Tag Archives: Don’t make me get ethnic!

Can You Say Clueless…?

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Taking a break to enjoy some of this lovely weather we’re having today and had a chance to enjoy the following:

Two women walking in opposite directions cross paths. One stops the other in her tracks.

Young Woman 1: Wow, that’s a great tan! Were you on vacation, or use a salon?
Young Woman 2: Um… I’m black.
Young Woman 1: You totally are! So, was it like, Jamaica or something?
Young Woman 2: (Looks at Young Woman 1 with an expression that clearly screams “ARE YOU EFFING STUPID!” before stepping around her and keeps walking.)
Young Woman 1 (sees me trying not to giggle): What?

I turned and walked, away shaking my head. I swear, sometimes I love my city, for no other reasons than random moments just like this.

>========<

Visit the rest of today’s Slices of Life over at Two Writing Teachers.

SOL - Slice of Life March Challenge 2012

 

Justice in Passing

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Each morning he studied his reflection
The clear watchet eyes, brushing wavy, not kinky hair
Looking for any shift, the slightest sign
Of any imperfection that may decide to appear there

He knows he has made his life by his looks
The only liaise between his present and his past
He has sampled the best of life by doing so
But lives in quiet desperation, fearing it can’t last

His wife thought he was much too modest
Flaunting her own scintillating beauty with pride
For even the skew of his roman nose was perfect
And he should learn to take life’s rewards in stride

Her fair complexion, fine features and hair of flame
She mocks those deemed not quite their peer
Color conscience in a way not very demur
Never cruel, but her feelings were quite clear

He himself sometimes talked up the game
Convincing others with the occasional taunt
To prove himself as all that they were not
Among the faithless they get as their wont

He does not deny the momentary fillips
His proud solid looks brings about such
But he won’t saunter for fear of his secret
Because he knows they can lose so very much

But what he fears more than loosing his money
More than losing his job or his own life
When the inevitable secret is revealed
Is the torrent of hate that would befall his wife

And so they lived a quiet Christian life
The seasons passing as they are wont to do
Secure as the bell and beau of their tiny town’s ball
But not having faith they just might make it through

Thus it came at night, the sacred secret exposed
On a neighbors porch singing hymns after supper
Faces covered in pointed sheets arrived carrying shackles
In the ensuing scuffle he realized they had chained her

The hooded men claimed when they killed her family of frauds
Years ago, she had escaped, but they finally had her now
As her tears splashed on the ground with her spilled blood
He sat on the porch in utter shock, his heart bellowing “how?!”

He saw himself in those chains as they pulled her along
While she screamed, begged pleaded her veracity
Lip curved in a snarl, his heart turns so very grim
Doing nothing as they took the wrong person away

He took a gamble by leaving all that he’d known
His southern home held nothing for him but blight
When the dice lie still he emerged in the north
As years ago, he a black man slipped into the white

He moved and years later married again
This time lineage or virtue was not in doubt
But when his first-born son was of a dubious hue
It was her family who cast him and the baby out

He gave his son to the first refuge that would take him
So weary from running, he never noticed their maid
Until the clan came with the maid, once his first wife, by their side
He knew the costs of all his sins were to be finally paid

It had been nearly thirty years to the day
To be caught up with the past he had left behind
As he became strange fruit he had to concede
Justice was maybe slow, but was not always blind

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Entered in:

dVerse Poets Pub – Open Link Night: Week 33

Oh Hair We Go!

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A male friend (who wears locs), commented on a New York Times article regarding US Surgeon General, Dr. Regina Benjamin. The article titled “Surgeon General Calls for Health Over Hair” was commentary on how studies revealed a third of Black women exercised less because they were concerned it would jeopardize their hair. That of these women, 88 percent did not meet the CDC’s guidelines for physical activity, which is 150 minutes of moderate intensity exercise each week, or about 20 minutes a day. What pissed me off were his ending comments…

…
Are you one of these sisters? Real talk. Whether you rock a curly hawk or a sew-in special, we honor and respect you. Now get your sneakers and go sweat your perm out! With such an awesome task ahead of her, our hair should not have to be on Dr. Benjamin’s radar. And let’s be clear, this is not a School Daze – straight hair, natural conversation. This is a show-your-daughter-that-sweat-is-your-swagga-and hair-ain’t-your-dagger-conversation. A new priority. A paradigm shift.

