The 2016 National Book Award List

Ok.  I want all of these along with $100.00 loaded on my Starbucks app to really get this Fall Season started.

Oh Say I Don't See

This whole notion of patriotism by submission is incredibly disturbing to me.  We are living in a time where people are quick to focus on symbolism instead of depth.  So many people are furious at San Francisco 49ers quarterback Colin Kaepernick because he is choosing to not stand for the National Anthem as a protest against police brutality and the oppression of people of color.  People are accusing him of being anti-American or anti-veteran.  As if, singing the National Anthem is a prerequisite for being American or supporting veterans.  Other folk say if he doesn't like this country he should leave it and find another one.  What sense does that make? Since when did loving something or someone and calling for it to be better and trying to make it better - a bad thing. 

These people who equate patriotism with blind submission are not only disturbing but scary.  They may be cut from the same people who sat by silently when the Japanese were interned or when America turned Jewish immigrants away (who were later killed in concentration camps) or folks who sat by for years silently accepting Jim Crow laws.  In today's times, people claim to be pro-veteran because they salute a flag or sing a song, but they do nothing to make life better for homeless veterans, do nothing to speak out against military sexual assault or hold our elected officials accountable before they decide to place our men and women in the military in theater in harm's way.  There are 525,600 minutes in our year, how many of those minutes are you spent in service to your country, to your fellow Americans.  How many of those minutes do you spend demonstrating your patriotism? If the only time you are showing your love for a country is the three minutes once a week during the playing of the National Anthem at a sports event - then you have no room to question the patriotism of Colin Kaepernick or anyone else. 

Membership Does NOT Have Its Privileges

Sometimes it is NOT a good thing to be a member of an organization.  Particularly if an organization that you love has a contigent that wants to limit membership instead of expanding it.

Been thinking about that a lot in terms of the Church.  I love the church, but her members get on my nerves sometimes.  What with their bigotry and sexism and classism and just ickyness.  Worried about stuff other than serving and loving and learning and forgiving.  UGH. 

Also been thinking about that in terms of Public Radio.  I love NPR.  I'm a public radio fan and supporter.  I was a financial supporter of my beloved WFYI in Indianapolis and now am a monthly supporter of my new local station, WAMU of DC as well as the magical WBGO of Newark.   To me there is nothing fancy or exclusive about public radio.  It's free, it's accessible and on any given day you can hear stories about everything from the Wu Tang Clan to ways in which people utilize bitcoins around the globe.

Some months ago I participated in a focus group of NPR users.  We were asked our opinions on their story selections, presenters and the insertion of advertising and sponsorship.  Most of the people were like me consumers of public radio, appreciative of its' programming but we didn't necessarily feel our consumption of it said anything special about ourselves.  But, there were a couple of people who continued to speak in language that affirmed their view that as consumers of public radio we were more or better or something than the general public.

This being the DMV, there are always douche bags in any situation like that.  People here are accomplished (although I don't necessarily think they are more accomplished than folk any place else I've lived, but you can't tell them that) and work in all kind of cool fields and professions.  It's the nature of the beast, I guess.  A couple of these people were insistent that because we chose to listen to NPR we were exclusive, chosen, the shit.  Me and a couple of the twenty somethings in the group kept challenging them.  At one point, I even said, it's just radio.  Sometimes I listen to All Things Considered when I'm washing dishes, sometimes I listen to Mary J. Blige - I'm still me in both the listenings.  Miss me, with your exclusion, your membership.  Instead of keeping this great secret to yourself and disparging people who choose not to listen or don't know to listen - how about sharing it?  That way more people can be exclusive, the chosen, the shit, right?

Sigh for the Side Eye





 

 

So by now we have all seen the selfie taken at today's Memorial for Nelson Mandela. Danish Prime Minister Helle Thorning Schmidt snapped a pic of herself with President Obama and UK Prime Minister David Cameron.

 

The Internet is abuzz about Michelle Obama's apparent displeasure about the selfie.  There are memes and caption this picture exercises, most of them portraying Michelle Obama once again as the angry black women getting ready to "read" someone, "snatch" someone or give someone her famous "side-eye".  It's interesting to me that most of the reactions that people have imagined the First Lady saying revolve less around being disturbed about taking a selfie during a memorial service but more around "I can't believe this chick (the Prime Minister of Denmark) stepped to my husband like that".  I mean I haven't checked what's up in the UK right now, but I wonder if folk have apportioned the same sort of reactions to Samantha Cameron.

