The Blacker The Berry

Just the other day, I read an article on theroot.com about Halle Berry's statement that she considers her mixed race daughter to be black. Apparently this created a bit of a stir within circles.  I'm not sure which ones, but somewhere, someone has an issue with it.


Race is the final frontier - and it's not going anywhere, anytime soon. It is not enough for one to identify and "label" one's self  - now we're having to defend our label. Those who consider themselves of pure race, unmixed blood might be surprised what they would discover should they become a guest on the show "Who Do You Think You Are", or Henry Louis Gates' "Faces of America". I like to joke and say I'm mixed too, with black and blacker. But truly, while my father's side is straight uncut motherland product, my maternal grandmother was a Caucasian and Black mixed (of African ancestry) Guyanese by way of Barbados and my maternal grandfather had East Indian (Madras),  Black (African ancestry) and Caucasian blood.  My maternal grandmother's family referred to their offspring as "baccra" (Caucasian and Black). My maternal grandfather's family referred to their offspring as coolie-dougla - let's put a pin on that. In the islands, Trinidad & Guyana in particular, which are over 50% East Indian in population, this term is used quite frequently. It is both a label of pride and offense. Pride because it means you are mixed with East Indian blood (which gives your "softer hair", "clean skin", and somehow elevated status in society). Offense, because the term "coolie" is the derogatory equivalent of "nigger" in the United States. However, as it relates to miscegenation in the islands, that term is a-ok.  Relatives have told me that my skin is smooth because of my coolie blood. All offspring that have been born to my maternal grandparent's lineage are proudly proclaimed "coolie-dougla chi'ren". Further, I've been prompted by one aunt in particular to go back to Guyana and find a nice coolie man. Gotta' resurrect that blood. Can't let this hair and skin thing die out, ya' know. 


Looking back, I believe that my darkness, and in outsiders eyes, unquestionable belonging to the black race was a gift. It NEVER was an issue. No one struggled with how I defined myself, nor did they struggle in how to define me. Even though my blood is mixed, I never struggled with identity, never questioned who I was. That's not to say I didn't feel "out of style" with the interracial shenanigans my people heap upon one another (see my article "Good Hair"). In high school there were a few lighter skinned blacks who would deny their blackness and would label themselves any garden variety of things - but never any of which were black. They were able to get away with it because I could have cared less and the white students didn't know any better. Nevertheless, it always puzzled me. What was so bad about being black?


There has been plenty of debate about whether the election of Barack Obama has propelled America into a post-racial society. I don't even really understand what that's supposed to mean. I googled it and found that "A true definition is undoubtedly hard to come by, as the term and connotations of the term are dubious. The idea of a post-racial society, in its most basic form, is a society in which race is no longer significant or important". Race not important? Surely you jest. What about all those census forms, EEO questionnaires, skin lightening products, lip injections, weaves, wigs and booty implants? Race may be less relevant to those born in the last 30 years, but it is STILL relevant. Plus, we've got a good share of old school Jim Crow aficionados hanging with the baby boomer Jim Crow contingency, welcoming the New Jim Crow recruits joining the the ranks. Helloooooooo tea party? The true level of absurd racism that exists in the good ole USA has never been more apparent than since the campaign, election and presidency of Barack Hussein Obama. 


The challenge with issues of race is fundamental. Speaking as a black woman (the only voice I am qualified to use), I see race as an intimate, experiential, spirit place. It is an intimacy that is impossible to explain.  It is impossible for one outside of it to adopt its lense and view and live the world as one within does. The nuances can be ubiquitous and tangible and at time thinly-veiled and intangible.  The tv show "What Would You Do" features social experiments entitled 'Confronting Racism In America'. This series has shown how latent racism can morph into full blown life jeopardizing indifference faster than you can say post-racial. Three scenarios : 1.  a white couple gets into a public physical confrontation - observers jump in gingerly, come to the woman's rescue. 2.  A black man and white woman get into a public physical confrontation - observers jump in, come to the woman's rescue and call the police. 3. A black couple gets into a public physical confrontation - observers alternate between ignoring them and yelling at them to take it somewhere else. I'd like to hear someone explain the glaring differential treatment away. 


