Cocoa. Mocha. Cappuccino. Caramel. Chocolate.
These are just a few descriptions of the color brown and the words people use to describe the various skin tones of African-Americans. I think of them as terms of endearment that are not only used to describe foods and drinks we digest, but more or less the flavors of my people. All of them are sweet to the tooth and appealing to the eye (which we are and so much more!).
I can't express how much I love my people. It wasn't until about three years ago I actually sat down and listened intently to the lyrics of India.Arie's song "Brown Skin" (one of my faves by her--gotta love it!). In the song, she poetically depicts her love for a brotha. I have to admit, I fall more in love with the song every time I hear it! Apparently, I fell asleep on another song with India.Arie (and Musiq Soulchild) entitled "Chocolate High"--this is my new cut! :)
Our skin colors represent a spectrum of hues and our hair textures vary, which we (especially black women) can sport in any style (whether it's shaved off, worn in a natural, braided or twisted, or a part of an extension creation). We do it and we do it well! The beauty of it is that it's all beautiful!
I went to an elite nightclub last weekend (a week ago tonight) and I was blown away by the beauty represented in that place. It was a Soul Train Halloween party, DJ Mick Boogie was bumpin' the beats, and the aura was indescribable. You could feel the love in that place. I asked my sister, "Where has this place been all my life? We have to come back!" Maybe I need to get out more often, make more time for myself and take a break from work every once in a while. That place was a pleasant breath of fresh air and a reminder of who we are: a strong, vibrant and beautiful group of people kissed by the sun.
I love my melanin. Oil of Olay has a slogan, "Love the skin you're in". That applies to more than just the complexion of your skin. It goes deeper into the soul and flows through the mind.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
The New Face of Black TV Programming--A Breath of Fresh Air
I must start this entry by saying that the intentions of my blog are to inform and to create an awareness about issues within the African-American community. I would also love to celebrate the accomplishments and progressions of my community (congratulations again to President Obama for his Nobel Peace Prize). I don't intend to dwell on negative aspects, but some things need to be brought to the light in order for change to occur. Now that I have that off my chest, I can proceed to discuss the original topic for this posting--the new face (or at least new to me) of black programming.
Right now, I am watching Luther Vandross & Cheryl Lynn sing one of the best love songs over "If This World Were Mine" on Centric (formerly BETJ), an African-American entertainment channel. I have to admit I have tears in my eyes, and for more than one reason. First of all, it's still hard to believe Luther is no longer with us. Another reason is that I'm listening to the sweet sounds of what true love songs used to sound like (but I digress). Perhaps, the main reason is I feel touched there is still positive black programming out there; praise Jesus!
It wasn't until I moved to Chicago two years ago that I discovered some of cable's best-kept secrets: BETJ (now Centric) and TVOne. TVOne is another urban TV channel, but its programming features more television shows and movies, and Centric is the music channel. For a long time, all we had was BET (and for some throughout the country, like my mom in Mississippi that's still all they have to watch). I'm not slamming BET because back in the day, that channel was the bomb (Video Soul and Teen Summit--need I say more? BET Nightly News--can I get a witness?). My question is--what happened to these shows? And other programming like it? I support my community, but I have to say BET has dropped the ball a bit in many of its choices in programming. I still tune in every once and a while to 106 & Park for the latest "hits" and watch "The Game" reruns, but for the most part I stick to the other two channels for my entertainment.
I have to commend Centric (BETJ) and TVOne for a job-well done for their programming and for just existing. The old and new movies, the television shows (dramas and comedies), the music videos, etc. truly make my heart smile and make me proud again of black televsion. You picked up where others (unfortunately) dropped the ball.
Right now, I am watching Luther Vandross & Cheryl Lynn sing one of the best love songs over "If This World Were Mine" on Centric (formerly BETJ), an African-American entertainment channel. I have to admit I have tears in my eyes, and for more than one reason. First of all, it's still hard to believe Luther is no longer with us. Another reason is that I'm listening to the sweet sounds of what true love songs used to sound like (but I digress). Perhaps, the main reason is I feel touched there is still positive black programming out there; praise Jesus!
It wasn't until I moved to Chicago two years ago that I discovered some of cable's best-kept secrets: BETJ (now Centric) and TVOne. TVOne is another urban TV channel, but its programming features more television shows and movies, and Centric is the music channel. For a long time, all we had was BET (and for some throughout the country, like my mom in Mississippi that's still all they have to watch). I'm not slamming BET because back in the day, that channel was the bomb (Video Soul and Teen Summit--need I say more? BET Nightly News--can I get a witness?). My question is--what happened to these shows? And other programming like it? I support my community, but I have to say BET has dropped the ball a bit in many of its choices in programming. I still tune in every once and a while to 106 & Park for the latest "hits" and watch "The Game" reruns, but for the most part I stick to the other two channels for my entertainment.