I am not commenting on the merits/demerits of the surgeon general’s or the journalist’s comentary (Black women are fat ’cause they got their hair did), but on his.

You have NO idea how it pisses me the fuck off that it’s always the people with wash and wear hair and others who don’t have to deal with our hair every day always telling us what the fuck to do concerning it.

I don’t know any woman who goes to the gym regularly and only does twenty minutes of “moderate” exercise. For those of us that go to a gym to work out, WE WORK OUT. For me, if I’m not doing at least forty minutes on the floor, it’s not worth the time of changing into my sweats. Once my hair gets funky from sweating it’s funky for hours until it eventually peters out or I wash it. I planned my gym days around when I had time to at least damp wash (which is an extra maintenance time unto itself), if not to fully wash my hair.

My hair is thick, when I had it permed bone straight it took three hours to dry naturally. Yes, it only took about an hour with a blow dryer, plus whatever additional curling time if desired, but no woman in her right mind, is going to damage her hair by blow-drying it two or more times a week, every week. Not if she wants to keep her hair. And here’s the irony, even women with a weave need to have some hair to weave it to, so we can’t damage our natural hair underneath by blow-drying it constantly. Even a loctician will tell customers not to heat dry the hair, because it’s damaging. So I need to wait it out.

I currently wear braids, once wet it takes considerably more time to dry than when straight, especially if I want it curled. Even the weather affects drying time. I have washed my hair at 7pm on cold damp days and woke up the next morning at my usual 5am only to find it still damp. Every spring and fall, I risk catching colds for this reason alone. I’ve asked and a lot of my sistas wearing whose hair is long in twists, dreads and locks have similar drying time issues.

A few years ago, I wore my hair in an all-natural Afro for three months one summer. I’m not going to comment on all the societal-political ramifications from such, that’s a blog for another day, but it was the most miserable time I’ve ever had with my hair. If the wind blew strong, it was messed-up. If I leaned back in a tall chair or on the subway, it was messed-up. If I wore a hat, or pushed my sunglasses up, it was messed-up. And like most women, different parts my hair grow and behave differently than others, so sometimes it was just messed-up. I felt I was always in a mirror checking it, making sure it was nicely rounded and I don’t have time in my life for that kind of vanity.

I’m single with adult children, so I have no demands on my after work time except the ones I put on me. However, I can tell you from experience that there are not enough hours to work, commute, run errands, be mom-wife-girlfriend-lover as is, in a day. Going to the gym meant something else was being put off until another time, or I was in for a very late night. If I just spent half of my day (usually a Saturday, twice a month, when I should have been doing something else), in a salon for four or five hours and spent serious dollars for the privileged to boot, you’re fucking right I’m going to try to maintain that look for as long as possible. Even women with locs/twists have to take time to get to a loctician every couple of months or so for maintenance and I guarantee you, they are not likely to be doing ‘moderate’ exercise, let alone a full-on work out for a few days after that until it sets.

Should our hair not be an issue (read excuse), for exercise? No, it should not be, I fully concede to that, but let’s be real. Even for the regular exercise enthusiasts, the majority of the day is not spent in the gym and we have to deal what we look like when we’re not in it. We may not care what the average stranger on the street thinks, but it’s bullshit to pretend the average woman is not, on even a subconscious level, thinking about how she presents herself. And it’s equally disingenuous to pretend we’re not being measured, if not outright judged on it, down or rather up to our hair, even by the people whose opinions we may care about — our own friends, co-workers and families.

To him I say: You are not the one having to take more time out of your schedule because of return trips to the salon (or home maintenance), to get that do back in order for the next day. A month from now when your comments are relatively forgotten and you’re greeting – hugging – standing next to a woman and her hair is smelly as all get out, at that moment, you are not going to be thinking check out Sistagirl taking care of her health. You’re going to be thinking damn her hair’s funky!