It is STILL not easy being black in America. The same root.com Halle Berry article also said, "Berry has never used the words "mixed" or "biracial" to describe her racial identity. She identifies as a black woman. Similarly, President Barack Obama, Faith Evans, Jasmine Guy and even the late, great Bob Marley all embraced having a white parent -- but didn't identify by degree of blackness. The stretch to be "mixed" allows people to remove  themselves from the discriminatory world of blackness". While some of Halle's statements about her experiences with black men have been disappointing, I applaud her in choosing her identity, her label with pride and passing on that pride and belonging to her child. Old folks say "its not what you're called, it's what you answer to". I'll add to that, it's not how the world sees you, it's how you see yourself. For me, it's unapologetically black and proud.

Stop - It's The Only Way To Get Where You Want To Go.

For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do--this I keep on doing.

 Romans 7:19

I once heard a man say "I thought I was making love to my girl and in reality I was showing my a** to God".  Is that a figurative and literal picture or what? We have become a culture of rationalizers. Most of what we do that we ought not do is easily excused, explained and rationalized away. For example, many people say homosexuality is wrong while they actively embrace the practice of fornication. They rationalize that at least what they're doing is 'normal' therefore not as egregious of a sin as those who practice homosexuality.  They dismiss it as peccadillo vs. abomination. How they manage to pick out the micro-splinters out of other's eyes while redwood logs are lodged in their eyes is beyond me. 


Real talk - sexual indiscretions are among the most cherished. Anyone who has crossed the the flesh threshold will likely tell those who haven't, that once you go there going back is like trying to swim against Niagra Falls.  Like Paul said "For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do--this I keep on doing".  I hear you Paul. I've gone down the celibate road a time or two in my life.  Studies seem to suggest that around one percent of the population is asexual. That means 99% of us have bodies that crave physical and/or sexual connection. This is for singles AND married, Christian, Buddhist, Jew, Hindu, Muslim....you get it.  Now, I'm not naive, I am well aware that scales do not miraculously appear over the eyes of the married - ya'll struggle too. But at LEAST y'all have the marriage bed to fall back on/ into.


I've had this discussion with friends, family and clergy - what are those of us who yet remain single with healthy sexuality and sexual desires supposed to do? The desire for physical connection is at times relentless. Look, the creator gifted us with this desire. One thing I've learned from  this gift is how quickly it can spiral into an all consuming force.  I've shared with you that as a child, I was the victim of sexual abuse. This act created a gaping chasm that for a long time I sought to fill via the same means by which it was created.  The collateral from that abuse was the early igniting of sexual desire WAY before I had the emotional and spiritual maturity to navigate the minefield. Thankfully, the Lord has been able to guide me out of that field.  Since then, my missteps have been all my own. While I am not subjugated to my fleshly desires - I DO struggle. In my opinion, the struggle is guaranteed, but being subjugated is a choice. I may fall, I may stumble, but I don't have to wallow in it like a pig in slop. "Although sex is physical, it's an emotional connection of souls, and it is a spiritual act. Every single act of sexual intercourse is an act of worship. The question is, Who is being worshiped? Who is being glorified through this act? Is it glorifying God or is it glorifying the enemy? You cannot engage in a sexual act and not have it connect to the spiritual realm. It's impossible" - Spirituality and Sex on Kyria.com. I don't know if this is how you interpret that, but here's how I see it. If there is no God in the act, yet one is still "worshipping" something, then in fact the act is idolatry. This flies in the face of the FIRST commandment. Whether you are idolizing your desires, your boyfriend, girlfriend - you are not putting God, the Alpha and Omega, The Creator, The Great I am, BEFORE what YOU want. 


As Christians our journey is one of discipline and self denial. The flesh struggle is often ground zero of this journey. So what do you do? What do I do? I make a concerted effort to stay away from music (that's right, MUSIC), things, people and places that place me smack dab in the center of the minefield. If/when I stumble, I add distance to my journey to wholeness....two steps forward and two steps back. Thankfully, His grace is sufficient in spite of my stumbles and downright concerted forward march into situations. Many of us who are single do not see how a lack of discipline now can result in indiscretions when married. It's about habits - when they are formed they are HARD to break. If you regularly rationalize your bad decisions - when things get hectic you will once again rationalize. We've all heard that marriage is not for the faint hearted and quite often things can and will get hectic. 


It runs counter to logic, but STOP - it's the only way to get where you want to go. 

Suit Up. It's On.

Dedicated to Michael.