 

If a Harvard educated, former CEO is quick to be summed up as a neck snapping, eye rolling, hands on hip angry black women there truly is no hope for the rest of us. 

 

Shortly after the January 2009 Inauguration I was volunteering at a Junior League event when a nice white couple sought me out.  You are so pretty the husband said.  Thank you, I said.  He nudged his wife,  Doesn't she remind you of Michelle?  His wife said, She sure does.  They went on to rave about what I thought was their friend Michelle.  In fact I said to them, Is Michelle a neighbor or friend from church?  They looked at each other like I had lost my mind and the husband said, Oh no honey we mean Michelle Obama.  Now I really felt like I had lost my mind.  Really?  I wear glasses, my hair was kinda like hers but only because it was straightened, I was about two inches shorter with a different shade of brown and a good 30 lbs on the First Lady.  But whatever, I mean I guess there were worse black women they could have compared me to.  I smiled and took my Junior League cardigan wearing self back to my station and ignored them for the rest of my shift.

 

I also got Michelle Obama love when I would visit my son's elementary school.  Kids, especially young white girls would come up and give me hugs and love on me.  I joked to my then fourth grader, your friends love me.  He (so damn wise beyond his years and blessed with too much cynicism and pop culture commentary for a child) looked at me and said, Mom you are black and you wear a suit.  They think you are Mrs. Obama.  There was always a deference especially from the staff, hello Mrs. Coffman how are you Mrs. Coffman.  I ran up to school one day to pick up my kid after working from home in a baseball cap and sweat pants and literally got ignored for a second by the staff.  When I signed my name by my kid's name, the woman looked up at me and said  I didn't recognize you.  You are always dressed so nice.

 

I was worried that my Michelle Obama cover got blown though that one time I chaperoned my kid's field trip.  There was a whole lot of drama over a swing set and folk pushing and not sharing and the other chaperones standing around watching this melee.  I walked over to the swing set shenanigans and yelled I need everyone OFF this swing set. I then explained that we were going to take turns on the swing or NOONE from this school would get a chance to swing as long as we were here.  It worked, the kids shared the swings, no more pushing and shoving and order was restored.  I'm sure the First Lady wouldn't have hollered at a bunch of children in New Harmony, Indiana but whatever I ain't her.

 

I did worry though especially since there were not a lot of black moms in suits or hell in sweats at this particular school and I did not want that vision to be the vision that kids and adults have.

 

But that cultural capacity to believe the angry black woman is real and easy, even when that woman doesn't exist.  Hell, there have been two times in my son's super diverse middle school where an interaction that I had with staff and other students have been relayed back to my son as his mom going off or his mom going in on someone.  In the first case, there wasn't a neck snapping or eyes rolling or even quite frankly a voice raised.  My own mother was with me, and if people know anything about black women of a certain age and certain breeding you are NOT going to get an angry black woman.  So, it was interesting and a bit sad to me that black, brown and white kids witnessed behavior where I was assertive (and right) but processed that as going off.  Second situation, I called out a group of my son's friends at a Career Fair.  They were more interested in goofing off as opposed to speaking with the professionals on-site.  One of the kids in the group lied to me about going to speak to a professional and I called him on it.  When my son came home he was like Yeah mom, my friends said you went off on them.  I was like what?  Really?  I mean I could have, but that was so not going off.

 

So while we're sharing FLOTUS reactions and imagining her "going off" on the President on Air Force One, it may be that the "side eye" captured by the pool photographer was really the face of someone reflecting on the moment, someone thinking about all the stuff they need to do back home or someone whose tongue is bleeding from biting it for fear of how her You all might want to save that for later comment will be twisted in going in or going off because that's how black women get down.

 

 

 

My Nike Women's Half Marathon Experience




Finish line with Howard ROTC Members!

Dozing on the Metro after the race.

13.1 miles.  Three hours and sixteen or seventeen minutes.  I just completed my first half marathon.  What a glorious half marathon it was.  16,000 women and men, mostly women running through the streets of Washington, DC.  Past the Dr. King Memorial, past the World War Two Memorial, the Kennedy Center, the Capitol and 13.1 miles of Washington, DC pavement.  It was an amazing day.  There were tears and smiles, twerking and twirling, praying and cussing and at the end Tiffany! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So there is a lot you learn about yourself when preparing for and running in your first half marathon.  I learned that I am not a planner.  Ok, so maybe I didn't learn that - but it was definitely reinforced for me during this process.  I like planners, I respect people who can order their steps and follow that order.  That isnt me.  My friend Rhonda used to say that my favorite saying back in the day was Do What You Feel.  I mean with a plan that spans the ages - how are you sure that how you feel when you create the plan is how you are going to feel when it is time to implement the plan.  The idea of planning is fabulous and yeah, like everyone I do create plans.  I guess I am not married to the plan, but rather more interested than the outcome.  The how we get there is not important but rather that we get there. 