We’ve all scrunched-up our noses at the woman who otherwise looked fine, but the hair wasn’t up to par and that was before we were close enough to smell it. In a perfect world every woman would look fab in whatever style that washed and dried in no time, but it’s not a prefect world. These are our realities and belittling it down to pithy sound bites because it’s not your hair apparent reality doesn’t help (our hair or our fat asses for that matter).

That Old Chestnut…

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Angelina Jolie to Play Cleopatra

Well Damn! If nothing else proves Liz Taylor is dead and gone this truly is the final nail in the coffin. But that is not what this pseudo rant is about.

Let me preface this with I have nothing against Angelina Jolie. This is in no way a critique of her ability to portray Cleopatra. In fact, considering the more female centric view that I understand this film will have, I will even say she will likely be excellent in the role. That is if she does not go all “Alexander” creepy. One of my least favorite Jolie acting jobs was in that movie – sorry. Still, another in famous Caucasian woman is set to portray arguably the most famous woman of color in history. And that is what is stuck in my gut reaction craw.

As an adult I understand the casting of Elizabeth Taylor in the role. It was the cultural/social climate of Hollywood and let’s be honest, most of America then. Such a monumental (and most expensive movie ever at that time), was not going to risk a huge loss by doing something so bold as having an actual Black actress in the lead role. Hell, had Kirk almost kissed Uhura (however unwillingly according to the story line) yet? I’ll have to check the time lines and get back to yo on that. America was not about to have a Black actress cavorting about with Richard Burton on such a grand scale, back then. I honestly do get that, I really do, but that was then.

What’s the reasoning behind it now?

Have all the Black actresses vanished? Are the all so busy in Hollywood that none were available for chance to portray such an icon? Are none worthy? Hell, were any even half seriously considered for the role? This production has a couple of good names behind it with Scott Rudin producing and David Fincher directing. They couldn’t slap on a pair between the two of them and do something totally off the wall daring and by Isis cast an actress of some color for the role?

And before the scholars get started, I official hold to Cleopatra’s proposed mixed heritage of Greek and Egyptian. The way I see it, at the “lightest” end of the scale she was middle-eastern. At here “darkest” she may have been somewhere near as brown as the hieroglyphs portray her. We may never, really know. At any other point in 1963 American, that considerably more than “one drop” Egyptian (Nubian) blood would have branded her as Black. It’s almost amusing how far that pendulum swings in the opposite direction when it comes to her. So okay okay, give Jolie a tan, thrown in some brown contacts and a lot of kohl around the eyes, she will be fine. It worked for Liz Taylor after all (sans the contacts part).

Will I watch this updated Cleopatra (or whatever it will be named) when it comes out? Yes, I am always interested in a fresh tale on an old subject. Hopefully, this take won’t be quite as grandiose as the 1963 version. Besides, I am a Jolie fan after all and she rarely disappoints in her acting. Odds are I will at least like, if not totally enjoy the movie.

But you can’t blame a gal of color for wishing for a little more color in Hollywood movies. Le sigh.

/pseudo rant

Black Man (a Valentine to the Brothers)

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Carrying the past on his spine, but his back in not bowed

You’ve passed him on the streets. You’ve seen him in offices, in schools, in stores. In anyplace and everyplace. There’s something about him-his presence. It’s always been there, but now its something new-fresh-different. The way he occupies your time, your mind, and maybe even your heart. He is all of many, yet one of few. Who is he?

He is Black Man.

Black Man comes in many shapes, many sizes, many colors. He may be a part of the new generation of tomorrow or the old generation of yesterday. He was there at the beginning. He will be there at the end. Be he leader or follower, sinner or saint, Black Man is there.

His skin may be ebony or damn near ivory. His eyes gray or black or any where in between. He may be large in size, but never in ignorance. He may be small in stature, but never in spirit.

His pride is as tall as the redwood. His honor as solid as the oak. His soul as deep as the dark earth his pride grows in and his honor firmly stands upon. His strength inner or outer is as mighty as any hero, fact or fiction. His passions can be as explosive as the erupting volcano, or as quiet as the rising dawn. He may be put down, but as many have learned; Black Man can not be put out.

