Not All Black Mothers Abuse Their Kids

Wednesday night when I was flying out of O'Hare -- or rather, when I was WAITING for hours to fly out of O'Hare -- I got to witness another mom "interacting" with her child.

Of course, I captured it on my Twitter feed:

1) Another mom here at the gate has been yelling at her kid a LOT & has slapped this girl like 4x. Would u intervene?

2) The little girl is like 4 or 5 years old. The mom has yelled stuff like, "if u don't shut up, I'm gonna strangle u!"

3) Airport security just rolled up & they r threatening to arrest this mom if she hits her child again. WOWZERS!

4) OK, no arrest, cops walked away. Good Lord, that was some drama. Poor little girl.

Now, I know parents get stressed out at airports, especially when they are traveling alone with a child, but the little girl was actually being pretty quiet and behaving normally for a child that age. I'll go ahead and say it: I think the mom was being abusive. I mean, is it really necessary to slap your child just because she stood up to get a doll she dropped? I was clearly not the only one who thought so because the security showed up. I was not the one who alerted them to what was going down.

But what has been infinitely interesting (and sad) to me in the two days since I witnessed this is that almost all of the black people I have told this story to have assumed that the mother and the child were also black.

A typical comment from black folks I know has been like, "Well, you know we don't play that "Oh honey, sit down pretty please," crap when our kids act up in public."

They are FLOORED when I tell them the mom in this situation was white with a ginormous diamond on her finger and super long blond hair. Her child was also white with blond hair.

Black people aren't alone in their assumption that the parent and child are black. When I've shared these details with white folks I know, their response has been a shocked, "Oh, the mom was WHITE???"

This has really raised some red flags for me around how we view black mothers and black parenting. Why do we think black mothers are hard, abusive, rough, and ready to beat their child's ass if he or she ever steps out of line?

I'm tired of getting the "Good Luck With That" eye roll from other black people when I tell them I don't beat my sons.

I'm tired of white women confusedly asking, "So you don't spank?" -- the unsaid comment being, "But, but, I thought all black moms spank!"

I'm tired of being told, "That must be the white side in you coming out because we all know white moms don't beat their kids. Is your mom white?"

Do I need to make a t-shirt that says, "Not All Black Mothers Abuse Their Kids"?

Why have we bought the racist stereotype that white, Asian and Latino folks don't abuse their kids and black moms do? Really, folks need to stop acting like black moms are the only ones who beat, verbally threaten or emotionally abuse their children. It's racist to keep acting like cursing at, verbally demeaning, spanking, slapping or beating a child is contingent on skin color, and that black mothers are the biggest offenders.

Black mothers are not the only abusive mothers. If you need proof, pick up a copy of Mommie Dearest, mmkay?

I've always believed that if you beat your children, you are killing a part of their soul, and you're teaching them that violence is an option. Do I really need to slap my son just because he rolled his eyes at me? No, I don't. I can't hit another adult just because I don't like the way he or she looks at me, so why would I hit my child who I supposedly love?

This is not to say that different backgrounds of people don't have somewhat culturally different ways of raising their kids. But I think a collective "Check Yourself" needs to happen in regards to our racist thinking about black motherhood and parenting. There are plenty of black moms who know how to use conflict resolution and non-violent techniques on their kids. There are plenty of black moms who have never threatened to strangle their child. And there are plenty of black moms who could've taught that mom at O'Hare thing or to about parenting.

Choices, Choices

Over the past couple of days I've had a choice to make:

1) Update this blog, update my Twitter feed, read your blogs

OR

2) Hang out with my family

Guess which one I chose?

I am leaving for Los Angeles this afternoon and it just felt better to actually hang out with people instead of being on line. Well, I did flip out on Twitter over Jake Gyllenhaal being cast as the Prince of Persia, which gets a totally epic FAIL from me! But other than that, I've been trying to spend time with the people who I only get to see once a year.

Wish me safe travels and I will see you all tomorrow!

Back To School Worries: Will I Get A Mean Teacher

One minute after my two sons hugged last year’s teachers good-bye, they began to stress out over what next year’s teachers would be like. All summer long they’ve been asking, “What if I get a really mean teacher that doesn’t like me?”

