to hear the “virtuous woman” scripture.  Surely there will be some song the choir would sing or a special Mothers’ Day sermon that will open up the flood gates for me.  I don’t want a church member to come up to me and give me the “poor baby” look and try to squeeze a cry out of me.  I can do without that.

To all those who are in the same boat with me, I’ll say a special prayer for us to make it through Mothers’ Day unscathed.

Instead of dwelling on the emptiness and sadness I feel over the loss of my Mama, I’ll try my best to concentrate on celebrating being the mother of my two beautiful children.  They will be my reasons to smile on Sunday … and every day after.

My Family's Visit to the Smithsonian National Museum of African-American History and Culture

A few weeks ago, my family and I took a trip to Washington, DC to visit the new Smithsonian National Museum of African-American History and Culture.  I have been dying to go to the museum since it opened in September 2016.  The trip was everything I expected and so much more.  Our visit to the museum was such a memorable and humbling experience.  I felt such a range of emotions seeing and reading all the exhibits in the museum.  If you haven't gone, you must.  This is absolutely something you have to see, feel, and experience for yourself. 

If I may, I’d like to make a couple of suggestions to anyone who hasn’t yet gone but is planning a visit.  If possible, plan to visit the museum when you have time to go at least 2 days in a row.  The museum is open from 10:00 am to 5:30 pm.  We spent the entire day at the museum when we visited.  While we were able to “see” everything, we technically were not able see and read and absorb everything the museum has to offer.  There is so much in the museum that it could literally take a few days in a row to truly see and experience everything that’s there.

Secondly, go to the museum when you are taking a long weekend or have a few days off before going back to work or school.  I remember hearing many people say (and feeling this way myself) that after seeing “Roots” for the first time ever, they felt some kind of way towards White folks.  The same is true of the museum.  There are some things you will see and read about that will anger you, that will sadden you, and will shake you to your core.  The brutality we have endured over the years at the hands of people who feel themselves superior to us?  Trust me.  Take a break before going back to work (lol).  You will need that time to decompress.

There are several floors at the museum.  We started on the bottom floors and worked our way up.  The bottom floors started with slavery in America.  The stories.  The pictures.  The videos.  It’s no surprise the bottom floors of the museum are so very dark literally and figuratively. 

Slave shackles on display at the NMAAHC.

While there were several things that took my breath away as I read all the exhibits in the museum, the exhibit that dealt with motherhood during slavery really stuck with me.

I couldn’t imagine giving birth to a child and not being able to care for my baby because I had to attend to massuh’s chir’ren.  I couldn’t imagine caring for and loving my child only to be separated from him or her later if one of us got sold away.  And when I read about how a slave owner repeatedly operated on enslaved women without using anesthesia … my spirit doubled over in pain at the thought of it.  He used these women as human lab rats!  I was shocked and angered.

And while some things took my breath away because of the horror and anger I felt, other things took my breath away because I was standing so close to greatness.

I was within feet of the Bible that was once in the hands of Nat Turner.  We saw up close and in person the shawl worn by Harriet Tubman in her infamous portrait.

And the Emmett Till memorial …

I first learned of the story of Emmett Till as a pre-teenager over 30 years ago, but his memorial in the NMAAHC still brought me to tears.  We stood in front of the actual casket he was buried in.  The funeral photos on display at the exhibit.  The video of his mother describing what she saw when she saw his body for the first time after his murder.  Jesus …

While I love reading and studying about Black history, I learned so many new things from my visit to the NMAAHC.  I learned of people, places, and things I’ve never heard of before. 

I’m originally from South Carolina and never heard of or knew the story of Frazier Baker.  While I’ve heard of the Little Rock Nine, James Meredith, and Ruby Bridges, there was Dorothy Counts who attempted to integrate a high school in Charlotte, NC. 

I think the thing that brought the most joy from our visit to the museum was watching my son read, digest, and learn about our history.

My son loves baseball, so he lingered a while at the sports exhibits, especially those dealing with baseball.  My daughter is only three years old, so we will definitely take her back when she’s old enough to understand the significance of it all.  We were able to capture this picture of her in front of the waterfall at the museum’s Contemplative Court.  In the background is a line from a Sam Cooke song … “A Change Is Gonna Come.”  I certainly hope so.  

I cannot adequately put into words or explain enough how much our visit to the museum meant to me.  After all the things we have seen and endured since we stepped foot in America and the things we STILL see and experience every day is a testament to our strength.  We are bold.  We are courageous.  We are unbreakable.  I’m saying it loud … I’M BLACK AND I’M PROUD.

My "No Negativity" Challenge

Please allow me this moment of transparency. 

Sometimes (okay … a LOT of times), I can be very self-conscious about myself and the way I look.  This is an issue I’ve had for 40+ years, so this is indeed a very hard habit to break.  It may start off when I look in the mirror and not like the image looking back at me.  Then it may be compounded when I go to put on an outfit that may be fitting a little more snuggly than it did the last time I wore it.  And then it always ends with me saying something negative about myself.