Black Man has loved-hated, been loved-been hated.
Most of all Black Man has lived, he has endured, he has survived.
He has proven his self worth.

How do I know this? I have been there with him. I have brought him down when he got too high, raised him up when he got too low. I have fought next to him, stood with him, laid beside him. I have often known Black Man better than he has known himself. Who am I? I am his mother, his sister, his wife, his daughter, his friend, his lover.

I am Black Woman and I am proud of Black Man.

Embarass versus Humiliate – How Much Is Too Much?

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My then twelve-year old I think three or four friends over and they were in his room playing video games. I’m in the kitchen when he comes in for –I don’t remember what now– and says something outlandish but just barely within the guidelines of acceptable to me. Again, I don’t remember exactly what was said, but it was just annoying enough for me to react. I happen to be filling a pot with a four-quart pot with water to put on the stove at the time.  I jokingly held the over his head reminding him to watch his mouth and don’t think because he’s getting bigger he can get crazy. He looked at the pot over his head, folded his arms across his chest and just stared at me as if to say I dare you.  Because I really was just semi-chastising him and really did not want to clean up a lot of water, I carefully tilted the pot so only a small trickle landed on his head.  Mr. Man, Jr. then puffed out all of his mighty twelve year old frame, rolled his eyes and with an arrogance worthy of his father (those that know my late-husband can appreciate that), and declared.

“I THOUGHT so!” That was a bad move on his part; a BAD move.

Without a second thought, I turned the entire contents of the pot over on his head. I not so nicely, reminded him that he was a twelve-year-old child and he was to never, NEVER think he that he predict what I would or would not do to him as his mother. I then ordered him to go to his change clothes, come back, and clean up the water so I could continue cooking dinner.

It was only after I went to change clothes, as I had also spilled water on myself in the process, that I remembered he had company. I have no idea what he said to his friends, when he entered his room-dripping wet, but I have to imagine it was not pleasant for my child to have to face his friends like that.  I only learned several years later when the subject somehow came up, on how embarrassed, he was by that and that “I still haven’t forgiven you”.

All parents understand that some unforgiving moments go with parenthood. I never ask after the fact, because I didn’t care.  He needed a reminder, right then and there, on who Mama was before he got out of hand and that was that.

I mention the above to serve as a precursor to the following.

So, there’s this video that has run a small circuit.   Please note, while the video linked to in and of itself is not necessarily offensive, the site it comes from can be very much so, thus those at work, don’t be surprised if your company’s filters block it from showing.

http://www.worldstarhiphop.com/videos/video.php?v=wshhBtdQvDJLQy55M05q&set_size=1

Here’s the Cliff Notes version: A young black male (twelve to fourteen years of age) was seen “acting hard” in his Facebook statuses etc. The youth’s uncle, who took considerable objection to his nephew’s online persona, somehow saw the entries.  What was the uncle’s response? To force the boy to use his webcam to live stream a video of him (the uncle) “whipping his ass” with a belt while he explains that their family does not come from such (the gangs and rap culture). He makes the boy renounce not only his behavior online, but that all rap and gangs are “fake” and “bullshit”.  You really need to view the video to understand it all.

Now I love that the uncle is obviously involved in this young man’s life. He obviously commands the respect of his nephew; how the nephew represents himself, and by reflection, his family outside of the home, including online.

What I question is it necessary to take a belt to the boy in this situation?  I’m NOT saying there should never be a belt in raising a child, for that is a parent by parent decision, I’m just asking was its use necessary for the lesson here.  Was the humiliation of live streaming it necessary to the lesson.

As I said before, all parents inherently understand there are going to be lesson taught in which the method of teaching that will not be forgiven. These unforgiving moments are usually something that involved humiliation. It is a tough call to choose to teach a lesson that way, but sometimes it is the only way to deliver a message that may not otherwise be heard. Still, there is huge difference in embarrassing your child (which I fully own up to with mine at that moment), humiliating a child (the same scenario with the uncle, but only in front of the uncle’s peers) and complete humiliation of your child, which is what I think was done here.