There must be a back-to-school rule that no matter what every kid has to worry about getting a mean teacher.

For example, every August I’d happily go back-to-school shopping with my parents. But not even a new pair of jeans, a Trapper Keeper, or a box of my favorite Dixon Ticonderoga pencils could keep me from fretting over whether the new school year would bring a teacher spawned from the right hand of Satan.

Even if I knew the name of my new teacher, I worried. Even if he or she had passed me in the hallway and said, “I can’t wait to have you in my class next year!” I was convinced a transformation into the Teacher From Hell would occur.

It’s like I thought summer’s heat would cause my teacher to grow nose warts, develop a fondness for assigning detention, and worst of all, they’d take up wearing polyester pants!

My fourth grade teacher, Sister Paula, had a huge wart. But things never got any worse than her declaring to the entire class that I had the worst handwriting she’d ever seen, which was probably true.

Mr. Pappi loved polyester pants, but he liked to laugh and I learned tons about U.S. history. And Mr. Stallworth gave detention to anyone who didn’t do their homework, but I always did mine, so he never gave detention to me.

I tell my sons the same thing that my parents told me: If any teacher ever tries to hit you, calls you a name or humiliates you in class, let me know and I’ll deal with it, pronto. But if you are a good student and try your best, you usually don’t have to worry about your teacher being mean or not liking you. (And if you don’t do what you’re supposed to, when you get home, I’ll be “mean” to you!)

Does this mean my boys stop worrying about next year’s teacher? No, not really. But at least I know their worrying is just a natural part of going back-to-school!

Lots of us are gearing up for school – an exciting, fun and sometimes, hectic time. Hallmark has put together this great resource to help you calm the butterflies and build your kids’ confidence. Just for joining the conversation you’ll be entered to win $500. Check it out.

Need a little extra cash for school clothes? Or do you need a spa day to help you de-stress after getting your kids ready for back to school?

You can ALSO win a $100 Visa gift card courtesy of Divine Caroline and yours truly, Los Angelista! Just leave me a comment describing your biggest back to school worry. You must live in the United States and you must leave your comment by 11:59 PM PST on Sunday, August 9, 2009!

Good luck!

Where Is Home?

It's a good thing that blogger conferences don't happen all the time. Over the past few days I've discovered that attending the biggest blogging conference for women in the world, BlogHer, and having lots of fun at it, is extremely unconducive (is that a word? well, it is now!) to my blogging. I will definitely write more about that soon, but I got to thinking this morning that I only have three more days here. I'm trying to figure out how I can fit in everything I haven't done yet and see all the people I have yet to see. Why can't they all just move to Los Angeles? I mean, not having to deal with winter is nice.

This view of the Chicago River is gorgeous, but it will not look like this in six months. Sure, the buildings will be there, but it will be freezing. Cold, gray, harsh, unforgiving. There'd be no way I'd stand there and snap that picture in the middle of January. Well, maybe if I had a death wish... but I don't, so that's that.

I got into a conversation yesterday with an employee at the Sheraton (where the conference was) and we reminisced about all the fabulous dance clubs Chicago used to have: Shelter, Kaboom, China Club, The Vic, The Riviera, and they are all gone now. I used to positively live at Shelter... but if I drive by 747 N. Green now, it's all condos.

We laughed about how the cops used to be afraid to drive through the notorious housing project, Cabrini Green, and how sometimes they'd shut down Division St. because the gangsters would be shooting. All that is gentrified now with people who have no real idea what used to be there. We both wondered where all the folks who used to live in Cabrini went. It's like they disappeared in the concrete smoke of the wrecking balls.

We wondered, where is home when home doesn't look like it used to? When the soul of a place has changed to the point that the only consistency is the El tracks running through it's heart.

I love it here. I really really do. I love my friends. I love my family. But I am homesick for Los Angeles. I think I'm ready to go home.

Forgiveness, Justice, And A Hug For My Uncle T

Today I really wanted to write about Dr. Henry Louis Gates getting arrested on his own property, and how he later decided to drop the matter with the Cambridge police department after they dismissed the "charges".

Yeah, I really wanted to write about that because, I'm all about forgiveness. But I'm also all about justice, so I could not fathom his not pursuing some sort of complaint.