There's a reason why it's called the 'dating game'. While it needn't be a zero sum contest, don't get it twisted,  more often than not, someone has the advantage and someone does not. However, that doesn't mean that two can't make it work. Successful romantic relationships are possible.  Love, ( the progressive extrapolation of dating) is a contact sport. There's no way to be in it to win it and not be at risk. There is no equity without investment. You can deny it if you want, but you would be best served to suit up in your most protective gear and keep your eye on the ball (lest it knock you upside you pretty little head).  You can't win the penant, the trophy, the title, the ring without being committed to AND active in the game.

I grew up in San Francisco during the years the 49ers dominated the NFL. Freddie Solomon, Dwight Clark, Ronnie Lott, Jerry Rice, Steve Young and Joe Montana were led by the marvelous Bill Walsh. As a little girl, I would watch them play and while not really knowing what was going on, I knew the 9'ers were somethin' special. I was a fan, and that was an effortless undertaking given their record. From my limited understanding and comfortable ignorance, the game was easy.

In the late 90's, I dated a man who was a HUGE Jets fan.  In a closeted fashion I jumped on board. Why closeted? Because the Jets SUCKED. I didn't get it. I would dutifully watch the games with him and would observe him going through a range of emotions. Why was he so committed to this team? Every week Bill Parcell's looked like he was going to have a coronary on the sidelines and the Jets looked like the adult football version of the bad news bears. Yet, there he sat, week after week, believing that brighter days were ahead for his beloved Jets. He loved them, he wanted me to love them, he wanted me to love the game. It was at his feet (okay, on his couch), that I learned the intricacies, the history, the game of football. Touchbacks - √, special teams - √, off sides - √, calling an audible - √. I was SO excited.  I wasn't the long-suffering girlfriend tolerating the weekly games - I was one of THEM now and LOVING it.  I got why week after week, he believed that on any given Sunday it could all change. The game was much more than luck. It was much more than a combination of players that were big & strapping, agile & leith and the swift footed. It was about focus, commitment, and teamwork.

In the game, be your position offense or defense, every player has a role, and these roles are interdependent.  In order to advance/to hold back, to get that first down/to block that first down, to succeed in that passing or running game/to intercept or stop that pass and/or running game,  people MUST work together - otherwise the entire effort is futile. Even still, we all know that even when the best laid plans are made - challenges and losses still occur. When it comes to the 'love' variety of the game, the problem is that we continue with the offense/defense mindset vs. the teamwork "we're in this thing together" mindset. Many women operate with the all or nothing mindset. We are so focused on the end result, we fail to truly learn and master the nuances - read the play, call an audible, slow things down and take ourselves out of the game when necessary. We stay ALL UP in the game though we are at the 2 minute warning and down by 20 points. As a matter of fact, we'll play through the 2 minute warning and demand overtime. Many men get drafted (franchise no less), gear up, get in formation, and lose focus. They begin to throw interception after interception (aka sabotage), rather than regroup, refocus and recommit. Rather than walking away from the game with their head held high and their integrity intact, they end up leaving the game having made a mess of it.  They are the ones that become famous. NOT for their stellar performance, but rather their abysmal, short-sighted strategies. These men have thus cemented their place in the losers hall of fame.

I learned A LOT from my Jets loving boyfriend. The game, (should you suit up), is about focus,  commitment and teamwork. It's about believing that it CAN be done.  In spite of the odds, in spite of the mistakes. Not that there won't be challenges, it's about meeting those challenges together. The effort, the lessons, the reward, is worth it.

By the way, one year after Bill Parcells became coach, the Jets would place 1st in their division. I am convinced Michael's allegiance played a role:-)

The dating game,  I've got my gear on - who's with me?

Eyecandy

Let The Good Times Roll

He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” Job 2:10

As of today, I've been unemployed for 16 months. That's 64 weeks. That's 480 days. That's a goooooooood clip. In that time, I have experienced the some incredible highs and some devastating lows. Highs - interviewed with the icon Madonna for an opportunity to run her non-profit. Yes, you read correctly. I literally sat across from Madonna in her apartment discussing her love for Malawi, her decision to start an organization, and her insightfulness on the gift of giving back. Lows - wondering if I have any skills at all when any and everything I've applied for has failed to materialize. My self-confidence has taken a beating - a thrashing - it has teetered on the edge of annihilation.