I’m sure in my son’s case his friends teased him about it for a while, but it was over with in a few days.  This boy had to go to school the next day, with the knowledge that most of his friends and countless others saw this.  If the comments that followed the video are an indicator, it’s going to be one long hard row to hoe.  How long can this run before the novelty dies? This video is the kind of thing that can, and most likely will, pop up years from now. This level of humiliation on a young soul has the backlash of possibly creating the “hard” person his uncle was attempting to discourage. How much is too much?

I’m hoping that the uncle truly takes his “this is not where we come from” lesson to heart. I do not want some over zealous person to report the uncle and he goes through ridiculous legalities for this, but neither do not I want to see him on BET or  YouTube or wherever grasping his fifteen minutes of family values on his nephew’s back. Even if the initial video isn’t deemed bad enough, certainly this would be too much.

Get That Nigger Out of There!

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Oh Yeah!  Twitter has been all-abuzz today and for a very good reason.

It seems new copies of Huckleberry Finn will eliminate the word “nigger” from its editions in order to be less offensive.  What. The. Fuck.

Now that I find offensive!

Changing “nigger” to “slave” is about as historically accurate and intelligent as saying that thousands of blacks fought for the Confederacy. In case you are confused, yes, thousand of blacks did fight for the Confederacy, and now you understand while historically accurate, how completely misguided that was.

I read Huckleberry Finn as a pre-teen and even at that age I understood, that the writing was a reflection of the mindset of what was acceptable of that period.  If I could figure that out at ten, do the publishers of this revised nonsense, think current readers will not be smart enough to get it?  Or that the teachers intelligent enough to trust their charges with such material will not be able to discuss why such a word was allowed to exist in the first place with them? If a student is uncomfortable saying the word out loud in class, that’s one thing, removal of the word all together hurts the learning experience.

Is the word despicable? Yes, it is.  It is necessary to keep it in the book? Yes, it is.  Never mind that by trying to remove the word nigger from a classic piece of literature as though it has never existed, you give it the very power and offense you think you’re trying to take away. You defeat the point of why it was in the novel in the first place.  Mark Twain was one of the pioneers in the use of local vernacular in literature. He was trying to give an account of the language and culture of the people of the time of the novel. Revising the book does not change the culture known to have existed then regarding Blacks. And please note, I did not say African-Americans, a term some (arguably) claim is revisionist in itself, (nigger/negro > colored > blacks > African-American), but that’s another argument.

So thank you publishers! Thank you for not even giving us the chance to think it out for ourselves. After all these years the book has existed, we’re obviously much too stupid to be trusted to understand such now. Because yes, my life will be so drastically uplifted now that “N” word will be removed.  Oh but damn, wait, I read the book in its original text, I know the word is in there whatever am I to do? Can the publishers come and remove all traces of it from my mind as well?

While you’re at it publishers, let’s just grab all the books everywhere and wipe out all the niggers we see. Hell, let us just re-write American history all together.  Turn us all into that asshat faction that wanted to convince the world that the Holocaust never existed.  Anne Frank was fictional character made up to gather sympathy to the gullible. You can say – oh, I don’t know – slavery here in the New World was just a a precursor to the modern-day scam those Nigerians are notorious for even to this day.  The Civil War was just a tiff among the household domestic that got a little out of hand.

I suppose all the Ebonics will be revised next, wouldn’t want people to think the niggers -er- slaves had no command of proper English while out in the fields or in the Big House.

* Rolls eyes  and pulls out a copy of The Catcher in the Rye*

Hard Black Women

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“Why are Black women so damn hard? I don’t have time for their crap!”

Warning I’m venting…

I feel that most Black American women have had the wonderful pleasure of dealing with two layers of oppression: racism and sexism for the majority of their lives.   That can make anyone “hard”, tough,  especially if you feel you constantly have to “fight” just to come close to being on a level playing field. It sucks to have to go out into the world, face one or both “isms” in your professional time, then go out and face the same isms  in your personal time. This has been the plight of most Black American women in just about every era of this country’s history.

Does this mean Black women have an excuse to be negative? Absolutely not.
Does it explain why our collective psyche varies from Black women from other nations? Somewhat.