But I did not write all day today because I went to beach. I lazed around in the sun, played with the kids, and swam in freezing cold Lake Michigan. And, just when I was beginning to think I hadn't accomplished much else beyond acquiring a serious sunburn on my back -- Let's just say I clearly needed to evenly apply the sunscreen. Or reapply it. Either way, I'm in pain right now. -- my Uncle T, my dad's brother, saved the day and kept me from total blog-slackdom.

A little while ago I checked my email and found that my dad had forwarded my blog post about our family's Sunday gathering to his brother and sister. My Uncle T responded to my dad by saying:

"What a beautiful, eloquent, emotional account by (Los Angelista) in her blog regarding our Sunday gathering, which personally liberated 40 years of my pent-up emotion regarding the X (Irish/my dad) Family perspective of our parents and relatives and, of course, many more years for the travails encountered by Y's (black/my mom's) Family, long before the X Family was in the picture.

This was a fabulous life learning experience for all of us present, and my true direction is the impact these issues have on our children moving forward, as they are the future, right before our eyes (misty as mine are at the moment). I was a college student @ Northern Illinois Univ. in 1969 when X and Y decided to marry and form a perfect union. I never learned nearly as much from any of my textbooks and classes as l did from them over the subsequent years, as they are the true heroes in this story, since they are the ones that had to endure the disdain from all the bigots belittling them from all directions. But endure they did, and that, my friends, is a very powerful life-experience of handling adversity through love."

My Uncle T also forwarded these comments to me, and told me I was free to share them with you all. So, I am sharing them for sure. And crying all over again.

What happened to Skip Gates in Cambridge is the unhappy result of racism. It's sad to see the same-ole-same-ole trotted out. You know, the "There was a black man and he scared me because he was so black and scary," story. But I'll say it again: If my family can get it together and overcome the hurts of racism, there is hope for us all.

Really, if we can apologize, forgive and take the first steps forward to forge something new, who's to say our society cannot do the same?

No, it's not easy. In fact, the process might just hurt more than my extremely painful sunburn. But it's so worth it, even if it's only because I got to read such an incredibly heartfelt note from my Uncle T.

With that, I'm going to go slather more aloe vera gel on myself. And I will once again cry tears that have nothing to do with my sunburn at all. And here's a virtual hug to my Uncle T who is loved very, very much.

It's Never Too Late For Racial Unity In Your Family

When my black mother and white father got married in 1969, interracial marriage had only been legal for two years. But just because it was legal, that didn't mean their families were happy about it.

My mother's family left Georgia in the early 1900's due to some white men having gone on a "let's kill the black folks" rampage.

Why did this happen? Well, a black man in the town had been having a relationship with a white woman. All the black people knew but kept things quiet. However, when white folks found out, the white woman claimed, as was often claimed in such instances, that she had been raped by the black man.

The black man and his brother were both murdered, and their castrated, naked bodies were dragged behind horses down the road. Then the white men decided to teach the rest of the black people a lesson by setting fire to the black owned houses and barns. My grandmother and her family hid in the swamps, and then left the town.

One generation after this horrifying (and all too common) incident, my mother announced that she was going to marry a white man. You can imagine this information didn't go over too well since their family history had taught that having relationships with white people is dangerous and results in being murdered. But, after much family discussion, her parents eventually accepted that my father was a good man and they came to the wedding.

Unfortunately, my dad's parents did not accept their marriage, did not attend the wedding, cut off most contact with my father, and for many many years, that was that. They also told my aunt and uncle that if they attended the wedding or associated with my parents, they would cut them off.

Needless to say, the legacy of those actions, knowing that even when my father's mother died we were not welcome at her funeral, has been an incredibly painful part of my family's history.

But the wonderful thing is that families and people can change. There is no need to blindly imitate the racist or prejudiced traditions of the past. And there is always the chance to apologize, make amends and build something new.

Yesterday my father's sister, brother and my uncle's two children came over to my parent's house to visit with all of us. My mom's sister also came, as well as my own sister and my two nephews. A few minutes after they arrived, my uncle pulled me aside and asked me if it was my parent's anniversary coming up in a few weeks. I told him that it was and he smiled and said, "Good, because I have a little card for them."

