Jamila and the Bee(tle)

I'm not really afraid of bugs.

If I see a spider in the house -- I kill it (sorry tree huggers) and move on. My daughter on the other hand is a different story.

She sees a bug and all hell breaks loose. There was once a time a fly got in the car and I damn near had to pull over because she was losing it.

I have tried my best to not instill that insect fear in her so I honestly do not know where she gets it from.

A couple weeks ago, I was faced with two scary bug encounters and I had to remain calm all while she watched.

First -- it was a Saturday -- these swarming light loving beetles appeared to come out of nowhere. They were congregating around every porch light so in order to get inside you had to go toe to toe.

I survived one door and was headed home when I felt something crawling on my neck. First, I thought it was my hair. Then I thought it was a bug. Then I'm like no, no that's my hair.

NO IT WAS A FUCKIN' BEETLE.

So I'm at a red light damn near about to strip trying to find this stowaway.

Kura: "What's wrong mom?"

Damn. I'm caught.

So I instantly play it off. Told her I was itching and tried to look for the beetle some more.

She says was it that bug?

Apparently her little ass saw the bug and didn't warn me since hell it wasn't on her.

So by now I'm still trying to drive but also trying to purposely get caught at every light.

Kura: "Are you scared of that bug?"

Now I have no choice but to man up.

No. I told her and after finally catching that beetle before it went down my shirt... I had to pick it up (eek) hold it in my hand (double eek) and show her I had no fear.

Heart was pounding but I did it. Then i quickly tossed his ass out the window.

The very next day we had another bug encounter.

This one was more deadly. (Ok, I'm being dramatic, but it was serious)

Somehow a wasp got in the laundry room.

Kura comes to me and says umm mom there's a dragon fly in the back.

I go and see this evil insect flying around on its death mission.

FUCK.

In my head I'm thinking: THAT'S A FUCKIN WASP.

Of course I don't say it out loud.

I instead tell her, that's not a dragonfly baby, please close the door.

So now its just me, this wasp and the dog.

Now I got stung by a wasp when I was in like 4th grade. I remember feeling like a razor that was on fire had sliced my ankle.

I didn't want my kids to experience nor did I want to experience it again.

So the dog is just laying there chilling. The wasp still buzzing above.

So I quickly closed the door behind me.

That was between the dog and the wasp.  I ain't wanna get in the middle of it.