 

But back to half marathon training - the how you get there - especially if you are carryng 30 more pounds than you would like and not sleeping enough and dealing with more stress at work than you are used to - is important.  After being selected for the Nike lottery, I started researching training plans online.  There were really serious ones with meal plans, rest and run schedule and a great deal of compliance that I knew I wouldnt be able to adhere to.  I found a great plan that worked for me.  Run (for me) my normal 3-4 miles per day during the week.  Four days a week run, one rest day, one day to cross train and then one long run each week building your miles from 4 to 12.  It was great.  A realistic plan that took into consideration crappy weather, crappy work schedules, crappy life stuff and most importantly a lazy, crappy  runner. 

 

The rest day I had down pat.  The cross training started out really good - doing Shawn Ts  Hip Hop Abs or taking a spin class at the rec center or Yoga.   About week six of my plan the cross training day quickly morphed into another rest day or a run day. 

 

The long runs were the beast.  I run with my running group, BGR - DC on Saturdays and Sundays.  Well both of those were 3 - 5 miles at the most - would I be motivated enough to keep running as my mileage was scheduled to increase.  Um---not sure.  My husband who is an accomplished half and full marathoner offered to run with me.  Hmm.  I thought.  This is the same dude that I cussed out when we were building our house over some damn cabinets and who I cussed out back in 95 when he tried to teach me how to drive a stick.  We have a great history together of making a life and raising an incredible son.  The whole sharing and imparting knowledge thing was a slippery slope.   But, dude CAN run.  He ran hot ass Sunburst Marathon up in South Bend.  He ran Richmond where he qualified for Boston and then in 2012 ran and finished the Boston Marathon on one of the hottest days in the history of the Marathon.  He has done long runs in the time it takes me to wake up, do a load of laundry and have a cup of coffee. 

 

My plan did not call for a long run running buddy - but I did what I felt and put my long runs and the core of my half marathon training in the hands of my hub.  What a blessing that was.  He has just as crappy work schedule, probably less sleep than me but he has mad discipline when it comes to running.  He runs when he is sick, when it is cold, when the last thing he wants to do is run.  For the past 10 weeks, we were incredibly disciplined - hell, selfish even and got up and out and ran all over beautiful DC and Northern Virginia as I trained my body to long run.  When you get tired you drag your feet, pick your feet up he said.  Make sure you are drinking water and taking enough gels in he reminded me after I almost threw up in Whole Foods after one of my first long runs.

 

You would think running with your husband every week would lead to deep, meaningful conversations but while they weren't played out in words, they definitely were in energy.  We both ran with music and every now and then he would shout out some direction with me or more importantly check in to see how I was doing.  On one really hard run he asked me around mile 8, how I was doing.  I thought for half a minute, what would he do if I said, shitty, I cant finish.  Instead I said, fine and kept going.  Hub is fast, a really fast runner.  I know all those weeks running slower than what he could walk took its toll.  Hell, plenty of weeks he did a long run with me and then turned right around the next day (or the day before) and knocked out his real long run. 

 

As the weeks went on, I got more confident and realized that maybe I would be able to finish this half marathon.  That was always my goal - I had no time in mind.  I just wanted to be able to run the whole time, pain free, beat the bus and finish the damn thing.

 

So - with all the planning, week before the race comes and I get a cold.  Nasty cold that actually kept me in bed one day off sick from work.  I was TERRIFIED.  Work, life, weather, everything hadn't derailed my plan but a damn cold could.   Jesus, be a Fence.  The day home from work, helped.  I took every cold medicine we had in the house. Slept, drank fluids, slept some more.  Thursday I started feeling human.  Got up ran two miles, went to work.  Friday I actually started feeling human, ran 3 miles, worked until 7:30 p.m. and even felt well enough to do a pre race gathering with my running chicks. 

 

Started to get freaked out because ladies were talking about their race outfits, their race plans, their race strategies - WHOA.  I had none of that.  I mean I had the training behind me, but other than my shoes and socks - had not even thought about what I was wearing.  The only race day planning I did was to get my hair colored the morning before the race coz I thought I was cute.

 

Saturday came and went.  I worked a volunteer shift.  Hub had to work until midnight.  Kid almost made me cry by doing all of his homework on Saturday, because he wanted to have Sunday free to cheer for me.  He also took his shower the night before AND laid his clothes out.   This child was really trying to make me do the ugly cry.