He went on to say that their family had given my parents such a hard time all those years ago, and even if it didn't make up for it, he just wanted to apologize for it. And then he got choked up... and so did I.

A few hours later he gave the card to my parents and apologized for the family's racist treatment of them. It was one of the most touching things I've witnessed in my lifetime.
It made me reflect on how incredibly important it is to apologize for the wrongs that have been committed because of racism. It's also so important to forgive. If you can't apologize or forgive, you can't move forward. When I saw my mom hug my dad's sister and brother with complete forgiveness, well, my liquid eyeliner ended up on my cheeks. In that moment, it felt like I could see healing taking place on the faces of my mom, my dad, my uncle and my aunt.

It is undeniably sad that my paternal grandparents and so many other relatives missed out on so much because of racism. They never truly got to know my mom. And they never got to know me.

Yes, my cousins, nephews and my own sons are growing up knowing that having people of all colors and cultures in your family is normal. But the really wonderful thing is that the chance for unity doesn't stop just because you're older. My dad, his brother and sister, and my mom and her sister can all forge relationships beyond what their parents ever believed or thought possible between black and white people. They're all proof that it's never too late for racial unity in your family.

Saturday in the Summertime

It's Saturday! Whoo hoo! Let met tell you what's new, good and unusual!

1) Hey, Hey! 5K!!!: I ran a 5K with my sister last night. She is a WAY faster runner than I am and actually enjoys running an eight minute mile. I am not that kind of runner. She calls me the Baywatch runner -- you know, like the slow-mo images of the Baywatch folks running on the beach. I'm not that slow but in comparison, I must seem like a turtle! Here we are post-race!

By the way, if you want to get into running and you live in Los Angeles, my running club, the L.A. Leggers (yeah, I wore the Leggers t-shirt on my run last night) is starting up their training season. It's only $65 for the entire year and you will meet lots of great people and start to actually enjoy running! They had orientation today but don't worry, I missed the orientation last year because I was in Chicago, and was totally fine. The first three or four weeks are like a gradual orientation, SO JOIN ALREADY!!!

2) Prostitutes: I can't believe it but there are prostitutes peddling their wares a few blocks from my parent's house!!! They're very brazen and totally creepy and totally unattractive! Trust me, there are ZERO Pretty Woman types standing out there. (But you knew that already, didn't you?)

My mom keeps calling the police, and the police say they're short staffed and she should leave a message for some task force. She leaves the task force a message and they never call back. I wish there was some way to put the prostitutes in therapy and instead arrest all the men who stop for, ahem, services. Yeah, that "Catch A Predator" guy from Dateline NBC should make a new show called "Catch A John". And then throw these dudes in jail for awhile!

3) TV Detox: Other than a few brief Michael Jackson moments, I haven't watched TV at all since I left Los Angeles on June 30th. But then last night I watched a show on Lifetime called "Drop Dead Diva". The basic premise is that the super cute, super skinny blond model dies but then oh noes, something goes wrong on the other side and she comes back to life as a very plump, insecure, brunette lawyer (the horrors!)-- but she remembers who she used to be in her past life.

It was really funny and original... but then I got to thinking, hmm, what would've happened if the show creators had made her come back to life as a black woman!!!

Scene 1: She runs into her ex-boyfriend and he doesn't even look her way because he's just not that in to black woman.
Scene 2: She overhears her boss saying she thinks about race too much and another colleague calls her an angry black woman.
Scene 3: Everyone tells her it's OK to be fat, because she's black and big boned!

Wowzers, now THAT would make for some GREAT TV!

4) Not Just A Pretty Face: This is why I love Orlando Bloom. Such a kind heart... and, um, yeah... let me dip back into the shallow pool and say the man is HAWT.

5) Next Month I Will Be Mentioning A Certain Band A LOT: In exactly one month I will probably pass out at the Hollywood Bowl because the best band in the whole world will be there in concert. I can't wait to see this performance of "Waiting For The Night". I might cry during this one:


So beautiful. And in case you didn't know... that my friends, is Depeche Mode!

And now off I go to help my mum clean the house! Fun times in the summertime!