I have to commend Centric (BETJ) and TVOne for a job-well done for their programming and for just existing. The old and new movies, the television shows (dramas and comedies), the music videos, etc. truly make my heart smile and make me proud again of black televsion. You picked up where others (unfortunately) dropped the ball.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
It's All About the Pink, Take Care of Yourselves Sisters!
A few things come to mind when October rolls around: my sister's birthday, my best friend's birthday and most importantly, Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Unfortunately, the latter wasn't a part of my reality until December 2005, my senior year of undergrad. As I sat with my mommy on my bed days after I completed my fall semester finals, I listened as she proceeded to tell me a lump was found on her breast. For one of the first time in my life, I was speechless. And I felt completely helpless.
She proceeded to tell me she discovered it one day while she was in the shower, not long after she was told by her doctor her mammogram indicated she was okay. So, this meant (fortunately) the cancer was caught in its first stage, but I wasn't hearing that at the time. All I heard was there was cancer in my mother's body. My mommy. The woman who was my backbone, my everything (in a moral sense) had cancer. Was she going to die? What made it more interesting was she had known for at least a month and didn't tell me. Actually, everyone in my family knew, but she swore them all to secrecy because she knows how sensitive I am and that I had finals approaching.
I instantly grabbed her hand and told her WE would beat this. She told me her surgery (a lumpectomy) was scheduled to occur within the next week.
And we did beat it.
About a week later, we traveled to the hospital and I waited for her as she underwent her procedure. I sat in the waiting room with others as they waited for their loved ones. I saw doctors enter the room to tell some their loved ones had passed and was instantly brought back to the moment less than a year prior when my grandmother (my mom's mother) died, and I wanted to flee away. I was snapped back to the present when my mother's last name was called and I was directed to meet my mommy in recovery. Thank you Jesus! So, I watched her sleep, ate hospital food and watched old episodes of Cops as I slept off and on on a couch next to her hospital bed.
The next day, we traveled back home where her recovery began and Nurse/Mommy Iya came in mode. I slapped her hand every time she tried to lift more than the doctors said and cut my eye at her every time she stayed on her feet longer than necessary while I was home for Christmas break.
She started her six and a half week radiation treatment in February, which ended in March, the week of my Spring Break from school. Most girls I went to school with were going to the beach, but I wanted nothing more than to travel with my mom every day during her last week of her radiation treatments. She was indeed a trooper! Her hospital trip included an hour and a half drive to AND from the hospital AND the treatment itself, with the most positive attitude! Wow...
So, about a year later, I was contemplating another tattoo, which is important to me because it's permanent. So, I kept thinking--what do I want? And just like that, one of my dear friends suggested it--a pink breast cancer ribbon! Genius! So, the next trip to see my mommy, that's what I got, and it's a friendly reminder of her and all women who fight this disease.
It wasn't until I started conducting research on the topic (because of my mom and for articles I've written) that I realized how prevalent this disease is among African-American women. According to the Center for Disease Control, breast cancer is the second most common cause of cancer among black women.
I thank God for my mommy every single day. I thank God for telling her at 59 years old to trust her "woman's intuition" and get checked out.
This is a lesson to all of us to keep mindful of our health. We're never too young or too old to do so.
As much as we sometimes hate to admit it, Mommy does indeed know best.
She proceeded to tell me she discovered it one day while she was in the shower, not long after she was told by her doctor her mammogram indicated she was okay. So, this meant (fortunately) the cancer was caught in its first stage, but I wasn't hearing that at the time. All I heard was there was cancer in my mother's body. My mommy. The woman who was my backbone, my everything (in a moral sense) had cancer. Was she going to die? What made it more interesting was she had known for at least a month and didn't tell me. Actually, everyone in my family knew, but she swore them all to secrecy because she knows how sensitive I am and that I had finals approaching.
I instantly grabbed her hand and told her WE would beat this. She told me her surgery (a lumpectomy) was scheduled to occur within the next week.
And we did beat it.
About a week later, we traveled to the hospital and I waited for her as she underwent her procedure. I sat in the waiting room with others as they waited for their loved ones. I saw doctors enter the room to tell some their loved ones had passed and was instantly brought back to the moment less than a year prior when my grandmother (my mom's mother) died, and I wanted to flee away. I was snapped back to the present when my mother's last name was called and I was directed to meet my mommy in recovery. Thank you Jesus! So, I watched her sleep, ate hospital food and watched old episodes of Cops as I slept off and on on a couch next to her hospital bed.