If we dress sexy, we are upholding the Black woman as sexual stereotype passed down from the slave masters, who used us as sex toys, when we had so much choice in the matter and then label us as promiscuous and whores for our troubles. .If we dress more conservatively, we’re accused of dressing like old ladies or a *gasp!* church girls, as though that is a bad thing.

If we are up on the latest street fashions, know the difference between Lil Wayne and T-Pain on sight and can neck roll with the best of them, we’re low-class and/or ghetto. Yet if we speak proper English, have clue as to how to set a proper dinner table and actually know the lyrics to songs played on non-“urban” radio stations, then we’re “Bourgie” (slang for bourgeois) or “Oreos”.

Who we are, who we have been, and who we want to be has all been influenced by our collective experiences. We cannot change that. Individually, we try to take different approaches, but collectively, our struggle is unique. We have had to (and continue to struggle with), defining what femininity and womanhood means to us; especially in relation to our men. Being a Black Woman in America often means defining our womanhood through our relationship to men in general, but Black men in particular.  In addition, all too often, the onus of responsibility falls on the Black woman and the finger pointing turns to us. We don’t raise our males correctly. We are not walking away from the abuse. We keep accepting the bullshit and so on and so on…

I don’t think I’m harder on men, specifically Black men. If anything, at times I think I’m not hard enough on some as I accept so much bullshit in various forms of oppression from “brothers” without consequence or recourse, that it all but destroys my spirit, all for the sake of being “loyal”.  This loyalty, innately expected of us as Black women, regrettably is one that is not often reciprocated in kind. This seems to be even more heart-breakingly true of my generation and the generations coming up. THAT, if anything, is what wears us down… makes us angrier than others, sadder than others, more depressed than others, etc.

Yet THE MOMENT we stand up for ourselves — we are hard, we are cold, we are “the bitch”; the ball breakers; the misandrists.

Females are taught from an early age to grow up and get married. Being in a relationship (preferably married), means at least one someone wants you (what’s love got to do with it? -as Tina would sing).  Therefore being single is to be deemed undesirable by anyone.  And the longer the woman is single, obviously, the more undesirable she must be – right?  Now add in being fat and oh yeah – Black.

Another problem… Black women rarely speak to anyone other than other Black women about this. Women who are more than likely also swimming in the same muddied waters.  The advice from many of our matriarchs whether by words or by actions, was to just deal with it. “A single man is over forty a confirmed bachelor. A single woman over forty is a shame.” Yeah, more lovely pearls of bullshit dropped into my once young ears.

Instead of coming to the defense of our fellow sisters of color, who speak out, many of us that raise our voices, often find ourselves stuck between a rock and a hard place alone. Because there is some invisible code of honor not to OUT our current public status of being too much to deal with. We are “airing dirty laundry”. How the fuck is it ever supposed to get clean then, if we can’t even acknowledge the fact the track marks exist?

As women in general, we’re raised to believe, it is expected of us to be so loyal with our men. We accept it. We suffer in silence for want/need of a man. We wear a smile and act like it is okay. We hold a great deal of our hurts and thoughts inside. We hold it in for as long as we can, and then lash out. If the relationship doesn’t survive, we’re now once bitten-thrice shy with the next soul, who inadvertently may suffer the penance of another man’s sins.   It’s generally unspoken, but that expectation of loyalty is even higher with Black woman in a relationship with a Black man.

Still, because he is a Black man, and I am a Black woman, I am supposed to be instantly all ready to drop my drawers (and you can’t begin imagine how much I abhor that word as synonym for underwear), simply because he decided my name is “Baby gurl/Mami/Boo” and wants to talk to me. If he wants a moment to see if I’m worthy of his body, why am I not afforded the same courtesy? If I give in too early, I am an easy lay/skank/freak and men don’t buy the cow if they can get he milk for free. If I make you notice my worth by waiting, I’m “playing” hard-to-get, or I’m gold digging and why should you work for it when there’s always someone more willing around the corner.  I’m punished whether I’m Madonna or Mary Magdalene.