Thank You For That Affirmative Action Hookup, America

Last night I watched a little online footage of the Rachel Maddow show. What I saw -- President Obama's speech to the NAACP, footage of the confirmation hearings of Sonia Sotamayor and Rachel's conversation with Pat Buchanan-- got me thinking once again about something that happened to me during the spring of my senior year of high school.

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When the references to Ms. Sotamayor's race are made, the look on her face makes me think, "I've had that SAME look on my face. It's a combination of, "Wow, you really DID just say that," and "Wow, I'd really like to punch your teeth in, but then I'd be considered angry and people of color can NEVER be angry."

In the spring of 1990 I received a letter from Northwestern University offering me admissions at the school. It was a dream come true for me because I'd wanted to go there since I was 12 years old.

I was also on the yearbook staff and during our staff meeting our teacher went around and asked everybody where they'd gotten into school. These were mostly other Honors and AP students that I'd had classes with for pretty much all of my high school career. I shared that I'd been accepted to Northwestern, and, although some of my white classmates were congratulatory, others were angry. Some of them had applied to Northwestern and had been rejected.

A discussion began to take place about how I'd only been admitted to Northwestern because I was black. Clearly, I'd taken the spot of a more qualified white student.

No, the teacher did not put a stop to this discussion. It was allowed to go on for a good 10 minutes or so. It did not matter that I had a higher GPA and SAT score than most of the other students in the classroom. It didn't matter if I was a better essay writer or that I'd been involved in EVERY club under the sun. It didn't matter that I was a National Merit Scholar, unlike most of the other kids in there.

Nope, the only thing that mattered was my race. Somehow, Northwestern had taken pity on me and decided to admit me because I'd checked the "Black/African-American" box on the admissions packet.

Later on my mom joked that if only I'd known that my color would be the thing that mattered most, I could've just coasted through high school with C's. Maybe I could've even ended up being President, because we all know our last President loved getting C's in school. I know, he wasn't black, but gosh, America wouldn't have had a problem with a black person like me in the Oval Office who only got C's, would it? Maybe the Depeche Mode obsession would bother them, but surely not my being a very average student, right?

Since that conversation in my high school yearbook class, almost every time I've gotten a job there has been someone white just waiting to step up and tell me I only got it because of a quota or Affirmative Action.

Even with blogging, if a company wants to send me to an event and asks me to write about it, some people think it's because of some sort of Blogging Affirmative Action. Never mind that I might be good at what I do. According to these folks that actually have the audacity to share their opinions on it, it has nothing to do with me being able to put together a coherent and maybe mildly engaging sentence.

So I can relate to the look on Sonia Sotamayor's face in the video. Here she is, busting her hump for years and years, and the thing that mattered most to too many of the Senators who interrogated her, people who are elected to represent us, was that they believe she is taking the place of a more qualified white person.

I guess I should thank this great country for what I didn't even know I had. Thank you for that Affirmative Action, America. And the next time I drive through the blocks and blocks of low income neighborhoods in Los Angeles or Chicago, I'll think about how much Affirmative Action is doing for all those people. The next time I step foot in a low performing school comprised of pretty much ALL children of color, or talk to my own children, I'll be sure to tell them that they don't have to work all that hard, because America has the hookup for them because of their skin color.

Not the incarceration hookup. Not the low-paying minimum wage job hookup. Not the last hired, first fired hookup. Nope, every Black, Latino and Asian person has the pass go, collect $200,000 and get on the Supreme Court hookup.

Good to know, America. Good to know.

Obama's The President But Folks Are Still Scared Of My Black Son

Yesterday afternoon I met up with an old friend from high school, someone I hadn't seen in 20 years. We met up at a little coffee shop/cafe that has an indoor play area for kids. The genius behind it is that while the adults sip chai lattes and catch up with each other, the kids crawl through tunnels and slither down slides.

So, in theory, everybody is happy, right?

Yeah, everybody's happy until you're my eight year-old son emerging from the environs of the play area to tell me that the mother of the little white girl he was playing with was 1) staring at him, "All mean and crazy," and 2) came over and snatched her daughter away.

My son wanted to know why the mom did that.

I looked over at this other mom, who I saw looking back at us like she thought we were gonna pull out knives or something. I know the "I'm scared of those Negroes" look on someone's face when I see it. And this mom definitely had it. I swear, I wanted to jump up and yell, "BOO!" just to see if she'd scream.

