My Black History: Day 21.

Well, look at "this." I'm blogging for my 201st time on day 21 of my Black History series and it's leap year. I have a couple of "things" to mention within today's post so here I go...

As the very last day of my own Black history month of recognition, I'm reminded about the significance of numbers. Seven as being very Holy to me. So, capping my series at 21 feels like I'm in the right place at the right time. My family consists of 3 members and by my personal calculations I've done a good "thing" here with "this."

Remember the white board, that I brought into our house which ultimately became our inspiration board? Well, it's still making good use. My youngest daughter drew a picture commemorating Black History. I'm so touched by her creativity/artistry. Black History month keeps us informed and teaches the younger generations about all the challenges we've overcome and those, which we still face as Black people in America.

"No More Segregation!!!" That's what my little girl meant.

I agree. Diversity over division. 

So, last leap year I wrote a letter to my future husband with hopes that by this leap year I'd be married. Well, I'm no one's wife, not engaged and can not honestly say, "that" I'm in a serious relationship. Still not time for me and I'm ok with "it." All in GODs timing so I'll just continue to hold onto my faith and wait for the lifemate, that He is purposely readying for only me.

My momentum for blogging is at an all time high. I look forward to these moments when I force myself to stop whatever "it" is I'm doing to turn inward and to concentrate on my own thoughts, while also, creating "this" digital journal, that I can refer to at my leisure. "It" is indeed, a very good "thing." 

"Won't stop. Can't stop. Not now."

My Black History: Day 20.

I'm honoring my lovely, Black-self on this lovely Friday. It's been quite nice reflecting on my own Black History throughout this month. Sure we have our common Black History themes annually and the reminders about who paved the way for so many of us today, which is necessary, but far too often we are persuaded to behave like, appear like, and to lead our lives like others. I have a right to turn inward and to concentrate on my own life without feeling guilty, which is exactly what I do here in "this" blog.

 I'm so glad to be back! 

Welcome to my Black present! 

My Black History: Day 18.

Welcome to my Black Present...

The night before last I finished watching a documentary on DJ Quik. TV One showcases some of the best documentaries on Black celebrities who haven't received the acclaim they deserve. Unsung, hands-down, educates me so much about many of the artists I'm a fan of.

It includes credible interviews/commentary from their family members, colleagues and close friends. I learn about their upbringing, their influences, some secrets and detailed insights about them as ordinary people. How they became stars isn't the primary focus, but of course, how they began their road to celebrity isn't omitted.

Unsung is one of my other favorite shows to record then catch up to watch when I find the time to sit still long enough "to do" so. 

#BlackEntertainmentResource

My Black History: Day 17.

Dysfunctional Family...

Growing up in a family with accepted dysfunction has kind of warped my perception about my place in mine. While I'm in the process of evaluating what my family has been, what they are, and what I hope family for me will become, I've decided, "that" I will not accept dysfunction as the norm any longer.

When I was a little girl, I always knew "it" was wrong for someone to offend me without making some type of amends. Yes, I forgive, but no, I don't forget. I'm a bit slow forgiving, but I do eventually, come around.

I'm thinking heavily about "this" subject matter because the only people whom I've allowed to remain active in my life, who've offended me without taking any kind of action to resolve the issues, are none other than... Yep; family.

My mother was the queen of dysfunction. She would provoke me, push every trigger-button and be completely aware, that she was being offensive. We'd get into "it" quite aggressively then part ways, whether it'd be her hanging up the phone in my face or me walking out of her home vowing to never return. So many countless occasions I am able to recall.

Then out of the blue with no apology and no insinuation towards one, she'd call casually as if nothing ever happened, to discuss something else or ask about something concerning her grandchildren and I'd follow suit. Or, I'd have a need and call for her assistance. No apology from me; just a request and if she obliged, then I was happy and we were cool again.

Just another unresolved issue swept under the rug...

Far too many conversations were never had between my mother and I. To this very day, I cut people out of my life without any explanation for doing so. I just go. Detach and keep "it" moving. "This" behavior had exclusively been shown to acquaintances and friends, but now I also, extend it to family.