🐝Formation & Liberation 🐝

Outside Lincoln Financial Field; prepared to get in Formation Beyonce changed my outlook on life. Before the groans and eye rolls begin let me explain. This past weekend I flew to see the Queen herself in all her glory. No big deal, right? For me, it was. I sometimes envy women I see with so much freedom. Women who can at the drop of a dime go to the store at 1:30am. Or hit up the club on a last minute whim. As a married mother of 2, I don't get that.  Last minute store runs turn into a fiasco of a field trip because one kid cant find his shoe and the other wants to bring a hideous shrek doll for the ride. Sometimes is not even worth the fight. When I saw Beyonce's Super Bowl performance I was hooked. "Formation" gave me life and when "Lemonade" dropped a fire I didn't even know needed to be lit was sparked. When I told my husband I was going to see Beyonce he simply said, "Okay." Not really believing me. Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm a homebody. I would rather sit at home, glass of wine in hand, watching "Snapped." That's just me. Cincinnati clubs don't do much for me or maybe I'm still grappling with an internal battle I'm having within myself about whether married women belong in the club or not. Nonetheless I would rather be at home. It also doesn't help that I work weekends. While most people are tolling away Monday-Friday, and living for the weekend, I'm grinding it out Wednesday-Sunday. Yes that means I'm at work EVERY weekend. It's apparently a hard concept to grasp for some people.  I've been working weekends 5+ years now and I am pretty much used to it. I don't love it but it is what it is. So for me there are no such things as a weekend trip with the girls. Or a quick romantic getaway with the Mister. Even trying to get in the club for a quick drink and dab on the dance floor is work in itself. Did I mention getting time off is pretty difficult? Sure I have benefits and vacation time but getting it approved doesn't always happen and there are only certain times of the year when we are even allowed to request time off. As a mother I am constantly in "mommy mode" or family mode. My pure existence is now forever connected to two little people. Any decision I make is made with my children and husband in mind. I went on a business trip last summer and that was the first time I had truly ever spent time away from them. But going out of town for work is not the same as going out of town for fun. And this weekend proved to be so much more. Just the opportunity of going to bed without making sure the kitchen is clean and the kids have their pajamas on and are tucked in was a delight in itself. Being around ADULTS outside of a workplace setting was a pure joy. I went on this trip with two equally enthusiastic Beyhive members. They've seen 'Yonce in action multiple times. This would be my first. My Beyonce buddies are also two equally successful black women. And being with them, we met a group of other successful black women. All different backgrounds. It was one of the most beautiful experiences. To just sit and watch as we had champagne on the rooftop of one of the women's newly purchased row houses, I sat quietly taking it all in. A whole 'lotta black girl magic. Hearing random chatter that didn't include "get out my room!" or "she just hit me!" was so soothing. The concert itself was as amazing as I thought it would be. Seeing a stadium full of people to witness a black woman's magic was enough to put me on cloud 9. Each pop and lock had the crowd encouraging Bey as if we were her best friends cheering her on in a dance battle. A lot of "you better work" and "get it" phrases being thrown out there. I'm pretty sure tears welled up in my eyes as she so genuinely thanked us for being fans before going into her finale, ending the concert with "Halo." I didn't want it to end. In the days leading up to the trip it was still as if my husband didn't believe I was really going. He's so used to me being at home the thought of me actually traveling out of state for a concert was just wild to him. No shade to him, he just knows his wife really well. But from the moment I packed and had my suitcase at the door ready to go I felt liberated. My aunt came to pick me up and saw me with luggage. "Where you going? What you doing running away from your family?" I laughed. But now that I think about it -- hell yeah I was!  Sometimes I think as mothers some of us get so caught up in mothering, we forget about ourselves. This has to be selfie #3,279 in my phone of me and these crazy kids We forget to live. I know I have. My days are usually pretty similar. Wake up. Wake kids. Eat Breakfast. Take them to school. Go to work. Get off work. Get kids. Cook dinner. Do baths. Go to bed. Repeat. This trip gave me the confirmation I needed; there is nothing wrong with mommy having a break. There is nothing wrong with having fun away from your family. And the fact that everyone was so surprised about my trip lets me know I need to get out and start living more. And in the words of Beyonce: Sometimes you gotta go in the back of that closet and pull out ya freakum dress.    It's not a dress, but you get the point.

Black Santas Matter

When NBC decided to take on The Wiz as its latest live production….Twitter went into a firestorm.

And that firestorm was people sounding off  (who clearly didn’t know what they were talking about) questioning the so called "audacity" of NBC to remake a classic –referring to The Wizard of Oz.

One tweet that stuck out : “ how come there were no white actors in this?”

All the uproar but I guess those same people somehow didn’t see the cast of The Wizard of Oz?

Or hell mostly any TV sitcom on right now.

Have those same critics been in the store this holiday season trying to buy their daughter a Barbie that looks like them?

Being the majority you don’t take those type of challenges into consideration.

Which is why a Black Santa Clause is a pretty big deal.

I remember growing up, the only Santa Clauses in our house… were the same color of my mother – dark brown.

The white angel on top of the tree was even doctored up and painted brown.

That may sound petty but now I see why my mother did it.

We used to only go to Swifton Commons Mall to take pictures with the black Santa…whose sack wasn’t a bright red, but instead a multicolored kente cloth.

Swifton Commons of course came and went…and so did the black Santa.

By the time I had children, I couldn’t find a black Santa.

So when Macy’s offered opportunities to take pictures with their African American Santa…for FREE this was a big deal.

Its important for your children to see people that look like them.

Being a majority, you don’t have that problem because well – you’re the majority.

This year, I was prepared for my kids to have their pictures with Santa… just days before, they took pictures with the other Santa (not my choice) so I knew they wouldn’t be scared this time.

When we approached him, my daughter seemed cautious.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I don’t wanna take a picture with him,” she whispered.

“Are you sure, I have hats for you to wear like Santa,” I tried my best to convince her.

“I don’t want to. That’s not Santa. Santa is white,” she argued.

My heart jumped.

I wanted to instantly interrogate her and ask who the hell told you that.

But it was pointless.