I mean, really, it's 2009 and if folks can't even pretend in public that they're not suspicious of or afraid of black people, well, there's no hope for America's future.

At first I told my son that maybe the mom just had "issues" or was having a bad day.

But my son replied, "I think she was scared of me because of, you know, the color of my skin. I don't think she likes black kids. I think she thought I was going to do something bad to her daughter."

The sarcastic part of me wanted to answer, "She's just afraid her little blond darling will see how devastatingly handsome you are, and then she'll be grow up, hooked on black men FOREVER... bwahahahaha!" But I figured that wouldn't be helpful.

So I told him he was right and that's how racists think because they're confused, which is too bad because there is nothing wrong with him. I also told him that when racists die they have to answer to God for their behavior. And I might've said they burn in hell, too.

He nodded his head and said it was too bad that the little girl was going to miss out on playing with him, "Because I'm a nice boy. I wouldn't hurt anybody."

He is a very nice boy. No doubt about that. He's also eight and it scares me that he's getting closer to the age where some folks will stop saying, "Oh you're such a cutie!" and instead they'll clutch their purse and look scared when he walks by. Instead the cops will want to sit him on the curb and interrogate him because he fits the description.

It's hard to tell your kid, yes some people are going to not like you because of your skin color. When you get older, they're also going to deny you housing, employment and promotions at work. And you may fall in love with a girl whose parents don't want you to marry her because you're the wrong color, even if you end up working for NASA like you want to.

I can keep telling him to always do his best and work hard no matter what. And I can tell him, "Barack Obama faced racism and look where he is now! President of the United States!"

But somehow being able to say, "Look, there's President Obama throwing out the 1st pitch at the All-Star Game," doesn't magically make it all better. It doesn't evaporate the day-to-day racism he faces. Because the bottom line is that Obama may be the President, but there are still plenty of Americans scared of my black son.

Freight Trains At Night

After almost two weeks away, I can't help but wonder what my super loud neighbors back in Los Angeles have been up to. Their nighttime revelries echoing through the darkness are such a constant in my life there. And it is not till the depth of night, well after midnight, that it is finally quiet in my neighborhood.

But here in the flatness of the Midwest, instead of hipster parties, the sound of trains can be heard all night long. The tracks are a few miles away but the rumble of steel wheels against them is so loud, its almost as if the train is right next to my window.

For some people, the trains are literally right next door. If it's loud for me, I wonder how loud it is for these folks living in these houses?

Do their kids ever get a good night's sleep? Or do their teachers send home notes complaining, "Andre fell asleep in math class today. Can you make sure he gets enough rest to be able to stay awake?"

Then again, maybe over time the rumble of the trains just becomes barely noticeable background noise.

I used to have a friend whose second floor apartment was right next to some El tracks. When the train went by, we'd have to stop our conversations because we couldn't hear each other without shouting. Instead we'd sit there, watching the pictures on her walls rattle. The times I crashed at her place, I never slept. However she always slept through the night because she'd gotten used to the sound. She sometimes said her very inexpensive rent made getting used to the train's noise worthwhile.

I suppose our ability to acclimate to even the strangest, noisiest circumstances is why most nights I barely notice my loud LA neighbors. It really takes some out-of-the-box partying on their part for me to even glance out the window.

As annoying as my neighbors sometimes are, I think I'll take them over the sound of these freight trains.

Too Much To Blog About!

Sometimes there are just too many things that I want to tell you about and I can only resort to a list:

1) This is undeniably the most important thing on this list. Tomorrow is the trial for the seven Baha'is unjustly arrested a year ago in Iran and held in Evin prison since then. They face the death penalty for trumped up charges, but really, their crime is being a Baha'i. So if I was living in Iran, I could potentially be arrested just like them. It's not OK and there needs to be MORE outrage about it than there currently is. Here's an article by Cherie Blair, wife of ex UK Prime Minister, Tony Blair. Excellently written. Please read it and spread the word about what's going on with the Baha'is in Iran to your six degrees of separation.

Now, on to the trivial minutae of my life...

2) If this is your house, and you voluntarily did this to it, you are an idiot.
Do I need to say anything else about this travesty?