I realize, that I allowed my mother to be as she was towards me because simply, she was my mother. I found it very difficult attempting to omit her from my life while she was alive because she raised me and I grew compassion for her once I became a mother. A single mother just like her and when my brother was murdered, I vowed to never leave her regardless of any offense she subjected me and/or my children to.

I kept that promise, but now "that" she's an Angel looking over us I'm demonstrating how I will not accept the same dysfunction from anyone else. No one. Not from my children, no best friend, no boyfriend/husband; absolutely no one. Granted, I may be a little dysfunctional myself, but I'm working attentively to improve some of my worst attributes. "It" begins with acknowledgement and trust, I'm very aware.

My extended family hasn't been much more than a holiday family. Hear from them for a holiday gathering invite and that's about "it." There's a class divide and my mama's little family of her own, being my brother, me, and our children seemingly fall low on the totem pole. I've grown to resent "this" and honestly, still do. So guess what?

Darn right! I cut them out of my life and do not fool with them period. Why? The LORD gave us the ability to choose and I choose to allow only those who choose to demonstrate, that they want to to be present in my life and accept me as I am. "This" is my choice and I can live with "it."

I am breaking the chains of dysfunctional acceptance in my family. Come or don't come at all, but if you do come, come correct and honorably, or be dismissed. Pressing forward, keeping "it" moving through "this" journey called life with the family bloodline or with a family-designed.

#MyPerspective

My Black History: Day 16.

My Lovely Little Family!!!

"This" is our Black Present.

My Black History: Day 15.

If there's any Black celebrity or public figure I'd like to honor during this blog series, it's the late Johnny L. Cochran, Jr.

Of course, I remember the infamous OJ Simpson trial, however, what's an even better recollection of mine regarding "this" great lawyer, is the fact that he was a commencement speaker at my high school graduation. 

I didn't graduate from a traditional high school. I graduated from Maxine Waters Employment Preparation Center in 1997; two years later than I should've, but still, I did "it."

Another personal tie to "this" Black greatness of a human being is "that" my eldest daughter graduated from a middle school, which was renamed after him called Johnny L. Cochran. Jr. Middle School.  

...I'll have to go on a hunt through my old photos, that were printed almost 20-years ago to find one of him at the podium speaking on "that" high achievement day. 

My Black History: Day 14.

I don't watch much television, but I have a couple of series that I follow on the OWN cable channel, executive produced by Tyler Perry. 

"The Haves and the Have Nots"

"If Loving You is Wrong"

I really like "Love Thy Neighbor" too, but I've missed quite a few episodes.

Welcome to my Black Present.

My Black History: Day 13.

One of my favorite radio stations is the one, the only, Radio FREE 102.3 KJLH!!! 

KINDNESS
JOY
LOVE
&
HAPPINESS


They do Black Radio well and I love it!!!

My Black History: Day 12.

I don't wanna be anybody else

But me

I won't tolerate anyone, not nobody

Treating me without dignity

One may find me too tough

Too strong

Some just don't know how far

I've come along

Everybody ain't my friend

And "that" is fine

But there will be no Black end

Never, in any lifetime 

So, just let us be

As we highlight Black History

It shall never leave our memories

That we are root contributors to world history

My Black History: Day 7.

I'm bouta be brief and finna goeta bed in a lil bit.

I ohno bout dem, but showl know lots bout me.

I be tryna do my best like I'm spoesta.

Language is an art. No one should be made to feel less equal than others because we speak differently. I, along with many of my friends had great elementary school teachers. We were fortunate.

My mother had a vast vocabulary, but still spoke in slang at home. So do I. Most of the women in my family mastered the art of grammatical English and standardized speech is something, "that" I'm very familiar with. When I was a little girl I had a "thing" for the dictionary. I still refer to the dictionary daily at some point or another. Either to check my own usage/spelling of a word or to better comprehend something I heard, but didn't quite understand.

In my lifetime, I've been referred to as "ghetto" just because I speak slang. Some have also accused me of speaking "proper" or talking "white." If I must be hit with an identifier-label, what does "this" really make me?

Prophetto/Ghetroper?! Ghettite/Whietto?! Laughing out loud... Heehee-Haha!

As I continue to teach my children right from wrong, I will also ensure, that they remain proud of whom we are as Black-Americans, but remember to never allow society, insiders/outsiders, or anything to box them into any ONE category.