 

Sunday morning.   We got up, got out of the house.  I had packed my bag the night before - so I had everything I needed.  Hub, kid and I make it to the race.  I was too late for the group picture, amazingly enough I was a little disappointed but I didn't bug me as much as I thought.

 

I was VERY nervous.  Standing at the race line, checking my watch, my music, my bra, my sunglasses.  The only thing I wanted to concentrate on was my race I wanted no distractions.  Hub and kid gave me a hug.  Race started - I was off.

 

13.1 miles - that is a long damn way.  In this day of multi-tasking and overscheduling it is a blessing to be with you and yourself in your head for three damn hours.  There is a lot you can work out, plan, do and feel.  I was blessed to have my beautiful hub and kid cheer me all over the course.  They were at mile 2, 4, 8, 10 and then at the end.  Between them and the damn Team in Training folk with their dedication shirts, I knew I was going to be an ugly crying mess at the end of the race.  I started to get emotional around mile 11 and felt the tears, but then I kinda got short of breath.  I quickly shut that down because I was like, hell, I need to breath.  Ain't nobody got time for that.  No tears.

 

BGR women all over the course also challenged my cry rule.  Ebony, Steph, Markeshia, Tracy, Ashante, Bridget, Leigh, Meg and SO many more.  It was also wonderful to get shout-outs from BGR women from around the country AND shout-outs from BGR supporters lining the route.

 

The whole day was an incredible blessing.  I'm proud, happy, thankful and almost ready to think about my next half marathon.

 

13.1 miles.

 

 

Homestretch.  Mile 12 or 13, I think.



Hair



Did the big chop November 2011

Small fro 9 months later!



Run It!

I started running after Halloween.  This is my second attempt to run.  I was motivated by my son, who kicked ass on his first 5k with my long-running, accomplished, marathon husband.  My first attempt  at running was two years ago.  It started with a run and stride assessment at Fleet Feet Shoes in Nashville.  I walked out with a great pair of shoes, inserts, socks and a deer in the headlights feeling.  My first attempt found me on the treadmill at our apartment complex and every now and then at the local track.  It wasn't fun, didn't feel good and I wasn't feeling it.  So I stopped.

This summer, my son - motivated by my husband who had completed the Richmond Marathon and the National Half Marathon - decided he wanted to do a 5k.  They started training in the summer and all through fall.  I was so proud to watch my fit husband and my fit kid getting their run on.  On race day, I took my position of bag watcher, sign holder and finish cheerer solo.  My son who usually assumed the race position with me, now got his own bib and was running with his dad.  I was left in my race position solo, while my husband got the benefit of my race partner.  My husband's Half and Full Marathons have brought me to tears so you know when my son crossed the finish line of his first 5k, I was so proud and motivated. 

Not too long after my son's first race, hub's Runner's World article came.  Jay Jenni's brilliant piece on "Why is Running So White" spotlighted running groups for runners of color across the country.  I decided to get off the couch and reach out to the Black Girls Run chapter in DC.  Next Saturday I joined them to walk/run...mostly walk.   I LOVED it.   This is the most positive group of women, knowledgable runners, interesting folk and really affirming for runners at all stages of their journeys.  If new runners like me can connect with ultra marathoners and find some common ground, you know the group is fabulous.

So here I am today.  10lbs lighter than this Halloween.  My bank account is also lighter thanks to new shoes, bras, gear, gadgets and race fees.  I LOVE it, though.  Ran my first 5k on the coldest Sunday of the year.  My hub will be running the Boston Marathon on April 16th and I'm running the BAA 5K on April 15th.  I'll have to dust off the sign for him to hold up for me on the 15th!

First Son

Posted on Facebook - 1/24/09

I wonder how America would look at little boys of color if the Obamas had a son. I've read comments from parents with daughters of color who are ecstatic about the fact that in Sasha and Malia Obama perhaps people now see their daughters value and will respect them as children, honor them and work to improve their lives. With the ways that boys of color in this country are mistreated and not honored - I just thought hmm--how would we view little boys of color if the Obamas had say Sasha, Malia AND Malik for instance. Would little Malik get a Beanie Baby and a Jonas Brothers serenade? Would Billy Ray Cyrus be so quick to let Miley be all up in HIS grill? Just a thought...

