Man Child

My son is great. He is the perfect combination of myself and his father, both mentally and physically. Strong, intelligent, sensistive, and sweet. He is a boy's boy. Rambunctious and athletic and rarely afraid of anything. Today he reacted to me in a way that was years beyond his age and it made me realize just how blessed we are to have such a wonderful boy in our lives.

Maturity is not typically an attribute that one assigns to a four year old, but I can not think of a better word to describe his behavior. If you know Jackson, you know that he is friendly, outgoing and ultra energetic. What most people don't know is how extremely intuitive and caring he is; again unusual for a four year old. I don't know where he get's it but he is so in tune to our moods and feelings, and always right on time with his comforting words and gentle encouragement.

My life is good. Even when it is good, things sometimes knock me down. I try to shield my son from these lapses in optimism as much as humanly possible. Tonight he caught me in a rare moment of frustration, also known as a pity party. First he simply said to me, "you can't cry." I tried to compose myself, but the fact that he would even have to say that to me made me cry more! He then proceeded to wipe my tears away and assure me that "everything will be alright soon."

How lucky, how blessed, how utterly priviledged can one family be? As a mother I know that my son loves me so much, that he is strong enough even as a child to look out for me in a way that only his father knows how. As I said before, he's gotten the best of both of us. He is the most amazing little person I have ever known and I thank God daily for the family that his birth has created.

Thou Shall Not Covet

I wrote this blog in 2007 and when I read it today for the first time since, I was proud of myself. I was proud of my convictions and my decisions. Proud of my family. So without further adieu...

August 3, 2007
This is my mid-year blog. I like to review personally every quarter, publicly biannually. I find it cathartic to look back and revisit my old perspectives.

I spent a month this summer between Los Angeles, Malibu and Phoenix. I braved the perils of traveling alone without my man, with our child, braved the oppressive heat of the desert, and spent a month away from my favorite place on Earth. Chicago.

I went for so many reasons I can't recall them all. Among the top reasons were the fact that I hadn't done a day's worth of scrapbooking since Jackson was born and my sisters were livid. Additionally, Jackson had so little exposure to other children, I was beginning to think that he thought the English language was for adults only.

I failed to mention, I also went there to visit my girlfriend Jaleea who was in the U.S. from Thailand, some old friends from college and post-college years, as well as to meet my Goddaughter, Sierra Nicole.

Before I left Chicago, I won't lie; I was discontent with many things in my life. I'd created a reality for myself which varied greatly from the one I had intended. I never anticipated that it would be a million times better than other peoples' reality I would have an opportunity to experience. I visited a lot of friends, and without going into great depth I want to say this:

"THE GRASS IS NOT ALWAYS GREENER!"

People; please don't waste your time, your energy, or your life comparing your situation, your marriage, your house, your anything, to anyone else's. Yes, we all know that there are people who appear to "have it all." They don't. Neither do you. Nobody does. There is a reason the Bible, in its Ten Commandments, suggests you not covet. Wanting what someone else has is ridiculous! What one person has and makes them happy may be a nightmare to you! Speaking from experience, it happens that way more often than you'd think.

Want what you want and don't be ashamed to have it!

The things that you take for granted in your life, the things that fulfill you, they don't always exist in other peoples' lives. Sometimes, YES! believe it or not, what you have IS special. What makes a masterpiece for another may be missing all of the intricate details that make up a masterpiece for you!

Be mindful what you wish for and grateful for what you have. Bottle your own brand of happiness, because buying someone else's simply won't do!!

I Love "I Love My Cotton Candy Hair!"

This blog is dedicated to the wonderfully talented Nicole Updegraff.

If you've spoken to me in the last six months you know that my very close friend of fourteen years wrote, illustrated, and published her very first book, entitled "I Love My Cotton Candy Hair." I am so proud of her, but what's more, the topic of her book has hit home with me for years.

I've never really given much thought to my hair. It's always been there, on the top of my head. My lifestyle does not allow for a lot of fussing with my hair. I run or swim, and sometimes both, on a daily basis. Excessive time spent on my crowning glory just never made sense. I'll either swim or sweat it out within days. That's not to say I don't like my hair, I do. I've always found it to be very resiliant, considering that "black girls aren't supposed to wash their hair everyday," and I do. Sure it gets nappy, but so what? Isn't it supposed to? Why do we care anymore?

I realized that even though yes, I relax my hair, it's not because I don't like it the way it is, it's because it has become easier at this stage in my life. I've always left the roots a little nappy, because I too enjoy the "cotton candy" feel against my scalp.

My son Jackson has great hair! I love the tight little curls that look like a peppercorn, but when unraveled are like three inches long! I don't take him to a barber, and I rarely cut it off. I like it, and so does he. This week, I was at my parents house for dinner and decided that Jackson could use a trim around the hairline, the boy looks like teen wolf if I don't stay on it. I thought I was pretty clear in what I wanted my dad to do, until I heard a soft voice say "my hair!" Of course my dad was over there shearing my poor boy like a sheep while my mother looked on encouragingly!

When I asked my dad what he was doing he feigned ignorance. "I thought you wanted me to give him a haircut?!" I tried for at least five minutes to explain to them, that no, I did not want Jackson to have a hair cut, but a trim around the hairline. I enjoy the natural texture of his hair and don't see any reason why it should be shaved off! "Well what about the rest of it?" they asked. Now I was confused. Why do we have to cut the rest of it? What is wrong with a little black boy having a little hair on his head? Does it have to be the texture of Jayden Smith's in order to be acceptable?