The next day, we traveled back home where her recovery began and Nurse/Mommy Iya came in mode. I slapped her hand every time she tried to lift more than the doctors said and cut my eye at her every time she stayed on her feet longer than necessary while I was home for Christmas break.
She started her six and a half week radiation treatment in February, which ended in March, the week of my Spring Break from school. Most girls I went to school with were going to the beach, but I wanted nothing more than to travel with my mom every day during her last week of her radiation treatments. She was indeed a trooper! Her hospital trip included an hour and a half drive to AND from the hospital AND the treatment itself, with the most positive attitude! Wow...
So, about a year later, I was contemplating another tattoo, which is important to me because it's permanent. So, I kept thinking--what do I want? And just like that, one of my dear friends suggested it--a pink breast cancer ribbon! Genius! So, the next trip to see my mommy, that's what I got, and it's a friendly reminder of her and all women who fight this disease.
It wasn't until I started conducting research on the topic (because of my mom and for articles I've written) that I realized how prevalent this disease is among African-American women. According to the Center for Disease Control, breast cancer is the second most common cause of cancer among black women.
I thank God for my mommy every single day. I thank God for telling her at 59 years old to trust her "woman's intuition" and get checked out.
This is a lesson to all of us to keep mindful of our health. We're never too young or too old to do so.
As much as we sometimes hate to admit it, Mommy does indeed know best.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A Little Less Talk, A Lot More Action (no pun intended, or is it...)
Scholar, actor and author Hill Harper launched his third book, The Conversation: How Black Men and Women Can Build Loving, Trusting Relationships, last week. The tiltle of the book speaks for itself. But the question is, how can this happen? Is it too far-fetched to believe we can mend the broken dynamic in relationships in our community?
Couples like President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama give people like me hope (no pun intended) that it still exists today: black love. Movies like some of my all-time faves Brown Sugar and Love Jones portray that fantasy that so many of us can't grasp, but desire and yearn for it to be our reality. Why can't we grasp it? Perhaps it's because we've never experienced it, or we've never seen it.
But, the sad truth is our community, our family, is indeed hurting. And that hurt transcends into our relationships with each other: our children, our parents, our friends and this case, our lovers and soulmates. So, how can we imulate something we can't see or touch? I believe some of the greatest teachers in life are examples, and the best ones are through experiences.
I didn't write this blog to provide answers because to be honest, I don't have any. I, like Hill, want to start (or continue if you will) a dialogue about this topic. I speak from the point-of-view as a young, successful, talented, spiritual, sophisticated and beautiful black lady who worries about her brothers and sisters. I speak as someone who wants to know how more action can be implemented into all this "conversation"...
Couples like President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama give people like me hope (no pun intended) that it still exists today: black love. Movies like some of my all-time faves Brown Sugar and Love Jones portray that fantasy that so many of us can't grasp, but desire and yearn for it to be our reality. Why can't we grasp it? Perhaps it's because we've never experienced it, or we've never seen it.
But, the sad truth is our community, our family, is indeed hurting. And that hurt transcends into our relationships with each other: our children, our parents, our friends and this case, our lovers and soulmates. So, how can we imulate something we can't see or touch? I believe some of the greatest teachers in life are examples, and the best ones are through experiences.
I didn't write this blog to provide answers because to be honest, I don't have any. I, like Hill, want to start (or continue if you will) a dialogue about this topic. I speak from the point-of-view as a young, successful, talented, spiritual, sophisticated and beautiful black lady who worries about her brothers and sisters. I speak as someone who wants to know how more action can be implemented into all this "conversation"...
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The Infamous Age-Old Question: Does Life Imitate Art or Does Art Imitate Life?
I can go in circles about the question of whether or not life imitates art or vice versa, but I won't. Just for tonight, I decide to stop straddling the fence and actually pick a side. And perhaps I'll stick with it.
After pondering over this, I've come to the conclusion that art DEFINITELY imitates life. Why you ask? Think about it. Almost every book and movie script is derived from an idea, a thought. Where? In someone's mind. Therefore, these ideas (with some fiction work, perhaps some exaggerations) form into creative pieces of work (aka art).