Keri and Beyonce

Posted on Facebook - 2/27/11

It's been a bad week for young singing stars (in my opinion) Keri Hilson and Beyonce. Hilson went on the Chelsea Handler show (mistake no. 1 - ok, just playin') and said "I'm not Black, I'm Caramel". Beyonce posed in blackface for a European Vogue magazine demonstrating (in her words) her level of support and love for Nigerian musician/activist Fela Kuti.

Not to mention that CNN reported that both Beyonce and Mariah Carey played private concerts for Khadafi's son.

Ok - so here is were some grace and Dr. Angelou's quote about "When you know better, you do better" comes in. Yes, I thought it was incredibly stupid and insensitive (not even GOING there about the concerts for hire) of both Hilson and Beyonce. Hilson has a song out right now about being pretty, she is a mediocre vocalist at best and we all know TONS of family members, friends, babysitters and cashiers at Whole Foods who can sing CIRCLES around her ass. BUT - no record deals for them coz they are not pretty or caramel. Same thing for Beyonce - when she was little, she was home schooled and practiced for HOURS, groomed to be a singing star. No one took her to Amiri Baraka lectures or museums or made 60 Minutes must see Sunday TV since 1975. ( I could not name all the Sylvers but I sure as hell could tell you who Andy Rooney and Mike Wallace were). Mama and Papa Knowles probably didn't school her about racism, colorism and classism but I bet she knows how to write a contract rider and identify the best lighting and sound in a room.

Yes, Hilson and Beyonce are both grown. Yes, they have a diverse fan base. Yes, they both said/did really stupid things this week. Yes, people should hold them accountable. We also should educate BOTH of them and explain to them the madness and ignorance of what they did.

We had a birthday dinner for my girlfriend this week and I said that it was extremely possible that Beyonce had NO clue about the historical significance of blackface. She may know nothing about minstrels, Al Jolson, all of the sad, ugly history. My girlfriend said "How the f...could she not know about Amos and Andy on the radio and the ignorance of that" and I said "Easy. That's the kind of stuff your parents and grandparents equip you with...or not". Same thing with Hilson...if she was brought up all of her life being told she was a pretty, caramel child...how can you expect anything more of her.

I'm not giving either of them a pass just offering up that sometime before we cuss people out about being stupid...we gotta take a step back to find out why they are stupid...or how they got stupid.

My hub was sure that our child knew what blackface was....so he asked him. Child thought blackface was a rapper. He had NO clue. So - we definitely have some education to do as well. Because heaven forbid - I see my child posed in a magazine or on Facebook at some frat party in blackface....or worse...telling some reporter that he is caramel or cablinasian.

When we know better...we do better.

Blinded by The Blind Side

Some Evangelical Christian congregations are encouraging their members to go see "Blind Side". It's the story of a rich, white family from Memphis who take in a poor, young, black man as a member of the family. I'm curious to hear some of the sermons pastors are preaching inspired by this movie.

When we saw the movie, I admit I was surprised at the demographics. Most of the commercials advertising the movie we saw on ESPN. It was being marketed as a sports feel good movie, so I expected to see lots of dads and sons. Not the case at all - almost more women then men and older women. Lots of adults, not a lot of families with kids. In fact my kid was one of the few in the theater and he and I were the only people of color.

This is a true story, and I have to admit I was very cynical about this movie before knowing that. You can't really be cynical about someone's life story, can you?

What has been incredibly interesting to me is the reacton of people to the movie. Folks were dabbing their eyes at the theatre we saw it at - and I've read blogs and reviews where people are saying this is one of the best movies they've ever seen.

There was a great piece in The Onion after Election Day 2008 that told white people to stop smiling at black people in the street (celebrating the Obama win). I kinda wonder if white Evangelical Christians can now be found trolling inner-city neighborhoods looking for their own Michael Oher's to adopt.

Here are some takeaways that I think would be really great from this movie, especially since it's attracting a lot of people of faith.

1) Children need intact families. Let's all work in our communities to ensure families have what they need to thrive. Jobs, health care, affordable housing, great schools, love.

2) All children can learn. The family in this movie was incredibly blessed financially so they were able to pay for a highly educated tutor to tutor their adopted son. Now the goal was to get a higher grade so he could play football and get a scholarship. No comment about that. But this child was written off and it took the dedication of innovative teachers and a top notch tutor to get through to him. What an incredible country we'd be if all kids had that.

3) The best moms carry Gucci bags. Ok - well maybe not - but Sandra Bullock rocked some of the hottest Gucci bags that I've seen in a minute.