In my 39+ years of life, I've faced my share of Goliaths (as i'm sure you have too). Twelve years ago - I faced the Goliath of death. My mother never had so much as a cold until the illness that would claim her life came about. My mother was such a strong force that if cancer could be punked, my mother would have played the part of Ashton Kutcher. In my mind, in ALL of my family's minds, cancer didn't have a chance with Joan Chea. When it seemed that cancer was gaining the upper hand, my mother rallied back. She was on the mend. I had visions of my mother speaking across the nation about how the Lord brought her back from the brink of death. I KNEW this would happen. Of course He would heal her, why wouldn't He? Hey, I payed attention in my bible classes, in family worship - this guy Jesus WILL answer my prayers. That's what ALL of y'all told me. Ask and ye shall receive. Seek and ye shall find. I prayed, my father prayed, my brother prayed. Any and everybody we knew prayed, asked God for her healing and claimed her healing. Though she rallied, my mother would succumb to cancer thirteen months after its debut. I decided somebody lied to me.

In 2007 I faced the Goliath of disappointment. I met a little girl from Uganda - Jane Kemigisa. Jane came into my world as a client while I was working as an social worker for an international medical organization. Jane was orphaned under unimaginable circumstances. She was a precocious, curious, wise, chocolate drop. She was full of potential and possibility. A family stepped forward saying they wanted to adopt her but in the end they were unable to do all that was necessary to make it happen. Jane was going to be sent back to an uncertain future and the thought of that did not bode well with me at all. I stepped up willing to take the plunge into single motherhood. This little girl deserved a chance. I didn't have it all figured out, but I decided she and I would figure it out together. I jumped in, started to get my stroke down and suddenly was gasping for air. The opportunity to adopt this child was taken from me as quickly as it had been presented. At this point she had been living with me for six months. I was in love. I was heartbroken. I would later pack up all her belongings, board a plane with her and take her back to her homeland. I was devastated. Goliath had knocked the air out of me.

The Goliath of a broken heart has cut my tail so frequently that the sting has become familiar. He shows up at least once every couple years. Sue me, I'm a hopeful romantic. I've dealt with 'men' who have taken to me instantly - scented my life with compliments, texts, phone calls, promises of a future, what if's and the sort only to see it evaporate into the stench of manipulative propaganda. They have spewed copious amounts of....let me put it this way, it comes from a chicken but you can't make chicken salad out of it. I've dealt with the guy who didn't celebrate Christmas the year we were dating. But not until AFTER he received my gift of a cashmere coat. I've dealt with the guy who barreled full steam ahead into a long distance relationship with me (after I'd asked him if he was SURE he could do this) only to tell me two months later that he couldn't handle anything "heavy" right now, especially long distance. I've dealt with the guy who said he honored my stand of celibacy then got pissed and cut me off when I wouldn't give in. I've dealt with the guy who was the antithesis of support when my mother was in her final hours of life. How DARE I expect any support from him? We'd only been dating for a year at that point. If it weren't for my hopefulness, the word 'love' would take on the distastefulness of those other four letter words.

On the flipside - while I didn't get the job with Madonna - I interviewed with MADONNA - IN her apartment. I was flown to NYC, put up in a very nice hotel and was afforded the privilege of interviewing for an organization that is changing the lives of countless children in Africa. That opportunity showed me what was possible.

While my mother did pass, I was afforded the opportunity to work through some of the stuff that accumulates in mother/daughter relationships. I was able to give her flowers while she could still smell them. I came to realize what is REALLY important in the grand scheme of life. I was able to dot many of i's and cross plenty of t's.

While I wasn't able to become a mother to an amazing little girl - I was afforded the opportunity to play the role that was meant for me to play in her life. I gained real world experience in the world of parenthood. She was later adopted by an American family that has the emotional, spiritual and financial means to give her the life she deserves.

While I am still single, the men that I've gotten to know have exposed me to the world of politics, the culinary world, medicine, music, law, entertainment, marketing and lobbying (to name a few). I've learned a great deal about cultures from the good ole USA to Europe to the African continent to the West Indies. I've had incredible conversations, enjoyed side splitting laughter, outstanding meals, spine tingling kisses, wonderful trips an abundance of romance and have had plenty of smiles about what might be. All of those experiences have made my life richer.

In addition to the above I have had incredible life experiences that many would envy. To be fair, to be honest, and without question, my good/amazing/wonderful/life changing experiences FAR outweigh my bad. There would be no good were it not for bad. It is the ying and yang of life. I never EVER question why favor, blessings and good things come my way - but I weep and gnash teeth when the bad comes. Sounds a bit foolish, no? I'm with Job on this one.