Here's a perfect example. The movie Brown Sugar is one of my all-time favorite movies and love stories. I think it's fair to say it's on the list under "good movies" for several people. I mean, it's not an Oscar-winning film, but it's an age-old love story about how two best friends grow up together and fall in love with each other (if you haven't seen the movie, it's a great one!). How many people can identify with that? I know several who do and would dare say there are many more out there. Sanaa Lathan and Taye Diggs portrayed that unidentifying love between two people that transcended relationships/engagements (and even a marriage).
It's virtually the same scenario in My Best Friend's Wedding or Made of Honor, except there's a different ending. Who couldn't empathize with Julia Roberts' or Patrick Dempsey's characters, the desperate best friend who would stop at nothing to win back who they thought were their one true love?
You've gotta love a good, old-fashioned love story that gives you hope that it could happen to you. The point is these movies started out as ideas (and possible experiences) from someone. What's funny is that this topic is the subject of many more films, books and songs. So, it has to be something that many people identify with on some level (whether they've experienced it or know someone who did).
The same can go for an array of topics. I can see the validity in the other argument that life imitates art, but for now, I'll stick on this side of the debate.
After pondering over this, I've come to the conclusion that art DEFINITELY imitates life. Why you ask? Think about it. Almost every book and movie script is derived from an idea, a thought. Where? In someone's mind. Therefore, these ideas (with some fiction work, perhaps some exaggerations) form into creative pieces of work (aka art).
Here's a perfect example. The movie Brown Sugar is one of my all-time favorite movies and love stories. I think it's fair to say it's on the list under "good movies" for several people. I mean, it's not an Oscar-winning film, but it's an age-old love story about how two best friends grow up together and fall in love with each other (if you haven't seen the movie, it's a great one!). How many people can identify with that? I know several who do and would dare say there are many more out there. Sanaa Lathan and Taye Diggs portrayed that unidentifying love between two people that transcended relationships/engagements (and even a marriage).
It's virtually the same scenario in My Best Friend's Wedding or Made of Honor, except there's a different ending. Who couldn't empathize with Julia Roberts' or Patrick Dempsey's characters, the desperate best friend who would stop at nothing to win back who they thought were their one true love?
You've gotta love a good, old-fashioned love story that gives you hope that it could happen to you. The point is these movies started out as ideas (and possible experiences) from someone. What's funny is that this topic is the subject of many more films, books and songs. So, it has to be something that many people identify with on some level (whether they've experienced it or know someone who did).
The same can go for an array of topics. I can see the validity in the other argument that life imitates art, but for now, I'll stick on this side of the debate.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
A Tribute to a Pioneer
It wasn't until graduate school that I heard of her, my first year of graduate school to be exact. It was the irony of the similarity in her last name of one of my fellow grad friends that jolted my memory of her name when I read about articles about her this past May.
This year, Memorial Day weekend commemorated 25 years of the death of Chicago journalism pioneer Leanita McClain. She was 32 years old when she died from her own hands of an overdose of prescription medication. Unfortunately, she was another person who suffered from depression in the African-American community. Although she was part of the elite (the first African-American and the second woman to sit on the editorial board for the Chicago Tribune), she simply wasn't happy--and that was that. Not all the brownstones in Hyde Park or trips around the world could bring joy to McClain. Whoever money and prestige can't buy you happiness may have been on to something.
Upon my reading of the articles in tribute to her, I spent the next two hours researching every article on the Internet I could find about her. I shushed my sister as she greeted me when she walked through the doors from work. I wanted to read more about her. I had to read more about her. Obsessed is what my sis called me, I prefer to think of it more as intrigued.
It was a chance meeting at my part-time job and the ways God aligned the stars one day that blessed me with the opportunity to meet her best friend and fellow colleague, Mr. Monroe Anderson. We met a week later for coffee and discussed her as a journalist and as a person. I was linked to other contacts who knew her and spoke with them as well. But, after speaking with these individuals, I continue to search for that one infamous question that they nor any news article could tell me--WHY? Why would an intelligent, successful, beautiful (who seemed vibrant), compassionate, YOUNG woman end her own life? It's a question I wondered about as well with the late and great songstress Phyllis Hyman (and still wonder about)...Unfortunately, I think it's a question I'll never get the answer to. It's not as if they can come back and tell me themselves...
If Ms. McClain were here, I would thank her. I would thank her for what she did for journalism. I would pay gratitude to her for being that only black woman in board rooms and in her Northwestern classroom, which paved for the way for people like me. I would thank for being the voice of the common folk in Chicago. I would pick apart her brain as to what she thinks about President Barack Obama and the simiarities and differences in his election to that of the late Mayor Harold Washington. I would ask her about her writing techniques and why shw wrote such a charged and daring piece in her infamous essay, "How Chicago Taught Me To Hate Whites".