Society told her Santa is white.

Society told her to be afraid of a Santa who has the same skin color has her. The same skin color as her brother, her father, her grandfather.

I was devastated.

My son not knowing what was brewing between me and his sister willingly took his picture.

We moved along so other brown children could see a Santa that looked like them.

I just wonder how a white parent would feel had their child been afraid of a white Santa and said Santa was really black?

Now do people see why black Santas are important?

Do they see why black Barbies are needed?

Do they see why diversity is so important?

I just took my daughter to see her first ballet – The Nutcracker.

 She was mesmerized – seeing ballerinas in real life. It was a little girl’s dream come true.

But one thing was missing. Ballerinas that looked like her.

“Are ballerinas only white?”

Yes.

Well no.

Well kinda.

The ballerinas we saw that night – were all white. But not only whites can be ballerinas.

We came home and looked up Misty Copeland on Youtube to see a ballerina that looked like her.

But she still wasn’t really buying me on the Santa part.

And then later, I told her Santa isn’t real.

Treasured

2010 – pain shot through my breasts. It was a feeling I had never witnessed. And all of this was while I was out of town for a journalism seminar. Was I having multiple heart attacks? What was going on?

Turns out I was pregnant. My due date was January 18, 2011.

As the days inched closer to my daughter’s impending birth I continued to wonder about the little wonder growing inside of me. I have to admit, when I found out I was having a girl I was somewhat disappointed. Not disappointed in the sense of anger, I just had it in my head my first kid would be a boy – who in turn would look out for his little sister.

But as it turns out I couldn’t be more happy that I had my daughter first. She is such a natural at nurturing and caring for others. The moment I found out my grandmother died it was just me and the kids. At just two years old, Kura immediately sensed something was wrong and it was Kura who wiped my tears.

If her little brother cries – Kura is there – sometimes faster than me. The moment she opens her eyes in the morning, she goes over to her brother's bed to check on him.

 

 In just her three years on this Earth she has taught me so much about life and myself. I should have known what joy she would bring to my life. While most people complain about pregnancy – carrying Kura was easier than I ever imagined.

Morning sickness didn’t last long and I cannot remember a single complication. Labor was easy, too.  (Yes, I still had an epidural, my mama ain’t raise no fool)

I was admitted in the hospital at about 8 a.m. and by 5:30 p.m., just a day after my projected due date -- one of my greatest treasures was in this world.  In fact, the name Kura means treasure house in Japanese. (I bet you thought her name was made up)

And as I think back over these last three years -- my life has changed so much. My life now revolves around my kids. Friday is usually “hair day” – which consists of me fighting Kura to sit still and her telling me “that hurts!” or “stop ma-ma!” I don’t remember what I did on the regular before I met my baby girl.

And as we prepare to celebrate her birthday – I think of the many more birthdays to come. Soon she won’t think I’m the best thing ever. Soon she won't watch me in the mirror as I get ready and try to imitate every move I make. One day when I come home from work she won’t run to the door to the door to greet me. But until that happens I will treasure every moment with her.

Happy Birthday mommy’s baby!

 

 

Get it Right

The social network post that started it all…

 

My face at work as I hear police being called for a large unruly crowd b/c "some shoes came out today" and somebody done got arrested. We still doing all that for Js? I hope Jordan gon bail y'all out. Oh wait. He don't care that's why his shoes keep going up in price

So apparently that post didn’t sit well with some folks who called me out for “judging” others. First off, one of my BIGGEST pet peeves is for someone to go out of their way to zero in on your page all to be a negative dick. You don’t like what I posted so ummm why are you on this page? How many users are there online? You can’t find one person’s post you actually agree with?

Ok. Now back to the original post at hand. Now apparently I was being judgmental for not feeling that police should be called for an unruly crowd of people wanting to rock the newest pair of Js.

At first, I thought it was some white lady afraid of black people and the sight of a bunch of black people outside a store in a huge crowd was all too much for her pale little heart to cope with.

 But no, it was the store manager calling.

 Now wait a minute folks, Jordan has been dropping his $150+ shoes damn near every weekend for how long? And how many stories have we heard of fights breaking out, people getting robbed, killed all over some damn shoes?