3) Skateboard Upside Your Head: Yesterday there was a creepy guy on the train and he stared at me like his eyes were gonna break if he looked away for even one minute. My youngest was going to go whack him with his skateboard, and my eldest kept saying, "I'm gonna go over there and give him a kung fu beat-down if he keeps staring at you!" I explained to them that violence is not the answer. However, I'll admit I'm very pleased with their protectiveness.

4) My Racist Alma Mater: I went to my undergraduate Alma Mater yesterday and took my kids by my freshman year dorm. As I was standing under its historic arches, taking pictures of my sons and telling them, "Here's where you can go to college too," just like LOTS OF WHITE ALUMNI DO ALL THE TIME, the campus police rolled up and severely asked, "Can I help you, Ma'am? You know this is private property?"

Since I went to school there and had lots of interactions with those racists, I know that means, "What do you negroes think you're doing? Don't you know you don't belong here? You're trying to break into this dorm and steal the lounge furniture, aren't you?"

Yeah, some things do not change. This same school required any black campus organization that was hosting an event to pay for extra security, while the kids partying at white fraternities and sororities could drink themselves into a stupor and fall off balconies. Maybe my kids WON'T be going there. Maybe they'll go somewhere they aren't going to get stopped by the campus police all the time and asked to show ID.

5) Kiddie Bikes? Really? If you are an adult male too broke to have a car or afford bus or train fare, and you do not want to walk, do not, I repeat, DO NOT get a kiddie bike and ride it around town. And especially do not be all, "W'sup, girl?" when you are riding by the young ladies. If you want to ride a bike, buy an adult bike, mmkay?

6) I'm Not Crazy: No, I'm not going out on that new glass ledge at the Sears Tower. Oh no. Noooo.

7) Yes, He Does Exist: Just because I don't blog about my husband all the time, or talk about him on Twitter or Facebook, that doesn't mean he doesn't exist. Per his request, I avoid talking about him online as much as possible. He does not want the details of his life all over the internet and can barely handle that mine are out there floating around cyberspace. We're just different like that. But yes, I am married...almost at the 10 year mark.

8) Drive Time: Why do people in the Midwest act like driving an hour to see somebody is a big deal? It's not! Honey child, I might drive an hour in traffic just to go 20 miles, mmkay? - or is this a case of the abnormal becoming normal in my life???

And on that note, I need to somehow brave the drizzle and head out the door!

I Didn't Choose The Michael Jackson Memorial

The totality of my Michael Jackson viewing yesterday consisted of two moments.

Moment #1: My seeing singer Ginuwine as a commentator on MSNBC... to which I said, "Ginuwine? Really? The "Pony" singing dude from the '90s???" And when Ginuwine called famed journalist and author, Toure, "Courtney", I swear I had a whole-body, "Are you fa-real, homie?" moment of convulsive laughter on the floor. No one whose real name is Elgin Baylor Lumpkin should EVER confuse someone else's name. Good grief.

Moment #2: Watching the hearse containing Jackson's body traverse the eastbound 134 and southbound 5 & 110 Freeways. I was alternately choked up and jealous. Choked up because of how sad it all was. Jealous because the trip from Forest Lawn took like five minutes since there was no other traffic on the freeway. I truly am a jaded Angeleno if I'm watching a hearse and I can't help but think of traffic. Shame on me.

I know, Michael's memorial was a slice of American history. But, knowing my husband would record all the memorial footage enabled me to choose to attend another history-based event hosted by the Freedom Trails Project. The project is in Northern Indiana and focuses on getting middle and high school students involved in researching and documenting the area's Underground Railroad movement.

The group, led by local African-American community activist, Brother Sage, engages almost 75 students that are VOLUNTARILY participating during their summer vacation in the kind of history that gets glossed over in most public schools.

Here's Brother Sage with eighth grader, (yes, an 8th grader interested in history!) Taloni Reese. She participated in the group's recent trip to southwestern Michigan where they visited the oldest African-American church in the state. How old, you ask? The church dates back to 1838 when it was started by free blacks.

Brother Sage also invited journalist and author Gene Stowe to speak to the students about both the craft of writing and his most recent book, Inherit the Land: Jim Crow Meets Miss Maggie's Will. From the book's description:

"In the early twentieth century, two wealthy white sisters, cousins to a North Carolina governor, wrote identical wills that left their substantial homeplace to a black man and his daughter.