I have decided that 40+ years of being my own worst critic is 40 years too long.  Enough is enough.  Why not love on myself and change the narrative?  So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  From now on, I will make the conscious effort to concentrate on the good and the beauty I see.  No more negativity.

There are two reasons I need to do this.  One, I simply need to stop beating myself up.  All the negative self-talk can be a heavy burden to bear, and I have tired myself out from the toll it has taken on me over the years.  Secondly and most importantly is that my daughter is watching me.  I have always made sure I never say anything negative about myself in front of her because I don’t want her doing that.  I don’t want her caught up in this vicious, self-defeating cycle. 

I know I am not the only woman who does this.  In talking with friends, we all have done this to ourselves at one time or another.  And sometimes it can be so intrinsic and automatic that we don’t even realize what we are doing to ourselves. 

So, I want to issue a challenge to you today.  Whenever you have a negative thought about yourself, send that thought back to the pits of hell from whence it came.  Whatever you have to do to hype yourself up and remind yourself of your Queen status, DO IT!!!!  Keep a favorite photo of yourself nearby to remind yourself of who you are.  Find a theme song or some hype music.  Blast the hell out of it and walk around like you are Muhammad Ali and about to go into a boxing ring and kick negativity’s ass!  Just do it!

No more negativity.  More self-love and care.

I created my own hype video to remind myself of my QUEEN status.

(Music by Alicia James "Love Me So Naturally")

Black History Is 365

When I was growing up, I remember February always being a very busy month.  Because it was Black History Month, we were always on the go.  There was always a church or community event or program my family attended.  My parents took me to countless plays, presentations, exhibits, and speakers throughout the month.  I remember participating in a Black History quiz bowl competition with some friends of mine when we were in junior high.  Even though I attended a predominately White school district, the high school made an attempt to have a Black History assembly every year ... even though several students chose to skip that day of school.  (That's really no surprise considering I grew up in South Carolina, but I digress.)

February was a month of celebration.  It was a month of reverence.  It was a month to remember and reflect on the sacrifices of our ancestors, to remind ourselves of the contributions we’ve made to America and the world that aren’t included in school history books or classes, and to re-dedicate ourselves to keep blazing the path for future generations.

February was indeed a very busy month, but it wasn’t the only month my family celebrated or studied Black History.  The way my parents saw it, we were Black 24/7 and 365.  Therefore, Black History didn’t come and go in February.  It was an everyday thing. 

My parents never missed an opportunity to teach or expose me to Black History.  Like many Black households back in the day, my parents kept subscriptions to “Ebony” and “Jet” magazines.  If there was a movie coming out or a play nearby they felt had any cultural or historical significance, they took me to see it.  They shared with me their personal stories, experiences, and memories of growing up in the South during the Jim Crow / Civil Rights era.  And if there was something I heard about that I wanted to learn more about, if my parents didn’t know about it themselves, they gave me all the tools I needed to research that person / place / thing / event for myself.  My Mama worked at a library.  If she wasn’t bringing me books to read, she took me to the library and turned me loose to explore, read, and learn.  (Those were the days before Google.  J)  The way my parents saw it, you can’t begin to know yourself if you don’t know your history.

My son Randal at the MLK Memorial.

I plan on doing the same for my children that my parents did for me.  Every chance I get, I will expose them to their rich cultural heritage and history.  They will know our history didn’t begin with slavery, and there are more Black heroes besides Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks. 

Randal at the slave burial area at Mount Vernon.

Randal at the Frederick Douglass house.

Randal at a Negro League Baseball exhibit.

The thing I love about Black History is that it’s so abundant that I’m still learning things that I can pass along to my kids.  While I was thrilled to hear the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson and share the movie “Hidden Figures” with my son earlier this year, a part of me is a little upset that I didn’t know about these Black sheroes or their contributions to NASA until I reached my forties.  It makes you wonder what else and who else don’t we know about.

And as a parent who loves sharing Black History with her children, it makes my heart burst with so much pride when they show interest in what they are learning.  My daughter is only three years old, but she loves the books my husband and I read to her by Black authors and about Black historical figures.  When my son asked me to take him to see “Birth of a Nation” last year, I couldn’t get him to the theater fast enough.  We saw it opening weekend.

My daughter Sydney and I on a Gullah Tour bus in Charleston, SC.

Sydney with Ms. Louise.  Ms. Louise makes hand-sewn baskets in Charleston.

The whipping house in Charleston, SC.  This is the place where Denmark Vesey was held,

whipped, and eventually killed for planning a slave revolt.

(If you ever get the chance, you MUST go on the Gullah Tour with Mr. Alphonso Brown in Charleston.  My family loved it, and we learned so much,)

The date on the calendar says March, but today is just like yesterday or any other day at my house.  If there’s a lesson to be learned on Black History, we’re all in.  Black History is 365. 