4) We are all a family. At the end of the movie there are clips of the homicides and incarcerations of young black men in Memphis. Sandra Bullock's character is talking about the lost lives of these men and laments that one of those boys could be her son. For people of faith we are all brothers and sisters so we should love, pray and take care of one another as if we really believe that. Regardless of race, ethnicity, socio-economic status, athletic ability or lack thereof. Instead though of thinking that one of the dead or locked up boys could be her son, imagine the systems change that we could affect if we all operated as if those kids were our sons.

Random Thoughts

In a response on one of the news sites, someone posted "Why are we comparing the Obama Administration to Camelot? Do we really wish adultery, assassination and pain on others?" God rest the souls of JFK and JKO but - think about it?

Hearing Adele makes me miss Alison Moyet even more.

I love watching my son move through the world. This is a kid that was prayed for and lovingly welcomed into the world. You see that confidence in his choices and his interactions. You see that humility in how he takes cares of those he loves and those he doesn't know.

Getting my hair done a couple of weeks ago and the stylist, a young white woman, was like "You have the prettiest hair". Then the owner, a not so young white man came over to play in my hair and tell me how lovely it was. Now, yeah, I'm a paying customer, but it didn't dawn on me until after the fact about the irony of two white folks loving on my hair. I wish those black women for whom this type of stuff matters and makes a difference on their psyche - past and present could hear that.

People are paying money to hear black women conduct seminars on how to "catch" a non-black man. For real? Are you kidding me? Let me sign my ass up to do one of those seminars. I'll travel all over this damn country - and for another $100.00 I'll share my secrets on how to have a biracial kid, white mother in law and asian/german male dear friend. WTH?

Doo Rags and Hope

My son and I were in the store today and he's talking a mile a minute to me while I'm half listening and digging through my purse to find my discount card. Out of the corner of my eye I see the clerk watching him in that way that clerks watch boys who touch everything on the counter. She knows nothing of his heart, his brilliance, his humor and the way that he can charm congressmen and kids. She sees the doo rag in his hand, the basketball jersey on his chest and continues watching him to make sure he doesn't finger the emery boards or hot oil treatments on the counter.

"Mama", he says picking up a donation box for breast cancer, "you need to donate some money to breast cancer". "mm hmm", I say looking at my phone to see what call I missed. Then he says, "the breast cancer money goes to the city of hope. That's where Bill Clinton is born". I immediately busted out laughing and the clerk stops mean mugging my kid and looks at him like he's normal and not a threat to emery boards and hot oil treatments. "Bill Clinton was the Governor of Arkansas, Mama..he was born in ..." and the kid then goes on and tells me how Clinton's father died, how he went to Oxford and a couple of other facts about him.

The clerk stops (true story) ringing me up and goes "How does he know that". "He's reading Bill Clinton's book", I say while exercising some restraint and not saying anything sarcastic. "Wow, he must be smart", she says. "He is", I say, "I'm pretty blessed he's a gifted kid and really curious about stuff." She finishes ringing me up and hands me my bag. "It's good he likes to read", she says. "Yep", I say as she hands me my oil sheen and the kid's doo-rag. "Have a nice day", I say and me and my mini Clinton wikipedia leaves the store.

Maybe by the time I need to replace another doo-rag, my son will have finished Bill Clinton and Hillary Clinton's book and can give the clerk some comparative analysis while I'm comparing oil sheen.

New and Different

I moved to a new city, hired two new staff people, fired one, moved into a new office, inaugurated a new president and started a new workout regime all since December. If I were to take one of those stress tests that measures change I'd probably be off the radar. It's all good, though - because for the most part I like change. New and different have never freaked me out in fact I get bored easily so new and different are around quite frequently.

The new city has been interesting because it's nothing like the old city. This is the first time in my life where I've ever lived someplace where I haven't laid roots or dug my heels in because I'm too busy looking back at the old place as better. Not East Orange for Foxboro, not Irvington for Franklin, not anywhere. My mantra has always been the party is where I'm at. I make the party..but I can't quite get the party started here.

I'm struggling to find a church home - I like one community, my kid likes another. They could NOT be any more different. The only thing they have in common in Jesus. One is large one isn't. One has contemporary music and video screens one doesn't. One is in the burbs, one is downtown. Lots of stuff. I gotta pray through it.

There's also the diversity...or lack thereof. I told my hub when we first moved down here, I went a good two months before seeing a black man in a suit. I saw lots of black men on wanted signs because the police department uses electronic billboards to post information on wanted criminals. Every time I saw one of those faces I wondered for how many people was that the only black male face they saw in the town. I was also hard pressed to find non-white folks in the grocery store, Walmart, anyplace. I guess we were on the wrong side of town for that - or whatever. Is there a right and wrong side of town to expect interaction with folks of different races, ethnicities and socio-economic status?

