Shades of Understanding: Made for White America

One of my favorite groups performing one of my favorite songs live.  I miss talent being a pre-requisite. (And they were pretty nice to look at too.  Let’s just be honest.  That helped a lot.)

En Vogue – “Free Your Mind”

Growing up, your parents raise/groom/train you to be certain ways.  No, we’re not animals but we are guided by our parents, either by the things they do or don’t do, tell us or don’t tell us.  There are plenty exceptions to the rules but the goal of most parents is to protect and “properly” raise their kids.  Equip and encourage them with the tools and confidence they’ll need to achieve their goals.  These are all noble aspirations.

Beyond the (hopeful) comfort of home, every person has certain things they feel are important to their child’s ability to effectively navigate the outside world.  Some things are somewhat universal (i.e. traffic laws, waiting in line, “please” ,”Yes ma’am”/”No, sir”, etc).  But for each parent, there are rules of life that are more specific to their life experiences, whether those experiences were shaped by gender, race, religion, class, etc.  Whether your parent believes in the superiority (or inferiority) of one group over another, most will try to equip their child for other people’s view on the matter.  For me growing up, while gender played a small role, my difference was my race.  Being black meant a lot more than requiring the brown crayon instead of the peach or being less likely to sunburn.  (Seriously, I was 21 before I had my first sunburn and I only noticed when I started to peel.)

As a brown baby, I was given a collection of “other” rules to make it easier to operate in world not designed or “run” by people who looked like me (or necessarily valued looking like me).  Now, I was taught and understood that white people were not “the” or an enemy.  They were just the people who could make my life especially difficult.  Of course that understanding has evolved with age and experience but things were relatively simple for a nine-year-old black girl growing up in the not-so-reformed South in the 90s.

A few examples:

  • Persona: Stealing/Shoplifting is bad.  And while I may not be doing anything wrong, I will be watched.  Advice: Never open or mess around in your bag while in a store.  Preferably zip/close it before you walk in.
  • Image: You should love yourself and how God made you.  But we press/straighten our hair before we go see God in church on Sundays.  Sunday Best meant straight hair (among other things…)
  • Image: Also “professional” women and beautiful little girls have straight hair.  DON’T mess up your hair!
  • Language: Whatever slang you use at home cannot be used in public.  It’s just not right and other/white people will think you’re not smart.  (This was well before the ebonics as a language debate.)
  • Persona: Watch your temper.  People will be afraid of you and be unable to explain why.  You will have to be more patient, more forgiving and more resilient.
  • School/Professional: Grades will not speak for themselves.  You may have to work twice as hard for people to consider you to be just as good.  God forbid you ever be better/smarter…
  • School/Professional: Also, don’t ever give anyone the opportunity to accuse you of cheating (along the same lines as stealing).  You’ll be a suspect before blond Suzy.  Prove them wrong.
  • And many more…

There are a lot of little things that help black kids understand that while they may be equal according to God and an amended constitution, in the eyes of many people who hold the keys to their comfort and/or success, they may not be.  More importantly, people invested in their success (and mental health) work to teach those kids how to navigate the waters and handle the less than choice situations.  I’ve been called names, physically assaulted, ignored, picked on, offended and completely avoided because you can’t see my veins and I could pull off dreads.  In elementary school, a teacher pulled me out of the gifted program because no black student had qualified.  She felt I needed to be retested if I was to continue in it.  I was asked by a little girl on the bus, “Who rolled you in the mud when you were born?”  (Lovely, right?)  A librarian in a small midwestern town I was visiting questioned if I was actually reading the books I was checking out or just carrying them.  I’ve watched store owners watch me as I watched other less tan people happily slip objects into their bags.  In college, I was attacked on campus because of two things: 1.) I was black and 2.) he was drunk.  However with everything, I am very fortunate and thankful I was born black in the 80s rather than anytime sooner.  We are evening out.  Eventually everyone will be a little more tan.  I apologize in advance to the sunscreen companies.

My point is not that life (at least mine) is terrible.  It’s jut life.  We all have prejudices and -isms we’re subject to.  For me, black, female and middle class quickly sum it up.  There are good and bad, defeating and empowering things about just about any label I could give myself.  My point is that my parents, family, teachers, friends all worked to shape and prepare me for the status quo.  I’ll never be thin, pale, blond or blue-eyed.  BUT I can be molded in ways to make my differences less offensive to those fitting those descriptions.  I’ve been packaged in a way that might make it easier for WASPs (White Anglo-Saxon Protestants) to accept.