Thank You, Obama Family!

I have been dreading this day since the man I will leave nameless won the 2016 Presidential election.  Of course, we all knew President Obama and the First Family’s time would be coming to an end, but it’s hitting me especially hard now that the time is actually here.

Saying that I am going to miss them is a gross understatement.  While depression and sadness are setting in and hitting me like a million tons of bricks, there are some things I am thankful for.

I am thankful that my parents lived long enough to witness the election of the country’s first Black President.  My parents were born in 1938 and 1941.  Both were born in the south.  Both came of age and lived through the 1950s and 1960s during the height of the Civil Rights movement.  Never in their wildest dreams did they think they would live to see Barack Obama.  My father passed away just a couple weeks after the 2008 election, but my mother was front and center at President Obama’s first inauguration in 2009.  She lived to see and experience Black history.  What a blessing!

I am thankful that young Black girls all over the country had a positive role model in our First Lady Michelle Obama … a beautiful chocolate sistah from the southside of Chicago that sprinkled Black Girl Magic everywhere she went and to everything she touched.  She stayed slaying, and we love her for it.  I have said it a million times, and I will say it a million more.  Michelle Obama didn’t just break the First Lady mold.  She shattered the ding dang thing. 

The Obamas survived.  I’m not just talking about all the vicious personal attacks they have endured over the last 8 years.  They are leaving the White House with their lives.  I can’t be the only one who said prayers of protection over the Obama family, who held their breath when President Obama first got into office, and who gave much-deserved side eyes for all the security breaches with the Secret Service that never seemed to occur with past presidents.  They made it out … alive.  Thank God for that.

We loved Barack and Michelle’s love.  Time and time again and over and over again, we saw countless examples of how much they love each other.  Their love is a beautiful thing that gives us all the feels.  Who can forget this picture of President Obama admiring Michelle?

And when he gave her a shout out during his farewell speech last week?  I made it through his whole speech without shedding a tear until that moment.  

We were able to watch Malia and Sasha grow to be beautiful, intelligent young women right before our very eyes.  No scandals.  No issues.  Even though they also had to endure their unfair share of personal attacks, they did it with dignity and grace.  They make all of us play aunts and uncles all over the country very proud. 

Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you to the Obama family.  You are loved.  You will be sorely missed.  We are forever grateful for your service, for your patriotism, for your perseverance, for your dedication, and for your courage.  

Somebody pass me a box of Kleenex. 

We Have Failed Dr. King

Today is the MLK Holiday.  Normally, this is a day that I set aside to celebrate Dr. King’s life and legacy or it’s a day of service to the community.  But today, especially with the inauguration of Donald Trump just days away, is more of a day of reflection.

As a country, we have greatly failed Dr. King.  Greatly.  I have wondered what would he think if he could see the current state of affairs in these Divided States of America.  Would he wonder why he marched, protested, took beatings, survived a stabbing, had his home bombed, his family threatened, and his life taken for things to be just as they were decades ago?

Would he wonder why there is still a problem with police brutality in the Black community?  Would he wonder why unarmed Black men and women are killed by the police at a rate far higher than other racial groups?  Would he be surprised that the reasons the police give to use deadly force now are the same ones the officer in Selma back in 1965 used after the murder of Jimmie Lee Jackson … that the officer feared for his life?  That the Black man was threatening?  That the officer thought the Black man had a weapon?  Would Dr. King’s heart skip a beat when he watched videos of school resource officers forcefully slamming our Black teenaged girls to the ground and not face any punishment?

Would Dr. King be saddened that after all these years it’s still necessary for us to remind the country that Black lives matter? 

Would Dr. King be disappointed that groups of people are still fighting for their rights to equality?  Fighting for the right to basic healthcare?  Fighting for the right to marry whom they chose?  Fighting for the right to equal pay for equal work?

Would Dr. King’s heart be broken to know that nearly 54 years after the bombing of the 16^th Street Baptist Church that church still can’t be a safe space for Black folks as evidenced by the shooting at Emanuel AME?

And after the election of America’s first Black president and all the hope for a post-racial America we saw after President Obama’s time in the White House, that the country has elected a president with a history of racial discrimination that is decades old?  That the country elected a man endorsed by the Ku Klux Klan?  That this same president-elect is trying to fill his cabinet with known racists … including one his wife Coretta wrote a letter on why he shouldn’t be appointed to a federal judgeship?  That we are turning over the White House and our government to a man who had the audacity to disrespect John Lewis, a man who marched and fought on the front lines with Dr. King time and time again for a better America and continues the fight to this very day?

What is this country coming to?

So on this day that is set aside to honor a great man, his legacy, and his dream for his country, I can’t help but feel sadness that we still have such a long way to go before the dream is realized.