Maybe it’s time that the black community starts judging its people. We need to start holding each other accountable and believing in one another. Don’t say well “they don’t know any better.” That’s a lame sorry excuse that doesn’t even work for children when they reach a certain age.

 

We should know and be better.

But as long as we claim to not judge or stay screaming “only God can judge me,” then we will forever be behind.

Why is it okay to be arrested all in the name of some 23s? I’ll admit I used to be out there with the masses, huddled up in the winter and baking in the summer just so I could say “I got them Js today.”

But then I got wiser and I also learned what it was like to have to pay bills. All of sudden spending a buck fifty on some shoes didn’t seem all that appealing – not when rent is due – not when I gotta go buy some groceries.

So my Facebook dissenter proceeded to call me an Uncle Tom and claim I didn’t like being black all because I’m calling my people out for acting a fool outside the shoe store.

So let’s get this straight (as if I really need to) I love my people – which is why I’m even in the news business. I’m tired of our young black men (and women now too) being posted on TV for the most trivial things. A mother who left her kids in the car for 20 minutes while she went in to check on a client of hers is not worth the 20 seconds of air time.

But a shooting right outside of a youth club is worth the air time. And my hopes are that while someone at home is watching we begin to hold each other accountable.

Why do these men constantly think it’s okay to let bullets fly within feet of an innocent bystander?

Maybe it’s because no one was judging when that would-be trigger man was doing something deemed minor years before he picked up the gun…Maybe people were giving excuses on how he “didn’t know any better.”

I’m not condemning anyone from going to get Jordan’s on a Saturday morning. If you can afford it—then more power to you. In fact, I’m somewhat envious of you because I can’t.

But let’s get it right; being able to afford some $150+ shoes means you can also afford your rent, food, utilities, car payments, daycare expenses and any other life essential as well.

So to my Facebook dissenter, you are mistaken.

I love my people that much that I will judge and I will call some shit out if I don’t like it.

Not because I think I’m any better than the next, but because I know that we as a people should be doing better and we will do better.

P.S. It took everything in me not to go in, but as I said we can do better. So I refrained myself as much as I possibly could. And just to show how polished I am, I decided not to name this guy, see below.

 

 

Excuse me while I publicly mourn...

Me & My Grandma circa mid 90s

It’s only been a week since we laid my grandma to rest… and it still seems unreal. I keep imagining that she’s still at the nursing home – just unable to call me up like she would do on the regular.

But the funeral was very real – the crowd who came out to celebrate her was very real. You know how you go to a funeral and there are all these nice, flowery epithets to describe that person and deep down inside you’re saying to yourself “yeah right.”

This was not the case for my grandma. Every kind word and thoughtful memory shared of her was true. She was the classic grandmother figure. Sweet, thoughtful and caring.

 And I honestly miss her. When I saw the two missed calls from my Mama in the middle of the day – I knew what it was but I wanted to believe it was something else. I still wish it was for something else. Maybe Ma was calling because she had forgot her lunch for the day and really needed me to bring her something – or maybe she couldn’t remember if she had locked her door and wanted me to check. I wish her calls had been simple things like that.

But my heart broke when she told me Grandma was gone. And even in the midst of her own heartbreak, my Mama’s first words to me were “Are you okay?” I had to lie and get off the phone. I didn’t want her to hear me crying when I should have been asking her if she was okay.

But she wasn’t. In my short time on this earth, I’ve seen my Mama cry all of two times in my life – when I went off to college and at the funeral. In the days leading up to the funeral, I didn’t see her cry. Her voice would quiver from time to time, but she didn’t shed a tear.

When we first went into my Grandma house after she had died, my Mama still did not cry but yet when I hit the threshold I wanted to bawl but kept it in. I cried in the driveway though.

But at the funeral I somehow managed to hold my composure. A part of me saw how normal Grandma looked and felt everything was okay or at least would be. For the last nine months of her life, she was at a nursing home she clearly did not like. Grandma wanted to go home and whether that meant her Bond Hill home or a heavenly residence I’m still not sure.

What I do know is that she’s is definitely not somewhere she no longer wants to be.

 And that’s the only way I’m able to get by. Maybe I’m being dramatic but the relationship I had with my Grandma was like no other. In her healthier days, I literally saw or spoke to her nearly everyday.