The one thing that really killed me though was when people would tell me "Oh, you'll love it here. It's a great place to raise a family." I know I looked so dumb when they said that to me because I couldn't believe it. Until I realized that the things that make a place great to raise a family for ME...was of course not the same things that make a place great to raise a family for other folk.

So what do you do? Well, there is that cliche about being the change you want or whatever. If I value diversity - then I need to live it. I need to stop sucking my teeth when my kid is the only kid of color at summer camp or one of few at kid's choir or baseball. Dig my heels in and represent the best I can, right? I had a great black mama moment when I went on the 3rd grade field trip. All the kids on my watch had anti-bacterial gel applied to them constantly (no I didn't ply vaseline on their faces, although it was cold and if I had of had some with me...), they also got covered with a blanket when it was cold..and in the best moment of all, my hand did go on my hip and I did yell at the top of my lungs to about a dozen kids who did exactly what I told them..even though none of them shared DNA with me. I wonder what THAT dinner conversation was like when they got home.

If I want a community where the arts are important - then I gotta take my kid not only to the African American museum, but to the art museum and the children's museum and stop sucking my teeth that they are not as good as the old city. Of course they aren't the old city's are older and have more money and you can do more and be more when you're older and have more money.

So I guess I gotta cut the new place some slack. New and different never really meant better or worse for me, I guess there was just more new and different stuff to keep my mind off of the old and same stuff I was leaving.

Thanksgiving Weekend

It's the last day of the long holiday weekend. I woke up this morning thinking of all the stuff I didn't get accomplished - pack, clean out the closet, clean up the kid's room, get some work done. Before I started to let all of that Ididn'tdo anxiety stress me out - thank God I quickly realized all I did get accomplished - celebrated Thanksgiving with the hub's family, hung out with hub and kid, went to my girl's 40th birthday dinner, took two glorious naps, started a great book. Lots of fun stuff. I guess I can get the other stuff done at the end of December.

Michael Jackson Renaissance

"...don't you carry nuthin' that might be a load. Come on and ease on down..ease on down the road".

We have been jamming to The Wiz in my house today. Hub and I hadn't seen it years and the kid has never seen it, so I reserved it at the local library and picked it up today.

The kid is responsible for a Michael Jackson renaissance in our house of late. Starting back in Easter when hub received the 25th Anniversary Thriller CD in his Easter Basket (yeah, that's another post..and yes, I'm well aware that Easter is about the Resurrection of Christ not bunnies and candies and mess). Anyway..the kid became mesmerized by the pre-weird, still black (somewhat) Michael Jackson in all of his 80's glory. This is the Michael that went to the White House and hung out with Reagan, glamorized greasy jheri curls and had people all over the world jamming to his music. It was an amazing (except for Reagan) time.

My eight year old sat just as transfixed watching the Motown 25 performance of Billie Jean a few months ago - just like I had back in 1983 on the night when he performed it live.

At first - I didn't quite get the kid's interest in MJ. I mean this is a ChrisBrownSeanKingstonRihannaChaChaSlide listening to kid. He's constantly dogging the hub and I about our music. I mean when you were born in 2000....Jay Z is old school. But something about the pre-weird, still black Micheal and his music and genius has connected with the kid.

So I've dug out my old copy of Off the Wall, gotten on Amazon.com to look for Jackson's An American Dream and have been checking out the oldies racks for old J5 collections.

I'm thinking we'll let the MJ history lesson stop with the Bad album. That's kinda when he lost the plot. Banging up cars, grabbing his crotch and bleaching his face and stuff. Crazy.

When the kid asks for the post Bad album, I'll stick The Wiz DVD in again. I mean it has Richard Pryor, Nipsey Russell and the lovely Lena Horne - not to mention MJ in a really, sweet, brilliant performance as the scarecrow.

Come on and Ease on down the Road - indeed!!

I Didn't Believe He Could Fly

Once again the sexual victimization of a black woman at the hands of a black man has been dismissed...not to mention ignored and joked about. Last week a jury in Chicago acquitted R&B singer, R Kelly of his charges involving child porn. Yes there is that infamous tape (no, I haven't seen it - though I've been offered) and yes there is his history of liking young women. However, a jury of his peers in his hometown did not find enough evidence to convict Kelly of any wrongdoing. Wow, wow and wow.