Throughout my life, I’ve been described as an oreo – black on the outside, white on the inside.  I’ve been told I’m the smartest (0r only smart) black person someone has met.  Been described as being a very white black person (as if that’s a thing, let alone a good thing).  Asked why I speak so well.  Been told I am (surprisingly) respectful.  Informed my neck doesn’t move nearly as much or my voice doesn’t get as loud as some (of my) people.  Been seen as an “exception”.

As sad (or infuriating) as all of those things may be, they probably make all of the people who worked so hard to prepare me for the “real” world very proud on a private, painful, never-to-be-openly-discussed level.  I was born in America, raised (mostly) in Black America and “Made” for White America.

Living in Fill in the Blank America now,

Jo’van

Family Values: I Love THE 90’s – Family Edition

Not an exact fit but it’s still a good song.  Adele recently had throat surgery.  Wishing you a speedy recovery!

Adele “Hometown Glory”

For some reason, I started thinking about the terrible 90’s movie “Made in America”. If you’re not familiar (spoiler alert), sharp-tongued, widowed, black, inner city bookstore owner (Whoopi Goldberg) finds out (through blood-typing in public high schools, really?) the sperm donor father of her teenage daughter (Nia Long) is not a random black man but in fact crazy, perpetual bachelor, over-the-top, pickup-truck-on-steroids-driving, crazy tv personality white car salesman (Ted Danson) .  Whoopi and Ted fight and flirt and the start of a blended family emerges in time for Nia’s valedictorian speech.  While rife with cliches and stereotypes, the movie is cute/entertaining enough.  (It’s interesting to note that Goldberg and Danson actually dated in real life. That one still doesn’t make send to me but I digress…)

Yes, the premise of the movie is ridiculous but only somewhat plausible.  In the case of these parents, their relationship began because of a baby they didn’t know they’d conceived together and a clerical error.  Going beyond the ridiculousness, I began to think about the underlying message – No matter what their differences or how they came to be, blended families and inter-racial (or inter-generational, inter-religious, inter-political, mulit-lingual, etc) couples are becoming more common and less offensive to the general public.  (I’d argue that the two are not one in the same.)

My family is a perfect example. I have 10 people in my immediate family.  No, my parents were not rabbits.  They were “progressive”.  While there are key differences that are missing, my immediate family is definitely the most “blended” of anyone I’ve actually met.  When explaining my family to the newbie who has no idea what they’re getting themselves into, I start by saying we are THE 90’s family.  (Sometimes I wish could whip out a diagram with VH-1 graphics.)  Most of the wonderful and terrible things that were said to happen the family structure in the 70’s and 80’s happened to my family. (Cue the curtain…)

In the beginning, there were three traditional couples married with children, same religions, same races.  For various reasons, divorce entered the discussion and then there were six divorcees sharing five kids.  Everyone married again and had more kids. The end. Kind of…

I am an only child of a black couple that once was.  I have four parents, six siblings, one brother-in-law and a niece.  We are black, white, bi-racial, multi-racial, mixed, college students, struggling twenty-somethings, parents in their 30’s, methodist, baptist, catholic, mormon, vegetarian (not a religion but when your dad’s a hunter with mounted deer heads and fish, it’s enough), reformed screw-ups, goodie-twoshoes, musically inclined, athletically blessed, step, half, whole, born into, invited to join and somewhere in-between.  (As individuals, we are much more but who’s got time for all of that?) Half of the kids have two “homes”, while the other half may wish they had more than one. Some of us switched households for holidays and school breaks, while the others lost or gained siblings throughout the year. Sounds like fun, right? And for the most part it is.  Budgeting Christmas presents and negotiating holiday schedules are the only times it truly sucks.

Let me point something out again: I am an only child with six siblings.  In less than three year’s time, I went from the spoiled only child of divorced parents to the middle child of two households.  Seriously, only to the middle! That’s any only child’s nightmare.  Ok, enough of that…

There are several blog posts to be written about what it means to play any of those roles, especially the roles I fill. But for now, I’ll just end with one thought – Most families are like vanilla ice cream in a cake cone and that’s lovely.  But we opted for the twist in a sugar cone, a bit more complicated but delicious just the same. I love the 90’s!

Thanksgiving in Phoenix and a Nashville Christmas? Sounds about right.
Jo’van

Family Values: Want a Kid? Test Drive My Puppy First

Oh, babies!  When we see one, our initial reaction is to want to think it’s cute and precious and perfect.  Yes, babies are a blessing and a miracle and all that fun stuff. But they are also A LOT OF WORK.  Picking out their outfits and kissing their freshly cleaned chubby cheeks is all great and wonderful but waking up at all hours of the night, chasing them around the house as they learn to crawl, walk, run, making sure all sharp objects and edges are covered, all liquids out of reach, feeding intellectual stimulation and cleaning everything all the time can be a bit exhaustive.