Many women of color state having difficulty-finding mates of any color due to issues many in general state about American women of color. Some men take the rejections or run-ins with some Black women that they experienced (and I won’t lie – the are some negative ones out there), and then use it to color how they view all Black women. The men who complain the most about Black women being low class/ghetto – gold-digging/bourgeois (note the contrasts), are also quick to write off  my entire racial gender with impunity and never look beyond their own negative stereotyping. They are so content to push all women of color into one, maybe two, shallow categories and never see the reality: that we are so much more.

Yet these same men would never think of writing off another entire racial/ethnic gender as a whole due to a few negative experiences. For these men, other women are given the chance to have their actions and how they present themselves judged on an individual basis … but most Black women, it seems, are not afforded this courtesy. And it is a damned shame.

The beauty we admire on most classic statues is due to someone taking the time to painstakingly whittle/smooth away what’s seen on the surface and expose the warm exquisiteness within.

Do most Black Women have thick skin? We have to, to protect our hearts, minds, souls, selves.  But we are so worth the time and effort to the one who sticks with us long enough to get to our cores and find out.

It’s Not Always Black or White

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A week ago I am on line at Dean & Deluca at Madison & 85th when I feel a tug at the hem of my dress. First, let us step back and acknowledge that I was in a dress and high heels. For those of you who don’t know me well enough to understand the importance of this, it means I was dressed-up. I, who mostly run gorgeously amok in slacks or pantsuits and blouses with sneakers, occasionally wake up some mornings and let the girlie in me take over. I put some serious effort into looking more all-out feminine than usual by wearing an actual dress, high heels and seriously glaming it up. This was one of those days.

I look down and see an adorable ruddy-haired, freckle-faced moppet of sitting in a stroller that is she is obviously too old for smiling up at me. I look up to see a woman of what I guess to be Caribbean with her hands on the stroller handles (presumably the nanny or au pair) and another woman who is obviously the child’s mother standing next to them. I smile at the women, look down at the child and in the tone most adults reserve for speaking with young children address the child.

Me: My, aren’t you a pretty one!
Mother: Say thank you!
Child: Thank you!
Me: And how old are you sweetie?
Child: I’m six. Whose nanny are you?
Me: Why do you think I’m a nanny?
Child: Because you’re Black and….
Mother (really fast): She’s not a nanny silly girl! She’s just out shopping.

You heard that record scratch just then too, didn’t you?

It was a very slow rising of my head with the most patient and plastered smile on my face (thank you southern woman upbringing!) before I arched an eyebrow and addressed the dear sweet mother.

“Seriously? She’s all of six and already has the mindset that minorities must be in some form of servitude? How the hell have you managed to accomplish that despicable feat in such a short amount of time?”

The mother opened her mouth to speak, but I held up my hand stopping her.

“Children learn what their parents teach them, whether the parents realize a lesson was given or not. Now, unless you plan to raise her in a lily-white Stepfordian bubble where plantation rules apply and thus she will never know the truth, I suggest you check her burgeoning attitude and especially yours!” Those last two words were practically hissed; as I less than a foot from her face when I heard a cashier call out for the next customer and backed away.

The nanny/au pair was amazingly interested in a distant object – an apparently very distant object as glance over her before making my purchase. The mother at least had the grace to turn beet red before I turned away from her to make my purchase and leave the store.

The entire exchange reminded me of a Formspring question (several questions in one actually), which was asked of me a couple of weeks ago.

“Do you find more overt or hidden racism with people you interact with? Do you consider any of the people you are friendly with to display racist attitudes without intending to? Do you find yourself with racist attitudes towards others?”

I blew the question off on Formspring because I felt it was too loaded a question to be answered in such a fluff forum. So I bring it here…

“Do you find more overt or hidden racism with people you interact with?”

Even living in the “melting pot” that is NYC I would be a liar to say there is no racism here. More than enough yellow cabs ignore my hails in favor of others, to prove that point alone. It is here but absolutely more hidden, subtle, at least to me. There is the ever classic “shopping while Black” which happens whenever I am in any presumed (by the company’s standard) mid-to high-end establishment. If I have a moment of niceness and hold a door where a mixed group of races will pass through (such as a movie theater), generally, it is not someone of color who forgets their manners to acknowledge my actions and at least nod in thanks. Unfortunately, these are so incredibly commonplace that I know I have come to ignore it a lot more than I should at times. It is the more unusual encounters with strangers, such as above, that generally catch me off guard and illicit a reaction.