Black people are so much better than what's thought, what's said, what's heard, what's felt, and seen by the mean. 

My Black History: Day 2

I am proud to be a strong Black woman. It's taken me years to fully accept where I come from and how I was raised. In fact, I'm still settling into the total person I've grown into.

My mother moved our family all around Los Angeles. We were never homeless, however, we lived in predominantly, all Black and Mexican neighborhoods where we witnessed not only homelessness, but prostitution, heavy gang activity, and all sorts of misfortune. In these same neighborhoods, is where we also observed several miracles and gained roots of incomparable strength to live/thrive among "the survival of the fittest." 

To be blunt about "it" I was raised in the ghetto.

I had the best childhood outside of my home. My childhood friends also agree that we experienced some of our best memories growing up in the ghetto or what's commonly now referred to as, the hood. Now, when I was a little girl growing up in these highly disadvantaged neighborhoods, I didn't know there was an identifier-label placed upon our communities by outsiders and insiders who moved out, then chose to forget where they originally came from. 

Not all, but many insiders are ashamed of their upbringing and sugar-coat or flat-out lie about how/where they were raised. Outsiders usually speak from ignorance and fear when making derogatory statements about Black people from the hood or the hood, itself. 

I had an insider experience during my middle-school years. For the second half of my 7th grade year, my mother got a permit to transfer from the school district because she worked at the Veteran's Administration Memorial Center (VAMC) in West Los Angeles, which enabled my way out of the hood (for at least 8 hours during the week), while I was fighting often and being threatened daily at my home school. My brother experienced something similar during his middle-school years and when my mother didn't take action; he did, by joining a gang in order to have a support group when he was being threatened and jumped on by other gang members. I may have followed suit had I been forced to remain in my home school without any other options.

Thank GOD for His Holy intervention!!!

The new school was so different from my home school. The campus was clean. It was a diverse group of students. Here, is where I first remember interacting with kids whom were born in several different countries and spoke various languages. The competition between our egos was more about intellect than appearance.

Truth be told, I probably appeared like I lived in and came from the hood based upon my demeanor. I recall feeling embarrassed sometimes about where I lived versus my classmates. Some of my friends rode the school bus home to their neighborhoods on the westside. Back then, I so badly wanted to be a "westside-girl." A westside Black girl. Why?

Well, most of them were bourgeoisie. They lived in cleaner neighborhoods and had bigger homes with their own bedrooms; some had their own bathrooms. Their parents were married or divorced and many had relationships with their fathers. They were involved in extracurricular/social activities outside of school and home. I thought they had "it" made and "that" caused me to experience some moments of envy. 

Self-criticism and unfair comparisons about my family and others began to creep into my thoughts.

I wasn't totally honest about where I really came from with everyone who asked. Shamefully, I'm able to say now, I behaved like the insider who wished she could rewrite her history. "It" is more than satisfying accepting all that contributes towards who I am right now, today.

Gladly, I remember me.

America probably wishes too, that she could go back in time and approach uniting the states and we, as a people, differently.

...To be continued on Day 3.

My Black History: Day 1

Defining My Black

What am I? Black or African American? 

I've debated with folks about trying to differentiate the two, but If I'm forced to choose, I can tell you.

I AM A BLACK WOMAN. 

To date, I haven't been interested enough in tracing my family tree to its original roots, but with knowledge passed on by some of my elders from my mother's side of the family, we're linked to the Cherokee Indian Tribe. I don't know a single African member of my family. It's no one's fault. Just a fact. 

The Black vs. African American argument can get complicated, but for me it's quite simple. I won't state it here, but I can't omit how the "N-word" plays a significant role in "this" as well. I'll explain further.

In a former Cultural Pluralism class I took at CSUDH  one of my classmates got into a heated discussion with our professor about his personal experiences interacting with Africans in America who were originally born in the Motherland. He said, that he was looked down upon by Africans as an African-American man born in America and because of "this" he doesn't consider himself African-American, but a Black-American. He went on and on about how Black-Americans are perceived by Africans as ignorant Americans who don't know their history without any real connection to Africa.

Of course, his experiences don't define mine, but Africans, African-Americans and Black folks, have a continuous problem, that other's can't fix for any of us. The onus is on us. There are no ifs, buts, or any way around "this."