Maggie Ross, whose sister Sallie died in 1909, was the richest woman in Union County, North Carolina. Upon Maggie's death in 1920, her will bequeathed her estate to Bob Ross—who had grown up in the sisters' household—and his daughter Mittie Bell Houston. Mittie had also grown up with the well-to-do women, who had shown their affection for her by building a house for her and her husband. This house, along with eight hundred acres, hundreds of dollars in cash, and two of the white family's three gold watches went to Bob Ross and Houston. As soon as the contents of the will became known, more than one hundred of Maggie Ross's scandalized cousins sued to break the will, claiming that its bequest to black people proved that Maggie Ross was mentally incompetent."

As Stowe shared with the students, the book's a story about the South, racism and justice. And it's a story that details the oft-neglected history of the genuine loving relationships that have existed between blacks and whites in this country.

He also asked a fascinating question: "How do you behave in the middle of a society that behaves really badly?" It's a question that's pertinent to the discussion about racism and racial equality in America whether we're talking almost 100 years ago or the present day.

Spoiler alert: A jury of 12 white men in the SAME county Jesse Helms was born in ended up upholding the will as valid, and the house went to the black folks! Wowzer, you know that must have brought the drama back then. Heck, what am I saying "back then". I'm inclined to think that might bring the drama NOW in 2009!

So you see, if I'd stayed home listening to the endless speculation and commentary on Michael Jackson's life, and getting teary-eyed while Paris Jackson broke down on stage, I would've missed out on Brother Sage, the students, Gene Stowe and his book. I'm glad I made the choice I did.

Los Angeles: Where The City Can't Pay For Schools, But...

Please, someone, tell me it's the City of Los Angeles putting these Michael Jackson memorial tickets on Ebay. Because if it is, I'm okay with the city spending whatever it's going to spend tomorrow on all the police and services.

If it's not, well, last time I checked, Los Angeles is BROKE! We're so broke we couldn't even pay for the Laker's NBA championship parade. How'd that get financed? A private donor ponied up $1 million for that.

Don't get me wrong. I'm still so sad about Jackson's untimely death and I loved his music. Off The Wall and Thriller are probably two of the best albums of all time. And yes, a star of his magnitude should be recognized. However, I'm also all about prioritization because Los Angeles is broke with a capital B.

How broke?

How about Los Angeles is SO broke, I'm scared to drive in the right lane on parts of Beverly Boulevard because the potholes are so bad.

You don't care about potholes? Ok, how about city employees are getting laid off left and right so if you call for anything, you get automated messages. Those that still have jobs are being forced to take UNPAID furlough days.

Don't care about automated messages and furlough days? Well, I hope you care about education and kids because Los Angeles is SO broke the school district laid off thousands of teachers, increased class sizes, and canceled summer school.

BUT, we have the money to pay for police and city services for a memorial for Michael Jackson? I'm kinda not okay with that. Alright, not "kinda". I'm really not okay with that. The man deserves to be honored, but if it's going to cost millions of dollars to do it, maybe Plan B should've been considered.

Stomach Ache

My stomach aches and it's all my fault.

I went to the county fair with my sister today and I ate SO much unhealthy food. I mean, I actually ate fried vegetables!

I seriously wouldn't be surprised if I turn into a piece of fried zucchini. Or maybe a piece of fried mushroom. But fried pickle??? Uh, nooo. Just like I said no to fried Oreos, fried Snickers bars and fried twinkies, fried pickle is not the business!

Maybe I can sleep it off?

My Beautiful Sister!

Guys, I'm sorry, but the hot young lady on my left is already taken!

Yeah, can I brag for a moment about how ridiculously adorable and awesome my sister is? It's been a year since I've seen her, we just snapped this picture and I couldn't resist sharing my excitement with you all. She was out of town when I arrived yesterday so this is the first time I've seen her. No kidding, I jumped up and down with excitement!

And, check out how beautiful her hair is! She decided to go natural too and wowzer, I love her hair! We're going to a county fair tomorrow and we'll be like the afro twins up there! LOVE IT!!!