“Do you consider any of the people you are friendly with to display racist attitudes without intending to?”

Don’t we all, at some level, without intending to? Yes, those of us who are far from politically correct in our humor, who crack jokes at everyone’s expense equally, we get that. Still, who hasn’t had a moment something not quite right slip out of the mouth about another race/ethnicity? However, out and out “Oh no you didn’t!” moments? Only one friend once said something so outlandish as a joke and honestly didn’t have a clue as to how bad it was until he saw the expression on my face. I was so aghast; I could not respond and had to walk away. The next day, when I was in better frame of mind to voice my feelings with anger, but not blind fury, I let him have it. It was an ugly conversation. I know he walked away questioning the thought process that caused the situation to occur. It turned out to be the precursor to the beginning of the end of that close friendship. We still speak, but we’ve lost something that’s not likely to ever return us to the point of being close again. Still that was the exception. Luckily, I feel I can honestly say the people I am friendly with do not.

“Do you find yourself with racist attitudes towards others?”

I really, really, really wish I could give this question a heartfelt “Absolutely not!”, but I would be somewhat lying. When I run into situations like the one with the mother and daughter mentioned above, I do hear my mother’s racist attitudes against Caucasians a little louder in the back of my mind than what is probably good for me at that moment. I know that is where the “plantation rules” snark came from when addressing the mother, as that was one of her (my mother) favorite lines. One of those lessons learned, but this one was actively taught.

No one is raised to adulthood, in a society such as ours, without hearing stereotypes and other crap about other races, ethnicities etc. It’s what is done (or not done) with those little sub-programs running in our subconscious that defines whether or not a person is racist. Overall, I can honestly say, I do try to take in any situation good or bad based on the individual involved.

What’s next, Ku Klux Klan Week?

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http://www.cnn.com/2010/POLITICS/04/07/virginia.confederate.history/index.html?hpt=T2

Seriously? Seriously?

Last month Virginia Gov. McDonnell made a proclamation to designate the month of April as Confederate History Month in Virginia. If that alone was not enough to ignite some tension in the US, the governor then added insult to potential injury, by totally omitting any reference to one of the main reasons Confederacy came to existence in the first place — slavery.

The attempt to omit any acknowledgment of the role of slavery, during a proclamation to celebrate the Confederacy, is insulting to say the very least. It would be akin to Germany wanting to hold a Shutzstaffel (more commonly known as the SS) or Swastika Celebration without acknowledging the Holocaust.

Granted this is not the first time the state of Virginia has placed this proclamation. It also is not the only southern state to do so. This is the first time any proclamation not only ignored slavery but, in this case, also white-washed the brutality of the Confederacy in the immediate years following the Civil War. It is revisionist history at its finest.

Yes, the Confederacy is very much a part of the South’s heritage, and we (Americans) acknowledge it happened. However, I do not see the need to have an entire month dedicated to it. Hell, Black History Month only has 28 days, 29 on leap years, in which to celebrate. Confederate History Month will have 30 days guaranteed. I’m sorry but there is something wrong with this beyond mere arithmetic.

Did McDonnell really, I mean really, think he would get away with it in the first place? Of course not! So whose ass was he pretending to (or perhaps outright) kissing, knowing he would have to change the verbiage?

As expected, the Governor was called to task on the omission by various groups, for reasons ranging from racial, to political and just down right insensitivity. Gov. McDonnell has since issued an apology for the omission and has stated that new language will be added to the proclamation to include slavery. Sorry, it’s too much, too little, too late motherfucker. It’s using the lube after the screwing.

I can acknowledge the Confederacy. I don’t think twice about it, as I see the Confederate flag waving proudly from various front porches, when I travel south. Maybe it’s the residue of my very southern (and yes, very racist) mother’s words still rattling in some far corner of my mind from when I was growing up but, some things just should not be “celebrated”. A part of me can’t help but wonder…

What’s next, Ku Klux Klan week?