A note of condolence from a friend made it real simple for me – cherish the moments I did have with my Grandma because not everyone is as blessed as I am to have had such moments.

 

My Grandma lived long and saw a lot.

 

I can still distinctly hear her voice and remember what she sounds like – her thick southern accent never faded after years of Ohio living. I remember random conversations we had. I remember calling her Election night when President Obama won, and her saying she thought she never would have seen a black president in her lifetime. I remember telling her I was pregnant -- both times and her giving me "that look."

 

I remember so many random moments and for that I am forever grateful.

I am also forever thankful to all those who came out to celebrate my grandmother's life. Thank you. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is My Son Next? What The Zimmerman Verdict Really Means For Black America

         There used to be a time when black parents had to teach their children to look down when a white person spoke to them and definitely not talk back. And while we think we’ve came a long way from that… the case of Trayvon Martin proves otherwise.

          There are actually people who believe this case had nothing to do with race because it involves two so-called “minorities.” Why is it that up until this case did George Zimmerman allegedly refer to himself as white?

           But let’s ignore that.
           Let’s focus on how the country is responding to this all. There are actually people who feel Trayvon was in the wrong. Zimmerman’s defense attorney himself, said Trayvon had time to run… but he didn’t. O’Mara also added that Trayvon was not just a kid with a bag of skittles…
            And he’s right. Trayvon has now become a symbol of race relations in America. Here we are in 2013 once again debating this entire thing.
           As a parent, what’s scary to me is that I feel like the parents from earlier times. Those times when a mother cautiously warned her children not to “sass white folks” – that’s the era my grandmother lived in. But yet – it seems we are still living in that era and don’t know it.
            Working in the news media, you clearly see the ugly truth that’s out there. Racism is alive and well. People continuously call newsrooms airing out their racist feelings – never knowing they’re speaking with a black woman. And it takes everything in me not to lash out. Even co-workers feel this case is “no big deal.” And that’s why I’m in the field I am in – to be a voice for my own people.
           Many have used the Zimmerman trial to point out the problem of black-on-black crime however let’s be real. If a black man shoots and kills another black man and that shooter is found – he is more than likely found guilty and sentenced to years if not life in prison.
            Hell, black men are given close to life sentences for street robberies. I have personally seen black men go through the wheels of justice here in the U.S. However, they are never judged by a jury of their peers. Jury members judging us cannot relate to the lives we live in America. They don’t know what it’s like to have their lives seen as nothing.
         As a mother, I am expected to teach my children how to navigate this world and survive. And as a mother of a black male, I feel his teachings will be a little more in depth. I feel I have to teach him certain measures so that his life is not seen as trivial.
        But how do I adequately teach him that? More importantly how do I teach the world that?
       There is already disdain and non-trust for the police in the black community, but that hasn't kept our black men alive. Our black men are now scared to live. In fact, a friend of mine says she has taught her young son to fear not only police but white people in general.
         Her reasoning is that they do not value a black man’s life, so he has to do all he can to stay alive.
         It’s true but it’s also true bullshit.
        Black men are an endangered species and they are constantly denied their inalienable rights.
        "Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness," was never a phrase meant for us.
        The verdict in this case was definitely a wake up call to Black America. It was as if they were putting us back in our place.
        We were getting out of line. We got us a black man in the White House, thought “everything is all good now”.
        We were content – thinking we were on their level. That we finally made it.
         Fuck what Drake talking about, we still at the bottom. We’re still at the bottom trying to scramble and climb our way to the top.
        At the top of that climb is of course – real equality. Not this fake shit we’ve been living. At least back in the day, it was blatant and out in the open that we were not liked or wanted.
       Now their hatred for us is done in more subtle ways.

• Denying our men jobs so that they can’t take care of their families
• Purposefully leaving us out of promotions/better opportunities in the workplace
• Enacting laws that specifically target us

      And even when their hatred is put on full display for the whole world to see -- in the form of a grown man gunning down a child -- America blames us.      
       "It was self-defense"
       "Trayvon was the aggressor:"
       It’s amazing that a 17-year-old child can be blamed for his own death after being

gunned down. I don’t care how tall he was—he was and will always be a child.

Trayvon never got to vote, never graduated.

He died as a child.

And as a mother of a black male, I wonder could my son be next?