I wish there wasn't so much residue still present from the times of slavery. I wish "that" none of us possessed the "(house) N-word or (field) N-word" mentality; let alone, the existence of the word in any dictionary. Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream and I have wishes.

Blackest vs. the not-so Black = N-word vs. African-American.

We divide ourselves. I recall being in the 7th grade when I first learned, that I was a "light-skinned" Black girl. Before then, I only knew "that" I was Black and stemmed from a Black family. Being labeled as such brought on a lot of confusion and the need to defend myself as a real Black girl, but why? 

How dare anyone discount my belonging to Blackness, simply because I have lighter skin? That's how I felt then and still, now. I'm more attracted to darker skin, however, Black is Black as far as I'm concerned.

I'm not mixed; both my parents: Black. It's not just "something" I identify as. "It" is how I was born.

One of my childhood bestfriend's is a dark-skinned chocolate beauty. I used to have a hard time believing her when she said her mother treated her lighter-skinned siblings better. Until, her children shared their own experiences with me about how differently they're treated by their grandmother. "It" seems unreal, but unfortunately, it is and her family isn't the only Black family guilty of influencing the division present in our culture.

Black people are an ethnic group. African-Americans are those whom haven't traced their roots of origin, but were born here in America and simply accept the identifier-label as a Black individual. The exception: Africans born to American parents or those who are actually mixed, having one African parent and the other, American. All Black folks regardless of their origin, were referred to as "N-words" at some point in history and even in some cases still, today. 

Do I use the "N-word?" When speaking in slang, which is my native tongue, and only in conversations with people who comprehend my language. For others, I'm aware "it" offends, therefore, I exercise courtesy and consideration of their feelings by refraining from using "it" in their presence. 

Words are as powerful as we make them and allow them to be. I am much more concerned with how people treat me versus what's said. Words have meanings, but don't define anything substantial without action.

Back to the "N-word?" I had an argument a few years ago with a man I was dating who tried to convince me, that there's a difference between a "N-word" and being Black. In a nutshell, all the examples he used to make references to what a "N-word" is offended me on several levels because I fell into some of those categories. He wasn't bold enough to say "it" to me directly, but he insinuated that "N-words" come from disadvantaged backgrounds, generations of ignorance, and aren't capable of acclimation. Remember, slang is my native tongue so what he was attempting to state or how I interpreted "it" was simply, that "N-words" come from, live-in and act "ghetto." Not Black people.

...To be continued on Day 2.

 

A Shift. Must Occur.

I've begun "something" that I've been considering doing for a while now. Yes, I destroyed some CDs from my extensive music collection. I have more to get rid of, but I'm proud of my start.

Over the weekend, I went to my friend's mix-tape release party in downtown Los Angeles. Dawn Gun and I have been homegirls since 1992. Time has run its course and we have our own lives, but what remains is a shared love for our friendship regardless how much time passes in between our meetings.

I thoroughly enjoyed being in the midst of The Sistem Crew this past Sunday evening. Dawn Gun is a collaborative member in the all female emcee's group. I'm so proud of her for staying on track with her dreams of becoming an emcee.

The difference between she and I is, that I lost focus with my personal pursuit of accomplishing some of my dreams. I stopped singing all together. I still have a voice, but my desire to use it as before has changed. I'll allow it to accessorize everything else that I'm about to embark upon.

I am ready to be part of a needed change. I realize now, that if I continue to play music with messages belittling women's worth, I'll never have the confidence to define all the woman I am. I'll also need to be a better example for my two daughters. No longer will I purchase, listen to, or promote music that doesn't positively inspire me. It makes no sense to continue doing so.

Besides, there are so many talented artists delivering positive messages through their music. I am not the only one who realizes that the negative instructions being given in some of these songs are being followed by many of our youth. We can't blame the radio stations for playing the music they play, however, we can collectively, be more aggressive with creating positive music to inundate them with.

Please read (entirely) the letter that Sinéad O'conner wrote on March 22, 2012. I thank her for her bold statements and taking time to help encourage our youth. If she can stand up against what's blatantly wrong, what's stopping the rest of us from making righteous contributions to society?