They were dead serious. "Are you growing an Afro?" they asked, "cause if you are then you have to pick those curls out!" Really? Because I didn't get that memo? My mom even became a little beligerent, asking me to provide internet images so she could comprehend just exactly what this boy's hair will look like. I tried to describe as best as I could, and for the life of me could not understand why this debate was even taking place.

I know that little girls face constant scrutiny of their hair, but I was surprised to face so much of it raising a little boy. I want my son to love himself for who he is as well. I want him to be able to wear his hair however he wants without being ridiculed, without being excluded from employment, and without having to explain why he has chosen to let it be just as God intended.

So kudos to Nicole for addressing such a serious topic in such a creative and artistic way. She soon will be raising her own little boy and I can not wait to hear about how her experiences differ between girls and boys. I am most excited that the first book will not be the last, it is merely the first in a series! Perhaps we will have the pleasure of seeing one geared toward little boys some day soon. Hint Hint Nicole!

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Please get your copy of her fabulous book and tell a friend.

http://www.amazon.com/cotton-candy-named-charlie-presents/dp/0578029499/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&Ss+books&qid=1254700570&sr=8-1

My Old Friend Jaleea

Among all of the things considered good fortune, I've decided that having friends is among the greatest. The irony of this, is that in the past I've been a terrible friend. It just wasn't something that came naturally to me. I changed schools quite frequently as a child, so meeting new people, forming bonds, and then never seeing those people again was my norm. It was all I knew and I carried this behavior on with me into my teen and young adult years. I have lost touch with friends, knowing that I would make new ones. I've hurt my friends, oblivious to rules and regulations of lasting friendships. To say that I've been a terrible friend is probably an understatement.

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I can't say enough how fortunate I was to have met Jaleea. Unlike me she had the "How to be Good Friend Manual!!" memorized. She made sure we were friends when it was convenient, having attended middle school together. She maintained our friendship when it was inconvenient, going to different high schools. When it would have been a perfect time to drift apart, while away at college she actually strengthened our friendship. When she was home to visit she called, when she was in town for a performance she made sure I had tickets. She took an active interest in being a part of my world and pulled me into hers in the process.

Throughout my years of friendship with Jaleea I began to see the value in knowing the same people year after year. Watching their stories unfold and their lives change. It was rewarding to reach out to someone when I was thinking of them, instead of just letting them be a passing thought. I saw how much it meant to them to know that someone was thinking of them and that someone cared. It was, I realized, what I wanted my life to be about. Caring about people, letting them know you care about them, free of judgement and aspiring to at all times inspire good feelings in others. I wanted to be a good friend!

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It wasn't until a few years ago that I even realized this. When social networking sites like Facebook and Myspace became popular, when I added my "friends" to my profile, I noticed that most of them I was still in constant contact with. I knew where they lived, their children's names, their dog's names, their spouse's names, even their parent's names. I was amazed and secretly pleased with myself for having built and maintained these fabulous friendships with some really exceptional people!!

You know who you are ladies and gentleman. I wanted to take this opportunity to not only thank my old friend Jaleea for teaching me how to be a friend, but also to thank my friends for allowing me to be. I love you all!

Desegregation in 2009

I moved to the border of Hyde Park and Washington Park (both southeastern neighborhoods of Chicago) four years ago and to say that it was a "work in progress" would've have been much too generous. Although the building that I moved into is for owners, the majority of the area was still inhabited by renters. Historically, people who rent tend to value their homes less than those who own. Add this basic fact to the fact that these homes were once rented to some of the poorest residents in Chicago and you have a community that is starkly divided economically.

Although we are all Black, there has always been tension between "us and them." They watched as all of their homes, parks, stores, and streets became ours. They had no voice about the change sweeping through their community, simply because they didn't pay income tax, property tax, or homeowner's association fees. Our voice, however sounds like "cha-ching," so when we dial 911 to make a noise complaint, report littering, or demand the lawns be mowed "for safety reasons," we get results. Big brother has even taken up post on our streets, dutifully watching and protecting us homeowners from the evils of the hood.

I won't say that I never empathized with them, I really did understand their dislike of us. I imagine that they felt invaded. The corner stores where they had once relaxed and felt comfortable were being replaced by Starbuck's and no, they do not accept food stamps thank you very much. What I couldn't understand was the lack of pride in themselves as Blacks and in their community at large that allowed them to believe that littering, tagging, or prostitution was acceptable in the first place.

The proverbial tug of war has continued over the past four years, with us slowly winning. Each year it has become increasingly more safe, more clean, and more socialized than the year before. More businesses deliver to my home and accept Visa, while fewer and fewer accept food stamps and sell liquor. That has been the gradual progression. More homeowners, more dogs, more cars, more money. I have not complained about any of it!! I've felt no guilt, no remorse, only hope that our victory over this wild side of our community would come quickly.

Then came the bid for the Olympics in 2016. I was very excited at all of the socioeconomic change that would be necessary to even be considered to host such an event. Purchasing a home in this "ghetto" suddenly didn't seem like such a crazy idea. Four year old potholes have magically disappeared, the streets have been repaved, garbage cans have actually been placed in the park and last but certainly not least, a state of the art playground was built in Washington Park.

However as the residents preceding myself learned, change does not come cheap. Today at the playground I was a minority for the first time since leaving Arizona. I was the only Black person among a group of Whites, and I felt uneasy. I found myself discouraging Jackson from interacting with the other kids, feeling as though somehow we played differently and they wouldn't understand. I realized then that this is how it must have felt to them when we moved in. The security that I had previously felt in my surroundings was based on the fact that those around me were very much like me. Now just like them, I felt invaded; fearful that our world would not be the same now that they were in it.

I wonder if this is how desegregation felt?