If you believe you’re ready for a child, may I suggest first getting a puppy?  (Kittens are great also but a little less involved.)  Puppies are children you can crate during the day.  You still have to feed and bathe them, play with and soothe them, and a pacifer is a new rawhide.  They’re just a little easier to manage first.  Consider it practice for the real thing.  If you’re unsure, please let me offer to rent you my puppy Rodman.  A short while with him might make you want to put away those American Baby magazines for a while.

Rodman is my year-old black cock-a-poo (cocker spaniel/ toy poodle mix) puppy love.  He’s honestly adorable.  Being completely black, he pretty much has no face.  Most of the time, you can only see a black curly blob with shiny eyes.  While I love him with all my heart, I just want to kill him sometimes.

Cocker spaniels are known to have weak bladders, sprinkling a little when they get excited.  While it’s gross, I could handle the occasional piddle on the floor.  Rodman takes it to a whole different level.  While housebroken in the sense that he knows it’s wrong to pee inside, Rodman (I believe) has some psychological issues.  If you move too quickly, bend down too suddenly, reach for him without calling his name, or try to put his leash on, there’s a 50/50 chance that Rodman will pee.  And I don’t mean a scared squirt.  I’m talking a full-out squat.  (I got him neutered early so he never learned to lift his leg.)

I don’t know what happened to him before he came to live with us.  At four months, it’s completely possible that he experienced some not nice things that stuck with him  But my roommate and I are loving pet owners.  I’ll admit that I’m the harsher disciplinarian and both dogs cower when I get pissed.  But Rodman doesn’t have a reason to really fear me.  Instead, he just infuriates me and then looks up at me sheepishly.  I don’t care how cute something is.  Three puddles on the floor (in the carpet!) are going to piss me off. (Pun not intended.)

I’ll give him credit, Rodman is getting better.  Instead of letting us know he needs to go out, Rodman has just learned to hold it for HOURS.  Occasionally, he’ll really screw up like last night and then I just want to kill him.  I almost think it’s worse.  Dogs have such short memories that a 15-second old accident may be too far back for them to remember it but that doesn’t stop me from holding a grudge against my pee-dispensing black mop.

I recognize that Rodman is in no way a baby but just dealing with him reminds me how unready I am for kids.  I can’t leave my kid in it’s crate for hours, rush home, let it out, feed it, and leave again, or get mad at it for messing up in the house.  For now, Rodman is plenty work for me (and my roommate).  Between the two dogs and our jobs, my roommate and I are good.  Maybe babies down the line for me but for now, I’ll deal with my bladder-control-issued dog.

Re-stocking pet carpet cleaner,

Jo’van

Family Values: Skipping Christmas

I have a not small family.  I’d normally describe it as large but it’s not like I have 13 siblings and it’s only large because I’m combining two households.  All in all, I have four parents, six siblings, a brother-in-law and a new, fabulously plump niece.  Not to mention the hand-full of friends and co-workers, I’d love to give gifts to.  Unfortunately, something has happened this year.  I am just not feeling Christmas.  I haven’t been interested in shopping.  I don’t have any idea what to get anyone.  I’m just feeling blah about the whole thing.

Christmas is still a holy, happy, family-centric day.  I just don’t have the passion to shop to show my love this year.  I’m not against Christmas presents.  I normally love the picking, hiding, wrapping of it all but there’s something about 2008.  I’m just not in the mood.

Does that make me a Scrouge?  I hope not.  I’m just going to take a break this year.  Not knowing what to get is my fault.  I need to stay in touch with my family and friends a little more.  I have no excuse to have no idea.  While I couldn’t afford it, if I had great ideas, I’d happily be swiping my credit card.  But having no money, no time, no ideas and no energy just isn’t a good mix for inspired presents.  Everyone would end up with generic “pretty” things or gift cards.  A friend told me those would be better than nothing and while I see her point, I just don’t agree this year.  I want to be excited to give you something.  Even if I COMPLETELY missed the mark, I want to care if I did.

The people I love will be getting more calls from me in 2009.  I want to know what’s going on and giggle when I see something I think they might like.  I want to buy it in August and be excited for the next few months.  I don’t want to consider skipping Christmas again.  It’s embarrassing.

Stocking up on wrapping paper for 2009,

Jo’van

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