I told RB that the smartest thing Tawana Brawley did back in the day was to claim white men as her attackers not black men. You can best believe there is no way Al Sharpton would have holed her butt up in a church on a story that brothers raped her. Yeah - the child lied, yeah she went through a whole lot (understandable if you know the wrath of black parents when missing curvew) in concocting such an incredulous story - but politically she knew that in order to get black folk to buy her story she had to make her attackers white. That says a lot about a lot.

Essence...I hardly know ya

My internship at Essence Magazine was one of the highlights of my senior year of college and the bar by which I set my future professonal forays. I interned in January 1991 during the first (or second) Essence Fiction contest. It was also during the infancy of Operation Desert Storm and I have fond memories of Editor in Chief Susan Taylor stopping by my desk to ask about my mother (first) and then my brother who was in the Marine Corps. I also worked with the most incredibly talented and serious men and women. Stephanie Stokes Oliver and Angela Kinamore supervised me daily. Veronica Chambers was on staff as an editorial assistant, I believe. Entertainment maestro Gordon Chambers and I would chat about the crew I knew from Brown University - he would also rave about the headscarves that I wore. It was a magical time where I was nurtured but never coddled. I wish all students would have an internship where they felt valued and where people took the time to impart knowledge.

The Essence of today though - is a far cry from my 90's Essence. Yes, diva extraordinaire Mikki Taylor was at the helm of the beauty and fashion department. But babies - I do NOT remember pages full of $3900 boots or $100 skin cream (yes, I'm giving room for inflation). My college and young adult Essence didn't roll like that. This magazine is SO foreign to me. I had not had a subscription for years and accepted the eye rolls and incredulous looks that I received from other black women - in my family and not when I told them that.

My black female card gets snatched so often (and has since I was born) by sisters that I'm used to not fitting in. There are so many reasons for that - my not giving a damn about how my hair looks (I worry more about what's in my brain), my taste in music, men, politics, travel AND that fact that I can't cook for naught. About a year ago - I decided to give Essence another shot. If I could read Marie Claire and InStyle surely I could give old Essence a try.

It's been a challenge. More often than not I pass right over the monthly book club lists (groups in Savannah, Montclair and Denver reading the latest ghetto lit), the celebrity profiles (Tyler Perry's house, The Blactresses' wax poetic and too many features on Jada Pinkett Smith to even shake a stick at) - and THEN there are the fashion spreads. Yes, I LOVE the diversity of the models from the lightest light to the darkest dark and thin, thick and everything in between. What KILLS me though are the "How to get out of debt" pieces right next to the articles about Christian Lacroix shoes. Are you kidding me?

Oldheads sit in barber shops and beauty parlors all over this country and lament over young people killing each other behind LeBron and Jordan shoes. I wonder why. I'll probably see more real Gucci and Louis Vuitton bags at Black Expo this summer hanging off the arms of people living in they momma's house.

Oh well - I'll wait for the next issue. It will be around Essence Music Festival time so that will surely warrant a Mary J. Blige or Jill Scott cover. In the meantime, I may holla at Marie Claire to see what's new at Target this summer.

..And a Little Child Shall Lead Them

Even though I abhor war, I am the proud sister of a US Marine Corps member. My brother was in Desert Storm (craziness - the theatre launched on Martin Luther King Day back in 1991) and thankfully made it home alive and sane.

I have nothing against military service it's not something that I wish for myself and quite frankly for my son. I'm all about voluntary service. The idea of folk choosing to go into the military because they feel they have no other options - makes me sad. I've been telling my eight year old for the past eight years to promise me that he will never join the military. There are tons of other ways to demonstrate that you are a patriot and love your country, I say. Don't let the war mongers try to pull the patriot card on you because you don't want to join the military. Well, I guess eight years of yapping has paid off. Last night I asked the kid to give me three things that you can do to show that you love the country.

Here is what he said:

* Run for President
* Recycle
* Write Picket Signs

My hub said, "What would be on the picket signs?", "Don't litter", he said and "Be nice".

Words to live by indeed!!

Hillary in Indianapolis

My son and I had the opportunity to hear Hillary Clinton during her stop in Indy. It was an incredible experience to hear first hand from the candidate and her vision for an American future under her leadership. It was also exciting to expose my son to a real life civic lesson. We were fortunate enough to get escorted into the event by members of the Clinton advance team and my son was able to talk with them and get a real high level (8 year old) version of what running a campaign involves. He got that look on his face that he gets when he is really engaged or impressed with something. At the end of the event he turned to me and said, "Mama. I think I will work on a campaign when I grow up".

This country could only be so lucky.

Peace!