So, instead I'll pay it forward and follow my dreams as a writer and continue to be the voice for those who don't have one.
This year, Memorial Day weekend commemorated 25 years of the death of Chicago journalism pioneer Leanita McClain. She was 32 years old when she died from her own hands of an overdose of prescription medication. Unfortunately, she was another person who suffered from depression in the African-American community. Although she was part of the elite (the first African-American and the second woman to sit on the editorial board for the Chicago Tribune), she simply wasn't happy--and that was that. Not all the brownstones in Hyde Park or trips around the world could bring joy to McClain. Whoever money and prestige can't buy you happiness may have been on to something.
Upon my reading of the articles in tribute to her, I spent the next two hours researching every article on the Internet I could find about her. I shushed my sister as she greeted me when she walked through the doors from work. I wanted to read more about her. I had to read more about her. Obsessed is what my sis called me, I prefer to think of it more as intrigued.
It was a chance meeting at my part-time job and the ways God aligned the stars one day that blessed me with the opportunity to meet her best friend and fellow colleague, Mr. Monroe Anderson. We met a week later for coffee and discussed her as a journalist and as a person. I was linked to other contacts who knew her and spoke with them as well. But, after speaking with these individuals, I continue to search for that one infamous question that they nor any news article could tell me--WHY? Why would an intelligent, successful, beautiful (who seemed vibrant), compassionate, YOUNG woman end her own life? It's a question I wondered about as well with the late and great songstress Phyllis Hyman (and still wonder about)...Unfortunately, I think it's a question I'll never get the answer to. It's not as if they can come back and tell me themselves...
If Ms. McClain were here, I would thank her. I would thank her for what she did for journalism. I would pay gratitude to her for being that only black woman in board rooms and in her Northwestern classroom, which paved for the way for people like me. I would thank for being the voice of the common folk in Chicago. I would pick apart her brain as to what she thinks about President Barack Obama and the simiarities and differences in his election to that of the late Mayor Harold Washington. I would ask her about her writing techniques and why shw wrote such a charged and daring piece in her infamous essay, "How Chicago Taught Me To Hate Whites".
So, instead I'll pay it forward and follow my dreams as a writer and continue to be the voice for those who don't have one.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
I Just Can't Escape Ignorance, No Matter Where I Go!
As I completed my evening cleaning, I decided to wander on Facebook for a while (surprise, surprise LOL). As I look on one of my friend's wall, what do I happen to see? A profile picture of one of her friends that depicts Hitler with a swastika one on half of the pic and President Barack Obama with an American flag on the other half. But, the kicker is the title underneath. It reads: "Same Shit, Different Asshole". Wow...
So, I'm kind of speechless at the moment. I mean, comparing President Obama to Hitler--really? Seriously? I knew people were ignorant, but geez that's just plain hateful!
I feel sorry for the individual whose profile picture it is, but in a way I feel angry. REALLY ANGRY. I know everyone is entitled to his or her opinion (in regards to politics, religion, etc.), but why continue to pass around the ignorance? It's no secret to anyone who knows me is aware of my admiration and respect for President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. I realize I need to develop tough skin in regards to the strong (and unreasonable) criticism he and his family face what seems like DAILY! Don't get me started on this birth certificate business (I digress). I can respect people who are skeptic, but it's a complete different ball game to be full of spite and venom!
He's been in office for less than a year and Bush was given eight. You do the math...
The point is I know President Obama is not perfect. But, he makes sense! Much more sense than our previous leader. He's real, he's refreshing and he's hopeful. People need that right now!
I need that right now...
So, I'm kind of speechless at the moment. I mean, comparing President Obama to Hitler--really? Seriously? I knew people were ignorant, but geez that's just plain hateful!
I feel sorry for the individual whose profile picture it is, but in a way I feel angry. REALLY ANGRY. I know everyone is entitled to his or her opinion (in regards to politics, religion, etc.), but why continue to pass around the ignorance? It's no secret to anyone who knows me is aware of my admiration and respect for President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama. I realize I need to develop tough skin in regards to the strong (and unreasonable) criticism he and his family face what seems like DAILY! Don't get me started on this birth certificate business (I digress). I can respect people who are skeptic, but it's a complete different ball game to be full of spite and venom!
He's been in office for less than a year and Bush was given eight. You do the math...
The point is I know President Obama is not perfect. But, he makes sense! Much more sense than our previous leader. He's real, he's refreshing and he's hopeful. People need that right now!
I need that right now...
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